For my Word is Law

For the good of the people, let them never see these words, and always abide by them…

The red words were shimmering in the moonlit night, still wet. A moment passed, the ink slowly drying, a cool winter breeze ruffling the trees. Gloved hands delicately took the parchment, as well as several other crimson clad pages, ordering them, before storing them in a brand new messenger bag, crafted specifically for the purpose of holding the pages now safely stored in its belly.
The bag was firmly closed, and given by the gloved hands to a kneeling servant, who had been waiting dutifully for several hours, head lowered. The servant did not say a word, nor did he ask a single question, for it was not his place to do so. Alongside him, standing up, her arms behind her back, was a girl. She could not have been older than thirteen years, yet her grey, stormy eyes were loaded with all the severity of an old soul. Her light, brown hair was tied in a high ponytail, which fell to her knees, having never been cut. Her body was hidden by a thick, dark brown leather cloak, enveloping her fully, except for her head.
Her voice was clear, almost melodic, her words slowly enunciated.

-What should I tell them ?
- To keep it. To guard it. With their very lives.
- Who will be allowed to read it ?
- Those among them unafraid of sinking into permanent insanity.
- But.. I ..

Underneath the trees, the massive shadow, the one wearing the gloves, the one whose hands had written the words on the pages, seemed to deepen at the girl’s confusion.

- Let them find a sacrifice. Untouched by sin. Untouched by grace. Let it be one who can read. Let them bind him. Let them isolate him in a dark, remote cave, where no one shall be able to access him, save from three members of the council. Let them show him the words on those pages. Let him be the only one to ever laid eyes on them. Let him teach them the words meaning. Let them learn the truth from his madness. Let them convey the teachings to the rulers of men. Let the words become the law.

The words were spoken in an ethereal voice, deep and rough and whisper like. The girl stared at the shadow beneath the trees, and the shadow stared back. She was trembling with terror. The servant, still knelling, holding the bag like the most precious thing on earth, pissed himself.
The girl found some bravery and answered « It will be done », her voice slightly trembling.

She left, the servant slowly rising, his head lowered, his face smeared by tears of terror, his clothes smeared by his urine, as he followed his mistress in the dark of the night.

The shadow stood under the trees, long after mistress and servant had left, when a gust of wind sent a flurry of dead leaves and dust flowing under the dead trees the shadow was standing under.


When the wind died, nothing stood under the trees, save for a pair of thick leather gloves.