Part 15

"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood,

but... against powers,

against the rulers of the darkness of this world,

against spiritual wickedness in high places."

~ Ephesians 6:12

There are many. The room crawls and writhes and slithers. There is an order of desperation to the apparent chaos and a black door that opens onto a black doorway. A Summoner steps from the doorway, indicating to one of the throng that he should follow. The summoned moves away from the rest, a hulk of black in the black mist. The mad assemblage makes a way for him, and he passes unhindered, leaving an instant of distressed silence in his wake. He raises one hand and six shapes disattach from the crowd to trail behind him. They pass through the black doorway, following the Summoner. There is a long, dark hall and another doorway at the end, obscured by another black door. The Summoner knocks three times, and a voice like burned chocolate mews through a hitherto unseen hole in the blackened panel, “What is desired?”

The Summoner bends to whisper at the hole, and the door swings open. The summoned and his entourage enter. A man sits in a chair across the room, on the far side of an enormous table that gleams like a lake of oil. The only light in the room falls upon the head and shoulders of the man from somewhere above, causing a halo of radiance to shine on the crown of his head. With black hair cut short and lying back from his face, his forehead is clear and strong, his eyes lost under the shadow of a compelling brow. His features are regular and attractive. Indeed, he emanates an overwhelming appeal, a dark charisma that seems to radiate from his intense white face. His hands are white also, resting lightly on the tabletop in front of him.

“Come,” he gestures casually. His voice is warm melodic honey.

The summoned moves forward and stands across the table from the man.

“My Lord,” says the summoned.

The man breathes in briefly when addressed, as if inhaling the title and finding it sweet. “What have you to report?” he asks the summoned.

“My Lord, what we feared would happen has occurred.”

The man sighs. “I was counting on you to prevent this.” The calm voice turns on an edge suddenly sharp.

The summoned hangs his head, his shoulders sag. “I know, my Lord.”

“Are you not one of my most trusted servants? Did I not give you this task as a privilege, telling you it was of extreme importance?”

The summoned nods. “Indeed, my Lord.”

“I am bitterly disappointed,” says the man. One eyebrow rises slightly.

The summoned is frightened. “Do not renounce me, my Lord,” he begs. “I will take steps. I have a plan. I will accomplish our goal.”

The man considers this and then nods once. “See that you do,” he tells the summoned. “My appetite is keen. If you do not satisfy it with the fulfillment of this task, then you will satisfy it with your self.”

The summoned shakes, bows. “My Lord.” He backs away from the table, where the man sits unflustered, his hands still motionless on the polished tabletop. The summoned reaches the doorway, where his subordinates await. They follow him back out into the hallway. He clenches his fists in nervous resentment. He must not fail. He cannot fail….