So…" the man leaned, hands pressed on the table, his oud latched with a rope around his back. Just hanging there. Not shown outwards, but it took restraint not to snatch it from him—to take it, play it, and dance to it…
Annoying.
"So?" Merrin said, his gaze partially locked on the ring…A means to distract himself from the Oud.
"I mean." he smiled, "Marks or pretty ladies?" he said, eyes anticipating.
"I don't have any." Merrin took the oath not to lie—a shaman's Vow. "I'm not the man bringing the game," he pointed a glance at the man at the end of the board.
His face wrinkled. "I have none! But maybe this one will get me some once I own him." A grin pressed on his face—an informed grin.
He likely knows the person who made the ring. Merrin thought, eyes picking up something moving close. It's possible he got it through a second-hand, but he must have some information about the maker.
"Ah, I don't like this." The strange man beside said, a sigh dispersing from his lips. "Oh wait…You said black sun, right? That means Catelyn is the one bringing it—alright then. For the simple price of sitting with you, I will sing a story. But not one of mine—that's too expensive for you. So I will sing the black sun—the story of it. You accept? Well, of course, you do."
Merrin felt overwhelmed by the rapid bursts of words…and more, from the locale, no one wanted to interject. Hence, the man, with no resistance, pushed the original occupant and sat abruptly, a smile playing on his lips. Merrin wondered if they too could play the oud.
Cold washed through him as the image of a mouth over the instrument bloomed in his thoughts.
It took a moment for calmness to return, then he thought.
Black sun, huh? A game. But what game? Merrin looked at the man. "So black sun?"
"Yes! Black sun!" The stranger to his left sang, his voice soft as the oud he played. "I must earn my keep, shouldn't I?" he coughed and pulled upon the oud; his fingers resting over the dark strings. Thin—sharp. They seemed able to split fingers. That would be a vile outcome, as Merrin, despite his outlook, wished to hear the tunes.
Oh, how much he wanted to hear them.
"Now!" his fingers tripped the threads and a ring, sharp like the storm winds blew out. Merrin felt a placidity envelop him, his shoulders resting in response to it.
I saw a man atop the sea. Lords, he walked on the ocean with a ring of light over his head. I saw this and I praised him—Words of a nightsailer to an Excubitor.
"The Preacher, he was called. Oh, what fear he inspired in the fermen. Dangerous, vile. All this they saw in him. Fallen, they proclaimed."
His tune dulled, turning into a slow flow of sound. "They saw this and feared more as wings grew from him. What danger did he bring, and what longing did his eyes seek in the heavens? The Preacher spoke of the longest night, long before it came."
He lowered his eyes, staring at his fingers. Soft hands that strained the veins of music. "The Preacher sought the heavens to fly. He sought this but hoped to save. He preached ruin—death, chaos. Ah, but the Fermen saw him only vile."
"It came to be, on the seventh day of the seventh month. The Preacher stood in the center, preaching, praying. He spoke of a beast—larger than mountains. Hunger consuming, death heralding. He spoke this creature was to come—was to snare at them."
The music suddenly jumped, a violent tune flooding the senses. Merrin's legs jerked—to dance. Oh, lord, he wished to dance.
"He screamed then. "Hear me!" he would say, 'It grows. The beast of judgment grows—to feed. It's all wrong—false, evil. I can't stop it. I'm not yet the one. Ah. These things…No! I must save you all. I must. I must.' He shouted these words and before them all, his wings; Those wide, beautiful things, imposing in size to achieve anything, flapped. He was to fly. He was to reach for the heavens. But why? This the fermen wondered."
"Then fear took them. Dangerous fear. What if he were to call other fallen? They assumed. What if he was to call this beast of judgment? Ah, this was a horrible fear. And in it came malice."
"They brandished their swords and spears. And they came. The winged man that sought the skies was cut down, butchered in the midst of women and children. Horrible—horrible. Yet, he didn't die cursing them…He said, 'Thank you. The next one might be better. The next one might save you better.' "
The music stopped, and Merrin Froze. Cold, starved. The sudden cease brought an annoyance within him…He wanted more. Almighty, help me.
