The play was still saturated with the strange silence that the seer left after him.
Ashen fixed his reflection in the mirror: a pale face, surrounded, lips split by a smile that had nothing human. His eyes shone with an unstable mist, oscillating between tears ready to sink and a laugh that threatened to break the windows.
A rustling.
The door opened.
Elaira entered.
She was not dressed in silk this time, but a simpler dress, in dark tones. In his hand, a notebook. Her gaze was looking for something that she herself could not define.
-"You are there ..." she said gently, almost surprised.
Ashen turned his head slowly. He tilted the bust with an exaggerated, almost theatrical reverence.
- "Dame Elaira. Your presence even illuminates the dull corridors. »»
She remained silent for a moment, detailing the masked man. Then :
- "You are strange. Whenever I think I guess who you are, you change. As if you were carrying a thousand faces. »»
Ashen smiles under his mask.
- " Thousand ? You flatten me. I carried much more ... and all fled me. »»
He approached the mirror, put one hand on the icy surface.
-"You see ... the world constantly reflects me, but I no longer know which of these reflections is true. Maybe none. Maybe all. »»
Elaira folded her eyes, her notebook tight against her.
- "You speak like a man who suffered. »»
Ashen laughs gently, almost elegantly.
- "To suffer, gender lady is to be alive. But ... I'm afraid of having crossed a threshold. Between living and existing, there is a chasm, and I have been dancing at the edge for far too long. »»
She sat down, putting her notebook on her lap.
- "So why stay in the shadows? Why hide behind this mask? »»
Ashen bowed slightly, as if to entrust him with a secret:
- "Because the mask is more sincere than the face. »»
Elaira remained prohibited, troubled by the answer.
- "You speak like a philosopher ... But your words look more like wounds. Who are you really? »»
A silence.
Ashen fixed his reflection. Her lips were shaking between laughter and sob. Then, with icy courtesy:
- "I am the one we forgot ... and who always comes back. I am the one we erase, and who returns under another ink. I remember that we refuse to read. »»
Elaira fell slightly, uncomfortable. But she persisted:
- "Why then show me?" Why these toys, these sibylline words ... Why get my hands as if we were linked? »»
Ashen leaned his head. His laughter was more acute, but his tone remained polite, almost soft:
- "Because, dear Elaira ... Your name is a wire. And I am the knot that we wanted to cut. »»
A silence weighed in the room.
Ashen tried, like an actor greeting at the end of a room, and added in a broken but always courteous voice:
- "Forgive my disorder. Madness eats away at me, but I still have to decency. »»
Elaira, a beating heart, did not know what to answer.
She opened her notebook, as if to write something, but her fingers were shaking too much.
Ashen, he still laughed - a discreet, polite, almost charming laugh. But in his eyes, dementia was burning.
Elaira stayed seated several minutes after the madman left the room.
Silence weighed like a damp coat.
Her fingers still hugged her notebook, but she dared not write: every word he had pronounced seemed to want to print alone in his memory.
She ends up whispering to herself:
- "The mask is more sincere than the face ..."
A simple sentence, but heavy with echo.
She slowly struck the tip of her pen against paper, then began to write.
"This man ... this crazy ...
He speaks as if he had lived a hundred lives, as if the pain had taught him a truth inaccessible to others.
But his words are too precise to be only ramblings.
He knows my name. He looks at me as if we had already shared a past ... and yet I do not remember anything.
Who is it? »»
She closed her notebook for a moment, frowning.
Then, as if an inner voice guided her, she murmured:
- "What if he was not just a crazy? »»
A memory of the touch: the circus.
This puppet he had held out, marked with an initial half erased.
One A.
She clenched her fists.
- "Always this A ..."
She got up suddenly and went out in the corridor.
His brother Kael was dead, Duke Very had said it clearly.
But this man ... This Ashen, or whatever his name ... He sometimes spoke like Kael once spoke: with the same polished coldness, the same way of stinging words as invisible blades.
But no. It wasn't Kael.
It was not a simple buffoon either.
She crossed a servant and stopped it.
- " You. Do you know where this man comes from, the madman? »»
-"It is said that he was picked up in the Bas-Quartiers, Madame. A former prisoner, according to the murmurs. But no one knows its real name. »»
- " Person ? She insisted.
