Force waned off his body, Merrin panting as the skies drowned in an unfamiliar silence. No storms. No lightning, just the darkness above that swirled in that foamy way. Not even the Fallen of the sea had made an emergence.
What did I do? He had no idea... Or did he?
Merrin rasped, sweat trickling down his cheeks. Not rain. Not the inky waters of the sea, no... This was truly perspiration. He was tired. Somehow, he sensed it, knew it by the passing moments: he had forced a tremendous amount of Force never before harnessed by his body.
That was what pushed the heavens. Amazing, really.
His eyes lowered to his palm. I have such power?
How?
A voice flowed into his awareness from below. "You... You saved me?"
Merrin looked down and found the woman coiled around the shaft, her hair wet across her cheeks, eyes soft with awe. "How did you do that?"
A crackle tore into the sky. A bolt of lightning ascending into the heavens, beaming.
The run was over!
That was good. That was amazing. He panted... The horror was over.
"Who are you?" The girl.
Merrin glanced at her, mind spinning through alternatives. To lie. To deceive. Anything to save himself from that responsibility...To save her, too, from the pain of knowing hi.m.
Yes, that was true.
However, in the end, he could only smile. "sunBringer."
"What?"
A snap, and he shot into the sky, piercing through the air, flinging toward the shores of Nightfell. Quickly, he knew: despite the absurdity of the power displayed, there was no true sense of strength present within him. Hence, for now... just for this moment, secrecy was his only ally.
They must not know of this.
They must not know of me.
Through the air, listening to that whispering of tempest, Merrin slowed his descent. Below, he could see it: an elastic wood rooted a meter from the ocean shore. On it, he landed, his feet padding softly atop the fanned top of the tree.
Sleekly, he climbed down the wood, sitting just beneath its canopied top, watching from the left as the battered ships sailed back to the coasts. Notably, most of the large ones were without masts. All were coated in that raven fluid of the Black Seas. Then there were the riders — the NightSailers who stepped out, wide-eyed, confused, startled. They scanned via ocular means, searching for what he presumed was their savior.
They should never find it.
For their sakes.
Many of them wandered about, some staring back into the sea. One, he noted, bent before the walls, wetted his fingers and scribed words on dampened earth. Words of prayer meant to offer some desire to the Almighty. Whatever it was... Merrin smiled. May it be granted.
The sky sparked with lightning, one of the many that had only just begun. He could hear it, above, streaking within the frothy heavens. Good. He heaved. That was good.
One could only imagine the chaos if whatever he did was permanent. All of Eastos might just have awoken with a singular desire: To find the supposed sunBringer. That could not be allowed. Not now.
However, Merrin 'did' stare at them. At the collective that slowly crossed into those vast gates. Watching, he could only smile.
That was good.
And thus, blending himself as was common for the Ashmen, Merrin melded with the followship, his head bent, body lowered against the prying eyes. And there were many. There they stood, tall, imposing. Excubitors rooted as guards by the gate sides. Heads, as usual, were encased in that silver helm. Grand.
Imposing.
He could taste the air now, subtly cleaner as he neared the end of the gate. Observably, it was a narrow space—a given, since the walls themselves were more than eight men thick. One could speculate on the means of its creation.
Supposedly, from the rumor he could gather. Some legendary man: Valeshin Noctis was its creator.
What a caster he must have been.
Words passed around the passage—more inquisitive in nature. "Who was that?"
"Who stopped the storm?"
"Do you think it was that Morgan?"
Naturally, the Caster within absorbed that flow of data. As others did. He could see it: the Casters here, yes, weak in their own right, still exuded that air of questing minds. Words, questions, expressions. All such things were fitted into their awareness. Passive or active, it didn't matter.
Such was the might of a Caster.
Eventually…
They spewed out from the narrow passage, a beam of light casting down before them. There, placed deliberately throughout the compound, were poles with round lamps embedded in them. This was light. White light that expelled the deep tenebrosity from the world around.
They could see.
