"I am not." Merrin counted. "But I would like to know more for what I want to ask him."
"Manipulation." Almost taunting. "You want weakness to exploit in order to make him obey."
That's not me, Enavro! "No, nothing like that." Merrin said, "I just want to know of anything that might anger him or make him refuse." He does not hate me, that's for sure. One does not save a person they despise…
What about Yoid? The inner self.
His dead…Merrin sighed.
You hope so.
"So?" The impatience, obvious.
"I don't know anything like that." She said, "He is kind, at least Auwale was."
"He is Auwale."
Enavro turned, regarding him—her eyes carved orbs of pallid grey. "Auwale isn't necessarily Auwale."
"What does that mean?" The words rolled into the pool, spewing relevancy from other sources. Auwale, himself, had mentioned something of similarity. What does that mean? Auwale wasn't Auwale?
Enavro shrugged. "Just know that." She said, "And you have yet to apologize for taking my coin."
Merrin thought to joke more, but said instead, "I'm sorry. Perhaps I will give it back to myself when I leave here. I don't need weapons outside this place."
"Perhaps."
Merrin heaved, settling his mind with the situational awareness. Anything could happen; better be prepared. "So what happens now?"
"This." She said, and observed then the massive silverish gate pressed into the mountainous walls. Shouted. "WE COME FOR THE GREAT RIDER. WE SEEK ACCEPTANCE, AND WE MEAN NO THREATS! NO PREDATOR COMES WITH US!"
An interesting series word that was: No predator comes with us—almost an acknowledgement of the prowess owned by the Shaedoran. Fitting. Merrin could still recall the event of the battle. Maddening. Fast like the wind, furious, filled with vigor. Not like the Ashmen, no, that was different. Auwale was like a beast that knows itself the greatest in the land. A monster snarls not because of a threat, but to prove a point.
I am Stronger, accept it.
What kind of power does he have? Merrin pondered. The symbols, the rank…Was he akin to that Sacred Rank the Sister had talked about? Or greater. In retrospect, his own might was as fleeting as the early rising mist. Weak. Not Auwale, not the Ancient Shaedoran. He was something else. Greater.
Almost godlike!
Could he be the Savior? Merrin recalled that hand, an aspect of the Almighty—the savior of man. Did some relation exist?
Likely not. The thought quelled. But there was 'might' to be found in the Shaedoran, in Auwale, behind those doors. Speaking of which. Merrin looked up, sliding the stoneknife into a makeshift belt around his waist. Stitched from stray hanging cloth. His clothes. The body, however, well that was mostly naked.
Next.
The Great Silver Gate trembled, stones across the red charred earth quaking as though some giant sauntered across its surface. Did it? Dread found entrance, clouding the mentation. What if…What if a stone titan were there?
Almighty above.
White light spewed from the small entrance, spilling out in radiant slanted pillars. Mesmerizing. It opened wide, and a great whiteness looked back at them. A city. A nation, carved from silver and solid light.
"Heaven?" The words left him. Accurately, too. He felt that. Behind those gates were spires stretching into the overhead roof, square structures, domes, even chambers molded into trigons. Spectacular to behold.
The white light, outside the luminosity beaming from the edifices, a brighter radiance—calming, cold, somewhat shone from the horizon…Almost like…Merrin wandered, trapped in the light—in its meaning.
Was that it?
Another step pulled him closer to it. To that brilliance.
I always thought it would be gold…But it was white?
Step.
Is this the prophecy? He knew to stop, to maintain some level of control over the actions carried out now. He knew…But couldn't. The mind was drowned in the effulgence. Closer. Closer. He could almost taste it. Closer, Closer, and he basks in the light of glory.
Disengage!
Merrin flicked the knife sheathed in the belt, slicing his palm. Sharp pain! Just enough. He gasped, fell to his knees, panting. Eyes lowered against the intense radiance. "WHAT WAS THAT?"
Enavro's voice. "I wondered if my perennial madness had developed a habit…Perhaps some weakness to the soulForce."
"soulForce?"
"All forces shape the world in a different way and manner." She said, voice strangely distant…Ah, the mind was playing tricks. "The mind is violent, forceful…The soul is calmer, cold. A powerful enough soul can be like a lullaby, singing you into love, peace, happiness. So I think, if this heaven of yours were to exist, it would be drowned in soulForce."
