uwale was tossed into a boulder, smashing through the solidity, his beast sliding past with sparks flying off its visage. Unmoving, silent.
Auwale howled at this, spinning his spear, and took to the sky. A single jump and he met the roof, spike dragged back, armor clicking in place. A scream, and he hurled the weapon, splicing the air into the head of the metal-crowned demon. A ring ripped through the vast cell, and ears went silent.
Yet, a chip fell from the head—the demon roared, rearing its blade at the hovering shaedoran. No counter, and he was buried in the earth. The sword rose and twirled, aiming for another cleave. That and Auwale perished. It descended a black metal, writhe in flames. A reaper of souls. A culling of the living. Ah, that must not be so. Today, everybody lives.
And darkness swallowed the world. A draping of Inky blackness.
Three lights burned alone.
One was of a giant red flame, another, of an earth interred white, and lastly. A figure stood, a halo of solid light brilliant behind him, spilling out like streams of queer water. Godly.
He saw the grey world as vast and mysterious, and it was shrouded by an inky veil of darkness. In reality, there was only night. Cast by his hands. Spectacular. How long has he been a veilCounsel? And for how long has he ever acted as one?
Hence, he strolled first, a slow step, becoming a run. A dash charged by the very wind. Whistling across the ears.
He roared: "To me, Auwale!"
And the earth trembled to his call. Auwale erupted from the land, stone fountaining off in tiny red-brown shards. He stood, spear in hand, radiant, tall. Merrin sided him, barely at the torso. But the man, he spared a glance, eyes clear like two pools of a crystal lake. And he was handsome. Ungoldly so. "You smell funny." He said, head tilting.
"I haven't bathed in days."
Skin like trapped light, majestic, lips a thin line, he asked, twirling the spear. "You are human?"
"Yes."
His eyes flickered with emotion, unknown. "It's been a long time since a human has fought beside me." He said, "I don't think any was powerful enough to do so. Not that you are. Explain again why you do this?"
"I am in debt," Merrin said, churning the wind, listening to its wails.
Auwale, however, looked away, bending, spear leveled atop his arms. "This prey is mine." He said, a sudden cold surging from his being. Dread. A predator in form.
Merrin shook away. "I have given it over!"
And they dashed as one—Auwale, flashing out like a blur of white light. A moment, he was over the creature of fire, spear poised. Merrin trailed the earth, found the chipped-off metal, grabbed it, and groaned at the heat. Not that it mattered, now he held a weapon. But first. Suddenly, a handle of stone hardened at one end. That he held, roared, and took to the sky, wind-driven.
Today, he would cut down fire.
Today, he would kill a legend!
Today he would play the early role!
And he was one with the darkness, streaming around the fiery mountain, gritted against its searing heat. Yet, radiance remained—a ring of brightness over his simple form. Not that any would see it as such. He knew what happened now—like the other witnesses, these ones now witnessed their miracle. How marvelous they would think him…Deific.
Merrin cleared the distraction and fell into the Ashman dance of self. An old friend. And his legs parted, and he twirled, dragging the wind as a spiraling vortex. It rose, a cyclone of brown and red. Spinning.
Auwale was inverted on the roof walls, bright hair slacking down from the porcelain skin. He seemed a bug; a beautiful white bug, then he waved, and stone was torn out from the earth. A boulder, slamming into the Talemir, flaking embers of fire. A roar, and it swung its blade to the ceiling, cracking a hole. Auwale, however, was gone, stone dripping from the tear.
Merrin remained channeling.
Auwale was a flash of white, spanning around/over the titanic creature. A blur of motions—the beast swinging madly at the faultless wind.
Beneath it, the wind was a wheel, whirling. Sparks flew off, flame surging across the chamber. Merrin was a herald, reaper to the reaper. Death assurer. Within, he gasped for breath, air, a burning inferno…But…He reared both arms; the grey world was a calamitous sight. Air wove a chaotic spin within that world; the dots were battered away, the symbols were swallowed in its entropy.