- "No one, no. And those who approach it too much ... "The servant lowered his voice. "... finish changed. »»
Elaira let him go, the beating heart.
Back in her room, she reopened her notebook and added:
"He calls me" thread ". He says he is the knot we wanted to cut.
So it existed before.
Someone tried to erase it. But who?
Why me?
Why always me? »»
She put her pen, then spoke out loud, to hunt the fear that gnawed at her.
- "I must know. I have to find out who he is, before he destroys everything. »»
For a moment, his reflection in the mirror seemed different to him.
As if behind her own face, another silhouette observed.
She suddenly closed the curtains.
The palace was rushing.
The corridors vibrated with whispering:
"The madman is here. »»
"He walks freely ..."
"Why don't they stop it? »»
Ashen was moving like a guest in the middle of a reception of which he would have forgotten the invitation.
He greeted the nobles he met, bent with an almost flawless elegance, but behind his mask, his smile trembled.
A servant wanted to stop him:
- "Messire, you have nothing to do here ..."
Ashen released a apple from her sleeve, placed her in the boy's hand.
- "Eat. This is the only truth you will know today. »»
The servant, confused, dared not say anything and went back.
In an anteroom, two guards discussed.
Ashen entered as if the room belonged to him.
- "Oh, don't bother, continue. Secrets taste better when they are whispered. »»
The men put their hands to their sword.
Ashen raised his dagger and planted it ... in a miche of bread placed on the table.
He tore off a piece, cheacha, then burst out laughing.
- "You protect a king who sold the crown to a church that does not even believe in his own God. Do you call it loyalty? I call it a bad bet. »»
The guards remained frozen, as paralyzed by the tone both courteous and mad.
By advancing, Ashen crossed a little nobility in a embroidered dress, visibly lost in the corridors.
He bowed in front of her with a perfect reverence.
- "My lady, this palace is a labyrinth. But do not fear: each labyrinth has its Minotaur. »»
She turns pale.
-"And ... Who are you?" »»
Ashen straightened slowly, her mask turned towards her.
- "I am the one waiting in the center. »»
The woman fled without asking for her rest.
Ashen resumed his walk.
Each meeting, each word left behind, weave a canvas of rumors.
The madman was not only present: he had become a living legend in the walls of the palace.
Buildings were growing everywhere.
And Ashen continued to move forward.
Not by screaming.
Not crying.
But with this icy politeness, like an actor who knows that the bloodiest scene is approaching and who savor every second waiting.
The echoes of his steps resounded in the corridor.
Ashen returned to the great room where he had left his hostages: a handful of nobles, linked with rope, seated on marble as vulgar goods.
But by opening the heavy doors ... he did not find silence.
No.
He found the iron.
A squad of royal guards stood there, their brilliant halberds robbed towards him.
In front of them, a man with the right stature, red coat on his shoulders, gold ring on the finger: Duke Halbrecht, known for his relentless fidelity in Maelrath.
The nobles, already released, stood behind the soldiers, breathless, pale, like birds escaped from a cage.
The Duke spoke, in a firm voice:
- " Mad. Your game stops here. You had your show. You had your chaos. Now you will put this dagger and you will be judged by the crown. »»
Ashen inclined his head, politely.
He advanced three steps, fearless, and let his laugh burst, clear and broken.
- " Judge ? By whom? By a king who sells his faith to the most offender? by priests who reversed their virtues as we return a piece? »»
He raised the dagger, pointing it not towards the guards, but towards the nobles behind them.
- "These people were my guests. My spectators. And now you dare to interrupt my theater ... what a rudeness. »»
The halberds straightened up immediately.
The Duke raised a hand to calm his men, his gaze fixed on Ashen.
- "You don't understand, crazy. You don't fight against me, or even against these walls. You fight against memory. When your name is forgotten, we will still be there. »»
Ashen laughed so hard that even the nobles jumped.
He slowly applauded, his hands stained with blood echoing in the room.
