I must make more men into witnesses. They must believe in me, so they have strength in themselves. This is the way. The only way. The mind is the source of weakness and strength, and I am to become the positive trigger.
The positive trigger.
A damn mental cue.
Merrin knows what he does to them—the knowledge imparts itself with a painful revelation. Control. True control. This is what he must exact on these people. Of course, there was the other way, the milder methods. To gentle their minds into strength. A sweater act. But the needed time was lost in that event.
Anything could happen. Anything did happen. In this undermines, reality played the role of a madman. It spirals into chaos in placid moments. Unpredictable. They require greater strength; only with it could the battle be endured. Freedom achieved. How easy it sounded in thought.
Merrin sighs, looks to Ron. "Any tips?"
"You have ways." He says, "Illuminate pain. Yours. Let them see you."
"Let them see me as human?" Merrin locks eyes, understands. "A greater human."
"Human anyway."
He puffs air—it is white, cold white. Unnatural. What chill he felt now from the froststones, will imparted by him. It is unnerving, so he thinks to distract:
Let them see me as a man god. A god that chooses to be human for them. Let them know I share the same pain as they do. Let them see how well I endure it. Observe the way I conquer my agony. And let them imitate it.
He offers a smile, and Ron reciprocates. "Thank you, Ron."
"Mmm."
-----
Ivory rears her palm, rain slittering down the pale skin, drenching cloth. It feels odd. The wet sensations. Not one of bathewater, but rainfall. Marvelous. Then there is the sea of mist swirling up to her torsos. White. The sky is dark, flashed with lightning, luminescence bathing the world below. She awes at this. At the distant structures hidden in the grey fog. They are shadows in white. White in shadows.
What beauty they were, like things wrought from chalk. Splendid. A pause rests in her mind—there is a question in it: How long has it been since I came outside?
Years.
There has never been a reason for it. Within the castle, all came to her. The vassal clans arrived in black ships, and the merchants did in such. Never a reason to step into the rain and the mist. It is beauty. Then a crackle tears through the heavens, flashing white across the ground.
Kabel stirs. "We need to move now."
"Where are we going?" The path to here was a secret tunnel, unknown to even her. Not so for Kabel. He knew—likely due to theocratic connection. Always, the church sought to learn and control the clans.
I will have to seal that path once I return. She makes a cue just as Kabel responds.
"It's night now."
She nearly laughs. It is always night. Still, days are measured by hours—all eastorians have an instinct to it. An internal clock to know the time. Thus, he is right.
"So?"
"Everyone will be indoors."
"Why?"
"They fear the fallen."
"Stupid." She mutters. Known to all is the sheer protection that exists in Valor. No bolide would descend here. Any would be blown by whiteTrumpets. Dismantled. Ignorance. She sighs. "So where are we going?"
Kabel leads her somewhere—they walk, the rain showering. Against the earth, it sizzles, fuming white into the air. Mist. This births the sea of fog. Tiding. He leads her—odd, but she allows. Just for today, she accepts the vulnerability.
"Didn't you say I'm to meet my people?" Ivory says, "But now they sleep. How is that to happen?"
"Patience."
"Says the man who will soon have his head away from his body."
He trembles briefly—Ivory laughs internally at it. "You have not answered me yet."
Kabal sighs, "We are here."
"We are wher—" Two orbs of light strike through the fog, she is pulled to the side, just in time as a box, square zoomed past. Its movement is against the earth, floating. That is a groundShip—using casted means to propel itself against the earth. Ivory thinks about the creator, she knows, but has forgotten. How rare that was, perhaps he is unworthy.
"Didn't you say most of them are asleep!" She pulls away from him. His hand had been on her waist. "What are you planning?" Fingers edge to the oredite blade, Kabal simply smiles, says
"What point is there in me telling you, anyway?" He takes something from his robe, tosses it into the air. It burns with a white brilliance. Like eiya, only brighter. Then, the fog surrounds them, pushed by an invisible wall, bringing surrounding exposure.
