Chapter Text
My lord
Bless the Salazar bloodline with an iron hammer.
“Morir es vivir…Morir es vivir…Morir es Vivir…Morir es….”
Ashley stirred awake to the droning chants of the many robed figures gathered around her. Paralyzed by fear, she could only raise herself slightly from the stone floor she’d been lying on.
Where was she now? And how far had the monster wearing the red cloak separated her from Leon? She hadn’t had the chance to throw him the key before she’d been captured. Was he still locked in that trap in that grand hall?
Glancing around, she could see the pair of cloaked monsters standing watch at the door. A few feet from her was a deep circular pit with a pulley system adjacent to it. She didn’t dare gaze into that dark abyss.
She was vaguely aware of the vocalizations of a chicken over the chorus of the zealots, echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. It seemed out of place, but after all she’d seen she didn't question it for long.
“Ah, I see you’re awake, Miss Graham. Wonderful!”
‘Miss’ came out as ‘Miece’.
Ashley recognized the particular rise and fall of the heavily accented voice and her breath caught in her throat. It was that bizarre, small man she’d seen up on the balcony earlier. He’d introduced himself as Ramón Salazar, the eighth castellan of Valdelobos, and demanded that Leon hand her over to him.
The crowd of murmuring Ganado cultists parted and there he stood. She had the full sense of his outlandish appearance now: his antiquated attire ( Seriously, who dressed this man? ); the unnaturalness of his yellow irises; his pale, sickly complexion and his thin and heavily roughed lips. His body—unobscured now by the balcony rail was slender and proportionate to his short stature. He looked down at her, a gleefulness in those yellow eyes. She tore her gaze away.
“It is so nice to at last meet with you in a more…intimate setting, Princess Graham.”
It sounded a little too sincere, more a compliment than in jest.
Ugh… As if! She was about to retort and then stopped herself. She didn’t want to give this cretin the satisfaction of speaking to him. Officious little shit…
A moment of silence passed between them. He put his hands behind his back and began to pace around her. “How disappointing, Miss Graham… I had hoped to get to know you…considering the crucial role you will play.”
Her eyes rolled back up to him, unbidden.
Just to glance at him. Just a glance. Damn, it's so hard to look at him…
He continued his circle around her. “I’ve read much about your United States, Miss Graham. We require its influence to spread our faith. That’s why we needed you, my dear. Very soon you will become one of us and you will understand as we do.”
There was so much reverence in his voice. Just like before when he spoke to them from the balcony. She may have been able to smirk up at him then, but now it was almost pitiable. Almost…
That, combined with the mounting dread of what she might soon become was breaking down what little composure she had left. She didn’t want to turn into one of them. Couldn’t stand the thought.
And within moments fear took hold and a sob escaped through her throat. “No….”
“It’s ok to be afraid, you know. It means you’re still human.” She meditated on the words Leon had told her, though it provided her little peace.
Ramón was still talking as if he loved the sound of his own voice. “You should feel most honored to have this purpose. For it is you, who will change the world so it will be as Lord Saddler—the most holy—envisioned it to be.”
“This…this is terrorism!” Ashley sobbed in protest, hating that she was giving him the satisfaction of a response, but she couldn’t help it.
“Is it, Miss Graham? That sure is a popular word that gets thrown around these days,” Ramón sounded bored. “Well nevertheless, we have a ritual to prepare for.”
A sensation like ice ran down her spine. “...What kind of ritual?” She could not tamp down the fear in her voice.
Ramón turned toward the steps leading up to his throne, calling out in Spanish. Most of the cultists filed out of the room, leaving only three, along with Salazar’s pair of cloaked bodyguards. The three remaining cultists forced her up to her knees, starting to pull at her blazer.
“Hey! What are you doing?!” Her voice sounded so small as she fought back, trying in vain to slap their hands away.
It became clear that if she didn’t let them take it off they were going to cause her injury, so she went still as her blazer was torn from her, revealing her orange sleeveless sweater underneath. The cultist tossed her blazer along with the silk scarf she’d been wearing around her neck down into the abyss.
While this had been happening, another cultist had cut off the head of the chicken and filled a basin with its blood.
The cultist with the basin came towards her, and seeing the blood, Ashley froze. “Hey, wait… uh Ramón!? Ramón, what is that for!?” She could not keep the shrillness from her voice.
So much for not giving him the time of day , she lamented, loathing that she’d been reduced to begging for some kind of mercy.
A smile spread across Ramón’s lips, watching intently from the throne. “He’s going to paint the symbol of our faith on your face.”