- "Memory?" Oh, my dear Duke ... If only you knew how many times I have already been forgotten. How many times I have seen kingdoms collapse, families disappear, erased faces. »»
He approached his porcelain mask of a guard, so close that the man fell in spite of himself.
- "But I ... I have always returned. Always. »»
A heavy silence.
Duke Halbrecht strengthens his voice:
- "Then come back in hell. Here you are just a parasite. »»
Ashen bowed deeply, like in front of a packed room.
Then he looked up, and in the light of the torches, his mask seemed to smile.
- "Very well ... If the curtain must get up again, let's make sure the room is memorable. »»
He hugged the dagger.
The theater was going to start again.
The silence was so dense that we could hear the torches crackle.
Duke Halbrecht raised his arm - and the guards put forward.
Their halberds sparkled.
Their boots hammered the marble.
Their faces, hidden under the visors, had nothing human: they were only machines in the service of the crown.
Ashen took a step ... then burst out laughing.
- " Finally ! Finally, the curtain rises! Ladies and gentlemen, here is the following act ... "
He slammed his dagger against the ground like a chief of conductor.
The metal sound echoed like a signal.
The guards rushed.
The first Hallebarde stroke visa his chest.
Ashen twisted like a puppet, avoiding the blade of an impossible movement.
His laughter echoed.
He slipped behind the guard and planted his dagger under his helmet - a muffled gargoyles, and the man collapsed.
- " A ! Ashen counted by raising a finger.
The second guard struck horizontally.
Ashen raised his arm, the blade touched on his mask. He yelled with joy, grabbed the handle of the weapon and forced the man to lean ... then cut his throat with his own halberd.
- " Two ! »»
Blood flabbed the nobles, who cried out of horror.
The Duke Halbrecht took out his sword, a wide blade, forged to decide net.
His voice echoed, powerful, covered by any cry:
- "Don't let him breathe!" »»
He led straight on Ashen.
Their blades set off in an overhead and sparks.
Ashen fell slightly, his shiny eyes behind the mask.
- "Oh ... finally someone who knows how to dance! »»
He attacked with all his might, hitting quickly, too quickly for a normal man.
Duke Para, dodged, his sword drawing light arcs in the room.
The nobles, terrified, fell against the walls, trapped between death and power.
Ashen rocked in his madness.
He began to scream while striking, each blow accompanied by a laugh.
- "You are not men, you are puppets! Me alone am the stage master! And your king ... your king is just a voiceless actor! »»
A blow passed too close: the sword of the Duke chopped his flank. Blood gushes.
Ashen looked up at him, breathless, then laughed even stronger.
- "Hahaha!" Yes ! Yes ! Kill me! Let's see if your blade can break a ghost! »»
Duke Halbrecht hugged his teeth, his arm stretched for a new assault.
- "I won't kill a ghost. I'll kill crazy. And I'm going to bury it in memory of men. »»
Ashen raised his bloody hand, and in a theatrical gesture, he opened his arms.
The light of the torches vacillated.
The air seemed to vibrate.
Even without fully using the mask, his madness already contaminated the room:
The walls seemed to be twisted, the faces of the nobles crashed, and the echoes of its laughter filled each corner as an invisible army.
He whispered, slowly this time, like a secret:
- "You are already in my theater ... Duke. »»
Then he leaps again.
The torches danced madly, projecting deformized shadows on the marble walls.
The blood of the first two guards still stained the ground, smoking like fresh ink.
Everyone was holding their breath.
Ashen and Duke Halbrecht were faced.
One masked, folded in a twisted posture, lip laughter, shiny eyes of dementia.
the other, right like a statue, shiny armor, sword raised - a presence made of authority and duty.
Between them, all the air vibrated like a rope ready to give in.
Halbrecht attacked the first.
A clear strike, without frills, targeting the throat.
Ashen took a step back, then threw himself aside, laughing.
- "Ohhh, what clarification! But your blade sings false, Duke! Let me set your tone. »»
He retaliated with his dagger, tiny facing the large sword.
The metal went to the spark, the spark illuminated the madman's mask for a moment.
Ashen smiles with all his teeth.
- "You chose the worst room for your circus, crazy," rumbled Halbrecht.
