Before Merrin could refuse, he was already climbing the ropes, panting, lower lips bent into the mouth, teeth held. He moved slowly, the ropes dangling from the heaviness. This tells something.
They are to move one after the one, not together.
The witness followed the longer ropes, up, up towards the high holes. He is almost there when suddenly the rope falls and he descends to the ground. Ron moves, catches him in an arm cradle. He is well and alright.
"What happened?" Catelyn spoke before Merrin.
Frightened, the witness took a calming moment and said, "I don't know, it just slipped."
"Did you see anyone?"
"No. There was no one. It was strong one time and then not so in the other."
Catelyn raises her head. "It was made to act that way."
Merrin understands. The rope, as it seemed, was meant to endure a certain amount of strain. Beyond that and it broke hold. A delicate thing to construct. But natural and not casted.
So that means the worn rope is surely filled with the leftover men. Merrin frowned and said, "I will go first."
Defiance flowed through them. The witness jumped off Ron. "No, let me go," he said, "Let me do this thing."
Merrin shook his head. "No. It must be me." He said, "If and I know there are enemies up there, I can stop them quickly."
"You will kill them?" asked the witness.
"I have no reason to."
He fell to his knees. "And he shall protect even his enemies."
Merrin startles, but hides it. He simply nods. The man's words, he guessed, were yet another quote from the witnesses. Did they know how slowly they created mantras, burying themselves deeper into the lie of the savior?
His heart sank, and he distracts himself with the rough texture of the rope. Ron, for caution, moves behind him, hand open in case of a fall. Not that falling from that height would kill him.
The caster provided better attributes.
Merrin holds the rope and drags down, pulling up. He takes a breath and ascends—an easy thing. His arms are as strong as metal, shoulders thick and flexible like elastic wood. All ashmen were such. One did not swing or climb through the mist without sharing its gifts.
He passes by an oval entrance, with rocks scattered on the floor. That was the end of his awareness of it; other things were important. His witnesses. The more wasted time, the higher the chance they could face a statue, or whatever those things were called.
Almighty above, protect them if they meet the talemir.
He misses a grip, legs hanging mid-air. Nothing except his sole hand holds the rope. Dangerous. Below, he hears the gasps. I should focus. He tells himself and handles the rope, hoisting.
Then his mind begins to wander again. This time, he imagined the strange creature that saved them. Another horror of the depths, no doubt. Though the horror part was apparently not physical. Rather, it was beautiful. White servs…What in damnation was that?
Never once had he heard talk of anything similar. White servs? What emotion was it to embody? Maybe, Merrin moves his eyes across the expanse, noting the vast walls, the distant cliffs, and hidden things—all shrouded in darkness.
It could be a rare species of servs. He wondered, raising. Curiosity then calls him, and he looks below. How far they were now. Small dots of flesh. Without the use of the ocular prowess, they faded into the brightness of the torches, those beaming balls of red orange.
He saw them as small, playable stones. Merrin laughs at the quip—internally. Then he realizes the end of the rope. Slowly, he looks up. The rim of the ovate entry looks down on him. Black on the outer parts but brown on the inner. He smiles and reaches, grabbing hold of the edge. With a burst of strength, he yanks in, rolling to a stop, arm still spilling out the oval door.
Gasps escape his mouth—not tired ones. One met to alert all. For what he needed to do, they all needed to be a collective. He counted four times within, stood to his feet, and viewed the cave.
Not very large—similar to the one seen in the dream. Walls are crude with hues of brown and red, all mashed together. Stones are scattered about, and pathways lead out from certain corners of the room. In totality, it looked like a chipped circle.
And eyes were upon him.
Men. Slaves. Some tossing rocks amongst themselves. Others seated on high stone. One played with a slave. Lower in status, as he did the plays with a pierce stone.
They all watch like predators, ready to pounce. And soon they will. Merrin takes a step forward and says, "Surrender and you won't be harmed."
They chuckle as expected.
One moves closer, holding a sharp pierce stone. One smash of that and his head cracks open. Not that it would ever reach him. Wind flutters his clothes. And he saw the alertness in their eyes.
"It's him!" One shouts. "It's that one they call the sunBringer."
"So you've heard of me?" Merrin took a proud tone. "That's fantastic. Does this mean you surrender?"
They share a look, meaning unknown. One gains bravado and dashes. Others follow him. They are coming—fast, angry. Likely, the leader had promised something to them.
Merrin thinks about Yoid and says, "Fall!"
And the wind bears down on them, pinning them upon the searing floor. They scream, cheeks rippling, hair and clothes fluttering. They all share the same fate except the one slave. He watches in awe.
"Do you accept now?"
They are quick to answer now. And Merrin commands the wind, pushing the violent burst through the oval door. That was the only way. Dispelling through casting required more force. If not, the phenomenon of downward wind would have been permanent in this particular cave. Until he ran out of force.
The men would not have enjoyed it.
They stand now, looking among themselves, chest clothes burnt off. Some still smoke. Merrin said, "Allow my people to come up."
Some resistance still lingered, but none worth acting on. The rope, he also observed, was tied around a metal pole. An axe handle. What exactly had fallen into this place?
Nevertheless, he waits on high stone as the rest climb up. Catelyn in particular required the extra aid. As expected. The rope was tied around her waist and pulled up. How conceited she still acted after it.
He smiled. All was good in the end.
They are together, and he meets more witnesses. These ones bear little reverence for him, new converts. They knew him as their savior but hadn't seen any actual saving. Such, they took it all in faith.
So, he placates them with a burst of white radiance. This is enough for the near future.
One crawls forward, touches his legs. There is pain there. There was pain everywhere, but they were not to know that. He endures so they won't.
Still, they refuse to leave him. In a circle they round him, watching like expectant children. What would he do next? What what? Merrin imagined that as their internal thought.
Fortunately, the cave was well lit by the torches, which, as it seemed, were made from clothes, wrapped together and pressed into the ground. Genius.
He was sure he had been once more tired, Merrin thought; he just couldn't remember when. Bones felt heavy, motion hard. Good thing too, as he was forced to sit there, watching while Ron and Catelyn worked. Both sharing information with the surrendered men. On the other hand was Davos, alone in the corner. Which was strange for a man with a stone hand.
The body weakness presents itself as a wave-urging slumber. He struggles to keep his eyes open. Fear assures it. The question of what could happen. If he slept. If he closed his eyes for a moment, what would happen?
No. The total awareness was needed. That was the failure that brought them here. The unawareness of the severity of Moeash's situation. No. Not ever again.
He starved the sleep with deliberately dry eyes. Wide—within seconds, they needed the moisture or they burned. That kept the repose away. Moments passed, and the whispers continued.
How long would it take…Before they had to move. Many chose relaxation. Odd. Did they know this was a temporary state? He stirred to correct, but there it was. The pain. He doesn't move. It doesn't let him move. A solid statue he is to remain.
Annoying.
Among the witnesses, a man carefully shifted his froststone, fitted it into the trouser. Tore out his clothes and draped them over his head. He is like a priest of sorts, a male gresendent perhaps.
He suddenly said, "The sunBringer wears the sun on his head. We do not have it and thus do not have the right to show our heads."
This catches on and soon, all the witnesses tear their clothes, shrounding their heads. Then they bow to him. "Praise the sunBringer!" They say together.
And this brings sadness….What horrible creatures they were becoming…
Catelyn spares a glance at the scene, at him, and turns away. This is what you have created, she would have thought. Truth. This was his creation. He watches them, above, as they lower.
I can't stop.