Topic: Devil's Debt

Lucky Duck

Date: 2007-06-13 01:16 EST
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
- Robert W. Service (1874?1958). The Cremation of Sam McGee (l. 33). . .

"This is it?" The barrister couldn't keep the skepticism from his voice.

"Haven't your requests always been fulfilled?" came the sibilant reply.

Lucien leaned back in the chair, causing the tired legs to groan in protest. There were many things the barrister tolerated and few things he hated. Having a question answered with a question was one of those few things he neither tolerated nor accepted. The wrapped tube remained untouched on the table between the men.

"It is what you requested," the darkness whispered, breaking the silence at the table.

The chair moaned again, under the shifting weight. Lucien leaned across the table and placed a sack tied like a brick on the edge of the shadow draped across the marred wooden surface. He rose to his feet, and in the same motion, picked up the wrapped tube and tucked it into his jacket pocket. A gloved hand snaked out from the shadows and dragged the brick into the darkness.

"Is this everything?" the unseen voice hissed.

"Haven't your price always been met?"

A breath of silence followed the barrister as he moved from the table. Then an unpracticed laugh rose from behind the dim veil at the table.

Lucky Duck

Date: 2007-07-08 18:59 EST
In vain produced, all rays return;
Evil will bless, and ice will burn
- Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803?1882). ?Uriel,? Poems (1847).


Tell me Lucien, is that taint I smell upon ye?

The barrister sat in his dark study, fingertips absently drumming against the blaster that laid on the desk. Cool gaze stared out into the oppressive shadow that blanketed the room, as the devil-kin's words replayed in his memory. The recent encounter forefront in his brooding, silencing, for the moment, all other voices and recollections.

The scroll was part of an agreement he'd made with Veighn. Assistance to gain information, in exchange for his leaving the Seer alone. It was a tenuous alliance at best. Lucien would've much rather knocked the devil-kin's smug grin right off his face. The attempt alone would've been far more satisfying.

I hope you don't come to regret this, Lucien.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, recalling Alysia's words. The weight upon his chest eased none at all, prompting him to suddenly rise to his feet, pushing away from the chair and desk. Lucien paced in the darkness, rubbing his hands over his face with growing agitation. He glared into the inky darkness and mocking silence he stood in the midst of. He dared his unseen opponents to come after him. To try and take him down. He wanted a reason. He needed a reason...

And it came.

First the Voices...rising, screaming, laughing, taunting. Then the Faces...familiar and foreign, angry, weeping, lost, hurt, raging. And all became consumed by fire. A beautiful, frightening, brilliant blanket of red.

I am curious, but for the asking, I'm sure there is a price for the telling. Though still curious nonetheless. How came ye by this?

Is it because ye are so, "lucky," or elsewise. I'm sure ye woman may have something to do with this, nae? Some role to play?

Veighn's voice came rushing back to the fore, quieting all the other voices again, echoing in the barrister's ears.

My offer was whatever was at my disposal, my resources were yours, Lord Veighn. The Lady Skye is not party to that.

What he said and what he wanted to say were two distinctly different things that evening at the Inn. What he did and wanted to do were very different. What he did and had to do...what he'd given word on...they pulled at him. What he did and needed to do...what he ought to have done...

Haunted him.

Lucky Duck

Date: 2007-07-08 19:02 EST
It is an evil world. The fires of hatred and violence burn fiercely. Evil is powerful, the devil covers a darkened earth with his black wings. And soon the end of the world is expected.
- Johan Huizinga (1872?1945). The Autumn of the Middle Ages, ch. 1 (1921, trans. 1995)


Lucien brushed his fingers over the unseen safe he had reconstructed and concealed in the framing. He ran them over the spines of the books that lined the newly built shelves. The dark veil of night was beginning to lift in the study, and the room took on an azure and violet hue as morning started to dawn.

All night, the voices whispered at him. All night, the memories plagued him. All night, the weight upon his chest grew heavier and heavier. All night, rage built. And morning brought no relief.

What do ye see here, Taneth. Has Lucien done well?
Mallorek does well all the times.
He does, doesn't he.

Just as day broke, the study erupted.

With a sweep of his arms, the barrister sent books, ancient and new scattering across the room. The desk and tables were upturned and glasses shattered against the newly finished walls and panels. A chair went sailing out the newly installed window. A bench went out the other. Whiskey and bourbon stained the walls and rug.

Tell me Lucien, is that taint I smell upon ye? Ye donnae harbor any hanger's-on, from ye delvings, do ye.. "Bob?"

Against the dawning day, the barrister raged.