- "Cirque?" No. Ashen turned on himself, theatrical, the still hot blood dripping with his side. "This is a tragedy, a unique piece, where each cry is a verse, and each death ... a rhyme!" »»
Halbrecht hugged his teeth.
- "You defile this place. You trample what our fathers have built. »»
- "Your fathers?! Ashen burst into a nervous, disadvantaged laugh. "Hahahaha! Your fathers have built prisons and called them palaces! Moi, je libère… même si je dois trancher pour ça ! »»
He leaps.
Ashen struck quickly, very quickly. His dagger gushed like a poisoned needle, looking for the slightest flaw.
Halbrecht pary each blow with an iron discipline. His movements were not flamboyant: they were straight, methodical, sharp.
For a moment, the sword slid along the dagger, split the round of Ashen, touching his arm.
Blood sank.
Ashen stopped net ...
Looked down on the wound ...
Then lifted his head and laughed, tears in his eyes.
- "Hahahaha! Yes ! Yes, hurt me, noble Duke! The more you hit, the more real the room! »»
Halbrecht, despite his armor, was starting to feel the pressure.
Each Ashen attack was not only physical: his laughter, his words, the madness that distorted the room ... All that shook him.
For a moment, he thought he saw the nobles in the background melt like wax, their faces twisted in masks.
He blinked, and the vision disappeared.
Ashen approached his face of his, almost nose against nose, his mask glued to his helm.
- "You tremble, Duke. Your loyalty is a farce ... And I am the author of this play. »»
He planted his dagger in the shoulder of armor, tearing a brief cry.
Ashen fell, his arms dismissed, as if he were addressed to an invisible audience.
His voice resonated, theatrical, distorted by the echo of the mask:
- "Ladies and gentlemen!" See as the mask of authority falls! See how the steel of loyalty breaks! »»
He turned to Halbrecht again, his eyes burning with an incoherent flame.
- "You ... you will be my third act. »»
Duke Haleta, his hand tense on the guard of his sword.
The fight was just beginning.
The blood flowed from the shoulder of Halbrecht, drawing a dark line on his polished armor.
He tightened his grip on the sword, the short but still firm breath.
Ashen, he spun around him like an unstable shadow, his irregular, almost dancing steps.
With each movement, the mask of the madman reflected the flames of the torches, giving the illusion of several faces that laughed at the same time.
The Duke charged again, his blade tracing a silver line in the air.
Ashen paced with his dagger, the impact resonated in all his arm.
He fell, laughing despite the pain.
- " Gorgeous ! Really beautiful! A strike worthy of legends ... But tell me, Duke ... Is it your blade that strikes, or your fear that guides your hand? »»
Halbrecht hugged his teeth, made a side step.
- "I'm not afraid of a clown. »»
- " Lie ! Ashen yelled, laughing. "Your whole life is just a lie! »»
Ashen rushed, his dagger still hitting the sword. But this time, he did not try to kill.
He whistled in the hollow of the armor, very close to the duke's ear:
-"You obey Maelrath ... But do you only know why?" Do you think you defend a king? Hahahaha! No, you defend a shadow, a hollow throne! »»
Halbrecht scorched and pushed Ashen violently.
-"Shut up, demon!" »»
But her voice trembled.
Ashen broke out with a thunderous laugh, holding his ribs as if the pain had amused him.
- "I knew it!" Even you, the loyal, the law, you doubt. You hide it behind your steel ... But I see it. Hahahaha! »»
For a moment, the room is distorted.
The nobles attached seemed to dissolve in the air, replaced by broken statues.
The ground cracked like a theater scene that cracks.
Halbrecht Chancela.
He blinked, tried to resume his bearings.
Ashen raised his arms like a master of ceremonies.
- "Look around you, Duke!" It's not your palace ... it's my scene! And in my play, you play the role of the condemned! »»
He struck again.
His dagger cut the thigh of Halbrecht, tearing a muffled groan.
Halbrecht went back, his breathless breathing.
- "This ... it's just a spell ..."
- " No ! Ashen, his laughter as a broken bell. "This is the naked truth, torn from your chest! You can hide your fear from men, but not me. »»
He leaned, almost affectionate, his words dripping with madness:
- "I am your mirror, Duke. And your reflection… bleeds. »»
Halbrecht yelled and raised his sword for a desperate strike.
