"It happened in three days." Finality in his tone. "After your coronation, the Aspirant is put to death. Damn the consequences." And he left, the wall of flesh sealing off the created space.
Again, she had been made a prisoner.
Hold on for now…She restrained the sigh. I'm coming, but first, I must keep my Clan from being ashed by the plagues. Power. It always comes to that. For my Coronation, I must secure it. For Valor and Kabel.
The sheet ripped down the center, hands gripping both sides of the tear—her fault. Control yourself!
-------
Merrin watched the fading of the female brightCrown, her features cleansed, blurring, carried by the invisible winds. Gone. Like a breath on glass, absent. Her seat remained, stone, high-backed, inspired by the Ardent visions of the throne room, or whatever such an exaggerated hall was.
In a brilliant red flora garden, he thought of the avoided terror: the rageful caster that once stole his legs. This visit was a gamble, but a necessary risk. For knowledge, for standing. For control. Ultimately, useful details were acquired.
Order and Identity.
That explained the internal identity: the other self with its collective of caster knowledge. More instincts than facts, perhaps. He breathed a sigh. Twilight, creeping shadows, Dullness, Chill, Unseen Depths. Five of the 12 permitted symbols of the vested rank veilCounsel… Merrin rested his head on his nieve. This is purely a limitation, isn't it?
A means to cull the growth of wild power. Strange for BrightCrowns to desire such weakness. Not that he expected much from lowlander politics. Contrarily, Ashmen knew never to hold back growth.
What a carcass of a society brightCrowns were.
"Watch her as you always have." He spoke to the Ardent behind—strange creatures they were. Obedient, unintelligent, and mysterious. Attendees to the El'shadie. "My attendants."
He stood, feet crushing against the red flora. Hard. A false input of sensations. In truth, none of his creations were as real as they appeared. Some were, he realized, things he had pried in reality through the Greyworld. Internal familiarity. That was the difference.
For true, indistinguishable creation, he must know everything.
Omniscience.
A chuckle boomed across the parodic space, his head snapping back from the bout of laughter. What mistsense! Tears edged his eyes. "I'm really becoming a Heretic." A gasp wrenched from him. "How long before I stand before them, bellowing those words… Again."
"There's no way back from this, is there?" He washed his fingers across his face.
Now, he stood over the crystal queer lake, the pellucid liquid, beyond which was an expanse of vast forests, tall, elastic trees, big and strong. Reaching forward, grabbing the air, it ripped, tearing through like a sliced curtain. Within the parted cut, a world of greyness, fierce storms, and darkness echoed. A high gate above the blackened clouds, eerily yet grandiose.
He stepped through, feet pressing over the scattered beads. "My world." He took to the air, wind whistling past his eyes. And floated above the world; below, he saw the tear across space, a thought, and it stuck together, like threads dragged in.
What a thing he had made.
A world within another, masked by a layer of painted illusion. A lie. The entire thing could be given that singular definition: pictorial, nothing of real substance. Outside the mountains created from the base knowledge of rock symbols, most shared the simple visual states. Eventually, substance could be sustained, but not now… That required knowledge.
Mentation moved to another—the vast mass of blackness; the mountainous, brittle gate. What a lofty thing it was. Just there, above the world, the forever mark of his deficient self.
Like the ring scar on his fingers, this was something deeper. Within, a silent passenger. A warning, perhaps… The taste of ash lingered on his tongue, welcoming, scent too. It reminded him of his origins. To them, be what they need; to him, be what he was.
Never revel in it.
For them, he needed the spear and shield. Power was the feasible means to freedom. His power. To dazzle them with miracles, gifts. The ways were required. These symbols, five as revealed by Ivory of Valor, were the path to it.
An expert VeilCounsel.
Maybe saving them with exceptionalism still exists… He wondered, the bird cutting through clouds like a blade through air. It played. Every day, every moment, it enjoyed the Greyworld more than its owner. The El'shadie.
