Mark of the Fool
Chapter 614: Taken

Merzhin, the Saint of Uldar was troubled.

Carey’s words played through his mind, bitingat him, gnawing at his resolve. There was a kernel of terrible truth in what she had said, echoing doubts he’d left unspoken, even in his own mind.

All of his life, there had been only silence.

Faith had filled his spirit, but he had never been graced by Uldar’s words, or the majesty of his revelation. No wisdom had ever come from his god. No guidance. Nothing save for what was written in ancient books, and translated by mortal hands and tongues.

He knew well that the whispers of Uldar were subtle.

But, the sounds of a struggle behind him were anything but.

Fear struck Uldar’s Saint like a thunderbolt, freezing his blood in horror. “Carey!” he cried, spinning around.

The young woman was clawing at a pair of powerful—and very human—arms dragging her down into the boulder she’d been sitting on. Scarred, calloused hands clutched her mouth, her eyes were wide with fear.

Her outstretched hand reached for the Saint, pleading for help.

“Begone, foul cultist!” he shouted, his high pitched tone piercing the air. Uldar’s power flowed through the divine gate in his soul. His wrath grew. “You dare enter these lands to corrupt Uldar’s children!” his voice boomed, loud enough to reach the encampment below.

But no one seemed to notice.

He began channelling Uldar’s power.

Abruptly, his words stopped.

As did his actions.

“What?” Merzhin whispered.

A ward was closing around the copse of trees; he felt its divine energy smothering sound, preventing it from reaching the valley.

“What is this?” he gasped in confusion, feeling divine energy from the barrier. It was as clear as the midday sun, and as mighty. “Why…why has our lord’s power manifested like this?”

His lip trembled, his mind was in shock.

“Mer—Merzhin!” Carey had bitten the heel of a hand holding her mouth, and called out to the Saint. She began speaking the words of a spell, but the hand clamped harder. She tried biting it again, but it would not budge, fixed in place like stone.

She was sinking into the rock.

“Carey!” Merzhin shouted, raising his hands. “Holy Uldar! Guide my power! Let me command this—”

Before he could finish, the grip on Carey tightened.

Thick arms flexed, muscles bulged, pulling hard.

“Merz—” she screamed.

And slipped away.

His prayer stuttered.

“No!” Merzhin’s voice broke as he ran to the boulder.

His hands felt along its surface, but it was solid. There were no hidden entrances or trap doors concealed by illusion.

“What…what is happening?” He sensed the presence of the ward, it still remained. “My lord Uldar, why are you hiding our cries for aid? No, no. There must be a mistake. I—I have to call the others, we need their help!”

He raised his hand, calling upon Uldar’s power to pierce the barrier.

When it was destroyed, he would bring to bear the wrath of every priest and member of the Thameish army under his command, and every Generasian ally down upon the blasphemous creature that took Carey. Together, they would scour the mountains until they found her, then punish the one who’d mimicked Uldar’s power and abducted her. Holy Uldar was—

“Peace, Holy Saint,” a grizzled voice spoke from behind him.

Merzhin whirled, holy lightning playing about his hands; his eyes blazed.

His arms rose, but stopped in mid-air.

Standing atop a boulder before him, was an old man, squat, muscular and bearing shoulders that would put a blacksmith’s to shame. Despite the grey in his beard, his eyes had a youthful shine.

And—within large, calloused hands—he held…

…Uldar’s symbol.

“What treachery is this?” lightning danced between Merzhin’s fingers. “What are you doing in our lands, cultist? Remove that ward and tell me where my friend is, or I swear on Uldar’s name, I will destroy you!”

“Please Holy Saint, there is much here beyond what there seems to be at first glance,” the man said, lowering his head. “I am but a humble priest of our god, and I am here to bring peace to your heart and tell you to trust in our god’s plan. I heard your words earlier: you’ve been carrying a great burden, haven’t you? But you know Uldar works in divine mysteries, not mundane words.”

“You are not answering me…” Merzhin said, though some of the certainty had left his voice. A priest? The man did have a holy symbol of Uldar, but anyone could have…

…no…

…Merzhin looked at him more closely, opening his divine senses.

What he felt shook him to his core.

The man was sheathed in more objects bearing Uldar’s power than even the Heroes had the privilege of wielding. His clothing was blessed with it, items about his person glowed with it, his cloak was swathed in it, and unseen wards played about his person, blazing with it.