Ashley fought as the other two cultists held her in place. She would kick, scratch, scream, and cause a scene if she had to. She had a serious phobia of blood.
“No, Wait! Please, please, no… That’s so disgusting! Nonononononono….” Her cheeks had become so streaked with tears.
The cultist dipped his finger into the chicken’s cooling blood, about to touch it to her face. Ashley let out a primal scream and thrashed. “Ramón, please!”
Ramón gave a sharp order in Spanish. The hooded zealot stopped what he was about to do and looked up at his master.
In the silence, Ashley wept softly.
Ramón gave an aloof sigh and strode back down the steps toward her, producing a circular tin from the pocket of his ornate blue and gold coat.
The top of the tin was jeweled. Ramón likes pretty things , she observed. The castle was full of pretty things: breathtaking architecture and very old, but well-maintained antiques and treasures that could easily be centuries old.
He produced a small lip brush as well, and popping the top of the tin off, dipped it into the rouge. She watched him carefully, apprehensive of his proximity to her.
He came in close. So close that she could almost feel his breath against her face. She became overly conscious of how ragged her own breathing had become as he moved toward her, which didn’t seem to faze him at all.
The brush glided down the bridge of her nose, and her breath wavered.
He’s painting the insignia on my face with his own lip rouge… What the fu-
“This is not an exception I’m willing to make for just anyone, Miss Graham…” Ramón clucked his tongue.
Her crying had eased to a sniffle. She remained in her kneeling position as he worked, bewildered that this was happening and that she was allowing it. It was still rather gross.
This has touched his mouth countless times. How much bacteria is in that pot of rouge , she wondered. Yet this alternative was somehow more tolerable.
The top of the Plaga was painted next, the wings extending just over her eyebrows. She glanced up to see his focused expression as he worked. She quickly looked away.
The lower wings were next; the brush tickled her lower cheeks. The tail of the Plaga was painted last, the brush trailing down the center of her lower lip and then her chin.
Then it was over. She resisted the urge to press her lips together. Salazar placed the cap back on the tin and proceeded back up the steps to his throne.
Ashley sat there numbly, with a blank expression—unable to process what had just happened.
“I must say, what is taking Mr. Kennedy so long to come to your rescue? Not much of a knight is he? Well, no matter. He’s nothing more than a pest… Perhaps I will send my right hand, Isidro, to ensure he does not cause any unwanted interruption.”
“Please… Don’t hurt Leon… I… I just want to go home.” She begged quietly, knowing her pleas were going to fall on deaf ears. It was worthless.
“You’ll go home soon enough. But first, we must carry out this ritual and wait for the Plaga within you to mature,” he said to her in English and then gave another order to the three zealots who were present in Spanish.
This time one of the zealots came forward with an oversized, ornate chalice. Ashley didn’t get a chance to see the contents before it was forced to her lips.
She tried her best to close her lips tightly, not wanting to even taste the contents. The hooded Ganados held her still as much as they could. She felt one of their hands at the corners of her chin, prying her jaw open to receive the black liquid.
“Please, do not resist, my dear. Let us not make your suffering any worse than necessary.” Salazar intoned from nearby.
The unknown substance had a strong foul taste. She jerked and struggled. Some of the liquid spilled from the chalice and onto the floor. More rushed down her chin.
The cultists pulled away. She coughed and gagged until her throat felt raw. Her stomach lurched and she was almost certain for a moment everything would come back up. But soon her stomach settled.
That odd and intense sensation she’d come to know over the past few hours spread through her once again, only this time stronger than ever. Would she lose control of herself again? Her heart thumped loudly in her ears in a blind panic. It was as if her body’s every nerve was taxed beyond its limit.
Her thoughts grasped for what Luis had told her and Leon—that the Plaga attaches itself to the nervous system. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. The pain was so strange and foreign, like nothing she’d experienced before. Red and black veinlike structures stood out on the palms of her hands and up her bare arms and then faded away.
As the pain subsided she looked around. The three zealots had backed away and were watching her intently. The cloaked monsters were still guarding the door, stolidly.
“How do you feel, Ashley? Do you feel the Plaga growing stronger inside you?”
“You suck…” Ashley coughed again, trying to rid herself of the aftertaste of whatever substance had been forced down her throat. Whatever it was had a clear effect on the parasite she’d become an unwilling host to—some sort of nourishment, perhaps.
“Now all we need is time,” Ramón said, smiling. There was a beat. “Isidro, go ensure the American agent’s demise. Dispose of Serra as well. Find them. Go now!”
“No! Please!” Ashley cried out. “Please don’t hurt them!”