Ashen was already waiting for him, smile frozen, his eyes brilliant with unbearable dementia.
The confrontation was no longer just steel against steel.
It was the Duke's mind, nibbled by the laughs of Ashen, against the theatrical madness that devoured the whole room.
Ashen straightened slowly, the dagger still red with blood, and whispered almost tenderly:
-"Tell me, Duke ... When you fall ... Do you want the curtain to close ... or let the audience laugh again?" »»
The silence was broken by a new shock of the blades.
The soil resounded with the hammer of the two blades.
Sacred sword against worn dagger.
Noble steel against distorted metal.
But little by little, each shock sounded hollow, as if Halbrecht steel lost his voice.
The Duke got up, his arms weighed down.
Sweat flowed under her helmet, blurring her sight.
Ashen advanced, always dancing, always laughing.
- "Do you feel?" Eh ? Do you feel your strength to abandon you? Not your body ... your heart. »»
He slammed his dagger against the sword, creating a rain of sparks.
Then he whispered, too close:
- "It's not me who kills you, Halbrecht. This is your doubt. »»
The Duke Trembla.
For a moment, his gaze slid towards the nobles tied in the room.
Towards their pleading eyes.
He wanted to convince himself that he was fighting for them ... but his hand wobbly.
Halbrecht yelled and raised his sword for a vertical blow, all his concentrated rage.
Ashen Eskiva, touching his cheek from the Dagger dish.
A laugh. A side step.
Then the short blade pierced the armor, sliding under the ribs.
The Duke stopped net.
A hoarse breath escaped from his lips.
Ashen held him almost tenderly, like a dance brother.
Their faces so close that their breaths mingled.
- "You played your role ... faithful, right, blind. »»
Ashen supported stronger, the blade sinking.
- "But even the noblest roles ... finish erased when the curtain falls. »»
The Duke let go of his sword, who fell into a metallic crash.
His knees were beating, but Ashen accompanied him on the descent, a smile frozen under the mask.
Halbrecht tried to speak, his broken voice:
- "I ... I never ... doubted ..."
Ashen put a bloody finger on his lips.
- "Hush. Lying is not suited to dying. »»
Then he removed the dagger with a dry gesture.
The Duke collapsed, the armor resonating like an empty coffin.
Heavy silence fell.
The tied nobles barely dared to breathe.
Ashen wiped his hands on the Duke's coat, then slowly turned to them.
A laugh rose, guttural, broken, but strangely theatrical.
He opened his arms like an actor greeting his audience:
- "Ladies and gentlemen ... The loyalty fell!" The curtain drops, and the madman ... stays! »»
The torches seemed to falter under his voice.
A thunder of imaginary applause resonated in his head, and he bowed deeply.
Ashen had won.
But already, behind his crazy eyes, only one thought came back:
"The king ... Maelrath ... your turn is approaching. »»
The hall of the hall was broken only by the drip of the blood falling from the dagger.
Halbrecht was lying, cold, motionless.
The nobles, always tied up, held their breath.
Ashen fixed them, motionless.
He wanted to tell them something. Maybe a joke, maybe a sentence.
But no word came.
Then a voice echoed.
Not in the room.
In his head.
- "You know what to do. »»
The indicator.
Ashen hugged his temple, as if his bones were burning.
- "No ... no! That's enough! I've already done enough! »»
The seer laughed slowly, a laugh that was not human.
- " Enough ? No, Ashen. It's never enough. These nobles are the root. The vermin that fattens the king. Cut the roots. Tear them away. »»
- " No ! Ashen yelled, his voice breaking.
He made two steps back, stumbled against the Duke's body.
The nobles were crying. One of them, an elderly woman, whispered:
- "For pity ..."
Ashen brought his hands to his ears.
- " Shut up ! I don't want to! I'm not ... I'm not ... "
He laughed, suddenly. A nervous, uncontrollable radiance.
Then his eyes filled with tears.
-"What am I? A executioner? An actor? A monster? »»
The light, iced:
- "You are the madman. And the madman has no choice. »»
A veil of darkness seemed to befall in the room.
