All in the name of changing the world. One vote at a time.
The governor called for the vote, and Lady Mi’chelle Yomen cast the first one — against the bill. As it proceeded, Wax sat, as anxious as he’d ever been before a confrontation with a bandit group. Rusts … this was somehow worse. Each vote was the crack of a bullet. Lady Faula and Senator Vindel. How will they break? And Maraya? Was she persuaded, or …
Two of them voted for the bill, along with multiple others that he’d been uncertain about. Wax felt a sinking feeling, worse than being shot, as the vote proceeded — and eventually landed at 122 for, 118 against.
The bill passed. His stomach fell further. If Wax was going to stop a civil war, he’d need to find another way.
THE TWO SEASONS
MAREWILL 19, 348
Vol. 32, No. 247
Kyndlip Ternavyl, Editor and Proprietor
BILMING
“No Two Seasons Are Alike,” an Originators Proverb
5 clips
Handerwym Presents
NICKI SAVAGE
and
The COMPASS of Spirits
In my last letter, the Haunted Man, my two Faceless Immortal companions, and I saw the Coinshot Vila Mecant grab the Compass of Spirits and throw herself off a stone outcropping into the mists. The aluminum key that activated it, however, was still with me. Knowing Vila would be back, I entrusted the key to the Haunted Man, who used his hellguns to launch himself to another outcropping, leaving me to convince my faceless friends I had a plan… Which, of course, I did.
Chapter 8: “Flight of the Ornisaur”
KeSun rolled her eyes. “Exactly how do you expect to follow Vila and lure her out?”
“The aluminum bones we lifted from the ornisaur quarry,” I said, patting Tabaar’s giant backpack.
He groaned deep within his corpulent body. “Oh no…”
“You are incredible at imitation,” I said encouragingly. “Remember when you were Human the koloss in A Hero for All Ages? You were masterful! You can do this!”
“He can’t,” said KeSun, folding her arms. “Not without me. I’m the one with experience impersonating birds.”
Turning to Tabaar, she said, “If you are willing to yield some control to me, then we can carry Miss Sauvage across this abyss.”
“But the rest of my collection…” he said, the bag of bones shifting on his back.
“We’ll return for them,” said KeSun, with a compassion in her voice she reserved only for Tabaar. “I promise.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “Will you kindly look away?” she asked. “We’d rather you not see us when we…”
“…merge,” said Tabaar.
What followed was one of the strangest things I’ve ever encountered, stranger even than the Beast of Belmon Couture or that time when I was Allomancer Jak’s assistant.
(Continued below the fold!)
The Two Seasons would like to retract our dear editor Kyndlip Ternavyl’s comments of two weeks ago, prior to her disappearance, when she compared our beloved mayor to “an irascible boar; no smarter, less attractive, and unable to keep from rolling around in every mire he comes across.”
ELENDEL SUPREMACY BILL THREATENS BASIN UNITY
UNITY OR DIVISION? PROGRESS OR PERNICIOUSNESS?
In a matter of days, Elendel’s Senate will vote on what Bilming’s top political mind, Professor Garven Munz, has called “the most monumental change to our government structure since the Words of Founding.”
Days of speeches, debates, and posturing are planned leading up to the vote, and the eyes of the Outer Cities are focused on the so-called Lawman Senator of the Roughs, whose recent visits north of the Basin have solidified his stance with which many Outer City dwellers concur: Representation Before Supremacy.
Governor Varlance and his cronies vehemently oppose this tack, their views summed up in Vice Governor Adawathwyn’s bold opening remarks that “We’ll need a strong, experienced leader when war comes to us from our masked Southern friends.” Admiral Jonnes of the Malwish Nation looked visibly shaken and did not return after the Senate’s following recess.
When Varlance was asked if he too thought the Basin might be headed toward war with the Malwish, he merely patted his chest where he’d conspicuously hung his military medals.
(Continued on back.)
3
Marasi studied the footprints in the dust. They appeared to be a few weeks old, as they’d gathered dust themselves. She walked over to Wayne, who was inspecting the path farther down into the depths: an arduous-looking tunnel with a steep decline. He glanced at her.
“If they’re slippin’ in and out of the city fast,” he said, “they musta found a different way out of here. They aren’t makin’ this hike regularly.”
“Agreed,” she said. “We should be stealthy anyway, in case they posted lookouts.”
In response, he turned his lantern down and whispered, “You want to continue without backup?”
“For now. We want to scout and see what we find. I don’t want to mobilize everyone for a dead end.”
Together, the two of them struck forward through the tunnel. The difficulty of the path and its apparent lack of traffic encouraged her. If the enemy was down here but used a different route, then taking this path meant she and Wayne were less likely to be discovered.
They took the decline carefully. Rusts … thank goodness she had trousers on. If she was going to slip and break her skull, she could at least do it with dignity. Or as much dignity as a woman could manage after hiking through sewage for an hour.
She distracted herself by imagining that these caverns must be as old as the Ascendant Warrior — or even older. These tunnels had slumbered through the destruction of the world, through the Catacendre, through the rise and fall of the Final Empire. Had the stones they walked past broken loose from the ceiling during the days of the Ashmounts?
She couldn’t help wondering if they would stumble across the mythical Survivor’s Cradle — the Pits of Hathsin — though she knew that was foolish. Wax said he had been to them, and had found no magical metals of lore.
They eventually hit a particularly deep shaft down; it was essentially vertical, though with a lot of obstructions and clefts in the stone to climb on. Wayne brightened their lantern again, looking doubtful.
“We sure they came this way?” he asked in a whisper.
“Who else would have made the footprints?”
“Footprints?”
“In the dust? And near the opening, they were crusted over with sewage from boots? Seriously, Wayne, you can be remarkably oblivious for a detective.”
“You and Wax are detectives,” he said. “Not me.”
“What are you then?”
“Bullet stopper,” he said. “Skull knocker. Guy who occasionally gets exploded.”
“We’ll be doing nothing like that today,” Marasi whispered. “We will peek in, see if I’m right, then get out for clearance and support.”