The shadow formed on the wall before her. It stared at her, she felt, but there was a wrongness to it. Not her, that was not what it stared at. Her soul, perhaps. Her being? Her essence? Whatever it was, this thing, this being was dangerous. Be it madness or not, this edged close to affliction to her person.
She had to—
"Who are you to enter—"
Ivory sensed an intent of ruin within that disjointed voice, and this drove her. Quickly, mind racing, she delved to the side, picking the box and the glove within it. She felt a need to ponder more on the action, to analyze what brought all of this.
But there was no time.
The thing, whatever it was, drew realer by the second. Its outline gave a more solid form of dark cloth with eyes, somewhere staring at her. Terrible awareness gripped, and Ivory abandoned all pretenses.
The glove slid into her right hand, and the overwhelming realization of power surged through her. So massive—the power. Like a tide of endless water, pushing madly at the banks of all things. She was alone in this. Everything, by some means, was away from her.
A solitary existence meant to command and bend others to her will.
She pushed this power violently; she pushed it all. A ringing sound flooded the totality and a whiteness. An instant occurrence without time happened. The room turned white! All things: the wall, the lamps, the stones, the bed, the roof. Everything became white. And she was alone with color.
A starkness within the bleached room.
Ivory panted, legs crumbling to the ground. Weakness, horrible frailty assaulted her. Stomach churned within itself, and the mind slowed in the speed of enumeration. She was tired, terribly so.
I can't let…them. The thought broke before completion, yet the internal understanding of them did not experience the same. She reached for the glove and dragged it out. Then, in a moment of final strength, she forced it into her clothes.
The safest place.
Even if she were to pass out, none would search her person. That would, to them, be a failure in decorum. Regardless, the enemy, the strange threat, was gone.
Darkness swelled into her vision, but the strength, the will to resist, was gone, drained away. She could speak no more, think, anything. There was nothing. How frightening that was? The weakness.
She heard the door slide open, and a crowd of shouts followed in quick procession.
So that was how casting is like…..
Merrin stared down an Ardent. The Creature, dark once, was now no longer. White. There was only a pale spray of color over the thing. Though by the passage of time, the color dripped down like rain sliding down rock, leaving behind the same blackness.
Fear gripped him. He saw it—felt it. That woman. A caster. She had done something that pushed his mind away from the Ardent. In a flash of light, he was bereft of the means through which he saw the creature. This shivered him.
From whispers, he saw and heard through what was shown, he thought her incapable of casting. Wasn't she yet to snap? But what he saw, yes, a display only possible through the Emerlts she wore—a strangeness on its part was still one of great expertness. How could a person who had never casted before do that?
He looked to the bird floating by the side of the affected Ardent. "Can there be multiple El'shadies?"
It sneered. "Do you see her here?"
"She once was."
"A mere trace of connections. Excellent in the manner, but the limit to it. You spied on her with an Ardent, a thing with a connection to you. She, in turn, unconsciously trailed that link and found you." Its wings flapped. "This, in many ways, is your error."
I know. Merrin snapped to himself but sighed, "She's gone now, right? She can't find this place."
There was a moment of silence. "This place lies in a point that can be wandered in, but likely not can they do so with enough closeness to enter."
So it's too big that not many can get close enough? Merrin looked to the sky, the looming mountain in the form of a brittle gate. He couldn't as well sleep to find it taken from him. Measures of protection were needed. But how?
For the prior invasion, all he did was give instructions to the Ardents—not to harm, but to scare. He, on the other hand, donned a bizarre form. An eye ablaze and a hand the same. There was no particular reason for the form, he felt; he simply wanted both a means to stop identification and instill dread.
As for the how of the form, the many beads had more uses than he imagined. Creation in a single word.
Maybe I can continue with this…Since it's mostly safe, protection should be something for a later time. Also, there were the ardents. Merrin thought with subtle awareness that these creatures held greater strength than he imagined them. More potent, perhaps.
He glanced through the Space and said, "If I want to come here, how would I?"
"You could allow a fist to your face," the bird mocked, then, "Sleep with the desire for it."
I see…He heaved a breath, forcing the weak self that wanted a forever presence in the gray world. He had to return. Time was of the essence. The witnesses, they all awaited him.
Hold it, but don't revel in it.
Merrin forced the desire, and the darkness swallowed him. But for a private moment, his eyes caught sight of motion. A thing in the darkness. Far away, within a castle. A winged creature.
Religion has a place in many uses. Hope, love, peace, beauty. This and more. But then, there is the use most exploited by the monsters called men—the fear of heretic retribution—Texts of a scholae on the topic of religion.
Merrin felt the weakness fade and the awareness of his oneness rise within. He blinked out the blur, watching with mild clarity over the dense place. Wall, crude, rough. A cave, no doubt.
He had been brought here. That for sure was a certainty.
Did someone knock me out before the cave? Was it Ron?
Merrin imagined the man, his hands the size of heads curled. Such a force would break clean of any head. He touched the spot, realizing outside the mild numbness on the cheeks, he was still fully with a head.
Who did then?
"You have a sturdy face—my fist hurts." There was a low laugh. "You can't imagine how rarely that happens."
Merrin turned, his eyes resting on the form of a Figure. A man, seated cross-legged on high stone. He wore a wide smile, hair brown and black, and eyes grayish white. A familiar stranger.
"Yoid?"
"That's me!" He said, tone, glee-filled. "So what's with you? Firstly, you cause such a commotion in the den that not a single life isn't talking about it. Then you walk as a person without a mind. Strange things."
For a while, watching the speaker, Merrin deliberated on many things. One, what he had done meant an Excubitor now quested for him—he would be found soon. That was inevitable. He could hide, but, somehow, a mistake perhaps, but in some manner, he believed the heat brand served more purpose than a caller. With it, the Excubitor could find him.
Work fast! The words shuddered through his mind.
"So?" Yoid pressed.
"Who exactly are you?" Merrin snapped, "Are you related to Kzeith or something? You look alike but aren't. And ever since you, I have not seen him."
"That serves a fortunate function than you may think," Yoid smiled. "Don't you think that's enough?"
Fear—Merrin grew apprehensive. A mere question intended to reveal a likely mundane origin now shaped up to become more. Who was this? That appeared as a dangerous question.
"Now…I'm a slave—as you are. The same, maybe," he said in low sounds. "I am related to Kzeith. Closer than you think. A housed family."
"He's your brother?"
"We are close."
"Where is he?" Merrin kept on.
"Close."
Is he keeping the secret? Does he imagine I want to harm him? Merrin contemplated the thoughts, then said, "Does he have any intention to harm me?"
Yoid said, "No thoughts. He has no such thoughts. This I guarantee."
Merrin stared, ruminating over the deeper meanings of the words. They implicated a certain chance that Yoid was his savior; The one that held back the wrath of Kzeith—the man that claimed he had harmed him.
Was this it? Merrin locked eyes with him, peering into those gray eyes that betrayed a hidden antipathy. "Thank you," he said, getting to his feet. Now, I need to find money for the sun witnesses.
He turned, weak rays of light casting shadows from the side door. He saw this and marked it as the door outside the cave, though the issue was which cave he was in—where he was and how far from where he needed to be.