Merrin saw them gather round, stones had taken the form of desks. One atop the other. Placed in crude symmetry of roundness, draped over by the useful black cloth owned by Ron. It formed a table, and seated in a circle, atop high stones, were the witnesses. Slaves before. No more.
They shared murmurs amongst themselves. Eyes a drawn veil of internal suspicion. It didn't work. Merrin knew this in the manner of the askance glances passed with each wording.
The reverence was breaking.
The witnesses were losing faith.
Merrin quaked at this realization, but hid it in false smiles. He watched them, anxious—they too shared that. The hungry ones at least. They knew now of the food provided, and some grew grateful for its provision. Some, however, the ones Merrin suspected related to the girl, refused such expressions.
They scowled at him. Hidden, of course, but he could still see it. Their eyes—shifting. Disgusted at the glee spewing from the hungry ones. If they could, he suspected, they would shatter the stone desk, break the high stones. And with Pierce Stone, they would spike his head.
A fear-filled thrill shot through him—and he felt the makings of force flow. No, control. He heaved a breath and looked to Moeash. Partially, this was attributed to a need for adoration. He sought to see the pureness in the boy man.
There was none.
Moeash was further from the round desk. He and Ron gathered things—brown bowls, spoons. Those needed tableware. But Merrin needed them. Close. He felt drowned—dying. Lost. He needed an Anchor. Something.
Merrin looked down, staring at the flaky, darkly clothed table. He raised his part of the cloth and saw the underparts. White bleached as the witnesses taught it nearer to the believed sun of ancient days. He did not think so. Something about a white sun seemed off. Why white? One could assume the lamps an imitation of that luminance, but why white?
He fell off the thought and recalled past experiences. Catelyn. The virgin harlot. A meeting had already been arranged—though the exact time was quite ambiguous in its statement. He could come anytime, he sensed that. She was a unique creature—intellect, spiteful, and ambitious. Several qualities needed to survive the mines. Though part of him, fueled by the religious knowns of the church, discredited her means of survival.
But he knew that was her only way. Women became things in the mines. She, however, had a name. An odd one. But still a name nonetheless. Merrin questioned then her knowledge of the symbols. Safe for Ron, an aspirant or not, he knew none with caster knowledge. She did. Who was she?
Not a brightCrown. She could be a learned person, but that too was a thing of great rarity. Aspirants controlled the flow of education, and he only knew as he did by the specialty awarded as an Ashmen. The clan laws offered certain…immunities. What was she, then?
A member of some special clan?
He briefed himself on the clans he knew and found them minuscule. Well, if I leave these mines, time to learn more will surely come forth.
Merrin found the silence of thought unnerving and quickly dropped into a different notion.
Ivory.
A strange woman. A brightCrown. Not just anyone, but an heir of a great clan. And not just any clan, but Valor. The supposed protectors of the ashMountains. Why didn't they protect leim?
Don't blame others for your actions. Merrin winced internally. A moment passed, and calmness returned. Now, he pooled in the collective scenes seen through the Ardent and analysed them.
Not much emerged. Outside the seamless brutality the brightCrowns had for their own, and the utter vastness and wealth they possessed. Merrin reckoned a single wall's worth of froststones could cover half of the caverooms within the mines.
Yet, they horde them.
But what could he do against that? Nothing. Regardless of the mindless bravado that might plague him, self-preservation still acted strongly against such stupid ventures. He shifted through several thoughts, but found none worthy of further pondering.
Now, there was nothing to think about, and reality faded back into his awareness. He saw Ron, the giant man, holding a bowl. A piece that appeared tiny in his mighty hands. Beside him was Moeash, and others. They wore a smile and placed the food around the tables. Same too for the witnesses seated on the floor. Though they too circled the stone desk.
He stared at them—reverence still existed. Small, but it did. Merrin, in that moment, saw himself a parasite. A leech feeding off the beliefs of these people. He could stop, break the lies and delusions, knowing of course, that it would end him. A same event that would be visited on the unprotected Witnesses.
No, I do this for them.
He smiled brightly as Ron placed the brown bowl before him. Merrin peered in and saw the contents in larger amounts than the rest. A show of something, perhaps. He was their savior, he deserved better. That was likely the echoed message.
Did he also echo it? Merrin looked down at the paste and the hard bread beside it. And knew then, to refuse this would lower him. No, he needed to be better. A mighty existence which inspired awe. God did many things. One could curse the almighty for taking a life, but the next day, they would thank him for the life given.
It was a paradox.
He felt an inkling.
He needed to become that. A being that could curse terror but blessed also. In that manner, he could lie. He could blame the failings on things done by his whims as a god.
What am I making of myself? Merrin's heart gripped cold in fear. A terrible thrill that spoke of a fanatical future. What he wanted was to save these ones. All of them, to become exceptional to warrant such a demand, but time saw this plan as a thing of great fragility. What if the clan refused? What if they saw something else?
They need to survive.
Merrin looked to the side—at the wall marred with black stone and faint, heated brownish ones. What if the entire mine saw me as the witnesses did? Would the clan kill them all? No. The clan could kill, but not like that. Wouldn't that force their hand?
What if the entirety of them all proclaimed him as something reverend, and his wishes became theirs? Even if they all could not be freed, some, by reason of potential revolt, could be spared.
I plan to use them like tools…
Merrin looked back at the witnesses and saw their silence. Eyes expectant. He said, "I am a shattered force."
A strange emotion rolled through the witnesses.
"Many things. A savior. But I'm many things." Merrin looked at them—specifically at the suspicious ones. "You cannot see me in the same manner you would see any other."
They startled at this.
"The things I do, or the things I allow, are for me to do and allow. Not for you to question and stain. You would have died screaming, lightning scroched if not for me. That is not yet an impossible future. Do not question the things I do, or question the might by which I do them. That is not for you to know. I am the path, but I walk alone. Do not attempt to know and follow."
Fear broke out. Some shook, and he saw their hands tremble. Some lowered their eyes, some bowed.
"The ways of me are misty. Don't look directly at it. It is to be a hidden thing." This should be enough, "This food I give you in return for the one you gave to me. To give is to receive. I bless you with it."
Merrin scanned the room and saw Moeash standing, staring. A strange emotion was written on his face. And like a trance of focused obscurity, he saw Moeash rained by dark feathers. They fell around him like the gentle rain—silent but with a certain warning.
Merrin startled, but as he reached for it, the scene faded and normalcy returned.
What was that?
"We apologize for the things we have done!" A witness fell to the ground, weeping. "She was a friend, I was broken by her death!"
"Yet, you live. That, on its own, is a great gift." Merrin said, "But your sin is forgiven. You may all eat"
Known meanings of discovered symbols. No one understands the true reason why symbols take the forms they take. Perhaps it is the truth that the human mind struggles in its attempt to create a pattern. But regardless, the black feather is often perceived as a change. A fallen change. —Collected meanings of symbol as transcribed by the hivemind.
"I heard blasphemy!" A voice shouted from the caveroom door, and Merrin startled at the suddenness.
A man stood at the small entrance, bathed alight by the hall's lamps. He wore a manic smile and shouted, "You can't forgive sin, only the almighty can! You claim godhead."
No! Not yet.
Before Merrin could react, he ran out, spewing the words in loud tones.
"We have a blasphemer! We have a blasphemer!"