The red-cloaked Verdugo serving as one of Ramón’s right hands had already charged through the double doors in the blink of an eye.
She took a moment to calm herself and uttered in a low voice, “Please… I won’t be a problem for you. I swear, I’ll do anything you ask, just call off your monsters and let them live.” She stumbled over her words in desperation, but she meant them sincerely.
At first, she thought Ramón hadn’t heard her, but then she noticed he was glancing away.
“Isidro has already left.” He stated firmly and plainly, though she could have sworn she heard the smallest trace of discomposure in his voice, almost as though flustered by her words. “Though perhaps I could entertain you while we wait. Your time with me doesn’t have to be unpleasant if you’ll simply cooperate.” He gave a shallow bow, meeting her gaze as he did. There was a gleam in his yellow eyes—mischievous and even alluring, but the moment passed so quickly, Ashley was almost certain she’d imagined it.
He turned away, proceeding back up the steps. For a moment, Ashley didn’t make a move. She...actually wanted to please him. Fear had fled far away…at least for the moment.
Just fell out of fear…just like that… Why?
Was it because she had somehow managed to reason with this man twice already? She had given her word to him and she intended to honor it. She was still hoping beyond hope that Leon and Luis might be spared if she just followed through with this promise. It was her Salazar wanted after all, not them. She had the sense it was only a matter of time now before she turned; It might be too late for her. But if Leon survived, he’d still have a chance to stop the plot the Los Illuminados had begun; save the US and perhaps the world.
She rose to her feet apprehensively and followed Ramón up the short set of steps and then to the left of his throne, the hand rests carved in the image of a horned deer—just like the Salazar family crest.
Ashley kept a respectable distance. She covered her bare arms with her hands. She looked back towards the door where the black-cloaked creature remained, watching her every move.
Coming to a stop in front of a small portrait, Ramón turned to her and she got the full sense of just how short he was. The top of his head was only about chest high on her.
“What do you think of my portrait?”
On the wall was a beautifully done oil painting. The person in the portrait was clearly Ramón, yet he appeared much healthier here. The man depicted was smiling softly. His skin was unmarred. He looked almost…handsome. She didn’t know if this was wishful thinking on Ramón’s part or how he’d looked before he’d become the man standing before her now, his already frail body ravaged by Plaga he hosted.
Ashley wasn’t sure how to respond. “Oh, that’s you… Hmm...” Her attention was caught by another larger portrait that was nearby. Two huge pots were positioned in front of this painting. The flowers inside were vibrant and colorful, clearly tended to recently. The painting itself was of a regal woman with delicate features and an austere expression. She, like Ramón, was dressed in attire from another century.
Ramón followed Ashley’s gaze. “My mamá…I owe my life to her—and my faith in Lord Saddler. She tried to protect me from my father, but she was such a gentle soul…unlike him… He even went as far as to claim I was an illegitimate child given the illness I was born with and accused her of being unfaithful. There are times when I pray he was right.”
“Oh… I am so sorry to hear that…” Ashley offered clumsily, not knowing how else to respond to such a sad state of affairs.
“I didn’t ask to be born into the Salazar bloodline… I didn’t ask to be born with this illness… That’s why I look the way I do… Due to my illness, I was not expected to survive past childhood. Have you ever been mocked and ridiculed for how you look, Miss Graham? Surely not, though I have… Most of my servants, my own father…” Ramón sighed. “What is life but just some rotten script? I live because of the Plaga bestowed on me by Lord Saddler.”
Oh geez, he’s so lonely, he’s telling me his whole life’s story…
And then without missing a beat, “Oh, how rude of me. Perhaps it would be polite to inquire about President Graham. What is he like?”
“He’s a decent man…Very kind…despite his detractors and political opposition,” she said, simply. Ashley wondered what her father would think of her so casually conversing with Ramón—for all that he was… a small-time cult leader’s subordinate, an obscure Spanish aristocrat…
Ah well, my father also believed in diplomacy , Ashley thought darkly.
“Well, Miss Graham, I think we’ve been here long enough. As a disciple of the great Lord Saddler I’ve been tasked with showing you the path to enlightenment and to wait with you until you transcend.”
“You can just call me Ashley, you know,” she said, deadpan.
Ramón’s face lit up in a smile that was somehow strangely endearing. “So I shall.”
He turned then and motioned for her to follow him out.
“Where are we going?” Ashley asked, trepidation clear in her voice.
“Somewhere more comfortable where Mr. Kennedy is unlikely to find us. And do not think of trying to escape, for my right hand Pesanta, will keep you in line.”
Ashley followed. If Ramón seemed under the impression that Leon was still alive, that was good enough for her.