Make me! He recalls, raises his palm, and the bird is frozen in midair. Locked in a bubble of spinning wind. Expertly. He grows powerful in this. And with a wave, the creature is shot forward, whistling through the current.
In a moment, it meets Merrin. That instant, it tears through the bubble, expanding into a giant thing of interlocked plated wings, wide beaded eyes, and razor-sharp talons. It is a monster. His monster.
It caws, flapping, its airflow like torrents. "Bold now are we?"
Merrin says nothing, observing the greyworld; its infinite expanse, darkened and gray. Even the river of obsidian beads beneath. All the same. Never changing. "What have I lost?"
"A symbol….And force." It says, defined mock in the tone. "You never learn for an El'shadie. You still make promises in a world like this. Symbols are events. More so, in the cognitive scape."
Merrin scowls at it, and there's a pause in the bird. "This is the cognitive scape?"
"Here is in the cognitive scape." It corrects. "You should mind what things you do here. Symbols have a way of becoming exactly what you say. Fabricated, if you will."
"So Ivory stole a symbol from here?"
"No. You made a bargain, and she accepted. Now, a bond exists between the two of you. She speaks the lore, and the symbols do not tear their way through her mind and soul."
"So it's dangerous." Merrin sighs.
"Of course it is." The bird lampoons.
Merrin allows it for now and asks, "So she has become a caster? You said she could."
"No." The bird retracts to its smaller size. "She would require greater force to break through."
"To snap."
"Whatever."
Merrin drifts up a bit, feeling the wind against the flesh. The scent of ash—goodness. "So, all it takes to become a caster is to have force driven into the body?"
"An extreme amount of it, yes." The bird says, "Your world already has that in abundance, some simply require a trigger to break—snap into it. Others can be forced in."
"With force."
The bird says nothing, but the context is known regardless. What power has he gained now? God. Now, he has the means to boost that claim. Creator of casters, a feat attributed solely to the Father above, now, he, too, can claim such. Repulsive. What happens now? Does he sail the winds to throw God from his throne of Splendor? What a dangerous thing he has become.
El'shadie. The one who will never die.
Merrin breaths calmly, it fails, the heart pounding against the breastbone. What power he has in his hands….Eyes drift down the pale skin, those gaunt fingers. Such marvels they can now wrought.
He sighs…Never revel in it. A needed reminder of how seductive the addiction would prove to become. Never break. Always remember when he was a mere human, scrabbling for anything. Not once, not one day, he must always remember when the Ashman was him.
But for now…Merrin drifts down, floating, inches from the beaded earth. He thinks something and asks, "What exactly is a companion?"
The bird circled the heavens once more and delved down through the howling winds. A blurring sable dot. A moment, and it perches atop his left shoulder, weightless, odd. It cawed: "What exactly is that?"
"I don't know, some partner of the El'shadie," Merrin says, mind split between thoughts. "Yoid said he was that."
The bird chuckled. "What nonsense is that? The El'shaide is the greatest power in the intoned creation; what use is a companion?"
Merrin finds something important in the bird's words but reines it for later. So yoid was lying…"So there's no such thing?"
"I'm sure repetition isn't required."
"But what about the feelings, the emotions?" Merrin says, "How did my sensations pattern with his words?"
"Simple casting." The bird chirped, "You are so mundane in your abilities that even the simplest tricks become paramount in your existence." It chuckles. "stormBringer!" That was a mockery.
Merrin hooks the shoulder, the bird flapping to the sky, laughing. There was indeed truth to its words: Simple tricks become paramount in his existence. veilCounsel, what was that? What was it to him? Shadows, surely, the darkness. All familiar constructs to his nature. In a way, an Ashman seemed the most suited to that order than the air-fat lowlanders. Yet, here he was, unsure of how to act.
Chaos will rule once my people realize I'm also as blind as any beast. Shiver washes his nerves, head snapping to the far horizon of this world. Endless to even his ocular powers. Beautiful, regardless.
