Liquid pours over his face, into his mouth. It is disgusting. Merrin spits it over her face, and she jerks back, cursing. He nearly laughs, but knows the presence he is to maintain. So he seats on his ass, and indeed they surrond him. Countless, but smaller.
Tears simmer in his eyes. "I see you."
And they wail like children. Some slap their heads into the earth, against the heat, and cry. Many are unclothed, burnt off by the heat. Some are scarred over the face and skin. Dark scald. Like him. They know this, he sees it in their eyes. They think this injury brings them closer to him.
What creatures they have become.
A woman with a scorched head begins to shout. "We praise the sunBringer!"
They join, and soon the cave shakes in their tones. A vast cave, no doubt. Merrin takes a moment to observe. The ceiling, like everything else, is high above, dark stone, lined with dull gold. He is sure of the aureate in them; they are far, but some value still exists in them.
What to do
The expanse is enormous, divided into three steps. Massive steps. He imagines from above, the castle looks like a giant stairwell. It takes several steps to reach the other side and two men to climb over it. All in dull gold-lined metal. Torches burn at irregular sides, casting unfocused illumination. Some spots are darker, shadowed, others are brightened.
He wonders surging his strength for light. Pain laughs as he tries. Catelyn still sits beside him; she is quiet, unburned. There are soot smudges here and there, but she is still a beauty. And she cubs the rag, strangely, it shimmers with a blue glow.
"What's that?' He asks.
"One of your…people went back to find the wa—sweat source. He took one of the froststones from the stone buried. Soaked the cloth and fitted the stone into it."
"Keeping the moisture."
"Keeping the moisture." She looks to the side, and there is nothing important there.
"You were rough with the rag." He whispers.
"And you faked your sleep."
"I didn't." Merrin says, "I couldn't wake up immediately."
"Thank me for changing that."
Merrin regards her. "That wasn't yo—"
And she is up, walking away from the circle of witnesses. They watch her leave—oddly, it is like monsters watching a flower depart. Yes, they have become monsters, deformed by the flames….
But they are his people. Beautiful as the first day he saw them. And surely, someday, that beauty is to return.
He vows then to heal them.
A breath escapes his lungs as he scans the cave.
Shadows bend in a corner, and red orbs glare through. Merrin startles, and it's gone. A figure, however, lingered in that shadow. It grows slowly, menacing. There is a need to fall into battle.
What is that?
A foot passes through the darkness, and a giant of a man, smiling, walks out. Ron! He is shirtless, scarred lines and bumps across his flesh. But he smiles. Gods, his smile is beautiful.
Memory superimposes into the world, and Merrin sees him, over the ground, dead, then red. The memory blurs as Ron stands before him. "Ma'rim." He says.
"Ma'rim." Merrin responds.
Then there is a moment of silence between them—Ron smiles, but there is another in him. Confusion. How am I alive? His thoughts echo in Merrin. A question he could not answer.
How was Ron alive?
Merrin shakes his head. Damnation on all of it. "I'm happy you live."
Ron nods and beholds the witnesses. They smile at him. They are happy for him. Merrin believes they see him as a savior of their savior. The guardian of their god. Believes in belief.
The mythology deepens.
Davos is below, seated on the third step of the seven-step chamber. He is alone as always, head buried in his legs. But a sound comes from him; a whimper. Merrin recalls the woman killed before him.
As always, he played the coward.
But he was not. Merrin sees it clearly. His hands, stone or not, are worn, old. Likely from axe use, but there is a difference. They are intentional. Made to look that way. Trained to become like that.
Who is he?
Merrin thinks about Catelyn and Ron. Strong humans. He needs more like them. So he calls for Davos. This he receives by a tap from a witness. He nearly jerks at the scarred face that looks at him. Nonetheless, he climbs the steps, reaching. Now stands before Merrin, sheepishly looking about. Ron, of course, is gone by then.
Like a beast caught within a trap, Davos seeks danger. They share a look, Merrin at least does, he, on the other hand, tries as much as humanly possible not to lock eyes. Merrin dismisses the witnesses; they refuse at first, but settle for three meters apart, still in the same step.
