The Sister to the left, seemingly undeterred by the sight, walked to the base of the X and took out the strange orb she had placed. Now, it glowed and buzzed with a familiar white light. Like that of the lamps.
Is that how they are made? Merrin watched, horrified. There was some notion of that, however, the lamps that were made were unnatural. But humans? Not animals, not fallen. Humans.
His body froze. Slowly, he turned, looking at what he feared lay behind him…. Slaves.
Numbers and Numbers of them.
This was how it worked? A weakness settled into Merrin's legs, pressing down like an invisible weight. He glanced back at the cruciform—empty now, the body having been dragged away. Was this his fate? Was this where he would die? The urge to run rose within him.
Then, a tug at his clothes. A tug that settled the feeling. He turned, looking down. A boy with dark hair streaked with deep accents of red gazed up at him. Odium!
"Why didn't you stop?" the boy asked, his ragged clothing hanging loosely around his small, pale frame. "You should learn to listen."
Merrin forced a weak smile. Was this child about to share his fate? "What?"
The boy's eyes? His eyes? His eyes were like crystal glass. Clear. Pure. Holding not a flaw. It was strange to look at. Like a beauty that seemed unreal.
Merrin had never seen eyes quite like them, yet beyond their strangeness, there was something else. A presence. A quiet wave that calmed him. The fear still lingered, but it no longer crushed him beneath its weight.
Smiling came easier now.
"You should have listened when I told you to stop," the boy said, his tone calm—gentle. It was a stark contrast to the bleakness of everything else, yet something in it felt oddly familiar.
Not Leim. Merrin told himself, which was strange since he had never mistaken the boy for him once. For one, he was much younger, and... smaller.
Heaving a breath filled with the itchy scent of metal, he crouched before the boy. Hard. "You spoke to me?" he asked. "That was your voice… when I was running?"
"Yes… and no," the boy said, bobbing his head. "This is rather strange; it wasn't this difficult in the past. Maybe you're resisting or something. Why don't you listen? Or can't you hear?"
He doesn't speak like Ron. Merrin had assumed all Odiums spoke that way, but perhaps he was wrong. "I hear enough. And… thank you for calling me."
The boy frowned. "They have been calling out to you. Even here, they all are, I reckon they scream now, yet you don't hear them?" His expression was perplexed. "Or do you refuse to listen?"
Merrin started, his gaze moving to the vast row of slaves gathered around. Women, men, children. They stood there, silent, drawn from different clans. How did that even happen? Surely, the other clans didn't allow for their people to be taken as such.
There was no screaming, no resistance… nothing.
They had accepted it.
"Won't you listen?"
The eyes of the enslaved seemed to pierce him, reaching deep into his soul. They wanted something. They needed something. They needed to live, to exist, but they were too weak to ask for it. Black servs flickered around their persons. Despair was all they knew.
The Gresendent sister advanced toward them.
Merrin's heart plummeted. There was never anything one could do.
"Are you afraid to see? To hear?"
Yes, I'm afraid. He looked at the boy—those serene, fearless eyes. Would he ever have that? Would he ever have such strength? Or...
The sister stopped to confer with an excubitor. She soon finished, and the man… he turned to them. They all did, their glassy helms reflecting faces of sheer despair. Please, this is just a child, not them!
Don't take them, please. Merrin fixed his gaze on the boy, yet still, there was no fear. Be afraid… please. I can't save anyone. He screamed the words in his mind, but they never reached the child.
The boy exhaled softly. "Perhaps you will never listen."
Merrin's breath caught. His eyes skimmed to the kid, then to the excubitor closing in… at him? Or the boy? The glass helm sheened ominously, a herald of doom. Then, in a blink, the man loomed over them, his hand reaching for the child.
"You can't have them!" Merrin roared, instinctively striking the excubitor's hand aside. Mist!
What came next was silence. A dense, stifling silence.
Then, a chuckle.
It came from the excubitor… a familiar voice, or did they all sound the same?
"Four strikes?" the man said. "You seem a follower of Adalbert. You think this is horror? Do you truly desire to see true horror?" There was amusement in his tone. "Is that it?"
Merrin felt weak, sweat cascading down his body. He was so very hot. Was the froststone failing him? Was it out of will? "You can't." His voice was quieter now, but steady. That was enough, right? "You can't have any of them."
The excubitor fell silent, his hand resting on the Oredite queer orb head of the blade sheathed at his side. But before he could move, a voice spoke, intruding softly. "What is this?"
The excubitor stopped. Did something stop him? Who could have?
A dangerous prospect boomed in his mind.
Merrin's heart began to pound in his ears. Was this it? His grand defiance? Was this what he wanted?
The voice's owner approached—the step like a drum of imminent damnation. Soon, a woman, slender, draped in a pitch-black dress, her face concealed behind a veil, was revealed. A Gresendent sister.
She moved with measured grace, stopping before the excubitor. Yet, despite her apparent height, the man still loomed over her. A Guard of sorts. An Excubitor who could end his life in the time of a single breath.
Now he was there, caught between failure and damnation.
Almighty! He cursed, quickly grabbing the kid by the hand. He slid the child behind him, his eyes staring feverishly at the sister and the black glove in her hands. He had heard these things held power. Power that made them similar to true-born casters.
So what was he, a mere Ashman, meant to do against it?
Almighty help me!
Why would he?
The Gresendent sister regarded him, or at least he believed so. It was quite hard to tell against the night, black veil over her face. Yet even then, he could feel it; the piercing gaze of one who worked in the domain of the almighty.
Wasn't what he was doing now akin to Blasphemy? The thought unsettled him.
The Gresendent sister seemed to ponder for some time before saying in a soft, beguiling voice. "Are you the one causing the disturbance?"
Merrin wanted to run, but where could he? You've already started. He told himself, nodding at the Sister.
There was a sigh from her. "Always, I hope no such darers find their way here, and always my prayer remains unanswered. Why can't you, slaves, accept yourself? All things serve a role. A calling. Yours is to bring light to Nightfell." She said, calmly, "Just take solace in that."
Take solace in what? Merrin looked at the slaves. Yes, this was true. The Almighty was not some benevolent being—he could be destructive, thus all things served a role. But... these ones. He wanted to save them. Couldn't he be allowed such mercy?
I don't deserve it
"Let me take their place." Mists, what am I saying? But there was nothing he could do now. He had said it already.
The sister cocked her head. "A martyr?" she seemed bewildered. "But why do you think we need this? Your sacrifice means nothing. They, too, will be used to make light." Her voice turned softer. "All you're doing is dying first."
Merrin shuddered, his eyes moving to the vast wet cruciform. His grave. He turned back to the woman and said, "I will burn brighter!"
There was a pause.
What am I doing?
"Take me there, and I alone will burn brighter than anyone before. Bright enough that Nightfell forever burns in it."
His words echoed out. Strangely, after it was said, it was as though all sounds grew dull. What nonsense that must have sounded like to everyone else. Hence the silence.
But he couldn't back down now.
The Sister sighed, drawing close. Close to him? His heart sped up.
"What do you think will happen once you are placed there?" she said, "Some miracle? Boy, you are no miracleAttendent!"
Her sudden tone shook him down, but he remained. "If I survive, will you spare them?"
"If you survive, then by oath to say no lies, I will not just spare them but also free you from that. You will return to your mines."
Merrin forced a smile. A frail, pitiful thing. He knew, of course, that he was going to die. Who survived lightning? He was insignificant. Unremarkable. And yet, he was doing this... Why?