Panic, fear, dread, whatever the hell the emotion was, all of it had to be controlled one way or another. And in Mitry's opinion, it was best to either harness it somehow, perhaps by directing it toward something, or by letting it pile on itself until it reached a breaking point that could be used for one's own nefarious—or righteous—purposes. In Mitry's case, it was obviously the former.
But what about when such feelings came from you, from within, instead of someone else? You control them; you hide them; you listen to them and believe them. And you do so until you can find an adequate solution.
Let's say that you have a problem, one that causes a considerable amount of fear or worry. For example, a loose priest has entered your village; they have magical powers that you cannot control. What do you do?
Do you simply get rid of them? Sure, you could.
Or... would you much rather use them since they have said magical abilities? Absolutely.
It doesn't matter that Uanna was 'loose', nor did it truly matter that fear and worry piled, not only within Mitry, but also the villagers, especially when the clearest and easiest solution for such a problem was a word everyone seemed to love: trust.
In this case, not real trust, per se... but instead an illusion of said trust. For had Mitry not planted the seeds already? Had he not invited her into his home, had he not made her space within his house, had he not offered her food, drink, and a roof over her head? Had he not shown her around and even invited her to take part in meetings which she wasn't ever supposed to know about?
What about the house he was going to build for her?
It was clear, it was obvious. All things; in fact, everything was going according to his plans, and there was nothing anyone or anything could do about it. The goddamn world could end tomorrow, and even then, his seeds would grow, and his garden would blossom, even when an unaccounted weed had taken root and could at any time poison or take over the rest of the soil. Everything was fine. This was his job, though one he had taken for himself, and he did his job perfectly. Every. Single. Time.
He had never been caught. All those who had ever doubted him now followed him. And those who have opposed him are no longer around...
Mitry could feel how his nails were digging into the skin of his palm. He needed to calm down. He was in control. He was always in control, he thought to himself as he looked at that damn woman. She had carried the tree to the middle of the village, then went ahead and turned it into firewood, there and then. And not just chopping it into pieces, but making it dry enough to be used today if need be.
Her magics were amazing. There was no other tool more useful than her... other than Mitry, of course.
The only problem was the audience she had gathered. There was fear... or perhaps awe... that could pile upon itself. So this was the moment he needed to perform. He needed to harness these emotions of uncertainty, and build an illusion of trust... and a reminder of his power; of his word.
Mitry formed a smile. "Miss Uanna, you truly are wonderful! I don't think any of us has seen anything like this before!" he spoke clearly, making sure that everyone could hear him. "Thanks to you, I'm certain that there won't be a household in this village that goes cold!" He had to normalize this. If Uanna performed such a miracle on a daily basis, the people would get used to it, and then the novelty of it, as well as the fear and awe of it, would simply die down. She would become mundane, just a useful tool, an axe, and nothing more.
Uanna looked at him. "It is the least that I can do. Something that I've done many times before, and will be happy to do whenever it is needed," she said while piling the firewood into neat bundles with her magics.
Shivers ran through him. How could she do something like this? And so easily? How did magic even work? Mitry swallowed. "Will you be alright? I've heard that it takes a toll on the user, though I'm not sure what kind."
Uanna shrugged. "Not something that you have to worry about. I'll be fine. Thanks," she half-muttered. Was it something she did not want to talk about? Or something she wanted to hide for one reason or another... Mitry almost grinned. He needed to get closer to this woman; he needed to dig deeper and find a weakness he could exploit, either in her magic or in her personality.
"Even then, dear Uanna," he said, stepping closer. "You mustn't do all the work for us," he reached for a bundle of wood. "Come now, before the hour goes by, let us distribute all this wood equally!" he urged the others to do as he did.
For a good while, the other villagers looked at him, Uanna, and the bundles. And you really need just the first stone for the rest to follow, for Norlen wasn't one to hesitate needlessly; instead, he followed their 'Father' like a good sheep should. And soon enough, most were reaching for bundles to carry.
Mitry allowed himself a smile, for it suited the situation. All ought to see that he was without fear, that he was willing to trust the priest and her magics.
When Uanna was done, Mitry could see from the corner of his eye how she observed him and his every action. Was the woman perhaps thankful for the chance that he had given her... or was she trying to pry past the mask, to witness the shit that lies beneath? Mitry hoped for the former.
A villager, Thom, crouched right before, picking up a bundle of wood, only to drop it back down, almost onto Mitry's feet. Mitry managed to hold his tongue and not curse him out loud; instead, he got up and faced the man.
Thom stood wide-eyed, his gaze pointed at the sky. He looked confused rather than afraid.
"What's wrong?"
Thom swallowed and slowly pointed toward the skies. Mitry turned around, still holding on to the curses that he wanted to berate the man with. Only to be met with a spreading darkness from the northeast. It was like a sudden cloud, something he had never seen before, but it reminded him of something that he had read about. His brows furrowed, and a sigh escaped him. He would have to ask about it, and the only one he could ask was that damned priest.
But what else could he do, really?
He walked to Uanna, who had her gaze set away from the sky; she stood around, just observing the work that was being done around her. She seemed like she wanted to help—it made her mannerisms even more awkward than usual.
"Say, Miss Uanna…" Mitry started, and the woman turned toward him. "Are you aware of any fire mountains up in the north?"
Uanna seemed to think for a moment. "Why?"
Mitry pointed at the sky.
"Ah, I see… That's quite… interesting," she muttered.
"So… are there?"
Uanna shook her head. "Not that I am aware of… but whatever the cause is, it does not bode well…" she said, then began walking toward Mitry's house.
"Where are you going?"
"To write a report! The Priesthood will certainly know what has happened!"
Mitry gritted his teeth and looked after her as she hurried off. He felt apprehension begin to swell within... What would she write, truly?
He shook his head and turned around, toward the sky and the approaching dark clouds. Some of the villagers around him watched with him, no one knowing what might be the cause of it, or having even a guess as to what it might be.
But Mitry's mind raced. Within, there was reason and there was faith...
It would be reasonable to assume that it was just one of those fire mountains, or volcanoes, or whatever, that had decided to erupt. Surely a thing that might cause great damage... but why would such a thing happen now, if it weren't for something great that was about to happen?
He swallowed, as if salivating because of the idea.
Could this be the sign he had been waiting for all this time?
He turned back toward where Uanna had been running to.
Was it nearly time to burn some bridges? A smile encroached on his face, and he did not hide it away. There was no reason. He was with his congregation, and they would see in his smile whatever Mitry wanted them to see—trust.
There was no reason for fear. Father Mitry was with them. He could feel how the villagers around him became calmer; he didn't even have to say a word, and most returned to the bundles of firewood, collecting them and carrying them away to their houses.
Mitry could not be any prouder, for all knew, although only intuitively, that he was in control; that because of him, everything would be fine.