Ivory shouted for him, but it was too late to retreat. Yet, Kabel turned to her, eyes wide, and ran. Swiftly, he shrouded her body with his. He smelled like wet flowers. Not the usual kind—different. Better. Genuine.
And then there was an explosion.
The wind knocked hard. It was instant, and she was thrown, but Kabel held tightly. There was fierceness in his grip, as though any lesser and he would lose something dear to him. Someone dear to him. It was unnervingly genuine. Together they smashed into the earth, her above him, deliberately cushioned.
There was a brief silence as she reared her head, his locked grip faltering.
Kabel?
What she saw was a pale face—not the smug one of hidden intellect, no, this was pallid. Blood seeping from the sharp nostrils. And those poised eyes were wide, something confused in them. He was dead. How? How was that possible? Ivory tried to stand, tripped, her hand slapping against the earth into something warm and thick.
She looked, raised her four-fingered palm, and saw blood smeared over it. Why? Kabel was pooling redness from his back; blood ponded around him. The attack. Shrapnel had been hidden within it. She cupped his face, confused.
He wasn't meant to die now. No, his head was to be cut for treason, not this. A worthless death. Blood from her palm smudged his sallow face. He didn't wake.
Why?
Was it always this easy?
Death.
She joked about it, surely, but that was her right. Not his. He was to die when she desired it. "Liar!" Ivory's fist curled, a blow into dead flesh. She was deceived. She was lied to. And worse, she had believed it, accepted the vulnerability because it tasted new, different.
She gave a final blow, but he didn't move. He should. That, or he became a liar in her awareness. He shouldn't strive for that. Never that. "WAKE UP!" She screamed the words.
"WAKE UP!" even as gentle steps padded atop the ground.
"WAKE UP!" even as a clicking of metal drew into her ears.
"WAKE UP!"
Her enemy was known now: Fermen. Ashmen of the soot fields, some called them. And now, she stood with one. She was attacked by one. Lost to one. And it came to reap her of her life.
Ivory surged with madness—rage—and dipped fingers into her bosom, producing the sleek dark Emerlt. It shone to her, salvation fitted into one hand.
Time tapered, and she draped it on. Fingers stretched within, four-fingered. But it mattered not as the internal tide roared in accordance. It was fueled by rage—a need for retribution. Something was taken. Something was required!
She looked at the sleeping Kabel. Sleeping, yes, and turned. For a moment, her rage wavered. Corpses were around her. Men, women, the mist swirling around their forms, skin sizzling against the heat. She stood alone, a bright orb floating beside her. It was Kabel's. Yet it still functioned. Good.
For now, she took a breath. "Come out," she said, stoking the tide force within. "I am Ivory of Valor. You are a Fermen. Even you, inerudite men, should know the highHeir of the Great Clan. Which means you are an assassin. Surrender yourself, and you won't have to face your skin flayed."
She said those words, but wished for their disobedience. No logic in that desire, perhaps, but logic was not what drove her now. It was rage. Mad fervor. Something was lost. Something was required. She felt like a darkCrown, controlled by the little emotion, like a beast that eats its own legs to survive.
A corpse jerked, and Ivory called down fire. A moment, and it burst into flames, crackling in that red fierceness. This was easy to do. Against the weakness, it was achieved with knowledge. With Emerlt, one could not see the symbols, but she had learned. She had studied and knew the envisioned mind played the high role in its usage. This she did. Behind her were blooms of exploded fire—from that, only a thought was required: fire into corpse.
And it burned. So fiercely it burned.
Then another jerked and burst into flames. Another did. Another, and another. They seemed countless, and Ivory stepped back in mild fear. There were so many. Countless killers who aimed for her life. Another step, and she stepped on Kabel. Him, there, silent. She burned the rage and screamed.
A corpse moved, a hand tearing from it, bloodied. No hesitation, Ivory fed the Emerlt: fire on corpse. Suddenly, something flew towards her, small. A runty bug, wings flapping into invisibility. She was confused. And it exploded.
