Mark of the Fool
Chapter 613: Broken Glass

“If I might have a word,” Merzhin’s voice came inches from behind Carey.

The young woman yelped, the specimen jar in her hands slipped to the rocky ground at her feet.

Glass shattered, gleaming like crystals as she whirled, finding herself face to face with an apologetic Saint of Uldar.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” he bent down, quickly picking up shards of glass.

“No, no, stop!” she cried. “You need gloves, you’ll cut yourse—Ah.”

A line of red ran from one of Merzhin’s fingers.

“It’s alright,” he said, not looking up at her or even pausing, continuing to gather glass despite the red dripping on the ground. “I have this. I can fix this.”

“No, you’ll hurt yourself!” she crouched before him, picking up jagged fragments of glass with the sturdy alchemist’s gloves she’d been wearing to pack her specimen containers, tools, and ingredients she’d be needing to conduct experiments in the field.

“I am Uldar’s Holy Saint: I can fix such wounds with ease, once the job is done,” he said. “Uldar’s glory blesses me. …it blesses us all.”

There was an odd quality to his voice as he uttered those words, but Carey couldn’t quite grasp what it was.

‘It almost sounds like he’s in pain,’ she thought, before dismissing it. ‘Oh, don’t be silly, Carey, of course he’s in pain. He cut himself.’

“What are you doing?” she asked as he scooped up the last bits of glass.

He held his hand over the glass, then spoke: ‘Holy Uldar,as you relieved your flock of the Great Drought, please wash away the blood on this field.’

His hand glowed with divine light, and water rained from his fingers, washing away the red.

“There, all clean,” he said, still not meeting her gaze.

“Really? You’re going to wash away blood from broken glass before healing your own wounds? Merzhin, you really must take better care of yourself,” she chided him.

“Ah, priorities. I must fix the problem, then fix the perpetrator,” he said, divine light now playing over the wound on his hand. In seconds, it was gone.

“Perpetrator?” Carey scoffed. “Merzhin, it’s only a bit of glass. We have more specimen jars than I can count. If I’d been carrying the ingredients for today’s experiment, then yes, you definitely would be justified in apologising to me and Professor Jules: they’re too expensive and volatile to be dropping. But, fortunately, everything’s all safely in my pack, since I’m responsible for running the experiment today: ah…the joys of heading into third year. But anyway, about this jar.”

She took the broken glass to the portable sharp-disposal bin.

“One jar won’t be missed,” she said, dropping the pieces into the bin. “You’ve committed no major crimes,” she teased him.

“I was careless, and needed to take responsibility for that,” he said, still not looking at Carey.

“Really now, it’s only a piece of glass, Merzhin. You shouldn’t beat yourself so thoroughly, but…oh, will you look at me? You’re making me feel like some stern school mistress with your head hanging low like that.”

Sheepishly, the Saint raised his head. “I…apologise for scaring you.”

Something about the way he looked at her—his large eyes wide—tickled at her spirit.

She began to shudder. Then giggle. Then finally broke into a low, rolling laugh.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, his boyish features twisted with worry.

“Nothing is the matter, Merzhin!” She raised her hands as though asking for mercy. “I think it’s just simply so absurd. I’ve never seen you so shame-faced, and yet it’s over such a trivial thing.” she kept laughing. “Now what is it you wanted to talk about?”

“First, let me apologise for the broken glass,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, then. ‘I forgive you, Merzhin, Saint of Uldar’. Is that what you wished to hear?”

The relief on his face was so earnest that it actually caught Carey by surprise. His slight shoulder’s visibly relaxed. “That is good. That’s a relief. In any case…” he paused, as though each word he uttered would decide the fate of Thameland. “I want to discuss a matter of faith with you, Carey.”

Instantly, her heart dropped.

‘The last thing I want to hear is you praising Uldar right now,’ she thought, looking around the camp hoping to find someone to save her. Unfortunately, no salvation was near. The expedition members were in the middle of planning the day’s excursion, preparing their gear and reconnecting after some time apart.

Many of the invisible barriers between the Thameish army and the Generasians had melted away, and folk now chatted, catching up like old friends.

No one looked like they were on the verge of leaving, or of needing her attention.

She knew that Tyris was away, out scouting surrounding mountains with Vesuvius, Watchers of Roal, and Thameish rangers.

No help would be forthcoming.

