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 knew what he did to them—the knowledge imparted itself with a painful revelation. Control. True control. This was what he must exact on these people.
Of course, there was the other way, the milder methods. To gentle their minds into strength. A sweeter 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 spiraled into chaos in placid moments. Unpredictable. They required greater strength; only with it could the battle be endured. Freedom achieved.
How easy it sounded in thought.
Merrin sighed and looked to Ron. "Any tips?"
"You have ways," he said. "Illuminate pain. Yours. Let them see you."
"Let them see me as human?" Merrin locked eyes, understanding. "A greater human."
"Human anyway."
He puffed air—it was white, cold white. Unnatural. What chill he felt now from the froststones, will imparted by him. It was unnerving, so he thought 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 offered a smile, and Ron reciprocated. "Thank you, Ron."
"Mmm."
——-
Ivory reared her palm, rain slittering down the pale skin, drenching cloth. It felt odd—the wet sensations. Not one of bathwater, but rainfall. Marvelous.
Then there was the sea of mist swirling up to her torso. White. The sky was dark, flashed with lightning, luminescence bathing the world below. She awed at this; at the distant structures hidden in the grey fog. They were shadows in white. White in shadows.
What beauty they were, like things wrought from chalk. Splendid. A pause rested in her mind—there was a question in it: How long has it been since I came outside? Years.
There had 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 was beauty.
Then a crackle tore through the heavens, flashing white across the ground. Kabel stirred. "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 made a cue just as Kabel responded.
"It's night now."
She nearly laughed. It was always night. Still, days were measured by hours—all Eastorians had an instinct to it. An internal clock to know the time. Thus, he was right. "So?"
"Everyone will be indoors."
"Why?"
"They fear the fallen."
"Stupid," she muttered. Known to all was the sheer protection that existed in Valor. No bolide would descend here. Any would be blown by whiteTrumpets. Dismantled. Ignorance. She sighed. "So where are we going?"
Kabel led her somewhere—they walked, the rain showering. Against the earth, it sizzled, fuming white into the air. Mist. This birthed the sea of fog. Tiding. He led her—odd, but she allowed it. Just for today, she accepted the vulnerability.
"Didn't you say I'm to meet my people?" Ivory said. "But now they sleep. How is that to happen?"
"Patience."
"Says the man who will soon have his head away from his body."
He trembled briefly—Ivory laughed internally at it. "You have not answered me yet."
Kabal sighed, "We are here."
"We are wher—" Two orbs of light struck through the fog. She was pulled to the side just in time as a boxy square zoomed past. Its movement was against the earth, floating. That was a groundShip—using casted means to propel itself against the earth. Ivory thought about the creator; she knew him, but had forgotten. How rare that was; perhaps he was unworthy.
"Didn't you say most of them are asleep!" She pulled away from him. His hand had been on her waist. "What are you planning?" Fingers edged to the oredite blade. Kabal simply smiled and said, "What point is there in me telling you, anyway?"
He took something from his robe and tossed it into the air. It burned with a white brilliance. Like eiya, only brighter. Then, the fog surrounded them, pushed by an invisible wall, bringing surrounding exposure. Ivory noticed the crossroad they stood in; buildings walled each side. They were pyramids—black, some lofty, some stunted. She wondered how Cintry looked from above—a collection of trigons, no doubt. Dark threesides.
Kabel moved towards one seven meters high. "This is the place."
"And where is this place?"
He smiled. "A church."
Ivory turned and walked away. "I'm going back."
Kabel grabbed 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 said.
"A dead Aspirant."
He turned her abruptly. They faced each other, personal. What bravado he had for an Aspirant. What lack of fear… It was madness. Yet, she accepted it, just for today. He cupped her four-fingered palms together and said, "This is a special place."
"Because it's a church?"
"Yes," he said, "but because I want you to see."
"See what?"
"The myth." His breath chilled against her frostVeil. "The myth of belief. Of strength. It is that myth that gives the hundreds that die meaning." There was a pause in his motions, his head cocking to the sky. White flashed against his face. "You must embrace that myth."
Ivory grasped no meaning, but quieted.
"You must fit yourself into the cog of belief. They must look at you and nod with satisfaction. Yes. Here lies our savior."
He looked at her hand, and a frown creased 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 tightened. "You must become what is believed."
Ivory held herself. "You plan to make me a messiah."
"An old word," he said, smiling. "You are to be something new. Something never seen before. The god promised by the prophecy."
"Fanaticism." Ivory pulled away. "You are a fanatic."
There was confusion on his features. "No," he said, "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 made him hear the mockery in her tone.
"Be it a god, or a man, or a princess." Yellow dots faded around him, swaying. "The cog is needed to exist. It must exist. It needs to exist. The world is on the brink of damnation. You know this. Everyone feels this. A change must rise in the common era. The savior must be born."
"And that is what you see in me," Ivory observed 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 desired to impose on her.
Never be controlled by the whims of the beast.
"I see you, Ivory of Valor," he suddenly said, his voice flowing into her awareness. "I see what is inside you."
"A few days with a highHeir and you know them," she lampooned, folding her arms.
His shoulders softened. "I do not seek to betray or control you."
"You couldn't."
"I could."
Ivory was stunned: He knew her vulnerability. He knew how well he confused her. He was a mystery—unknown, unknowable. She wanted to learn, was curious, a thing that surely opened a path to her internality. Now, he wormed his way in. No, he always was. This was just the acknowledgement of the intrusion.
She tried to break free, but he pulled her in. "I would rather be controlled by you," he said. "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 hated her words. They were a lie. Kabel was something else. Something new, something different. He intrigued her. But this she must say. The highness must stand above all—even the wanted.
He sighed. "Hear me, Valor," he said, and moved towards a dark edifice of a building, grabbing the knob. The fog parted in his motions, pushed by the strange not-eiya. Then his fingers lingered on the knob. "I pray you someday speak your words."
He opened the door, and the first sensation was a scent of acidic metal. She knew it. It was Elitum. Then there was the other—the chattering of steps, tiny feet based on the resonance. That she knew too: Black bugs. Her mind fitted this data into a pool of archived memories. Quick, fast, precision long honed for years.
She knew: Bugs… Fermen.