And so he did.
Vast, yes, that was the word. Scattered about were stone tents—some placed in square clusters, others sprinkled about. A sense of unity present in them. There were also winding paths throughout the space, all lit by those burning poles.
This is the camp?
It's smaller than the mines.
A man stepped before the group. Merrin sensed it by the sudden halt of the progression. Some even murmured defiance to the abrupt pausing. Bad. Whatever had caused it meant only one thing: A person. A being that he was unable to observe through the shifting, sweating bodies.
Thus was the curse of his height. Nonetheless, whoever they were, there existed a sense of authority in their presence.
He could taste it. He did, however, hear their voice. "GREETINGS, NIGHTSAILERS OF NIGHTFELL..." His voice boomed out, wind-ridden. "MY NAME IS TYRION DRIFTPOINT OF THE DRIFTPOINT ISLAND."
Driftpoint?
"YES... JUST OVER THERE, PAST THE CRACK, SAFE FROM THESE MONSTERS OF THE SEA IS THE MIGHTY CLAN OF DRIFTPOINT."
A brightCrown? Merrin thought, his palms wrapping into each other, cracking his fingers. This man, whoever he was, could only be that: brightCrown. After all, given that only those of that class could own the surnames, he could only be that.
Tyrion continued. "YOU CAN ALSO CALL ME THE LORD OF THE WAVES, FOR THAT IS WHAT I AM TO BECOME."
He is entitled. Mentation spun, data streaming from the ushered tones, words... Everything.
"AND YOU ALL ARE GROUP SEVEN OF THE NIGHTSAILERS. AND EVERY SEVENTH DAY IS MARKED YOUR TURN FOR A RUN."
That caused a chatter from the group.
"Wait, we are to repeat this every seven days?" A woman voiced. "Why would you do that? No, I don't want it, take me back to prison."
"Yes, yes." One interjected. "Did any of you see what was in that water... Oh, by the Sister, that was Fallen. Many of them. How in the mist does a Great Clan have Fallen so close to them? What in damnation is the point of you all?"
Bad.
A frenetic energy was flowing through the crowd, some moving about, small cohorts forming amidst the chaos. Merrin saw this all... In the center, the teeming bodies swarming around with their words, their threats, their desires. All worthless.
To them at least...
He noted then three tall figures sauntering toward the crowd. Imposing, clad in dark leather with pads fitted to their knees, arms, and shoulders. Good and all, except they too came with heads encased in silver.
A memory imposed itself on reality.
There, standing on those narrow paths of the mines—before the entrance. A man attempted resistance against the Excubitors. Except, there was no defiance. It was no threat. What it was, was a flick of the wrist. A candle flame that died in an instant.
A sameness to the situation of the moment. Merrin snapped out of it, his eyes frenzied against the future he knew was to come.
Stop them!
How?
Anyhow.
A man to his left, riddled with blackened marks across his bare skin. Down his arm, it seemed a canvas—a painting of black and flesh. And that man, bent toward the ground, gripped a piercestone in his hands.
What does he think that would do against an Excubitor?
Merrin heaved, feeling a slight itching across his palms and legs. Perhaps an effect of the salt water. No matter. There was also the scent—the scent of bodies mashing against each other, sweating, charged with that do-or-die surge of power.
I need to calm them down.
And so he did.
Within. Cold, yes, that was the accurate word to describe the other Force. The one outside the mind; the soulForce. It was a chilling source of power. Of blinding white light that seemed to reflect the sense of the thing within. Observably, this source was the calming one, but it too could rage like the minds. It was, in the end, one's soul.
All in all.
And Merrin sealed his eyes. I need them to feel me.
Thus, subtly, slow against the emergence of sudden blinding light, Merrin drifted his soul outwards. In his eyes, it was like a bathing of pure, chilling light. It came upon them, calm, flowing into the depths of their body. Through the eyes, the mouth, the ears, the skin. Everything. They took him in. His Force that rested within them.
Melding.
The crowd went silent.