‘How was it possible that a cultist could possess so many artefacts of Uldar’s power? And that symbol…’ Merzhin’s eyes fell on the symbol of Uldar dangling from the man’s beefy hand.

His god’s power flowed around it.

“You seem to doubt my words, Holy Saint. I cannot fault your scepticism, but, observe,” The old man jerked his chin toward a pine cone lying on the ground. “May I?”

Merzhin’s mind was racing. Something buried in the back of his thoughts screamed at him to shove this old man aside; every moment wasted put Carey in more danger.

But the mystery before him tugged at his thoughts, tearing them apart.

Was this a test of faith?

He needed to know what was happening.

He needed to know what trial or boon Uldar had placed before him.

“Go ahead,” the Saint said evenly.

Eldin nodded, “I will act slowly, to show that I’m not trying to deceive you.”

His words rang with sincerity, quiet with apologetic tones as he carefully made his way to the pine cone. Slowly—almost gingerly—he bent down, scooping earth between his rough palms.

He buried the fruit of the pine tree, taking his time, patting the mound of soil, then holding his hands mere inches above it. “And Uldar came forth to smile upon the wicked,” he intoned, his words ringing with holy conviction.

Merzhin startled as he felt Uldar’s divine embrace.

“And he cleansed their hearts and their fallow fields, so that they came unto him and gave their thanks—” he continued.

Merzhin’s patience was thin, he didn’t trust this man, he was too much of a puzzle. He had no time for puzzles, but he forced himself not to demand that the old man finish his prayer. He remembered how Drestra would grow annoyed when he took “too long” to call upon Uldar’s will.

He, better than most, understood that these deeds took time, and if successful, would confirm or deny the righteousness of the man’s actions.

It would illuminate what was happening.

“They wiped away their greed and gave themselves over to worship. In return? He made their fields fallow no more.”The old man finished.

A surge of Uldar’s divine power poured into the earth covering the pine cone.

Suddenly, a green shoot wriggled free from the soil, reaching toward the sunlight, delicate branches spreading out as though in praise of Uldar’s glory.

Merzhin’s jaw fell.

This was no ordinary divinity; it was rare, only channelled by those very high in the church’s order.

No random cultist would know it.

Which could only mean.

“You are a priest,” Merzhin’s voice shook. “Holy man, what is happening? Why have you taken my friend?”

“Hmmm, it seems you are troubled, my child,” the priest said, slowly walking toward Merzhin. His shoulders relaxed, and the gentle smile on his lips reminded the Saint of the kindly priests who’d raised him.

Who’d brought him into Uldar’s glory.

“I am troubled because you took my friend!” Merzhin snapped. “Where is she?”

“I suppose I owe you an explanation, young child of Uldar,” the old man scratched his chin. “I took her because she needed protection.”

That gave Merzhin pause. “Protection? From what? She is surrounded by friends.”

“Is she? Are they really friends?” the old man countered. “Tell me, how have things between you and the Heroes been of late? Have you not noticed a distance between you and them? A growing distance?”

Merzhin blinked rapidly. “How…how do you know that? Who are you?”

The old man’s tone grew quieter. Tender, soothing.

As gentle as the Saint imagined Uldar’s voice would be in his dreams.

“I am a servant. My name is not important beneath Uldar’s glory,” the priest said, with eyes as kind as his voice. “And I know of these things because it is my duty to preserve Uldar’s flock. My task is to bestow upon you a test.”

“A…test?” Merzhin asked.

“Yes.” The old man’s smile faded. “Ask yourself, Holy Saint, Merzhin. Ask yourself what has happened to you! Your entire life has been spent at Uldar’s bosom, warm in his embrace. The church fed you. Your faith guided you. It led you to that Mark of Uldar on your body! But, you have been suffering lately, have you not?”

The Saint bit his lip.

“Oh how you have suffered my child: loneliness in the face of the Heroes. Secrets among you where there should only be union against the Ravener. Pain and mental anguish. The argument between you and your friend, just now. Tell me, didn’t this turmoil only begin when the Heroes began leaving you behind, departing for Greymoor? …I have seen what they do there.”

“What?” Merzhin said. “What do they do?”

The old priest sighed deeply. “They train. They plot. They exclude you. Falsehoods are swarming among them like vermin…among us all like insects in the mist. They hide our truepath from us.”