The artist—the musician, the stranger smiled. "Ah, that was a good one. My play for your chair."
Merrin stared at him and the Oud. "Was that true?" he asked, "Who are fermen, and what's the longest night? Is that the darkening? So is the preacher some prophet?"
"Ah!" the stranger glanced at him. "You believe that?" he blurted in laughter. "That's just fermen gibber. Mostly conjured after a dose of moss. My friend, read yourself a book, and you'd see no record of anything like that. And knowledge is not free—pay up and I'd tell you. But about the fermen….Hmm. Call them the ashman of the land."
A shiver came. Ashman of the land? So does that make us Fermen of the mountains? Something was unsettling about that…Ashman to him was….special. Strange how another such group existed.
Maybe I can meet one, one day.
A hand rests on his shoulder—the musician. "Friend, you are funny. I'm Hozier, and that is…." he looked to the side. "Catelyn!" he trilled.
Merrin followed his gaze, and his heart stopped. A woman, brown-haired, curled with light blue eyes. Fair skin, slender—perfect. Everything was. Dressed in a black silk queer dress; its form embroidered with plant patterns, she walked calmly, hands reached out, carrying a black square board.
How slowly she moved that her loose yet tight dress made certain to reveal the frame. Merrin, at the sight of it, felt a heat spread through his body.
His thoughts slugged. Is this normal?
She reached them, eyes low, a slight smile over her. She lowered, fingers gentle as they placed the board down. Slow and steady. Merrin for a moment found himself in oddish thoughts.
"Catelyn, your Highness." the thoughts shattered. Hozier, smile bright, anchored his arm over his face, sitting by side. "Highness? What have you brought today?"
The woman—Catelyn, glanced at him, her smile a trance-inducing thing. "The things you say make me…." She leaned closer, "Do you want to take me or something, Hozier?"
He chuckled. "Ah, no—maybe. But I won't pay for emptiness. One day, I think, you'd crawl to me begging for it."
"It's usually the other way round."
"I aim for an exception." Hozier said, "You too, should do it. Won't you? Well, of course you would. Maybe not now, but I see no other way around it."
She did not respond; instead gave a glance to the man who aimed to bind Merrin. "Do you also share the same sentiments?" she asked, "I brought you game, I brought you me. What do you bring me?"
He shuddered, a simper pressing on him. "My lucky day. The crow looks at me."
Won't he stick to one faith? Merrin thought, a realization of his own invisibility dawning on him. These people cared little for his existence—even the larger crowd, slowly withdrew their senses. All eyes now locked on this woman.
Who was she?
"Maybe after this game, I get to bed the virgin harlot."
Merrin startled. Virgin Harlot? Those words were in themselves a contradiction. How could one be a harlot, yet a virgin? Ah, lowland customs. He felt a mental pang.
"If that's what you want," she leaned close to him, her chest, side dotted with a froststone, shone blue on the man. "Then, win enough to buy me a boat."
"Ah, the harlot wants to sail the black seas."
"Anything wrong with that?" Hozier snapped, a smile still present. "Maybe that's her calling," he blurted a laugh, "To seduce the sea and maybe the fallen."
The room erupted in anarchic laughter; hands banging on the boards, many dropping down in such. Thankfully for them, the room was colder than true land, hence its floor burned not too hot. All the same, many still jerked from it.
Merrin marveled at the openness of these people, then again noted that this was not the ashMountains.
The next words enforced that knowledge. "Maybe the sea will be able to do what you men cannot."
The man startled.
"You made the harlot mad." Hozier said, "No dance today, it would seem. Well, unless you pay the private marks. Huge sum though. Often I wonder what she uses it for…What could she use it for, in these mines?"
"Being myself has its costs," Catelyn said, her eyes slowly moving. Where?
Merrin froze—now she looked at him. How sure he was that this was likely the first time she recognized his presence.
She looked away.
Mists! He felt violated somehow…
Should you really be focusing on that? His mind whispered.