Dark shapes moved about, shrouded by the shadows of nearby homes and huts. A pair of silhouettes, one large and imposing, as if a man-beast born of full moonlight, one thin and reedy, as if a wronged soul trapped in reanimated flesh, forever cursed to roam the earth, both synchronized to near perfection in their attempt of subterfuge. To the guards positioned around the manse, they were phantoms, mere tricks of the weary mind, their hushed whispers no more different from a stray coastal wind or a creeping, ghostly sigh.
Unobstructed, these two went on with their misdeed, to—figuratively—haunt the interiors of the large building, or, more specifically, the proprietor sleeping at the topmost floor. Except, the aforementioned haunting would involve more so the slashing and puncturing of flesh, rather than an assault on mundane comfort, with the raucous rattling of décor and dinner plates.
In fact, so at leisure were these two intruders that the one, not quite, born of full moon night thought it fitting to engage in chitchat with the, almost but not quite, reanimated hunk of flesh.
"An ostentatious fellow, pity he does not seem to invest much in the quality of his night patrol," whispered Amram.
Zelikman glared. "Quiet, will you? Do you want those ´Keepers of the Faith´ to swarm us in an enclosed space?"
"You exaggerate, Zelikman. We are nigh-phantoms, apparitions, against mediocre measures of security."
"Indeed, Amram. We are stealthy ghouls beyond the limits of human comprehension, beyond the possibility, no, the very concept of failure!"
"I am merely trying to liven the mood, Zelikman."
Zelikman sighed.
"Let us simply gut this lunatic in his sleep and be done with it. This place is far too disturbing for my liking."
Amram gazed around the paintings of Greek Gods, titans, and monsters decorating the walls, the mythological sights illuminated by the dim moonlight that came from the windows.
"Is Greek memorabilia not of your liking Zelikman? I find it of a most charming quality myself. Such clever use of black and orange contrast is not to be left without praise."
Zelikman scoffed.
"Relics of a bygone era, my friend. I've no doubt that this ritualistic figurehead scourged, stitched up, and molded whatever pagan novelty of his from these dusty old myths. That or he's merely one with a dubious taste in the arts."
Amram clutched his chest in mock offense. "You wound me, Zelikman. However, I do suppose he might have far too strong a fascination for the ancient periods. Some variety would do far from harming his décor."
"We are not here to criticize the man's tastes, Amram. We are here to kill him."
Amram nodded.
"Shame we will only be able to backstab whatever Keeper is unlucky enough to stand in our way as we leave. Incompetent as guards as they may be, I do suppose the sight of someone sleeping over a maroon pool is a noteworthy enough cause for alarm," he shrugged. "But alas, what is might without a figurehead? They shall all be no more than overfed, headless chickens running about, once Callinicus is dealt with."
Zelikman let out a faint chuckle. "Good analogy," but his expression turned sour. "Though I must admit, I do regret that we have to leave Demetrios behind. Appearances and concerning worship aside, the young man is of genuine heart and soul. That you cannot deny."
"You know how it is. There is no horse strong enough to carry Demetrios, nor are there arguments that will tear through lifelong years of obedience and worship, regardless of his affections for young Ariadne."
"Still, to be treated as if a beast by your very own, coming out into the open only when called for. To suffer for as long as you can even remember, to the point where, to you, it is nothing less than the way things are meant to be. What sort of life is that, Amram?"
Amram gently patted Zelikman on the back. "The kindness of your heart is a rare sight, Zelikman, one that I most treasure," he sighed. "But you must remember, we are not miracle makers, we are thieves, and the most we can do is give the man up ahead his well-deserved comeuppance. At the very least, no longer will Demetrios suffer that iron grip on his life. Then, maybe then, will he finally become a man of his own will."
"That I hope," Zelikman stopped as he reached the end of the staircase to the topmost floor, his eyes widening. "Ghastly taste in art, I tell you."
Amram stared at the large painting on the wall in front of him with mock appraisal.
"A rather unjust assessment if I do say so myself. There is, however, a disparate amount of effort allotted to the details on the face and the horns, compared to the rest of the anatomy anyway. Aside from that, it is a well-done rendition of the myth. If leaning a tad too heavily on the gruesome aspect of its acts."
"That would be an understatement," Zelikman grimaced. "At this point, I would much rather prefer to stumble upon the man's underground torture chamber by accident, and all the horrors within, than to come across further of these slights on art itself."
Amram rolled his eyes. "For the love of God, Zelikman, you don't even know how to paint extremities properly."
"I'll have you know that it is only the structure of the feet that eludes me. They are most difficult to capture in perspective and movement—"
The sound of creaking wood came from the bottom of the staircase and with it too came an echo, of a pair of hasty steps.