Reality painted the event; stones churning in storms, dust trapped in gales. A tumult. And he was the master of its power—the marshal of the storms. And he roared. The air surged up, consuming the beast in a vortex of coiling wind. Its flames snaked into the hurricane. A pillar of whirling flame was born. Intense in its apotheosis. Auwale found a path, coiling the glass spear around him, its light brightening with each spin. Then it was a bolt of brilliant white.
He bellowed: "You are mine!"
And his spear struck the tower of spinning flame; white in red, smashing through the Giant Talemir. A boom and the flame shattered into a tide of furious fire. Merrin turned, marshaled air to his people; a web of wind, coating their fragile forms.
He was consumed!
Howling death flamed across his skin. Flesh dried by the severity, the pain. He screamed, odd that he could still do it. But he did. A mistake as the flame quickly spat into his throat, draining any remnant moisture. Burned within and externally. A wail freed itself from him as he curled over the earth.
This was the end. Froststone did nothing to this heat—nothing could. This was finality, and the reaper had come for him. Yet…despite the pain, the agony, there was strength. Sound pierced into awareness. His people, screaming safely within their clothes of wind. They called to him, wailed to him, urged for him. Even now, they wept like children.
He must go to them!
But how?
The voice sounded like bliss. "Your smell is still rather strange to me."
And the pain was gone—the heat a distant echo pounding at an eternal wall. Somehow, vision returned, and a figure stood before him; Tall, clad in silvery-white armor like shards fitted in majestic harmony. He stood like a god, hair like trapped strands of solid light. Face aglow with a godly purity. He was brilliant. A force that stood against a wall of ending flames.
Behind him, the fire remained, battering on, but never expanding. A wall of man. Head tilted, spear slanting against his cheeks. "You smell like something I know."
Merrin tried to speak, but the words were clogged in the throat. Deprived of air and moisture. So he stared simply, unblinking.
Auwale snapped, and a creature formed from sparks of white. The alien beast of queer light, its feet pounding gleefully over the earth. And it stopped, Auwale caressing its splendid mane. He asked, "Are you sure I haven't met you before?" Bobbing his head. "But humans are only strong with their integuments. I've never met one that can cast before. Or are you not a human? Perhaps some remnant of the Maya?"
His eyes searched for something. "Not that either. But your force is certainly something. Dual-contained with the soulForce and mindForce. Interesting. Oravien is something similar…Maybe you are like him? An offspring, perhaps? I don't know." He sighed.
"This is confusing. Regardless, I think you should just about heal yourself."
Merrin blinked twice.
"You can't?" Auwale stroked the beast. "Shiyaya thinks I should help you. He says your smell is familiar to him, too. I wonder…" He shrugged. "Regardless, I must continue my hunt before returning. I think Auwale would want to learn more about you." He snapped, and the pain was further.
What?
Slowly, Merrin was shrouded by a layer of spiraling threads—unlike wind, these felt serene. A calming force. He tried to resist but was overwhelmed—my people. Auwale loomed over, petted the beast once more, and vanished. Yet a word lingered: "Sometime later."
And the flame was doused. In a moment, it was gone. The chamber remained battered but alive. Scorched, but existing. He, however, was encased in the white threads. Realization told of a fortunate reason, so he quelled the resistance. For a moment, he saw his people running towards him, wailing.
Good.
Their god still lived.
And he allowed for the sweet darkness.
The theocracy, in an attempt to maintain sovereign power, created four outposts known as the diocese. Four, each at the cardinal points, ruled by one of the four comes—a comprehensive analysis of Eastorian culture.
Merrin awoke to a soft laugh, floating, the world grayed in an eerie hue. Above were the churning clouds of lightning and storm, that ever-present mountainous brittle gate, and the tiny winged dots, soaring across the heavens. It was the boy. The bird. And it was the one who laughed now.
Like a hammer to the heart, its snickers broke into his awareness. Mocking.