The last song of the ancestors

Elevators are considered the safest means of transportation in the world. A little metal box that moves inside another box made of concrete and steel. In the elevator, after the door closes, light ambient music plays. It fills the space with calm, while your stomach feels a strange tickle. The aim is to make you forget that you're sliding vertically from one floor to the next.

However, even elevators need repairs. Maintenance teams are always welcome. It's perhaps the only means of transportation that doesn't frustrate people when it's repaired. No one wants to be in an elevator with no brakes or electrical breakdowns.

For this reason, the maintenance team was welcomed at the Court of Auditors of the Republic of Ilu Nla. Despite its name, the body does not belong to the judiciary and is not a court, but an auxiliary of the legislative branch. Its function is the external control of public administration, i.e. it oversees the financial movements of states and municipalities. It works like an autarchy, and in a decentralized way throughout the country.

The civil servant who received them thought it was strange to have a team of only three employees. But she knew that routine maintenance was carried out by the service provider, without warning. She didn't even bother to ask any more questions, she was too busy.

He led the trio to the elevator pit in the basement parking lot. A pair of young employees put up the cones and activated the holographic 'Do not trespass - elevator under maintenance' banners. The older worker entered the elevator.

"Kindly lock all the doors on the floors corresponding to this elevator."

"Oh, don't worry, sir. That's already been arranged."

"Thank you, young lady. You've been very helpful."

The man, his eyes hidden by his grimy cap, gave a grim smile. The woman couldn't help but feel a chill. She turned around and headed back to her department to fill out the paperwork and answer the angry phone calls.

Without saying a word to each other, the trio each took their place. The pair of young men guarded the doors to the elevator shaft and the elderly man entered alone with a huge backpack.

"Are you sure you don't want our help, boss?"

"Don't worry, kids, I'm worth ten, remember?"

He activated the panel for the first floor. He inserted a master card and locked the elevator doors. The security cameras would see a pre-recorded looped video of him analyzing the inside of the elevator. Something too monotonous to attract the attention of building security. With some effort, he reached for the latch on the ceiling hatch.

He opened his backpack and inside was a box made of dense lead-colored plastic. He opened the box and there were dozens of firework swords made by Spin Bomb. Each one had a zimba in high relief, the same shape on all the artifacts. In one of the compartments of the box, he took some epoxy putty adhesive.

He put a handful of the gray paste in his hands and molded it enough to make it stick. He placed the putty on the elevator cables and glued the explosives in place. As he stood up, he felt a thud in his back. He put his hands on his hips, arched his back and muttered low.

"You're getting old, Mashal."

On the opposite side and a few meters up, stood a man dressed in a terracotta-colored cloak. His arms were crossed. His body was emitting particles of Axé, which made the air around him very hot. His feet were firmly planted on a steel beam.

A drop of sweat trickled down the Old Medium's temple. Despite the pain in his back, he nimbly grabbed the elevator cable. His vision seemed blurred and the place around him trembled. He kept his composure. He gave his best smile, unsure of how much reassurance he was transmitting to his enemy.

"And you're out of shape, Sage of the Law."

The sage jumped onto the roof of the elevator, it swayed from the weight. The two began to balance their bodies in a desperate attempt to keep the elevator stable. The man, shorter than his rival, rolled up the cuff of his right arm, flexing the flabby muscles of his arm. Mashal showed no reaction.

"What? What do you mean you're not intimidated by all this?"

"Stop it, Hakim."

Damn, he just had to look like that! He's the most dangerous, in my opinion. Ewansiha, you bastard, if you're in there, you better wake up soon!

Hakim stood in profile and began to walk slowly. He drew the Axé into the palm of his hand and seemed to shape it, but not give it its final form. This increased the tension.

The mediumistic profile of the Sage of the Law is ACRP. His use of Axé is faster than mine. Propagating my Axé in the environment and then Attracting the energetic force present in nature is a slow process until I concentrate everything and model it on my look-alikes…

"Stop doing mental calculations, man. Have you lost faith in Fante Obatayie? After all, you already know the outcome."

