"Some are stupid and idiots."
"Perhaps," She moved in sensual patterns, one step before the other. Fluid. And he sensed the fostering of the courting. She came now, close, looking down as all did with him. A smile pressed on her face, accompanied by the sure scent of ash. He, however, intuited a fragrance. Perfume? A seldom thing in the mountains.
"Do you understand what you are saying?"
"I said I am better than all, and being a chiefShaman isn't the limit of the purpose the almighty has given to me."
She smiled and came close. Her lips…What was she to do? This. He knew this a forceful act—an advantage owned by all women. Men could do no such things. In it, he wondered what to do. Accept or refuse. She pressed closer, eyes closed.
I think I deserve this after Leim, he thought, and leaned forward.
But.
Merrin froze to an abruptness. In the distance, a distortion in perceived reality, a dark tear. Within, he espied a black castle, and a dark figure stood before it. Eerily, maddening, rage thrilling.
An awareness rose from within. It came upon him as a collection of memories, rapidly switching. A stitching unification of countless mentation and sensation. He was…He was…The words broke before formation. He was…He was…
A hand gentled his cheeks, drawing attention from the crack to her face. The daring Eidan. She smiled warmly. An alien feature on her usual inrepid countenance. "Why aren't you looking at me?" She said, "That's rude, you know. A girl comes close, and you look away."
What is she saying? Merrin's gaze shifted. The crack. What was that? The new self bloomed again, flooding in with varying recollections. A strange anamnesis. He staggered away from her hands. She reached forward, held him close. "Why are you running now?"
Was she always this clingy? He looked past her and felt the self-battering in the edges of his mind. There. Yes, there. This new thing—person, it screamed at the rims of his trueness. A word—a name…No, a cluster of words. Repeating. Banging. Repeating.
It was there. In the currentness, it was there. He was there…
What is happening? This isn't how moss hallucination works…I'm not even in the caves.
The awareness roared now. Disengage. Engage. Disengage. Multiple selves spoke within. Run. Stay. Run. Stay. Who was speaking? What was happening?
The eidan cocked her head but pressed closer. "Why are you leaving this? My father is a Hashar."
Yes, he is…He felt the words like a grounded reality.
"If we bonded, that would give you the means to do what you want. That's what you want, right?"
"Yes?" It came as a question.
"Then bed me now. Do it and you can even go to Aman. There, you can invoke my father's name and mine. You will be allowed to do whatever you want. That's what you desire, right?"
"Yes?" Again, it admitted as a question. Why? He looked to her. "What is your name?"
She froze, and Merrin saw a thin line flicker across her face—static, sharp, unnatural. It moved from brow to chin like an old white thunder, splitting the image for the briefest instant. Flesh seemed to forget itself, the illusion of unity disrupted. He remained still, eyes awide. What was happening?
Her lips, a division from the upper parts, spoke. Not a word. Not a meaning. A scream. A piercing sound that knifed into him, spearing into the growing self. He sensed a threat—an ashman thing that roared at a need for violence. He moved faster than processed thought, pushing her off the peak.
She plunged into the darkness, screaming in the screeching sounds. Merrin fell to his knees, clasped his head, and cried. The strange self gripped him, and he felt the sure outcome of what was to happen.
I'm about to die…No No. The almighty has chosen me…I can't. I can't….He moved to the lip of the summit, looked down. Darkness below. I can't die. The almighty will save me. I must…He raised his legs and stopped.
Merrin stumbled back, gasping. This is not real! Moeash! Moeash. This is not real. The absolute, undeniable reality glared like the hardest thunder. He knew, oh god, he knew. What was happening? Now that question escaped his procession. He turned, however, swiftly to a distance. Out there, he saw a looming mountain. A wall of spiked darkness. No light, just the backdrop of flashing lightning. Aman.
That's where it happened? That's where Leim died…Leim…Leim. He's alive? Something sparked within…a new sense. Fighting. Get out of me. You are not me. I am god's chosen, this new self protested. And Merrin, in that moment, grasped the quandary. This was the plague. This was the eternal sleep.