Ivory was thrown back, rolling against the earth, gasping. She was weak. She tried to stand but fell onto the ground. Weakened. This caused a mental revelation: force depletion. Whatever that bug was, her force had left her. She cried within, the world blurring into a mass of burning red, shadow, and light.
She was hateful. A highness stands above all, yet she was below. What then was the point of the rage? A vapid outcome brought by beastly desires. She had failed. Mother would see it and wail. She would know Valor a thing of no future… Ah, Saedon would be made Highness. In a week, everyone would die. A great clan no more.
Ivory felt an insight—Kabel's words echoed back to her. It was sweet in thought... mesmerizing. He didn't know, but he had shown her the people. The philosophy of rule. She understood it. A forced knowing, perhaps, but indeed, a ruler was needed, not someone like Saedon. Never him. Mother was right, father was right, Kabel was right. Control must be taken, not asked. Taken!
God is like a Highness; he, too, stands above all. He, too, controls, unimpeached. So what if she was not a caster? Why did that have to stop her from Highness… She recalled a question: Can a darkCrown become a Highness? Yes… But, lords, may they never find out.
Slowly, she heard the thumping of careful steps; the Fermen. He came, solely, alone. Good. She had killed more, this meant. Now, she must kill this one. How though? She was weak, without force, without thought. How was she to fell a Fermen?
This was like rubber; it snapped a thought. And Ivory fell into her internal awareness. She retained a question: Knowledge for power? It felt like a betrayal. But Kabel had given his life for hers—she owed him a treason. This was it.
YES! She screamed in her thoughts. YES! POWER FOR KNOWLEDGE. POWER FOR KNOWLEDGE. ALL KNOWLEDGE. EVEN THE ORAL HISTORY!
Merrin felt the earth against his feet, cold. Impossibly cold. Wondersome. Such that he considered if froststones had ever been so cool. Perhaps those of the brightCrowns. But never darkCrowns. Never the smaller people.
I should change that. He played with a stone between his fingers, fiddling. It bore a mind-enforced calming effect. Good. He sought that now, for what was to happen, the mind desired the absolute solace. That and a hope to desist. Repulsive. The body mocked his attempt at relaxation, nudging the earth, back-stretching. How strange he would look to them… their savior, casual. Yet it served a double purpose.
The known and the revelation of humanity. Odd, yes, a thing that fed the internal ego. His ego. But the truth remained. These ones must see him as high flesh—a high-born thing. Superior but human. Maybe not fully man, but alas, a god in mortal flesh. As was prophesied by the church. That and the other; was he also to make them believe he was a brightCrown? He knew the answer.
Not any though, but one from the 8 great clans. That would solidify the myth.
No, he thought. This lie is unnecessary. This he knew to be the truth. Today, something final would bloom in the hearts of his people. What horror it would become… a dreadful future.
Then, his clothes hung to the side. He turned and beheld a short woman. She was a witness, capped a rag, and wore a thin layer of cloth around her bosom. They served nothing, exposing the whole. Not that it mattered to her; he saw it—fearful reverence in her eyes. Maybe not fear, but something surely. The light of awareness was gone from it, leaving only a dim stain of accepted stimuli.
She rasped, "I think I should give myself as food."
"What?" Merrin was startled—her words, whatever could they mean? She, however, offered a simple smile, as though her act was some reward.
"Explain this." He uttered.
She smiled again. "Well, everyone is hungry. I think they should eat, right?" She shied her gaze away. "I think you should get the first bite." Her arm was raised. "Don't worry, I won't scream."
Merrin marshaled everything—he must not weep. "No." He made the words loud like thunder, wind-carried. This trawled their attention, all eyes on him. They would wonder now: What is happening? Is god angry?
Yet merrin cared little.
When did this even become the norm? Since when was he acknowledged as a god? There had to be a moment, Merrin tried to recall, moving to the edge of the current step—all were below him, eyes up, expectant, fearful, reverent. And the other: He saw it. They feared his rage, not for the punishment or power, no, what they feared was his desertion.