It is just him and Davos.
He would be something of an aid, wouldn't he? Merrin observes the man. Indeed, there was something hidden. He tries well to mask it, slouching, trembling, and fidgeting. But he sees it regardless. Well-toned muscles, a slender statue formed not from slavery but training.
He is something. Not a slave. Something.
I can make him useful. Merrin thinks, but he is still a coward. Acts like it anyway. A moment and his mind composes a possibility—one that requires knowledge from this man. Information that broke the never-pry vow.
For the witnesses, he says, "Tell me your story, Davos!"
There is a glint in his eyes—a moment, and it's gone, replaced by hysteria. Merrin sees it as he searches for an escape—mind rattling for something, anything to say. He now regrets the early exclamation. That revealed information, now his lie must be finer.
It takes a minute, and he knows Davos has concocted his fib. "I am a woodsman."
Merrin surprises him. "You wield the blade."
And he trembles. "That's a lie." He says, "I don't even look like a blademaster."
"So that is what you are called?"
Davos frowns. "I am not a blademaster!" He watches for confirmation. Merrin sighs.
"You are what I know you are. But you choose to lie about it. You forget I am always aware."
He backs away. "I…I.." jabbering. "I don't know what you are talking about."
"Says the blademaster that lost his sisters." Merrin hates the words he speaks.
Davos bears the full brunt of them. "You know nothing!"
Merrin offers his hand. "Let me absolve you of that guilt." He says, "Speak those words."
Davos steps back. "No!"
"You are truly then a coward."
"And what are you?" Davos accuses. "Say, what are you?"
Merrin stands shorter than him. "I am the one before you. But how long will I wait? Davos, speak your words now and be free of it, or you will be left alone with it."
He turns away, furthering the distance.
So I can't turn him. Merrin thinks, breathing the stinky air. He remains unsure of the musk source; him or the air. Yet, he watches the back of the man. Who knew he was a blademaster? Mentation only provided the possibility of sword training—a blademaster? Now that was precious.
What a loss, it was
Merrin swaths away the emotion, advances. Together, the witnesses fall behind him, silent, heads partially hidden in ragdark hoods. Most made from trousers. Odd. Merrin imagines a world of naked men, draped in nothing but hoods.
He shivers at the thought, watching the distant sauntering slaves. Fear in their motions. They need reassurance.
He flexes the pained wrist—the ache remains—everywhere. In battle, he would be useless. This is the believed use of Davos. A blademaster.
How can I get him?
Get him? The inner voice. What a change you have undergone.
Merrin stops, his eyes seal for a moment. Then he calls out to the wandering Ron. Voice loud through the vast cave—Many shook at the informality of his tones. Matters not. Sometimes, he thinks, sometimes they can see the human in their god.
They must see it to call to him.
Ron nears without aid, stronger. Mightier in form, somehow. There is no distinction in his state. Sameness. But Merrin knows the wrongness. A difference exists in the pure man. A starkness that came from his own hands.
What have I done to you?
Ron has changed; he knows this. The man who once took a blow for him was gone. This was something else. A creature of strange tropism. Who was he? Where is Ron? Merrin weeps within, feeding the internal emptiness. Everyone was changing. There is terror in that.
"Ai," Ron bows, hands folded. He looks strange without the bulky garment.
"How is everyone doing?"
Ron nods. "They live. That is good. But they..weary."
"As expected." Merrin says, "They fear what this place suggests. It is too big for a mine. They must have held the suspicions well, but this…this is a world."
"World below."
"Damantion." Merrin sighs. "They think they have died in the fire. Now in the bosom of the rav'zul."
"Assure them," Ron says, leaning back. "Savior to them."
Merrin understands, roaming his gaze through the chamber. Men dot around--seized by great fear. Even the witnesses share in this terror, thus they follow him. He is their salvation, they believe; A repeating mantra to calm the senses.
He must impart that strength into all of them.