‘Well, it looks like I’ll just have to swallow my medicine as early as…right now, whether I planned to do so or not,’ she thought grimly.

“Well, I cannot say I am surprised,” she said gently, trying to bury her displeasure. Carey was definitely not looking forward to some big lecture on Uldar, and all the hiding of her true feelings that would require. She exhaled slowly, steeling herself. “You are St. Merzhin, after all. What is it about Uldar you wish to discuss?”

“It is not about Uldar,” his voice rose, and his eyes suddenly burned with zeal. “It is about you, Carey. I have reason to believe—from how you’ve been speaking lately—that you have wandered away from Uldar’s guiding hand. Am I right?”

Carey London’s thoughts stopped.

Of all the conversations she thought she would be having with Merzhin, this was among the very last.

Her mind whirled, panic seizing it, trying to find some lie or excuse to get out of the conversation.

But her silence seemed to spur him on.

“I knew it! Carey, you must come back to Uldar’s love,” Merzhin said, stepping toward her. His expression was like that of a forlorn child. “I…I would like to think that over the months we have fought beside each other that we…”

He paused again, searching for the right words. “...I would like to think that we’ve become something like…” His voice trembled. “...friends. And I do not want friends to lose their way.”

Silence followed.

Carey noticed eyes falling on them from nearby.

Some of the priests, who’d been planning the day’s journey with Watcher Hill, looked at the Saint in curiosity.

She cursed beneath her breath.

“Must we have this conversation now, Merzhin?” she whispered.

“Yes, I really think we should, I think we’ve already waited much too long,” he said. “Matters of the soul cannot wait.”

She sighed, looking at the surrounding wilderness. There were copses of trees among the boulders and ridges rising above either side of the valley, which the scouting teams had swept both last evening and this morning.

There was no sign of Ravener-spawn for at least a mile, according to the Watchers and Thameish rangers.

“Fine,” she said. “Then if we are to have this conversation, perhaps we should go elsewhere?” She looked meaningfully at the ridges.

He followed her gaze. “Yes, of course, privacy.” Merzhin laughed bitterly. “My fellow Heroes leave for the wilderness to have their secret meetings often enough. I should enjoy the same privilege as well.” The Saint nodded. “It was wrong of me to start such a personal conversation in the presence of others. You are right, we should move our talk elsewhere.”

“Mhmmm.” Carey nodded to a nearby ridge. “Over there?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “And don’t worry about Ravener-spawn, I shall protect you.”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s no monsters for at least a mile.”

Merzhin shrugged. “One never knows.”

Carey paused. “...I suppose you’re right, at that. Give me a moment.”

Quickly, the young woman went to fetch a few extra items from the supply cache, adding them to the gear in her pack.

A few more daggers.

More oil for her lantern.

Some rations.

These joined what was already in her pack: alchemical supplies, rations, water, some potions of body enhancement…

…and the vital item for today’s experiment.

Something she would have to be extra cautious with.

“Alright, I’m ready,” she said, strapping the pack to her back and returning to Merzhin. “I’ll lead, you follow.”

Together, the young woman and the Saint left camp, greeted the posted guards and made their way up the rocky terrain above the valley.

“So, you wanted to talk to me about my faith?” Carey asked, sitting down on a smooth boulder.

Merzhin and Carey hadn’t ventured far from the encampment; only about fifty yards to the west, and some twenty or thirty yards up the mountain side. They’d settled into a little crag shielded by boulders and a series of trees.

She watched the trees from the rock.

Memories of the invisible monster that attacked the castle returned, but the Watchers had scanned the immediate area, searching for anything lurking there and had found nothing. The mountains were quiet, save for bird calls and the buzzing of insects.

The spot was far enough for their talk, yet close enough to call for help should they need it.

Now, as far as Carey was concerned, it was just a matter of getting this talk over with.

Pacing in the middle of the copse of trees, the Saint of Uldar mulled over his words. “The more we talk, the more I’m convinced that you have left the faith. You speak of Uldar not with any glowing awe, as befits him, but with something akin to dismissal. You speak of the cycle with bitterness and distrust. I have come to believe that you have lost your faith in Uldar. Is this true?”

Carey thought of how exactly to answer him.

A part of her wanted to just lie and get this over with…but she knew it would never work; Merzhin already felt her distrust for Uldar. Perhaps if she was as good at hiding her feelings as Alex was, she might be able to lie her way out of this.

