Merrin, El'shadie sunBringer, wore black on the day he was to die. On the day he believed it so. Draped from head to toe in wrapped, filmy darks, neck wrinkled-wrapped in tight sable. He stared in horror at the wide expanse before him.
Ahead.
A storm wall brewed in the distance—a bastion of churning winds and lightning looming just on the horizon of the large oceans. That water. That impossibly inky water... It was near his feet, splashing with each return of the tides. By the Almighty, there were hundreds of them: people, standing at the rims of the sea, wide-eyed, faces pale with that sense of horrendous fear painted across them.
Almighty help them!
Could he?
The brine was bordered by boats, numerous, with a few pointed-tipped ships, large fabrics billowing in the wind from mounted poles. An oddity, given Ashmen had never once seen such things. Why, one would wonder? Why would anyone sail into the ocean?
And here he was... awaiting it.
Would I die today? He wondered.
A boom rockiing the heavens, loud, sending a surge of chill down his heart. Alarming. It's come, he thought, his eyes lifting. Up. There, above, the sky swirled with that all-too-familiar foam of tenebrosity. Black, with sparks of white casting out from within it.
Sensory.
He could taste the wind—that scent that told of the emerging rain. Deeply Intimate. Soon, the steam would rise off the earth, as was the way of Enor. He smiled, trembling.
Be brave.
But for whom?
A voice spewed from behind, blaring. He turned and found there... a large wall. He gaped, as was always his reaction to that enormity that was this stone. So massive, its raven surface riddled with scars, lines, patches of grainy stone, wet from the prior rain... And more... All of it... All that his ocular prowess could observe rippled with that Elitum feel. And the height, by the heavens, was beyond any mountain ever realized by him.
That, and the gate in the center of it all... Black, square.
How were such things even built?
As far as he knew, the wall acted as a barrier securing Nightfell from the fullness of the Black Seas. And yet, here they were, standing at the opposite side of it. Hilarious.
None of us is worth securing, huh?
Mentation spun it as some cruel joke. Perhaps it was.
The voice descended again, from the top of the bridge. "LISTEN, YOU 'EMPLOYED' NIGHTSAILERS! YOU HAVE ONE TASK AND ONE TASK ONLY. CROSS THE BLACK SEA AND FIND YOUR WAY INTO THE CRACK. FALL INTO IT AND AWAKEN THE MAN YOU MIGHT FIND THERE."
Man?
"YOU ARE NOT TO STAY ON THESE SHORES ONCE THE TRUMPETS ARE FIRED. YOU ARE TO RIDE THE BOATS, THE SHIPS... REMEMBER, IF EVEN ONE OF YOU CAN FIND THE CRACK, THEN ALL OF YOU MIGHT TRULY LEAVE."
Murmurs flowed through the batch, likely from the new NightSailers... as he was. They asked, wondered, searching around for what they deemed were experienced runners. Odd, really, to see. To watch and observe with total clarity that before him now, spread out through the shores of Nightfell, were Casters. All of them. It seemed so surreal.
These were beings infused with that awesome power... Contained by it, yet here they stood, bewildered by the simpler things.
Merrin turned to the brine—to that rolling tide of raven waters, light a brief cast from the overhead fulmination.
Can't they see it? He thought. Can't they see it makes no point asking another for help? He chilled within. We are all going to die here.
The voice continued. "PREPARE YOURSELVES... THE RUN WILL LAST FOR 20 MINUTES. IF NONE HAS REACHED THE CRACK BY THAT TIME, A BOLT OF LIGHTNING SHALL BE FIRED TO THE SKY, RECALLING THE SURVIVORS BACK INTO THE CAMPS. REMEMBER, THE GATES WILL ONLY BE OPEN FOR A FEW MOMENTS. AFTERWARDS, THE ONES OUTSIDE IT WOULD... PERHAPS RECEIVE AN EARLIER PATH TO SAIL TO THE SEA OF DAMNATION."
Now they frenzied, some shouting and screaming at the unknown figures atop the walls.
"WHAT THE MIST IS THIS?" Some cried. "I'M NOT GOING... TAKE ME BACK TO PRISON, I'M WILLING TO SERVE THE LIFE-SENTENCE."