He turned to and saw the distant crack…The castle within and the dark figure. The damned fallen.
I can either stay here or save them…But I can save Leim here…The internal self agreed, but Merrin knew it as the enemy. No, he gritted. I can't…Moeash is still alive, but leim is dead.
He is not! He is in Aman! Go Go Go.
NO, HE IS DEAD! He roared the words and squeezed his fingers. "I can't save him anymore, but I can save these ones. He moved to the edge of the vertex and looked to the crack. Then, whirled to Aman. Rage-anger-fear-sadness. All this burned in the depths of his cogitation.
He said.
"Never forgive me, Leim. Don't do that. Don't you dare. Curse me, as that is your right. Hate me, as that is your reason. Whether in damnation or salvation, mock my name and my deeds as I did yours." Tears flowed like the rain.
"Never forgive me!"
He jumped and saw the bright flash of light. Blinding.
We speculate on the divisions of ourselves. These are that. Those become that. But that is a disease within the established nature of the universe, as we understand it at least. Division is the life killer. In this manner, I support the decision of the unification brought by the theocracy, despite the wars it emerged—collective analysis of the Eastorian culture
Merrin stood now as the invader in this space. He looked up and observed the swirling dark clouds, similar to the gray world but not so in their calmness and scent. Here smelled like death. True ruin. The ground reached far like that of a desolation, hard grounds, dark, no steam. Hateful. How much he hated it.
And the object of this ire was before him. The fallen. A creature of slender form, dark, two-eyed of obsidian black. He once thought it a fallen Heretic, no, this was a Corrupted Fallen. Stronger than the former.
The source of the plague.
The creature now registered him and growled. Its wings spanned, ready to pounce. Even now, it stood within a field of bodies. Countless. Laid. Victims. Eyes closed. But merrin in ashmen means, knew them asleep. The Selunn plague.
"You did all this, you showed me that dream. You made me make the same…You did that." The rage bottled in his throat. Oh, death. What devastation he would bring upon this thing…
"Some call you the servants of ruin."
The beast snarled.
"Now you will learn what you are the servants of." Merrin heaved a breath. And it came to him as a feeling. A pattern fitting of destiny. This was to be done. This was always going to happen. "Embrace the unembraced," he said, "And I will find solace in its darkest depths."
A calmness forced its way upon him. Absolute. True. Power. It felt like a sealing of distractions. Contradictions. All was removed. A curious surge of identity. veilCounsel, he was that now. Only the needed echoed in certainty. He knew then. He knew what was to be done.
"Come to me!"
The world shuddered. And a greyness drowned the sky above. Spiraling, sparking. Lighting. Voices rained down like shouts of violent thunder. Loud, powerful. Oh. Then dots. Forms of darkness littered the vast skies.
His ardents.
"He will never die!" They said as one. And a shadow of a thing descended behind him. Vast. Its wings stretched as though it hungered to engulf the world. The bird.
It said, "You have done something significant." No mockery was in them.
"I have," Merrin said simply. And looked now, in true rage, upon the lowly fallen. What a pitiful creature it seemed. No more was it the powerful, menacing thing that sparked hysteria and speculations. No. It was nothing.
"I shall kill you as an ashman," he said, "Only then will you die to the El'shadie."
He looked down and saw the black beads spread across this world. Countless, like the driest of sands. And he said to them all, "You are a mountain!"
"I am a mountain!"
And so it rose from the ground—mountains of spiked darkness. Rising, ascending. Far, far into the heavens. Merrin looked upon and made them many. Mountains in countless numbers. As was in the ash mountains. A deliberate reenactment.
He dashed forward, grabbed the nothing as it formed itself into a chain. He strained it and took to the sky. The means of an Ashman. He rolled over the slope of the mountain, caught to his feet, and jumped. The creature, a thing of singular dot, stood bemused within a circle of stones. Behind, its castle waited for the outcome. What happened now? Who died, who lived? Who was to win?