Ashen felt his muscles tremble. His hand rose, despite himself, tightening the dagger.
He struggled, like drunk puppet.
- "No ... Stop! Stop !!! »»
The blade fell.
A cry.
Then another.
Then silence, again.
The bodies sagged one by one.
Heads rolled against the slabs, hands convinced for a moment.
Ashen, breathless, fell on his knees.
His cheeks were wet.
And yet ... he laughed.
He looked at the corpses.
Each of them.
Then put his dagger on the ground and spoke gently, as if he were addressed to friends.
-"Forgive me ... I didn't want to. Do you understand? I ... I am a prisoner of a role. »»
He passed a hand on his mask, trembling.
- "The madman does not decide. We laugh at him, or we watch him bleed. But we never listen to it. »»
A burst of laughter escaped him, immediately suffocated by a sob.
-"You were innocent ... or maybe not. Who knows? In this world, everything is theater. The king is an actor. The priests are actors. And me ... I am the clown who must kill so that the room continues. »»
He sat down, in the middle of the corpses, as in the center of an audience of silent guests.
His crazy look shone.
- "The truth?" He said, the broken voice.
"The truth is that innocence does not exist. Each of you has taken advantage of you, everyone closed your eyes when the king was burning the poor, when the temple slaughtered the unvitwards. So ... maybe you are not dead for nothing. Perhaps you had already died for a long time. »»
He put his hand on the iced torso of Halbrecht.
- "I don't kill. I erase. I tear the dirty pages of the book. »»
A long silence.
Then he got up.
And in this heavy silence, a sentence fell from his lips, trembled, but terrible:
- "I'm sorry ... But the world does not want forgiveness. »»
Silence still weighed in the hall.
The metallic smell of blood rose in heavy tablecloths.
The flames of the torches crackled, and each radiance seemed to laugh at the place of the corpses.
Ashen gave his mask, slowly.
A theatrical gesture, almost ceremonial.
Then he straightened up.
-"The piece is finished ..." he whispered.
A nervous laugh escaped him, dry, dislocated.
"... but the next act begins. »»
He walks towards heavy doors.
His boots crushed red puddles that splaged his coat.
He did not hurry. Each step sounded like a death knell.
The batters gave in to a creak.
Behind, a crowd.
Soldiers, servants, citizens ... They massaged in front of the palace, called by rumors of a massacre.
When they saw it, frozen in the door of the doors, covered with blood ...
An icy breath crossed the assembly.
A child let go of his mother's hand and wept.
A soldier fell despite himself.
A priest murmured:
- "... the madman. »»
The word passed from mouth to mouth, like a wave.
- "The madman ... the madman ... the madman ..."
Ashen spread his arms, like an actor with his audience.
He bowed.
- "Ladies and gentlemen ... Thank you for your silence. Nothing is more beautiful than an audience frozen by fear. »»
He laughs.
A laugh that froze the air.
- "You see blood. You see a monster. But it was not me who started this piece. No ... he's your king. Your temple. Your nobles. »»
He turned his dagger in his hand.
- " Me ? I'm just a mirror. I send you your crimes, your silences, your betrayals. And you are screaming because you don't like what you see. »»
He advanced a few steps.
The soldiers hesitated. No one dared to raise their weapon.
Ashen stopped at the center of the steps.
He raised his arms to the sky.
-"So look at me well!" I am living proof that your order is just a farce. The madman is king tonight ... and you are my audience. »»
A voice echoed behind her thoughts, clear like a cracked bell.
- "Well, Ashen. Well ... look at them tremble. They no longer have any bearings. Continue. Break the king. Burns the temple. This world is your theater. »»
Ashen smiles behind his mask.
His fingers were shaking, but not for fear.
Fever.
He turned to the crowd.
- "Do not fear the madman ... fear what he reveals to you. Because tonight, the curtain opens, and your masks will fall. »»
Then, in a heavy silence, he descended the steps.
The crowd moved to itself, like a frightened sea.
No one dared to hold it back.
He walked until they disappear in a narrow alley, leaving behind the palace covered with cries and prayers.
The madman had shown himself in the world.
And the world had retained its breath.