That gave intriguing data.
So not only the miners or slaves were taken as NightSailers... but also criminals? He wondered whether to feel pain for the deaths of such people.
Should he?
What exactly was the qualification for a just or unjust death? What criteria was it?
The voice above interrupted the trail of thought. "SURVIVE BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY, REACH THE CRACK AND GREAT FAME AND FORTUNE AWAITS YOU UNDOUBTEDLY."
Likely a lie.
"MAY THE SAVIOR, THE ORIGIN, THE SISTER, AND ALL ASPECTS OF THE ALMIGHTY STAND WITH YOU... HALO!"
"HALO!" Some chanted from the crowd.
So it begins?
Merrin glanced downwards at an outcropping of red flora. The foliage sinking into the earth, burying itself in dirt and blackened sand. As was expected. Even plants had evolved to defend against the roaring rage of the everstorm. And yet, here they were... ready to brace towards it.
What pride we have. He thought and saw then the dread dripping off the brows of the men. They were Casters, for mist's sake, and yet remained unable to quell the terror in their hearts.
What exactly awaited them? He had no idea. Had received no time for the gathering of the needed data. Not that he wanted to. Oh no.
Let me suffer for the pain of others...
The pain I have given those simple creatures.
A boom rocked the heavens, the foam of heavenly darkness rolling up across the skies, damning the already blackened world to an even deeper ruddiness.
An intense tenebrosity.
Men would die without knowing what had happened.
Of course, as was the torture of his life, he saw them as clearly as ever. In shades of black and white, their voices, their breaths, ringing out into the inmost parts of his awareness. It was torment. To hear, to see men... Living, breathing creatures tremble at some foreign thing... To see the absolute surety of death in their eyes. Dark-haired, blonde-haired... Everyone from every clan he had ever known... A few, yes, but regardless, they were here.
Ready... no, forced to die for something.
What was it?
Did anyone truly know?
What if I tried to help them?
Should I?
Something opened within: Seriously? That annoying voice that came as it always did. Damning. Have you learned nothing? Yours, El'shadie, is not a fate to save, but a fate to be the death of others.
Merrin winced.
I almost let myself believe, didn't I?
Yes...and that mistake must never be made again!
Yes... He heaved a breath, warm, reeking of that scent of soil, of oils off the earth. It reminded him of the Ashmountains, as the Saiden and Eidens prepared to scale the peaks.
Simpler times.
He allowed a smile across his face, the first in many days. It was good, he thought, turned and there, standing a meter from him... A woman. She was... fidgeting. Her fingers wrapped around each other, sweat trickling off her pale, whitish skin. Beautiful, yes, she was, in that ghostly manner, but... the fear. Oh, the fear of the creature could still a heart.
"Do you... know something?" She said. "Anything at... all? Maybe... the ships? Yes, the ships. Do you know how to... ride them?"
"I am Ashman."
She paled... One would think that impossible given the nature of her visage, but, ah, by the Almighty, it was. Now she quivered, her lips mouthing flash prayers to some version of the Almighty. There was even a wording to some Sea God.
A pagan belief, no doubt.
Merrin drifted from her, turning towards the shores of the Black Seas. Staring.
Although he had heard various points about the waters being divided into different names, which was odd, considering all oceans in Enor were coated in that same murky ink. Perhaps it was that inherent human need for the granting of labels.
He had no idea either way.
None of it mattered.
There was only the Now and what comes after. If there is a future, that is. Maybe not. He felt the wind hollowing from the distance, blowing scuffs across the skin of the NightSailers, himself included. It felt like a knife across flesh, stinging. And then there was the brewing wall of churning air across the sea.
The storm was coming.
It would take them, bash them across the rocks, tossing most into the sea, Food for the creatures of the depths. Even a dream could not stand with such horror.
Which would I be? He thought, his death... Food for the sea, a paint for the earth, or... something else.
He looked across the faces of the NightSailers. That fear told of something. Something different from the dread of the aquatic lifeforms.
What was it?
Mentation whirled.
It was impossible, he thought. There was no chance that Fallens existed this close to a Great Clan.
Improbable.