Merrin watched the stunned man, the Excubitor, staring at where his hand had been. It lay on the floor, lifeless, blood pooling from the severed edge. How abrupt that must have seemed to him: to one moment stand proud with a sword in hand, and another to be bereft of that limb.
It reminded him of another… a Davos of a fellow. Except this one would have no chance for confession. He would have no way to regrow that arm.
I will take his future from him.
The Excubitor wheezed, a sound like sharp air blowing through a cave. He startled back, bending for his sword. By the lords, he was going again—ready to do battle with one hand missing. And more, his ring was gone. Now that power, the ability to phase his weapons through others, was gone as well.
He was greatly weakened… and yet, even that did not stop him. It should have stopped him. It should have! Merrin offered a weak smile. "I can't insult you any longer, it seems."
There was silence in the world. The vast, empty square structure grew still. The countless floating platforms, with their shares of Guardsmen watching the spectacle from above and below, all, as one had sealed their lips. Maybe they knew somehow. They knew what was about to happen.
The Excubitor gritted his teeth. Merrin could hear it through the silver helm. So tightly he did it; so ready was he to end the man before him. He was so angry.
Merrin raised both his hands, cupping them around the cold silver cheeks of the helm. The Excubitor froze for a moment, stunned, his eyes staring through the slit at this small, black-clad man. Wondering. What was he doing?
Merrin parted his lips, making sure the fake face could accurately imitate his spoken words. "Rest now," he said. "Rest in the shadow."
His head exploded.
Then there was true silence. The giant of a man, once proud of his strength, stood there… headless. For a moment, that is, before he wobbled and dropped to the sleek, glossy platform.
He was dead. Gone.
The Guardsmen… everyone was stunned at this. What just happened? they would ask themselves. And of course, there existed an answer—a simple one. He had needed contact for it: contact to guide the symbols precisely. The Wind—that was it.
What happens when a massive surge of air is forced into the mouth, eyes, and ears? Everything. What happens when such force is trapped in a thing like the skull of a man?
That was the question that killed the Excubitor. Regardless, unsure, yes, but he hoped the speed used in the casting masked it from the eyes of every watching caster, wherever they might be.
They should not be given any more data.
Merrin stared at the slumped body, mighty even now, as redness flowed out from the neck—if one could call it that. The man's nape was like cloth chewed off in frenetic motions. Mad. A horrible thing to do to another.
He was transfixed by it. But it… he paused. It had to be done.
"Shadowman," one Guardsman stammered. "SHADOWMAN!" He screamed the words now. In a moment, the once-silent building was flooded by the sounds of crying men. Women, too—mostly darkCrowns who found themselves locked in one belief or the other.
That was his greatest weapon. He knew that. He knew there was nothing stronger than the hold of one's faith. Time and time again, this truth had been revealed to him.
He heaved a breath.
They might still attack me, he mumbled. They might still raise their swords toward me. Closed his eyes. And if they did… I would have to kill them.
Have to?
Maybe not, he corrected. But some data still existed in their minds of himself—data that could be used to find some connection or relevance to him or his people.
I can't allow that.
Mentation churned. Then there was the matter of Moeash. Merrin realized that if that truly was him, then the man, without some deadEye, would know something. Or at least, he would ask dangerous questions. And if he did…
His cheeks burned with a kiss. He remembered it. He remembered the moment of that pitiless massacre.
I can't allow it to happen again. I just can't.
I need to save them.
There was a Guardsman, one in particular… Rapture was the name. It was stupid, no doubt, but that was what his mother had called him. She called him so because she once saw a skystone fall, carrying a Fallen within.
Rapture always had a keen sense of survival—an awareness of many things, like the often-right directions to take in order not to get lost, or knowing exactly where north was at any given moment. These were minor things about him, unimportant, but he lived by them. He thrived because of them.
And when he had become a Guardsman, trained in the sword by a true blademaster, he thought death was now a thing far, far away from him.
Oh, how wrong he was.
He could see it now. He could see it in this short, dark-skinned fellow. No, not dark—it was deeper than that, smoother than that. To him, it was as though the intruder was wrapped in black, shining metal, if that were possible at all.
Shadowman, he had called him. It reminded him of a story told by his mother. A story her mother had told her. Beware of the Shadowman. Beware of his shadow-things, it said. Surely, he had been ready to build up skepticism like any other man, but standing here, watching this… he could not.
It was impossible for a folktale to be real… but..Could it?
His eyes went wild.
The shado—the sha—the shadowMAN!
He was getting bigger!
Rapture could not believe it. He could not process the information other than the pure dread that sparked in his heart. The Shadowman, that once-little figure, was expanding. Like an ocean, the blackness swarmed toward him, into him, coiling around his body like snakes or maybe worms. And as they piled up into his form, the edges of the space—the once-darker spots—became slightly… brighter.
How?
They stuck to him like a million things, an ocean of darkness smashing into his form. And thus, from that chaos came an arm, longer than his small ones. From that madness came a dark face, stretching high into the sky. A true giant. He was growing, shrouding the structure in his sole darkness.
A breath wrenched out of Rapture's throat.
The thing still grew—a face of shadows, a body dressed in robes. Dark, too. And his eyes… oh, Halo, they were just the tiniest dots of white light. The small version was gone now, replaced by this… godly thing within their castle.
I shouldn't have come here!
He should have listened to that innate awareness that always pointed him north. Pointed him to safety. This was not the north. This was not safe. This was the dark, the shadow, the thing that lived in it… and…
He stumbled.
His eyes grew heavy, a wave of slumber slamming against his skull. What was happening? Rapture fell to his knees, turning, watching as others of his kind—Guardsmen—dropped to their patellas. Some had lain flat, asleep.
What was happening?
He looked up at that mass of shadows, that giant staring down with those eyes of the dimmest light. And in those eyes, Rapture found something. Within… his heart still pointed north, at safety… but it was different now. It was not pointing away. It was pointing at. In the shadow. At the Shadowman.
His hands kissed the floor, cold to the touch, but that mattered little to him. Safety—he could feel it. There was a soft coldness, a place within this thing. A place of peace, perhaps. Paradise… Home.
The North.
His vision blurred for a moment, and there it was in the distance: a giant, magnificent castle. Trees sprouted around it. Things moving on and about. But there was another. He knew this face. A woman. She turned to him with a smile.
His mother and Her name was North. She was his safety.
The vision faded for a moment, and back he was—not laid flat on the floor, like the others, his eyes still locked on the massive shadow. But he saw it differently now. Not the fear of what it was, but the safety.
This man… this thing had his North. This being… this God was safety. He was paradise.
I WANT TO BE WITH HIM.
And thus Rapture accepted the sleep, found the peace of it. And in that moment, he had a dream—a sweet dream of a life. A life with his mother as they wandered and explored this grand new world. They were in forests of elastic trees, ever watching the distance, staring at that castle.
He had found paradise!