With much haste of their own, Amram and Zelikman hid as fast as they could at the darkened end of the hallway, farthest away from the cascading moonlight. There the duo waited; axe and lancet in hand, for seconds that dragged on like grueling hours, as little by little the footsteps grew louder. Then, it appeared.
It turned out to be one of the Keepers, the man's silhouette a dark, foreboding shape. The duo's grips on their weapons tightened, as the shape stood in front of the Minotaur painting, immobile, mere steps away. Both were ready to strike, to pay back the man in kind, but before they could have engaged in their much-desired ambush, they noticed something strange, so much so that they could not help but stare.
The Keeper's face, lit by the night light, showed the man in a moony state, a downright drooling expression that belied no more wit than that of a camel intoxicated by the consumption of desert flora. Further confounding the duo, the Keeper began to tap on the wall with his hand, repeatedly, searching for something hidden on the wooden surface. He pressed and pried, grunting and moaning, a dejected animal whose attempts at ramming the cacti bore no fruit.
Amram and Zelikman shared a look, unsure as to whether they should feel amused, horrified, or both.
Then, a clicking sound came about—along with the Keeper's desperate sigh of relief—and the pair turned to see the wall holding the ghastly painting of the beast, pushing in and revealing itself a secret door, shifting aside thanks to a hidden mechanism of levers, gears, and pullers. From a distance, they saw the sparkle, the glittering reflections of the room's insides, as revealed by the glow of the night sky. A hoard of precious worth.
The Keeper stumbled inside. Amram and Zelikman waited for a moment, processing what just occurred, only to hear a loud sniffing and snorting sound coming from inside the secret space. The Keeper came out with a faint turquoise glow smeared over his nose, his smile dumb and satisfied. With yet another sigh of content, the man walked downstairs, leaving the door wide open.
Once the echo of the Keeper's steps was no more, Amram and Zelikman, lulled by the temptation of easy riches, made their way inside. There they came upon marvelous wealth, lit by the lunar radiance that poured in from the glass rooftop. Silver, gold, jewels, pelts, luxurious carpets, and many other fine goods, piled up inside the hidden chamber. A true treasure, worthy of a monarch or, perhaps, a rather shrewd lord of thieves.
Amram and Zelikman shared a grin, pulled out each a cloth sack from their clothes, and began.
"It appears that our flourishing river of good fortune has yet to run dry, eh Zelikman?" Amram whispered as he picked up a gold necklace, decorated with multiple encrusted jewels. His eyes shone with wonder. "Well, I'll be damned, genuine Rashidun Caliphate! Berate the man's theology and taste in décor all you want, Zelikman, you cannot deny his eye for precious stones," he flung it inside the sack.
Zelikman shook his head, as he held a pair of immaculate, blood-red rubies.
"Entirely unrelated subjects, Amram. A knack for quality thievery does not diminish the spiritual blight that is one's animalistic beliefs. Not in the slightest," he threw the rubies inside his own.
Amram shrugged.
"Not much good thievery does for one's soul—faith notwithstanding—when you think about it," he picked up a gold statuette of the Egyptian God Set and whistled quietly. "Moral quandaries aside, these certainly make for far more durable and portable plunder, compared to period piece pots and paintings," he chuckled, "that we can both agree on."
"Yes, that we can, at least. Speaking of ill-gotten gains, let us fill up these bags as most we can and finish our most convenient detour. Not all the gold in the world could distract me from this tense feeling creeping up my spine. That and anymore good fortune could very well foretell our impending doom," Zelikman said, before knotting his half-empty bag.
Amram huffed, as he also tied up his half-full sack of loot.
"Honestly, Zelikman. If the powers that be grace you with an opportune feast on a silver platter, you at least show the decency to gorge yourself halfway through. That way you are not drowsy enough for fate to claim your life in a cruel twist, as a spider would a fattened fly in its honeyed web. Besides, we both saw that Keeper up close. Ferocious raiders they may be in a craze, but vigilant owls they most certainly are not."
"You are overdoing it with the analogies, Amram. However, now that you mention it, the juxtaposition of their capabilities does not cease to boggle my mind. How does one capable of that ferocity and strength be reduced to an incompetent, drooling mess shortly afterward? It makes no logical sense! I mean, neither does might of divine attribution. There simply has to be an explanation, just as the faint glow on the man's nose—"
Zelikman's words died in his throat, for a small desk in the middle of the room beguiled his sight. There, as he approached, he saw a fine powder of a dim glowing turquoise hue, contained in several small sacks, and in the largest of those was a mold of a similar tone and illuminating property.
"What is it?" asked Amram.
Zelikman held many a hypothesis, but none too clear at that very moment. He scrutinized the mold, without ever touching it, his wit racing to come up with a proper answer to both the riddle in his mind and the background pestering of his companion. Then, the steps returned, at a quicker pace than before, bringing the riddle, and Amram's nonsense, to an abrupt halt.