Ivory notices the crossroad they stand in, buildings wall each. They are pyramids—black, some lofty, some stunted. She wonders how cintry looks from above—a collection of trigons, no doubt. Dark threesides.
Kabel moves towards one—7 meters high. "This is the place."
"And where is this place?"
He smiles. "A church."
Ivory turns, walks away. "I'm going back."
Kabel grabs her hand. "Wait."
What did he think my reaction would be? A church. "I find it funny you chose to die for a church."
"I am an Aspirant." He says.
"A dead Aspirant."
He turns her abruptly. They face each other, personal. What bravado he has for an Aspirant. What lack of fear…It's madness. Yet, she accepts it, just for today. He cups her four-fingered palms together, says, "This is a special place."
"Because it's a church?"
"Yes." He says, "But because I want you to see."
"See what?"
"The myth." His breath chills against her frostVeil. "The myth of belief. Of strength. It is that myth that gives the hundreds that die meaning." Their is a pause in his motions, head cocking to the sky. White flashing against his face. "You must embrace that myth."
Ivory grasps no meaning, but quietens.
"You must fit yourself into the cog of belief. They must look at you and nod with satisfaction. Yes. Here lies our savior." He looks at her hand, and a frown creases his lips. "Right now, there is horror outside the great clan territories. Humans are killed by the numbers. You might hate the theocracy, but without them, the myth is shattered. And without it, there is no hope for unity. Men will scatter. And death will pick us off one by one."
His grip around hers tightens. "You must become what is believed."
Ivory holds herself. "You plan to make me a messiah."
"An old word." He says, smiles. "You are to be something new. Something never seen before. The god promised by the prophecy."
"Fanaticism." Ivory pulls away. "You are a fanatic."
There is confusion on his features. "No." He says, "I am a believer. I believe in a brighter world. In something pure and radiant. The myth must endure. The myth that keeps men unified. Without blood, without war, it must rally beneath one."
"A god." Ivory makes him hear the mockery in her tones.
"Be it a god, or a man, or a princess." Yellow dots fade around him, swaying. "The cog is needed to exist. It must exist. It needs to exist. The world is on a brink of damnation. You know this. Everyone feels this." He says, "A change must rise in the common era. The savior must be born."
"And that is what you see in me," Ivory observes the flowing mist—nowhere of necessity. Just anywhere that wasn't him. His words. It wasn't for her. It was for another. A wish that he desires to impose on her.
Never be controlled by the whims of the beast.
"I see you, Ivory of Valor." He suddenly says, voice flowing into her awareness. "I see what is inside you."
"A few days with a highHeir and you know them." She lampoons, folds her arms.
His shoulders soften. "I do not seek to betray or control you."
"You couldn't."
"I could."
Ivory stuns: He knows her vulnerability. He knows how well he confuses her. He is a mystery, unknown, unknowable. She wants to learn, is curious, a thing that surely opens a path to her internality. Now, he worms his way in. No, he always was. This was just the acknowledgement of the intrusion.
She tries to break free, but he pulls her in. "I would rather be controlled by you." He says, "Today might be my last day before sailing the waters. For it, I speak my truth. I believe in the fatherless princess. The strength that grows and resists the temptation of tyranny. The intelligence. The fierce. I believe you are the prophesied one. I believe in that internal smile that never sees the light of eyes. I truly believe."
"And that makes you the same as every other mad Aspirant." She hates her words. They are a lie. Kabel was something else. Something new, something different. He intrigues her. But this she must say. The highness must stand above all—even the wanted.
He sighs. "Hear me, Valor." He says, moves towards a dark edifice of a building, grabs the knob. The fog parted in his motions, pushed by the strange not-eiya. Then his fingers lingers on the knob, "I pray you someday speak your words."
He opens the door, and the first is a scent of acidic metal. She knows it. It is Elitum. Then there is the other, the chattering of steps, tiny feet based on the resonance. That she knows too; Black bugs. Her mind fits this data into a pool of archived memories. Quick, fast, precision LONG honed for years.
She knows: Bugs…Fermen.