The last song of the ancestors

Around Ilu Nla, in a location that is difficult to access, is an underground sanctuary. This construction, carved out of the earth's rocky womb, is connected to a series of interconnected tunnels. All this was built to shelter the sages in times of crisis and secret meetings. Today it serves as a hideout for its remnants.

The trio walked through the dimly lit corridors. Its walls were adorned with petroglyphs. They depicted the history of Ilu Nla, with a focus on the sages. The rock carvings illustrated in detail how civilization was born, with all the historical coherence typical of these narratives, as well as establishing their national heroes.

Jabir walked obliviously, he was the oldest of the group, his memories no longer impressed him.

Durojaiye accompanied him, but saw things in a different light. He thought that uniting the mediumistic peoples under one banner had prevented a lot of bloodshed. The centralization of power in the figure of a monarch had legitimized the country's sovereignty over other nations, but nothing had been enough to stop the rise of a domestic enemy like Ojwang. They had failed at some point.

Nkechi was too bored to talk to or face those ancestral figures. She felt she had failed them. She had gone to the tournament in the Grand Arena to finish off General Luena, she had the chance to get her hands on the Spiritual Key of Faith, and she hadn't succeeded at anything.

The three arrived in a circular hall with stone, wood and metal icons. Part of the room was filled with electronic equipment, used to hack government transmissions and communicate with informants. The light of the torches cast the shadow of the pair of hosts.

One of them was sitting on a stool, his legs spread and his hands on his knees. His curly hair was down to his shoulders. He was tall and strong. On his forehead was a battered leather tiara adorned with two boar's tusks. His eyes stared steadily and his face expressed authority.

The second was standing in profile. When he saw the newcomers, he turned towards them. A man of medium height wore a jovial smile. He looked out of shape compared to the other, but he still had a lot of strength. His hair was curly and short. His eyes were small and his cheeks protruded. His thick lips revealed pearly teeth as he laughed. He was the first to speak:

“You've made quite a mess up there! The Circle of Sages is becoming more and more famous.”

“Don't crowd! Hakim.”

“All right, old goat.”

“Respect your elder, you fool. To this day, I don't know how you became a sage.”

Jabir pushed past him. The two didn't get on very well. Hakim considered Jabir a grumpy old man, and his senior judged the younger medium as someone unworthy of carrying a Spirit Key

Nkechi tried to escape the inquisitive gaze of the man sitting on the stool. He went to the pot of water and tried to quench his thirst.

Durojaiye didn't need to dissemble, she was the most carefree member of the group. She avoided burdening her mind with worries as much as possible. She knew how difficult her mission was, and she didn't want to wear herself out with worry. She picked up a nail file and began to analyze the cuticles on her fingers. She began to work on them.

Veins popped out on the forehead of the man sitting on the stool. With a pulse of Axé, the flames of the torches flickered. Everyone turned to him.

“You left to carry out a simple mission. You return without accomplishing it. You ignore your own failure. Yerodin's sacrifice seems to have been in vain. Our enemy increases its sphere of power every day, while we pretend to do something. Our people continue to suffer, we need to be more efficient and cautious.”

“Don't blame us for Yerodin's death. It was the division in the Circle of Sages itself that weakened us, Ekundayo.”

Jabir spoke with resentment in his voice. Despite his courage, he took two steps back when he saw the man get up from his stool.

“It was thanks to the transfer of blame that Ojwang took over the government. We were too preoccupied with our personal skirmishes. We are Ilu Nla's last line of defense, my dear Jabir. We can't afford to be wrong.”

Durojaiye crushed the sandpaper with his long-nailed hands. A crunching sound echoed in the air. His face closed into a grimace.

“You're our leader, Ekundayo, you led us here. You've helped us survive, it's true. But stay humble, the greatest of kings is weak without his subjects.”

Nkechi leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms. He ran his eyes down the hall. It all seemed so pathetic in her eyes. She was the youngest member of the sages. She couldn't understand how the others wasted so much time on pointless, repetitive arguments. She had already heard this litany several times without reaching a solution.

Guilt? She understood that everyone was guilty until proven otherwise. For Nkechi, Yerodin had died because he had done everything himself. She blamed the Masters of Suspicion for their cowardice and Adsa for his opportunism. The sages were both victims and accomplices in what had happened in Ilu Nla.

“Mr. Ekundayo talks as if it's very easy to take out a Phalanx general. They are the elite of Ojwang's cyber troops. During the Grand Arena Tournament, we dealt with powerful enemies, plus there were other factions at work and they got in our way.”

“One general can't be more powerful than three sages combined.”

“I didn't make myself clear. Just as we were about to execute the wretch, we realized that Akachi was also at the tournament, in disguise, with Nyatui and a mortician in tow. Nyatui fought Luena, and we gave priority to capturing the Spiritual Key of Faith. We couldn't get it out of the kid.”

Hakim and Ekundayo were astonished. They wondered inside why a master of suspicion and a member of the Ilê Apanyan were united with Azekel's grandson. The sage Hakim crossed his arms. He raised an eyebrow to emphasize his accusatory tone.

“That doesn't make sense, Nkechi. You mean you had the chance to kill two birds with one stone and you let them both get away?”

“No, Hakim, come on.”

“Don't put your hand on their heads, Ekundayo.”

“The situation wasn't favorable for one thing or another. Akachi's situation is curious. The relationship between him and the two groups protecting him is unlikely, even impossible. Funeral directors are assassins for hire, not bodyguards. The Masters of Suspicion have gone into exile, they shouldn't even know if Adsa's son is alive or not.”

“There's no guarantee that he's a mortician, he wouldn't even have the motivation to babysit a kid like that.”

“There's no certainty that he isn't.”

Ekundayo pondered the situation. He considered Ilê Apanyan to be an organization with shady interests. Meddling in other people's business, but never reckless. He considered the possibility that the funeral director was a renegade. But Babu, everyone knew, was not flexible with betrayals. The order of assassins followed its laws at their peril.

The leadership of the sage asked Jabir and Durojaiye to confirm the report, which they did. The leader put a hand under his chin and smoothed it slowly. He pondered the possible motivations for Akachi, Nyatui and a mortician to take part in the tournament.

He inferred that the assassin for hire was on a mission to execute General Luena, but at whose behest? Why would an ex-sage come out of anonymity and make such a risky alliance with someone as dangerous as a mortician? Were the other two masters of suspicion also acting in the shadows? The questions remain unanswered.

What had really made him curious was how Adsa's son had gotten out of Ojwang's clutches and escaped to Nyatui and his companions. It was a confusing story. Suddenly, a holocall signal attracted the attention of Ekundayo and the others. The leader of the sages went to the dusty old terminal and pressed the button. The image of Prince Happy was projected.

“Hello, how are you? I have some warm news for you, my dear sages.”