"I don't think he came just to talk. The Circle of Sages lost that ability after Feruzi left and Yerodin died."

Hakim stood facing Mashal. He was enraged. Then he calmed down. He wouldn't fall for those provocations. It would attract the attention of the building's security system, and the enemy would have a chance to escape in the confusion.

"I thought it was clever of you to place this kind of explosive triggered by Scratch Point Magic. They can't be traced, and they're triggered from a distance. Congratulations!"

Clap-clap, Hakim clapped his hands. His debauched smile irritated his opponent, but he didn't dare start a fight. He wasn't up to it. He was the leader of a revolution. He couldn't afford to lose everything to someone he thought was just a naïve young medium.

"It's going to be a beautiful party, you're invited to take part as one of the infiltrators. We have a common enemy."

"No way, old man! You can't play at being an old-age urban guerrilla like you, my uncle. You're just an idealist, too nostalgic to accept reality: you want to reform, to return to the past for the comfort of your privileges. For a long time, we denied the future. The Ekundayo leader woke us up to that."

"This notion of the future among young idealists has always captivated me. It's just action without a project. But tell me, since when did the Sage of Justice turn you into an errand boy?"

"Hun, you're funny, aren't you, old man. Hahahaha, fuck off! Listen, we're in possession of Adisa's traitor. Bring the Spiritual Key of Faith to us. We're at the ancient Judgement Stone."

"What do you mean? We're not with Akachi. Besides, I highly doubt you're with Adisa."

Hakim laughed. He was one step ahead of his opponent. He didn't think it was a bluff by his comrade. Mashal knew nothing of the Circle of Sages' actions. The Ilu Nla Armed Forces knew how to stop the bloodletting, they would leave the surprise for when interim president Ojwang returned from his diplomatic mission to Africa.

Mashal wasn't happy to hear that the wise men had gotten such an asset in their hands. Akachi was very attached to the idea of seeing his father again at all costs. The blackmail of his enemies was very likely to lead to impulsive action on the part of Azekel's grandson. There was no doubt that Hakim had spoken the truth.

"You were also undercover at the Grand Arena tournament."

"BINGO! You're a soothsayer, old man. We wanted to win the tournament and have an audience with General Luena of the Phalanx. She runs Ilu Nla's espionage sector."

"The only chance for the Shadow of the Republic to show itself. It wouldn't be easy, but she'd be vulnerable against two or more. Akachi's team and yours must have been in combat. That boy impresses me, he made a fool of you."

"There's nothing special about him. He's just a sidekick. Dangerous is the undertaker who serves as a watchdog."

"Even without Fadala, you'd never be a match for Nyatui."

"Luena robbed me of that honor, but make no mistake, by facing us, his fate would be the same as facing the general."

Mashal felt a chill run down his spine. Even his face changed. It contracted in pure ferocity.

"Stop laughing, just say it, you bastard!"

"He went from base, 'F' in chat to Nyatui. My condolences, dear master of suspicion. Now I'm going to gas up and get out of here. Bring the boy, we want to reunite father and son one last time."

"Wait! Come back here!"

Just as he had appeared, Hakim disappeared at high speed. He laughed with a mixture of childishness and sadism.

Mashal's legs were shaking. He grabbed the elevator cables a second time. Nyatui was dead. He shed a silent tear. They were always fighting over ideals. Now he would never again argue with anyone about individualism and collectivism. He wiped away the stubborn tears. He went down the elevator.

He feared leaving the current mission in the hands of two inexperienced young men, but the revolution needed a dose of voluntarism to succeed. Standing in front of the two young men, he gave them a quick briefing and some instructions. He would urgently return to the rebels' HQ. Once again, he would be faced with two of the most difficult choices for a leader in the midst of battle: to advance or to retreat?