Chapter 4.24: A Fear of Heroes

With the darkness consuming the aasimar apparition and the fihyr returning, Mero walks over to the priest. There is determination in his steps.
“Is it possible for the manifestations of this trial to lie? Or to know information I can’t possibly know?”
Daemion has seen all kinds of fear and all the trials with the fihyr that fit them, but this one was new. During Mero’s trial, before the blinding light captured the room, he inspected his own body again to see if there was something similar. He knows he has a closed eye on his forehead, symbolising the fear to lose religious connection. A cracked skull on the ball of his foot for not remembering someone in death. He knows he has an eye without a pupil at the base of his neck. Maybe that one comes closest to Mero’s fear, forgetting your loved one due to magic or disease. They all have some common ground, but they all differ at least slightly from what his new mark means. The sorcerer’s hurried words draw his attention away his thoughts and he turns his head towards him.
“The trial does what it needs to do to tap into fear”, the demon answers with a hint of distraction in his voice. “Sadly, the truth is most often worse than the lies the fihyr can create. They are not quazeri, the many-faced, offspring of the Father of Lies. They tell what the Father of Fear sees in a soul.”
Mero’s face brightens up, at least as far as the mechanical constructions allow him to.
“You mean…”
He hesitates, doubting if he is too eager again to ask for answers.
“You may speak freely, Merodius. You don’t have to fear speaking to me when you just spoke to Gor-Thar.”
The sorcerer scratches the back of his head nervously.
“Was it truly him who spoke to me? The Father?”
Daemion tilts his head slightly, wondering where the golem is going with this.
“An aspect of him, yes. He spoke through by the magic of the purple tears. They make the fihyr shift their shape. Again, what do you wish to know?”
Mero lifts his head a bit more, showing more confidence.
“Can he answer my questions? He seems to know much of my past. He takes a look at my soul and knows what my mother looks and sounds like, that my father is in danger and that I’m an aasimar apparently. Is it too much if I ask him to reveal more?”
The souldrinker frowns and shakes his head. His serpentine braid unravels and his black snakes hiss furiously.
“You are in the guldûn of fear, Merodius”, he says with a stern voice, almost agitated. “You do not speak to Al’Kra Daresh, Mother of Secrets, or Ozephelyx, Father of Oracles. This is not the place nor the time to ask a favor again after just receiving his blessing. I will forgive you your ignorance, because you are ucha’ar and you don’t know better, but many a priest would be offended by these requests. Vahel, know when to ask these things and when to hold your metal tongue.”
The emphasis on the word ‘vahel’ strongly brings its meaning across: an exclamation and almost begging way to say ‘please’, also roughly translated to ‘come on’ or ‘have mercy’.
“I was only asking!”
His companions haven’t heard Mero’s raised voice very often. His new body surely helps him speak up and stand his ground.
“I didn’t want to be rude”, he continues. “I was just checking if it was allowed. You don’t have to verbally kill me the moment I want to check what the local customs are. Gods damn me for trying to be polite!”
Evidently, if that angelic woman truly was his mother, he’s quite the chip off the old block. He seems to have her temper. Now that the others hear him standing up for himself like this, they realize how much he has grown in these last few days already.
The demon stays silent. The snakes calm down and rest their heads against his chest and shoulders, covering several curious markings.
“Ch’lesh”, he says, meaning to apologize, “you are right. The trials drain my energy with every new mark that burns into my skin. Gor-Thar can’t help you any further with your hidden past. But you have learned new things, za?”
He hears that last part as ‘yet’ and ‘however’, but understands it’s the latter. The sorcerer nods without saying another word. He appreciates his apology, but he has a lot of thinking to do. Thinking about his parents and trying to connect the dots of the possibility of his angelic descent. Is that why he appeared as a bright silver figure when he changed bodies? Is that why his soul survived? He questions his mortality and ancestry, but an even more daunting thought captures him. Does that mean he could be linked to the Silver Circle? Is he part of the angelic prophecies Hadriel mentioned, because he is the hero to save Abaddon or because he is one of the villains the heroes have to slay?
He sighs, face buried in his cold hands. If he could cry, he would.