‘This has come from him?’ asked the old man as he rose, his greying hairs light and flowing, ‘you are certain?’
The tall man brushed off his brown cloak, running his left hand through his beard; which had now grown a finger’s length. ‘He gave me the letter himself,’ he assured, ‘and it still bears his unbroken seal. He trusts me a great deal.’
‘He trusts no one,’ the old man corrected before walking over to a wooden table in one of the room’s corners; there he clapped his hands thrice and three others came, placing lit candles on the table. Sitting and opening the letter, he read it silently, eyeing each word, starting at every detail. ‘Interesting,’ he noted, before folding the letter to burn it with one of the candles. The parchment blackened and curled, falling as ashes onto the table. Though such was a terrible waste of parchment, which was indeed expensive, one often finds burning important letters to be of use. ‘Return to him, and tell him the following, exactly as I say it,’ the old man began in a tone as mysterious as it was clear.
In something akin to a chant, or a song, he continued.
‘The darkness is stronger than the light,
for in the light lies darkness.
Never lose vision, keep darkness in sight,
for in the light lies darkness.
On the third night of the fourth week he was born,
for in the light lies darkness.
Forget the old not, keep his body, however torn.
for in the light lies darkness.
An oath I swear on this night,
for in the light lies darkness.
You, I shall serve; for you, I shall fight.
For in the light lies darkness.’
The tall man gave a slow nod, realising at once the contents of the letter. Turning, he left in silence.
The old man returned to his seat, his eyes now set on the fire before him. The time would soon come. He did not know when, or how, but he knew for certain: it would come.