Merrin considered what other El'shadies saw in this… "What were they like?" Eyes drifted down. His fingers were pale, sunken. "What choices did they make? What would they think of what I do now?"
"Would they…."
The bird hovered down, wings flapping. "You're having lots of thoughts."
"And you said I should spend more time in the Greyworld."
"Now I contemplate whether that was a good thing." It perched atop his shoulders. "They are loud, annoying, those thoughts of yours. Be careful of them here."
"Is that worry?" Merrin cringed at the thought. "Because they can become events."
"Not necessarily." It shook its wings, voice nearest to his ears. "Not all things become as they are said. You would have died many times if that were the case. It is not. But certain things, a bargain here, a conviction there. They shape. Words that shape. Words that change. These things have the greatest potentiality to become symbols—or events."
"All symbols are events." Merrin wondered about Moeash. Was his action also something of a symbol? Not his fault. Or was a symbol formed by the very reason and actualization of his wants?
It was maddening to think such things.
The bird cawed; a boom into his senses. Startling. Merrin winced, cupping both auricles. "You do not have to be so loud."
"You are the loudest." It said, "And events do not become symbols… not in the imagined sense. An event is usually a collection of symbols. Meanings that, when combined, become the perceived world. A singular symbol defining a situation is rather exceptionally rare… In your world, at least."
"In my world?" The wonder was brief.
"Yes, in your world." The bird wrapped its wings around him. "What a wheel you are."
Merrin tried to look at it, but couldn't as the creature rested on his shoulder. He tried, regardless, and ended up with a poke to the face. The bird cawed in laughter. "You are a repeating cycle."
"Break it then." Merrin had an idea.
"No…" It said, "Infinity can't always be broken from the outer; you are the other. The inner state that breaks away from infinity. That is your duty. You plan, don't you? A stupid plan to seek out the one rained by feathers."
The words struck into Merrin. "What do they mean?"
"You will learn it one day, I suppose. No, you know their meaning. You simply trap it in another wheel—a repetition of an unattainable desire. Find Moeash. Save Moeash. Find Moeash. Save Moeash." Its words were an obvious mockery—a rage-inducing thing.
"You offer no advice, bird." Merrin snapped, hated himself for it. "I will go to Moeash."
"That has always been your plan." It cawed, opened its wings, and took to the grey heavens. "Let me watch the outcome then."
A scholar to a soldier is a beast to another. Same with their tools, sharpened in the means available to themselves. This has always been the way of it. Imagine then, a hybrid of these two things. That, I say, is the caster. —Author unknown.
Merrin walked into a room, walls stretched high like blackened hills. Dark, elitum-plated, rippling like distorted lakes. A black space with lamps embedded in the base of the walls, tenebrous. Ahead lay a large cruciform, black, rain dripping down from an overhead oval hole, with lightning and thunder flashing through.
Below the cruciform stage, a man sat on a high stone, watching. Moeash. Dressed in mine rags. He was silent, his breath revealing nothing of the unknown data. Regardless, Merrin stepped forward, observing the vast X. Odd that he returned here; the symbol of his ascension—the day of powering.
This was the moment he became El'shadie… the SunBringer.
"So you can also come here?" Moeash spoke suddenly, an echo of tone. "The… SunBringer can do everything."
A brief moment of silence, and Merrin stood behind him. The man-child, low on his high stone. "I was looking for you."
"You found me." Weird how confident he sounded. "Which is odd because I am still below the mines. So this is false. A dream, maybe."
"Was he also this intelligent?" Merrin replied. "Yes."
"So I'm dreaming," Moeash muttered. "I am dreaming, and the SunBringer has come into my dreams. Does that make you the DreamBringer, now?"
"The second time, you have given me a name." Merrin envisioned a high stone. A moment, and it blurred beside Moeash. A flat rock of blended brown-red hues. He sat, siding the man-child. "How are you?"
Moeash sighed. "I don't regret what I did."
"We don't have to talk about that now," Merrin said. "I'm just glad that you're alive."
"I am alive," Moeash said, leaning forward. "And I still do not regret what I did."