Neither proved fast enough. The door was shut tight with a click before they even reached it. In an act of silent desperation, Zelikman inspected the wall, patted it nonstop, hoping to find a mechanism like the one on the other side. There was nothing.
However, just as despair began to overtake the Frank, Amram, through raw force of audacity alone, knocked thrice on the wall.
"What the hell are you—" Zelikman seethed before Amram shut his lips tight with his fingers.
The Keeper on the other side stopped his march. Then, after a pregnant pause, the man moved back towards the secret door, opened it through its mechanism, and peered his head inside.
"Uh, hello?"
A furtive slice from Amram's axe responded in kind, lopping off the Keeper's head with ease. It fell on the floor with a light thud, along with the crumbling, headless corpse of the former Keeper.
"Sliced and felled just like any man."
Zelikman sniffed. "Right I was," he then kicked the lump of bone, flesh and cartilage away and began to drag the headless, bleeding, body from the door. "Quick, come help me, Amram. Let us leave the corpse inside and move along, we need to be done with this before—"
Another pair of steps, three hasty pairs to be exact, began to climb the stairs below, the creaking of the wooden floor growing ever so louder as they approached.
"Crap," Zelikman muttered and dropped the body, its impact causing the footsteps to increase the speed of their ascent.
The duo left the room and ran for dear life, with all the might their legs and lungs could provide. Little it took them to reach the door to the Chieftain's room; just as little did it take those three men not far behind, to reach the end of the stairs to the topmost floor.
Zelikman fumbled about with the keys he stole from one of the guards outside the manor, but Amram, taking the daring route yet again, simply turned the door handle and found it open.
Not Amram nor Zelikman considered their disbelief, at the fact that the door was somehow unlocked; they merely took their good fortune without question, entered the darkened room, and closed the door behind them. The men outside stopped, courtesy of the blood and corpse on the floor, most likely, the duo inferred. That alone would give them enough time to deal with Callinicus, they thought, and afterward, use the strategic bottleneck to their advantage against the guards during their escape.
Amidst the darkness, neither noticed the enormous, looming shape standing right behind them.
Ariadne tapped on the table without pause. Hours passed now and she began to worry.
The worst ate away at the back of her mind. Whatever had occurred? How much longer would they take? How much longer would she have to endure, before leaving it all behind and finding life anew? That and much more she pondered, before someone rapped at her door, thrice. Without skipping a beat, Ariadne sprang up—as did her spirits—went for the door, and opened it.
The living nightmare returned ten-fold, buckling her legs, taking her breath away. There they were, Callinicus and his men, right there, in front of her, the Chieftain's demeaning cheer lively as always.
"Late evening, my dear Ariadne."
Ariadne fumbled back to her table as Callinicus walked inside her home with the gall of a welcome guest. The five remaining Keepers followed.
"Demetrios," Callinicus ordered.
From the shadows of the night, a hulking shape hunched over and entered Ariadne's abode. Demetrios rose to his full height, revealing a wrist and ankle tied-up, unconscious pair: Amram and Zelikman, one held by each of his mighty arms.
Ariadne gasped. "Demetrios? What is the meaning of this?"
Demetrios said nothing. His head hung low, without expression. Callinicus chuckled.
"Oh, it is simple, really, Ariadne dear. Demetrios is a great listener, a great one indeed. One more than capable of hiding, listening, and spreading the word of treason, in spite of his size, for he knows better than to keep secrets from the man that brought him upon this earth, the one who cared for him when anyone else would have left him to rot in the sands."
"Cared for him? You monster!" Ariadne screamed, but as she lunged at Callinicus, two of the Keepers grabbed ahold of her arms and pinned her to the ground. "Unhand me! Demetrios, help me! Please, listen to me!"
Callinicus patted Demetrios on the shoulder.
"It is most wise to listen to the words of faith, in an impure world of sin and flesh, lest you let your spirit astray, wandering through a spiral of vice and treachery. Demetrios knows better, he knows its power and the trust there must be in it for it to thrive. Yes, he knows better. Unlike some I am afraid."
Callinicus waved his hand and the Keepers raised Ariadne from the ground and put her face-to-face with the Chieftain. The man caressed Ariadne's cheek, to which she responded by spitting at him and baring her teeth.
Callinicus smirked and wiped his face.
"Fear not, Ariadne, for I am not a man without mercy. As the one and true voice of the Gods, I shall grant you, and these charming strangers, a final chance at redemption. Tomorrow night, the chosen child shall not walk alone into the path of eternity. She shall be the guide of your infidel spirits in their time of need, a light of hope in the dark path you have so regrettably chosen. Such is the will of the Gods."
He closed in on Ariadne, whom the Keepers restrained with ease.
"Fear not, dear Ariadne. Soon, it will all be over."