“Just…just as the mists hid the path of Uldar’s pilgrims when they sought the seaduring the eleventh cycle?” Merzhin asked.

“As it was then, is as it is now. More things in life are circular than you might think. When you grow old, you will see life’s repetitions. You will recognise them, just as I recognise what is happening to your friend, Carey,” the man said softly.

“What is it?” the Saint choked.

“She has been caught in a deadly maelstrom that threatens all of us. That threatens you, and the other Heroes. That threatens Uldar’s great plan, just as surely as any Fool’s betrayal, or any interloper can,” the old man pronounced. “We are protecting her and luring out those who wish to do her, and all others belonging to Uldar, harm.”

“Who? Who works against us?” Merzhin demanded.

“The same threat thatturns the other Heroes against you. The same onethatbrings doubt and fear,” the old priest said. “Come, Merzhin. Take calm. Have faith. Trust in Uldar.”

The man’s voice lowered. “He is speaking to you.”

And Merzhin desperately wanted that.

Desperately wanted to hear him.

“And…Carey will be safe afterward?” he asked.

“She will. Once the evil influence is lifted from these lands. Your friend will be back in Uldar’s embrace,” the old man promised.

“But what do you need from me?” Merzhin asked.

“The Story of Cromwell. How long do you take to recite it?” the old man asked.

“...about a quarter of an hour, why?” the Saint said.

“Recite it to yourself. Here. On your knees. It will provide you with clarity. And, afterward—when the others ask—simply say that Carey was lost. We will take care of the rest. If you pass this test, Uldar will reward you,” the old man instructed.

“I…and she will not be harmed?” Merzhin asked.

“She will not.”

“I…I understand...”

“Good, then may the story give you clarity. May our paths cross again.” The old man stepped backward.

“No, wait! Wait!” the Saint suddenly cried. “I wish to come with you.”

And the man paused. “What?”

“I wish to come with you. You say you are helping her. I know her, and I am the Saint of Uldar. There is none whose holy power matches mine. Not completely. I can help, and I can help protect Carey.”

“You are needed here, among the Heroes,” the old man reminded him.

“They seem fine without me,” Merzhin said sadly. “And if speaking to Carey is more likely to reveal what is trying to twist them, then I wish to be there to help. Please. My faith is strong.”

The priest stared at him for a time.

“Fine, do you know the crossroads to the west? The one below Owl Rock?”

“Yes,” Merzhin said.

“Finish your prayer, then meet us there. If you are coming with us, do not wait for the expedition. Simply come to us on your own.”

“I…understand.”

“Now, recite the parable of Cromwell,” the old man said.

“Yes.” Merzhin fell to his knees. “I will see you soon.”

“You will.” The old priest went to the nearest boulder and melded into the stone.”

For a time, Merzhin could only sit with a seed of doubt still swimming in his mind.

‘Clarity,’ he thought. ‘I need clarity.’

And he settled down on his knees.

And prayed.

Eldin emerged from a rough, stone wall into a cavern, thanking Uldar that none of his agents were still there. “They’re already on their way. Good.” He looked over his shoulder toward the Saint’s direction. “Things grow complicated.”

He must send Uldar’s monsters away before meeting up with the Saint. The young man would not understand.

For a moment, Eldin was tempted to simply let him wait at the crossroad while he fulfilled his duty…but he knew doing so would be unwise.

If the Saint thought he had been betrayed, there was no predicting what he would do. He could very well inform the Generasians of everything he’d seen.

The risk could not be abided.

“Should I kill him?” he wondered aloud. “No…we need our Heroes, and if they can be saved…then…oh…”

A thought brewed in his mind.

Perhaps the Saint was being tested by Uldar.

Perhaps it was time for him to be initiated into the greater secrets of the faith.

Eldin could see how troubled Merzhin was, but he could also see his deep resolve, and strength of his belief in Uldar. Those were seeds that if properly tended, would yield strong recruits to the secret order.

“And besides,” he whispered. “This young Saint wouldn’t be the first Hero to join our ranks.”

Eldin slipped into the rock he was standing near, moving through it like water, making his way back to Uldar’s other servants.

Meanwhile, where two once stood in the cavern, only one now remained in the shadows, one who had been observing the old priest for a while.

“Huh…” the Guide whispered. “The game grows more and more interesting. If this keeps up, I’ll be holding some fine quarry in my hands soon enough. I just know it.”