But, she was not Alex Roth, who carried the knowledge of Uldar’s possible betrayal seemingly without burden. She was Carey London, and the burden of that knowledge had lain heavy on her. Heavy enough for Merzhin to notice her shoulders bowed beneath it.

She sighed.

“The truth is, Merzhin…” She chose her words carefully. A part of her wanted to trust the Saint; he seemed so earnest, after all. But so had so many of the priests she’d ever known. A partial truth would be needed here. “...I wonder where Uldar is. I wonder why he is not back to help us.”

“Many have asked that—” he began.

“Hold now, I am not done,” she said. “Is he truly worthy of our worship, Merzhin? Truly?”

His face blanched. “Is our god…worthy? Carey, it is us who must be worthy of him.”

“That goes both ways. Uldar helps us by granting his priests spells and giving us the Heroes,” she said.

“Exactly, his gifts are—”

“I’m still not done, Merzhin. So, where is he? You and I have heard the Initial Parables. Uldar used to walk among us, helping directly. His powers were great and his kindness unending; sometimes his love would be harsh, but no harsher than any parent’s love toward their children. He was not cruel to us. He fought our enemies alongside us. He united and protected these lands, taming the weather and helping the earth yield great bounty. So, where is he now?”

“He has ascended, Carey,” he said. “And left proxies for us.”

“But his proxies have been fighting the Ravener for how many cycles? Do we truly know? How many times have we fought over and over again, praying to Uldar in fear?”

Anger boiled in her now.

“How many times must we go through this? How much pain? How much death? How much is enough?”

Merzhin’s face began to grow red. “Carey, do not disrespect the deity who has protected us for all those cycles.”

“No. You’re wrong,” she said. “You protected us for all those cycles.”

He paused. “Pardon?”

“You, as in, you Heroes.” She pointed at him. “People like St. Avelyn, like St. Merzhin, like the Traveller.” A warmth spread through her as she uttered the Saint of Alric’s title. “Like Cedric, Hart, Drestra and all the other Heroes of the past, including the Fool. And where is Uldar, Merzhin?”

“He watches us, guiding us from his throne,” he insisted.

“And yet he does not speak to us? Why doesn’t he send more Heroes?” she asked. “Armies of spirits, of engeli? Nothing? Not even counsel? Let me ask you this. How does it feel when you pray to Uldar—begging for guidance—and all you get back is silence?”

The young man recoiled as though she’d struck him. “He speaks to us subtly.”

“But why?” she demanded, pulling a chain from beneath the neckline of her blouse. There was a tiny symbol of a lantern attached to it. The symbol of the Traveller. “The Saints of the past aided us directly. They provided guidance. They fought for us. The Saint of Alric dedicated her life to battling the Ravener and working to save our people. She fought in one cycle just to lose her life in the next…”

Carey swallowed. “I am not sure where I am spiritually, Merzhin. But I can tell you this, when I think of a Saint that gave her life and everything for our people…praying to her brings me warmth. But when I pray to Uldar? It brings me nothing.”

“We see his works, Carey,” his voice sounded frantic. “His works are mysterious, but they work. Look, he even brought us your friends! You’re all looking into the Ravener, seeking to end the cycle. That is Uldar’s plan.”

He turned his back on her. “You’re my friend. I don’t want sorrow to crush you, Carey. Uldar’s faith has blessed me with great power. It has kept me warm. His church has fed me. Taught me. It taught you, and all of us. I understand anger, that is only natural, but—even if you were angry at your mother and father—surely forgiveness and union is better than abandonment of bonds. You have fought with friends, and made up, have you not? Anger is natural, but I don’t want that to turn into something that drives you away from divine protection. No one deserves that…especially my friend.”

It took every ounce of her will to stop herself from screaming at him.

She wanted to tell him everything; about the evidence that those who believed in Uldar could control dungeon cores. That faith in their god brought control over something that was supposedly his greatest enemy…and that he’d failed to tell his people that.

But she knew she couldn’t.

She could only hope that—in time—all would become clear, and Merzhin could know a little more about what was really rotting in the centre of Thameland.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to speak to him calmly.

To offer comfort.

She never got the chance.

A large, calloused hand clamped over her mouth.

And a powerful force began dragging a struggling Carey into the stone.