Secrets & Treasons

Sixth Movement: The Pact

Sinister were the sounds of footsteps whose multiple echoes resounded and ricocheted along the thick walls of the dungeon. A sumptuous black moiré cape accompanied them with its cold and voluptuous dance. Descending this type of monumental staircase, hanging from the central pillar of one of the most imposing dungeons in Innàa's history, is not done without a minimum of charisma and a sense of theatricality. Or ridiculousness. But the man who touched the end of this staircase had been given his fair share of charisma at birth.

With a step that betrayed an ill-contained impatience, he moved towards the heavy iron-clad door that led to a maze of corridors and its countless tiny rooms closed from the outside, with only a view to the outside provided by a loophole, out of reach. Mostly out of reach. Only one of these rooms interested the man at the moment. It should normally be full of new candidates, all fresh and vibrant with a hope as extraordinary as it was impossible. Because that was what this dark, isolated and gloomy place was really about. Realizing an impossible wish for people ready to sacrifice everything to see this wish come true. But so far, the selection had been inevitably doomed to failure and as he entered the observation room, hidden from the vision of the candidates, a tenth group presented itself for the test. Until then, the applicants had all failed miserably and the man was beginning to doubt the feasibility of this project.

"It is a great honor, such an honor..." Rion muttered as he followed the man into the room, his back bent in a posture of deference and admiration. "It is a very great honor and one that I truly appreciate, Master Langlord II."

The man had already raised his hand and Rion was silent in an instant, understanding halfway through. He bowed again and brought a comfortable chair closer to the man, who sat down without waiting for an invitation. The presence of this ridiculous pencil-pusher was an offense in itself, but one he would have to endure, for 'Master' Rion knew all about rituals and their preparation and performance. This industrious little bookworm had turned his hobby into a research object and finally into a science, which he wanted to be exact. And Langlord had to call on him to ensure the feasibility of this essential part of his little personal project. He would have preferred not to have recourse to this kind of little person, whose ego and desire to please and be recognized is inversely proportional to his place in the hierarchy, but he didn't have the specific knowledge necessary for the success of the operation.

This is how he found himself, Langlord, the second of the name, Great Councilor of Sältar the Willow himself, having to wait for the goodwill of a little nobody who was unable to get out of the eleventh circle and climb the ladder. It was surprising, though, because Rion's knowledge of the various types of rituals in the world of Innàa was universally recognized, as was his honeyed and fearful nature towards any superior. Some people just don't have what it takes to rise in society.

Meanwhile, Rion's impressive knowledge had yielded nothing concrete, and Langlord was getting seriously impatient. Getting rid of the bodies of the previous unfortunate candidates had not been a problem so far, but if it continued like this, someone would end up asking questions and he could not allow that to go back to Sältar's ears; he risked a lot. But the game was worth the candle.

Langlord could not determine if it was his presence beside Rion or the perception of the danger in which his repeated failures where likely to precipitate him which explained the tension in which he was currently. Indeed, Rion, short of smiles and pleasantries spouted at the speed of a prayer beads, was fidgeting on his feet, next to the chair of the high dignitary of his order. He had prepared a modest hardwood stool for himself, but he could not bring himself to sit down.

"Where are we at?" said the hoarse voice of Langlord II, breaking the awkward and tense silence.

"I am confident, Master, that this group is the one we have been waiting for and..."

"You already promised me that with the seventh group," Langlord cut in sharply, "and what happened to that group, Rion?"

"Well, let's say, let's see, they didn't show as much promise as we did..."

"They all failed. One after the other. All irreparably, miserably failed. And now as cold as the stone that serves as their tomb."

"Yes, Master. Alas, Master," said Rion, lowering his eyes in confusion at seeing his failures pointed out so cruelly and coldly by his superior.

"When does the next test begin?" continued Langlord in a conversational tone.

"In a few moments, Master. You can judge for yourself."

"And to see them all drop like flies, I can't wait to see it with my own eyes," he said prickly.

Rion coughed embarrassed, and confused by the extra blame, and not wanting to take it anymore, he backed away from the door that led to the hallway. A moment later, he entered the lower room on the other side of the enchanted wall. From his comfortable chair, Langlord observed Rion's manners. They had evolved surprisingly: faced with a band of ruffians, thieves and other mercenaries, whom he probably considered inferior to him, Rion showed himself to be commanding, bossy even, hard and quick to control. He gave his explanations in a firm and rapid tone, not allowing himself to be interrupted and not allowing any questions. Once they had entered the room, the only way out was through the door hidden by the thick velvet curtain. Two paths were open to them, one leading to the grave and the other, still untouched, to the realization of their wildest desire.

Then it began.

Rion led them through the pentagram previously drawn in the ground and quoted the sacred rhymes. One by one, according to a rhythm given by a clepsydra, operated by the human sage, they parted the heavy curtains and entered the next room.

Langlord followed the movement of the candidates from the observation room, and as the first candidate pushed aside the curtains, a sturdy fellow with skin as golden as gingerbread, he wondered if he would have to abandon his project altogether, or if he would have to make substantial modifications to maintain it, for he would be drastically short of time if the ritual did not succeed with this group.

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"That's it, they back at it again!" he said, excited.

"Indeed, one can at least recognize them their obstinacy!" he replied. "Let's see, what do we have this time?"

He settled comfortably, close to his other half, at the same time intrigued and amused by the tenacity of the humans.

"Hmm...", he said, "that is interesting, it could work for once."

"This one is worthless, he has no idea what it would take for us to grant his wish, he has no mental strength whatsoever."

Nawal suddenly entered. Gotarra gave him a welcoming look and resumed his observation.

"Is it starting again?" asked Nawal.

"They can't seem to get enough," Gotarra confirmed with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"Although, this group seems more interesting than the previous ones," Rom added.

"Daoud should be here soon," Nawal said, "nothing can start without him."

They nodded. This did not prevent them from gauging the candidates, however, and already clear preferences were appearing.

Finally, the last Eternal required to perform the ritual joined the other three and sat down in their midst.

"Well," he said, "let's get this over with."

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