Merrin saw then the measure of strength she employed in ceasing her expressions. Lips twitching, brows slightly furrowing. In a moment, she said, "What?" the sweetness of tones laced it. "What do mean by six days?"
So, it's your turn to be dumbfounded. "The Gresendent sister told me of 7 days now six."
"A worthless time," she snapped. "Mist this! This is not enough…." There was an instant of silence. One strangely only deepened by the distant bangs of iron on iron. Merrin soon sensed calmness returning to her.
What control she had? He thought. She would have made a good ashman.
She said, "I can do with that…But first, you have to swear to do your part when that time comes."
"I swear it.
"I guess I am to trust in your words?"
"Yes."
She sighed then smiled, "If only I had myself a ta'renheal to assure your words. Very well, meet me at the shack."
"Which?"
"The one you placed a man in a selunn plague."
With the finality of rigorous thinking, I now conclude that the path of a caster is one of pure damnation. How often must we learn this? Was the extensive knowledge of the Talemir not enough?—Letter from a Caster to the Comes of the east.
Merrin was a creature of slow movement and careful observation. Before, he had only to deal with the searching Excubitor, now there was this. The earlier attack opened up many possibilities, including annoying outcomes that he did not plan for nor foresee.
How was he to escape when the entire mine searched for him? Mists! How can I buy food when I stay hidden? He was seated, legs bent, hands wrapped forward in thought. This was a posture of invisibility—at least in the manner of how cliché it was in the mines. Many did it; him doing the same would arouse little suspicion. He hoped anyway.
Merrin sat between two dismantled buildings, roofs gone, made vacuous over time by wanting slaves. He heard the stone or maybe iron tops made good beds. For some time, that is, before the heat reduced what they had.
In the bare cloister of side walls, red brown dirt and distant heat like warm breath against face, Merrin felt the pouch between his hands. The cells clicked, shuffling about as his fingers traced their shape and size. He found them many—the amount uncertain, yes, but a wealth nonetheless.
A thing that would provide food for all. Almighty knew the witnesses needed it.
He waited.
How can I buy food without being seen? Light as dim as it was existed in the mines. However, for the relative completion of the needed, he desired the darkness. In the blackness, he would be a true ashman. Shadowed in ash, too. He believed even the Excubitors would find it a tiring act to find him. But reality resisted the vision.
Merrin sighed and delved into the procession of many things. He shifted his mind to the words spoken earlier of a plague he had given. An occurrence that brought the mines to his heels. He searched and searched, yet found no indication he had done such things.
Reckless indulgence….he recalled the sister's words and found them like judging sounds pressing against his will. Had something been done in the moments of his fear? When the man—stranger brought hands to kill him, had he casted more than just the winds?
The man's words create a break in that possibility…Merrin thought, recalling the talk of the quelled Assaliant. He said it's been happening for a while now. I guess a day or three—plenty of time before I snapped as a caster. It couldn't have been me.
Or it could.
I may have done this at the time of my awakening…Or maybe it's not me…Merrin grumbled. He felt tightened—a hard noose of the mines wrapped around his neck, staying his actions.
Before now, strife, chaos were a thing permanent here. His presence alone brought an outlet for it. From the vast as the saving of the Slaves from the sisters, to the small, of a leader's assault.
Where is Kzeith?
These things were like boiling water covered—the bubbles—the emotions of people. The desire. The rage. Merrin suddenly shuddered as a notion broke in.
I am to be the child hand that uncovers the water!
It felt like a thing of fate. And here, face buried between his legs, Merrin sensed looming danger.
Savior, protect me…Merrin prayed to the aspect of the almighty and found himself writing the words on dry, hot land. As should the method of prayer be. He winced through it, a warm throbbing present in the fingers. Done with that, he passed them back, fiddling with the cells.
Yet, instants passed, and no answer presented itself. The money had been gained at great risk to himself, but slowly, with the passing of moments, they grew to be a dangerous hold. Anyone with a mind would notice them, and when that happened, Merrin would then face a greater threat.
