Secrets & Treasons

Sixth Movement: The Pact | Markus

The room was poorly lit when the first candidate presented himself. He could feel eyes scrutinizing him, and he knew that they were reading him like an open book. He knew instantly that he couldn't lie, and that his path ended there. But he wouldn't give up that easily, he wouldn't give up. It was far too important for him, and especially for the glory of his family. And for him, glory was everything. Without it, he was as good as dead.

He took a deep breath and shook off the doubts that were beginning to plague him and took a step forward. He knew he had no choice. He had opened the door and pushed back the veil. It was a one-way street. He knew that. But only now did he realize its profound significance. He had to pass the test. For the sake of honor. His clan's, and his own, a little. He had come so far, so close to his goal. Once elected, rewarded with the Gift of the Eternals, he would do great things, he was sure. Then he would be proud of himself and he would no longer have to be ashamed of the comparison with his father, that wonderful man, that hero who died too soon in the fields reddened with the blood of thousands of warriors, during the last battle of the Runes War...

He took a long gulp of air and in a loud voice exclaimed:

"I am ready!"

The dim lights in the room suddenly faded at these words and the oppressive darkness gripped the mercenary with an iron grip. A high-pitched screech was heard, quickly followed by a crashing sound that increased in amplitude with the sound. The light reappeared. Yellow, red, orange. The heat that accompanied it seemed to soar.

Drops of sweat began to bead along the man's temples. The air was becoming unbreathable. The ground shook again and this time, before his stunned eyes, he saw the ground crumble and crack, disappearing into a lava pit far below him. He instinctively took a step to the side and found himself balancing on the edge of the cliff, which seemed to be resisting the pull towards the bottom of the now burning gorge. He could see perfectly well now and he could see that the huge room in which he was, had been almost entirely sucked in by the molten lava that was burning the air all around him. Each breath was a torture and burned his lungs. He took off his leather tunic. His golden skin began to glisten with sweat in the overheated air.

He looked around him without understanding what was expected of him. He could see no way out. Only a tiny part of the pavement had resisted the collapse. He looked behind him, from where he had come. But the door and the curtain were gone. He shook his head in incomprehension. A dull terror began to rise in him. Everywhere he looked, he saw nothing but lava, swirls of air instantly embracing each other under the effect of the toxic fumes and heat. His eyes reflected only the unbearable light of the furnace. Was he going to die like this? Stupidly? Without understanding anything, without even being given a chance to prove his worth?

And, as if answering his silent question, a voice rose. An inhuman voice, strange, speaking and singing at the same time:

Before us, Fearless Human who appears,

Of our Gift wants to be honored

His Name, before any explanation, must declare...

"They call me Markus!"

Markus, from the abyss will have to show himself victorious

To deserve this gift desired with all his heart,

Pass through the door on the other side of the precipice,

And we, Eternals, will make your wish come true.

He tore his eyes away from the swirling abyss and scanned the room in all directions with all his strength. Could there be a door, an exit, that would get him out of this hell? Nothing. He squinted again. The extreme brightness of the lava made the walls of the room seem even darker than they really were. He forced himself to concentrate. Where the fuck was that door? Then something caught his eye, a still indistinct and blurred shape. The more he concentrated on it, the more certainty settled in. Yes, it was there. Right in front of him! And the horror of the situation exploded in his face. The exit existed, he could see it, but it was inaccessible, just on the other side of the flaming void. What did the Eternals want? What was expected of him? That he jumps into the lava-filled void to save himself? This was totally stupid and cruel! He didn't have enough solid space behind him to gather enough momentum in hope to reach the other edge without risking falling. And despite his sturdiness and muscle power, he doubted he could do it without momentum. He was going to die. He had known it as soon as he had pushed back the curtain and had felt that he was being watched like an insect being dissected. But now he breathed that death. His death. He looked desperately around, looking for any way out. Nothing. His mind was in a state of suspended animation.

Again, a terrible crashing sound was heard. Somewhere a cog was turning. He was taking too long. The earth under his feet was crumbling. A piece of rock toppled into the void. He could not even move. Back up? And he would end up with his back against the wall. Jumping? He would plunge straight into the heart of the lava. Death. Ridiculous. Liquefied. He was lost, incapable of any action. Frozen.

A column of lava and flame rose from the furnace and stabilized at his height. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw Ethea, the Lince, smiling at him as she took him in her arms, while his being, body and soul, burned. He thought of howling, but he already felt nothing, except a strange impression of serenity.

He was dead.

"Pfuuuuuuuuuuuu!" Complained Rion, "what heat!"

"At least we won't have to dispose of his body! It's a good thing the Linces put in a little effort every now and then."

Rion looked at him in amazement at the casualness of it all, a man was dead after all!  Well, after all, it was a less than nothing, but... Well, after all, it's true that he was happy that he was spared this chore: a pile of ashes is always easier to manage than a rotting body...

"What always impresses me so much," Rion said in a conversational tone, "is the multiple ways in which men can die."

"What do you mean?" said Langlord, genuinely intrigued.

"Of all the candidates who have met the unenviable fate of this one, none have breathed their last in the same way."

"Really?"

"Yes, the lava was a first!"

"I thought the ritual was unchanging?" replied Langlord, with a frown, definitely thinking he should have paid more attention to it, and observe it on a regular basis, instead of just showing up today...

"The general form is always respected, yes, but the substance always differs."

"Basically, the Eternals have fun changing the way they kill, right?"

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***

"I couldn't have said it better myself!" said Gotarra, laughing.

"Sadly, Markus was equal to himself. It's a shame he tried that ritual, knowing he wouldn't survive it," Daoud noticed.

"His pride was stronger than anything..." Nawal said grimly.

"And the fear, the fear of the judgment of others will have precipitated him in his fall..." concluded Rom.

And he knew what he was talking about.

"Enough of this idle chatter, let's see the next candidate..." Gotarra cut in, impatient.

***

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