How to be a veilCounsel. A day remains, perhaps, and the sacred caster comes for him. Maybe they already have, given the events. What happens then? Would he stand strong before that power, making demands, or be swept by the very wind he marshals now?
Dilemmas, all of it.
He sits on his knees, fiddling with the raven sleek balls across the scape. In the cognitive scape, as the bird had said. Varying words. Then, there was the matter of Auwale, the shaedoan, whatever that was.
A strange man, a caster or not, powerful anyway. He was their savior—the sun witnesses might delude themselves with other notions, but Merrin knew. Without the shaedoran, damnation would have known them all. Surely. Despite his wishes, this remained factual.
A sigh escapes his lungs, the beads chilling to the touch. "I need to clear my head."
"How would you do that?" It twirls in the air, a strange dance of sorts. "Are you going to dance again? It's nice to see, you know, that dance of yours. Do it again."
First compliment, I think. Merrin says nothing, stands, fiddling with the bead. "No," Finally. "I am God. So I think I should create."
"What is this?" The bird passes through a cloud, dragging trails of grey fume. "Are you different now?" Its laughs are like thunder. Powerful. But too familiar to strike any order of emotion. Instead, Merrin tosses the ball to a pile of others, watching it click against the rest.
"You said I have been neglecting to learn my Powers as El'shadie. Being mundane with what I can do. Maybe you are right. Maybe you aren't."
"Hardly."
"But I hope for something." Merrin forgives the distraction, feeling his feet over the land. "My people will dream someday. I want them to dream of Paradise. Their own personal heaven. Artificial or not, I can create anything in this world, and with the dream castle, I can link them into it."
"You would plunge them into the…plague." It stiffens a chuckle.
"No." Merrin says, "They will simply be visiting this world in their dreams. A fantasy world where they will forget. Where I will forget."
"Interesting."
"You were right." Merrin looks to the flying bird. "I should play the early role. I should embrace whatever it is this was. And what god does not have a heaven?"
He waves, and the beads shine—mountains erupting from the earth, stretching to the furthest sky, looming. Slowly, his fingers drag across the firmament, tearing lines of vibrant hues. A painted heaven. Beneath, red flora stretches over the land, like a tide of water, moving, vast. He takes to the sky, viewing the world from above.
A paradise is the object of this creation.
A single thought and the world listens. From his memories, he constructs a land—a span of mountain ranges, hallowed within. Together. The undermines taught him that. Of course, this was the beginning. Creation did not end in a day. He would make this a paradise fit for all people; a world of marvelous dreams.
Easier, perhaps, he could construct their dreams based on the collected memories. The castle could do that. Burrow into their minds…However, that, as the Fallen did, sustained the world with their force. Hence, eventually, they were depleted. Dead.
He would not take any souls, never. So he creates harmony. As he learns, as he grows, so will this world—the forever project—one for all. The El'shadie lives too long. Good. Now, a reason exists for it. Forever to remain here. He will build, learn, build…
Merrin watches as water tears through a mountain, spilling over the side of the rock, and descending into a tributary, ending in a vast river. How massive this world seems as he builds in it. Creation from the spread of red flora, crystalline waters, dark mountains, gold hills, and clouds of numerous hues. In the center lies a single dot—the dream castle. A beacon that brings his people to his heaven.
He steals a breath and drops from the sky, suddenly, smashing into the earth, dust fountaining. What? Merrin trembles over the land, flesh like a thousand hardened stones. Heavy. He tries to scream, a weak rasp echoes instead. So tired. Skin-bones deprived of the simplest strength.
The bird circled him, chuckling. "I wonder why god has stopped?" It says, "Even god needs to rest. Play the early role, you say. You forget the early role means the early self. The weaker self. The less contained form."
I'm out of force? Breath is thin, chest burning. That means his nostrils are deprived of the gasping strength. Mist it! Am I going to die because I can't breathe?