"Stop Insulting me." Merrin gritted, substituting rage for the over-consuming calmness. There was a certain closeness to the feeling—the bird had done it, at least while in its human form. He had done it to Moeash once, and the witnesses many times after. Yet this was different. Domineering like the mindForce. Calm down. Calm down. The sensation seemed to scream. Calm down. Calm down.
He gasped. What kind of power is this? How can something be contained like this?
Figures moved in the darkness; he felt them. Ah, he felt them. Like the overpowering feeling of tranquility, these carried that force, subtler, however. They drew closer, almost curious in the way their steps padded over the earth.
Who is he?
What is he doing?
Merrin replayed the conceived thoughts, clenched, and looked up. This is me! A ring of brilliant light appeared behind his head, raying out, battling against the great luster that was that horizon-bound orb. He pushed against it. Force Against force. Soul Against Soul.
He lost!
His face met the searing floor, hot once at least. Now strangely cold, but welcoming. It was quick, that defeat. So fast. So simple. Like a pond defying an ocean. Only one outcome was certain. Defeat. Consumed by that wave of serene power. Pure. Simple. Clear.
What a soul that was!
And then, the abdominal pain surged on like a kindled flame, burning…Mist me!
Hard steps crunched stone beside him, a voice raining down. "Didn't I say no Predators came with us?"
"My mistake." Merrin whimpered, weak.
A sigh. "What a madness I have…Both of us are insane, it seems."
If all things are symbols, I propose a question…What symbols make up the soul?—Author unknown.
Merrin awoke in a room—a large chamber, the walls bleached white, curtains transient like silk. Silver. Where am I? Grogginess answered the mental question, the stomach echoing that hint of burning severity. That was stupid of me. He thought, accepted, then, the vanity that took hold within. I am stronger than you, the light basically said those words. The retaliation was merely an attempt at disproving.
It failed, obviously.
It's like I'm Changing…Going mad. He laughed, surprised, ending with a loud gasp. Where am I? The chamber, he noted, was vast, nothing outside the foamy bed, although surety existed for its components. The bed was stone, absolutely, yet felt soft, bouncy.
Casted!
Then there was nothing outside the stone walls, white, silk curtains swaying gentle breeze, and the brilliant white peaking through the windows, raying brief shadows across the bulwarks. Beautiful.
Where am I? He stood from the bed, searching the empty chamber. There was a door, of course—wooden, a knob for a handle. Brown. He heard darkCrown lowlanders used handles for doors—odd..Why not leave it open?
But that was just another part of the mystery of those people.
Can I leave? The crucial question…There still remained the calming sensation of the external force. The soul, forcing serenity upon the internal turmoil. Weaker now, that, Merrin observed was an intentional development. Had Auwale lowered it?
More like lowered himself.
Ah…the power. How seductive.
The inquisition continued, hand trailing across wall segments, searching. Memory of the last wall he touched fitted back into awareness. Who knows, maybe a 'mystical' bump might exist in this one.
Hope. He identified that emotion, sighed, shoulders lowering. What am I doing? Enavro's words calmed the mind, deeper than the force managed. We are not Predators! I am not a thief that wants to steal or destroy what you have…I am like a scholae, wandering and seeking your knowledge and information.
The shamans had taught about the Scholae…What a bizarre bunch, he always thought. Wandering and writing things from land to land, even the seas, some saidens would mutter.
An impossibility, of course. Nothing survived the black sea.
Where am I? The recursive demand to know, to understand. It seemed a pattern with casters, to inquire about the reasons and nature of things. Perhaps this stems from the symbols, too. Knowing them needed a certain catechism.
Merrin sauntered back to the bed, sitting, waiting for what happened next. Anything. Auwale, preferably. Despite the concentrated beauty evident in the city, the true want remained. Freedom. His people. His chosen.
I can't waste any time!
A moment and his head cocks, the right hand caressing the bloody scar on the left. I suppose Catelyn was right about something:
Only a martyr accepts harm.
The door shook, parting to the side, a figure stepping into the room. Radiant. Merrin was stunned. What stood before him was light. Solid light carved in the form of a woman. Similar to the Aelmiren, but different. These beamed that sensual air of the force, nearly blinding. White hair draping down the side. She was clothed in something as white as her…
The words left him. "Who are you?"
She froze. "What?"
"Who are you?" He repeated, sensing then an error committed.
Too late.