Of Ancient Passages: Chapter 21: Voices of Plots

In Ongerstoke, there is a house on the highest hill. How can it muffle the schemes within? How can it not burst with secrets? Such an inconspicuous place. What home is this to hide such esoteric.

By all rights, it does not exist. There is no deed. There is no address. No written evidence is to be found, that it is tangible at all. Yet, it remains a nagging presence. For the people of Ongerstoke it is a hard thing to ignore.

For any visitors into this city, it is a ghost. Long since abandoned. However, for citizens it is all too frequented. Though none will strike it in proper conversation. Those brazen few, who speak of it, always have one close examination.

Near midnight, a single light pierces the sleepiest of darkness. Shades can be seen waving in the upstairs window. High marked voices are heard, briefly, chanting. That is not the puzzler. Just before the first light rises, strange whispers strangle the air and the house grows quiet again.

A ghost house, indeed. There seems to be a pristine superstition about that place. Not even the constable considers it apart of his reach. It is a place which old woman vex. It is the reason dogs whimper woundedly in deep hours.

I wonder what vexes those old woman say this night. For their steps a hooded figure in the empty street. Up the hill he walks. A large red door stands before him. The cloth is pulled low from the man’s face. The door peaks open and closes behind.

No one shows him up. He can recount every creak, even the number of steps, without blinking. Red robed figures stand everywhere. Taking a small pause at the door three raps are made. The reply is always the same.

“Come in my old friend.”

They exchange a brief hug. “It is good to see you Bran.”

He pulls out a cigar, lights it and takes one long drag. “You’re the only who calls me that. Most use my proper title,” he throws his hands out, “High Priest Velerum.” A small courteous laugh escapes. “Any other person and they would be dead already. You have to appreciate the honor of it.”

“You were never this self-important.”

Bran’s face changes instantly, like a mask. “You are right.” Sitting down bones pop. “My eyes tell me that there are pieces on the board that may interrupt our path.”

“I take it you mean this, Sol.”

“I do. He may pose a problem.”

“Shall we take care of him?” The idea never even raises an eyebrow.

“No. We will watch and wait. He is a neutral piece. We must be patient and see what side he takes.”

He shakes his head in agreement. “In that case the bounty must be taken from Tsuk’s head. We do not want to intentionally sway Sol’s side in the wrong direction.”

Cigar ashes flitter to the floor. “I cannot do that. It could be a big headache. I will take care of it.”

“So we are just going to wait and see?”

“Exactly. We will wait until the opportune moment.” Says Bran.