He saw something. It was a flash of moment, but he saw it. He was sure he saw it. The crude wall had flowed—like a tide of dirt, it flowed. And within that current, stones, sand, all battered about within it. They were like debris being pushed by an unnatural sea.
The next moment saw the fading of the scene.
Merrin was stunned. What in the almighty's name was that?
That was not a mirage…he saw something…What was it? Could it?
Merrin brought down the axe, switching it to his left hand. Then taped his fingers across the surface of the stony wall. There was no change; just the same hard surface, nothing like the strange liquid state it was a moment ago.
Was that a trick? He touched the wall, feeling the scorching surface lick over his fingers. No, it wasn't! I saw something, I know I did! Merrin raised the axe, punching it into the wall. The dust splattered and fell. Again and again, he repeated with fervor.
But regardless of how long he did so, nothing happened. He soon scowled, heaving a tired breath. After which, he closed his eyes, deliberating internally.
That was a symbol, wasn't it? Merrin thought. That was all it could be…Though Ashmen hardly ever became casters, it didn't mean they were oblivious to the knowledge. At least the surface points.
Symbols were the true forms of everything, and casters were known to be capable of controlling these forms. Changing it, moving it to achieve various effects. In that manner, he could say the caster back when he first arrived in the mines had changed the symbols of the wall into those of water.
That was the logic anyway, in truth, he had no idea what that actually meant. But the fact he saw something that could only be described as a symbol meant he was indeed a caster.
I didn't lose it! that nearly brought a flood of tears. But again, he reined it. After his earlier burst, eyes now were trained on him. Witnessing eyes, and before them, he could not blunder anymore.
However, what he saw surged in him. The strange pattern—a symbol or adi, and with that being what it was, that would mean what he saw was some symbol relating to the wall; stone, roughness. In essence, it could be any myriad of things. So what was he to do then? Cast it? How?
What's more, Merrin felt a rush of panic at the possibility of the power leaving again. What would happen if it did? Chances were it would no longer return.
Thus, he made a choice; He needed to do something quick, something that would save him and the witnesses. Merrin reined, continuing with his mining.
I can't escape by using the mines, nor can I fight my way through. I doubt there aren't casters who are beyond that—like that venerate or sacred rank the sister mentioned. And I'm barely at the start. Those ranks are likely beyond anything I can achieve in seven days. Confrontation won't do me any good.
What I need is…Dust flew into his eyes, a sense of annoying itch spreading through his lids. Merrin jolted back, the chain rattling loudly in revolt. The axe in his hands nearly dropped from the bout—while his other quickly began a feverish scrub against his eyes.
His gaze felt warm, tears pouring out as his fingers rubbed deeper into them—he was sure he was to go blind from this. After all, his fingers weren't exactly free from dirt, so in the end, what he was doing was exchanging one dirt for another.
No point!
He stopped with a clenched jaw, fingers jerking at the pained irritation. Merrin bobbed his head back and forth, eyes blinking in quick succession. With a hiss, he flung his head to the right, continuing with the futile blinking. And though his vision was a blur of the world, waddled by the streams of tears, he strangely managed to spot something in the distance.
There, a man, held up by ropes of rusted chains, had his head lowered, his axe pointing at the chasm from his grip. He seemed dejected somehow.
Merrin startled—enough that the pain of the abrasion went dull into his mind. There, on the man or was it around it was mist. Tails of mist streaked out from him; from his arms, legs—he seemed edging to be devoured by the tendriling fog.
Was he burning? Merrin gaped, eyes quickly focusing on the man's clothes. Odd perhaps that he could see that far away, but it was something he could always do. Not a gift by the snap, instead a circumstance, the shamans in the ash mountains called his eyes special. And with these eyes, though encumbered by dirt, he saw the man's clothes; his chest, which lacked the shine of pale blue. There were no froststones on it!
No, there is. Merrin realized.
It was dark now—no light of life, just a dark obsidian shade of crude form. The stone was out of will. Merrin's eyes widened. "Hey, Hey!" he shouted, "Excubitor sir, someone needs will! Can anyone hear me! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME!"
There was no response.
Merrin turned sharply to the man, gritting. Maybe I can give him will? I'm a caster! He reined in the thought as there was no time to ponder it. He confusedly stretched out his hand, but what was that going to do?
He had no idea.
He felt like a child being left to figure speech without ever hearing a man speak before. It seemed next to impossible. But there was no time. This man needed him. He was no longer weak, there was something he could do.
In a moment's breath, he reached for the instinct.
The world changed, and a vibrant grayness flooded everything.
He started at the suddenness. Perhaps some part of him believed in failure.
Yet objects, abstract illusory things, floated around and within the chasm. They were shapes, faces, strange amalgamations, and even dots of distant light. Like servs.
Things like black steel triangles within circles hovered in the center of the chasm, skulls colored red with eyes burning hot clung to the surface flesh of many scrapers. Chains half-illusory seemed to extend from the body of the miners, and dots of light blinked off and on around everything.
It was like a painting of pastel chaos—everything was bizarre. Symbols! Merrin guessed, but had no time to confirm or deliberate. This outcome was good, nonetheless, though he strangely felt a weakness quickly drain strength from his body. A minute or so, he believed, he would be without strength. Like before. Was that what had happened? He lost strength, and thus the cast stopped!
Merrin reveled at the realization, then reined it.
Things needed to be done!
Merrin peered into the man—how he was doing so remained a mystery. Around the man, the steam tails from before still surged out; however, now they seemed more illusory, and within them, thin black threads wiggled about. So in the end, it wasn't the steam moving, but the strange threads controlling it.
Was that also a symbol?
Merrin curbed, pushing his self harder. He wasn't really touching anything, however, it seemed like despite the distance between him and the man, he could still feel him; his dry clothes, his tousled hair and the slippery feeling of the steam threads through his fingers.
What was he to do with them?
Merrin dismissed the thought, shuffling past the myriad of strange things around the man. From purple like dots latched like eggs over the man's body, to the chains that stretched from him into the unknown heights. They were not important for now.
He soon found it!
There on the man's left chest was the dead froststone. There were no symbols around it, though a transparent fume leaked out from the obsidian black gem. Whatever it was, it didn't seem like a symbol—was it will? Force?
Merrin pushed his mind, reaching out for the gem. He was so close; he could do it. He could save this man. He could bring life to this one. Instinctively, he felt the strength that pushed through his body; the same strength that seemed to have been fading faster by the moment. That was force! He knew it there and then. He was learning many things with each passing second. Knowledge upon knowledge flooded his mind in quick succession.
He tried to restrain what he could, then focused on the strength and pushed it. And as he did, the symbols; the fume of steam, the threads and even the purple dots all shifted, as though they were caught in a wave of sorts.
He felt weaker.
The froststone began to shine with a faint blueish light!
Halo!
Merrin's heart warmed, a smile curling up on his lips. The froststone was slowly shining with blue light. He was giving it force—will, he was doing something only a caster could do, and more, he was saving this man.
This was his purpose. This was the purpose he wanted.
His arm burned hot!