Excubitors, leaders, slaves, and the weak and hungry. All of them would come for him…
When did this happen?
He heard steps, quick, precise, soft in the way they padded against the rough earth. Merrin moved—an attempt before halting it. He recognized the steps, smiled. Turning to the front, a figure moved from one side of the house, approaching another.
Black-haired, muscular, bearded. Ron.
"Ma'rim!" Merrin said in hushed tones.
Luck smiled, and Ron, likely prompted by the sureness of familiarity with the greeting, stopped. He turned and met Merrin's gaze. Locked.
A smile curled up his face, he said, "Ma'rim, this what?"
"Come!" Merrin could not wait for customary casualness and instead waved frantically. "Come quickly."
Ron obeyed, and in the same elegant manner he moved, his steps turned quicker, almost gliding. He soon arrived, any sign of breathlessness a stranger to his lips.
"This, strange thing," he said, standing, towering.
"I need you to do something."
"Ai, but important thing. I slept suddenly. A strange thing. Also, Long now searching. Witnesses need you. Something important."
They need me? Merrin thought, mind collecting variables in an attempt at an informed understanding. Nothing. He shifted his gaze, staring past Ron to the bustling exterior of the two buildings. Many slaves, like blurs of uninspired form, walked around. None paid attention. Good.
He looked back. "Alright, where are they?"
"The place you first met them.
The cave? Merrin sensed that particular place now harbored uniqueness for the sole reason of the Origin they shared. There, he had proclaimed something to them. There, they gave themselves to him…What is the problem?
"Ok, Ron," Merrin said, deliberately taking on a studious self. "I need you to buy food."
"Ah, this thing easy. Why hard on it?" Ron chuckled.
Merrin raised the pouch, shaking it. The sound of stones clicking echoed, and Merrin, in the sureness of everything, saw Ron freeze—his smile creaking on the side.
Then, he said, "This money…Hmm. Much."
"Yes," Merrin said, "I…found it." He knew his words an obvious attempt at deception—not a lie, but the interpretation of the meanings would offer that outcome. However, this was a safety measure. If the owner came, and they would, Ron would be exempt from the blame.
He asked nonetheless. "This money. Where?" Ron said,
Silence.
"I see." Ron huffed and smiled. "Ai, this done now."
Merrin found himself gripped with an emotion of sorts. He stood there, quiet, while the need for a response lingered. There was strangeness to it, this devotion. It made no sense. This man. This likely aspirant, who had done more than he had, accepted this without question.
Merrin contemplated this but said, "I'm going now."
Ron nodded, and with the same manner of calm movement, he strode from the gap. Merrin remained silent in thought.
What do the Witnesses need? He pulled his attention from the question and instead reveled in what had been done. Food came now. Today, regardless of what, they would feast….At least in the inhibition posed by the mines. But for now, that was enough.
I saw it too…him…He walked the sea—confirmed statement from a nightsailer.
She awoke to the multi-sound.
Ivory gained awareness in the moments of an Exchange. Both voices drew familiarity.
"Have you tried using Moss to dull the pain?"
"Doing that can lead to addiction. We cannot risk it. Perhaps a ware can help?"
"Ware? You would have me subject her to some tackless castWarer?"
"A cleanseWitch might be taught to use it."
"Doesn't matter. No ware able to do this has been improved. The theocracy says that."
"Then your grace. In this, I am useless."
There was silence, an unnerving one. Ivory knew in the depths of herself the pregenitors of the voice, or particularly one of them. Mother. She was here, in the room. Why?
Then, it came. The recollection of prior events rushed in like shards of images, shifting and switching faster by the moment. She saw the whiteness, the strange creature in oily robes. The emerlt hidden in her robes. Many things. So many things.
How decisive she was in that moment.
Does mother approve?
Ivory still plagued in the darkness—sound alone became eyes. A worthless perception for one not learned in such arts. Excubitors could do something similar, she heard. Then again, who knew the selection of abilities afforded by those rings of theirs?