The Cult (1)
"You've been in the laboratory since morning."
No sunlight reached the room, which was cluttered wall to wall with experimental apparatus. Someone spoke to me as I tilted a cage that held a spirit, pressing on with the research that filled my days as always.
I looked up and found a girl seated in a wheelchair. Her ash-gray hair was pinned neatly atop her head, and her name was Aine. Four years ago, after an accident had wiped her memories clean, I had brought her into the Cult.
"The time had come."
"Have you created another new spirit?"
"Yeah."
Time and again I had made Highest-Grade Spirits and fed them to Arthes, and in doing so I had learned a hard fact. A Highest-Grade Spirit subordinated to Arthes performed far worse than one bound by direct contract. I had no wish to belittle Arthes's gift—the power to draw on any number of spirits with no conditions attached—but a Highest-Grade Spirit was simply too precious to be fed away like that.
From then on I began gathering subordinates who shared my purpose and shaping them into an organization. That was how the group now the talk of the underworld, the Cult, came to be born.
Aine held a central place even within the Cult that had risen this way. In my stead—for I never showed my face beyond these walls—she became the Cult's public face, and beneath the title of Saintess she governed every affair of the organization, great and small. In truth I did only the work I cared to do. Every other burden fell on Aine.
"What kind of spirit is it?"
"A Flash Spirit. Specialized in wide-area attacks, I'd say."
"So it's Highest-Grade."
"Yeah. It is."
I had created spirits without number before I ever turned fifteen, and the days of rejoicing or despairing over a Highest-Grade Spirit were long past. My treating them so lightly did not, of course, lessen their worth. Across an entire nation, contractors of Highest-Grade Spirits numbered three or four at most. It was only that I myself had, by now, become a being no one else could approach.
"Are you thinking of making a new Apostle?"
"Apostles... I don't intend to add any more. This one I'll put up for auction."
"If that is the Cult Leader's will."
With that, Aine drew out a letter and offered it to me. The envelope was stained with blood, and whatever lay inside was unlikely to be pleasant. I handed it back. Aine took it once more and read.
"The Black Star Conference has sent you an invitation, Cult Leader."
"The Black Star Conference?"
"A council of seven organizations that hold a large share of the underworld in the border city."
"And what do they want?"
"They ask that you attend their meeting and state the Cult's purpose. Insolent wretches. Who are they to summon the Cult Leader as they please?"
The Cult had existed for some time, yet it had never once acted under its own name. All it did was sell spirits to the faithful who belonged to it. Even so, an organization that appeared to have no ties to anything illegal, and that ran itself behind closed doors, had evidently grated on them a great deal. Otherwise they would have had no reason to summon me and demand an accounting.
Their view of the matter and the view held inside the Cult, however, were plainly not the same. Aine's loyalty to me ran deeper than most, and the mere fact that underworld outfits had called for me did not sit well with her.
"Trash gathering for a meeting. Ridiculous."
"We've never moved under the Cult's name before. Why not use this chance to show them what we can do?"
"If you're willing to go that far, Aine, then I suppose I will."
The Cult's headquarters lay underground in a remote mountain valley. An organization that handled Primal Spirit Stones could hardly keep its base anywhere the location might easily come to light. All that existed in the border city was a transfer gate made by the Cult's Second Apostle, Senia of the Relay. To look at a thing used merely as a passage and conclude that the Cult had planted itself in the border city was absurd in itself.
"Which Apostle shall I call? I could go myself, if you'd rather."
"No need. Elmo will go."
"Elmo..."
The moment she heard the name, Aine's face hardened. She was plainly displeased.
"Why? Something wrong between you and Elmo?"
"That man is far too rude to you, Cult Leader."
It was called the Cult, yet aside from a handful, its members had nothing whatsoever to do with faith. They followed me for two reasons only. One was fear of me. The other was that belonging to the Cult profited them, and the Apostles—who had contracted Highest-Grade Spirits and tasted the Cult's benefits directly—were all the more so. Among people like that, someone who chafed at being controlled was bound to appear. The notorious villain the world knew as Elmo of the Blue Gale, the Seventh Apostle Elmo Spindius, was exactly that sort.
"It's about time the Cult made its name known, isn't it?"
"And so... Elmo?"
"If we're sending someone, better a guy whose face being known doesn't matter."
"If it's that scoundrel, then certainly it wouldn't matter if we turned him loose outside."
Only then did Aine smile, satisfied. I had no intention of casting him aside, whatever her phrasing suggested, but I could not deny that he was a scoundrel who raised magnificent havoc wherever he went. He had been that way even before I named him an Apostle of the Cult.
"So get word to Elmo and Senia."
"I will."
I gave Aine her instructions and turned my eyes to the cage in my hands. Along the smooth metal of its surface, my own face looked back at me—platinum hair glittering where the light caught it, and deep golden eyes like topaz set into the face. The small child who had once clung to Spirit Stones was long gone. A girl who had grown into herself stood in that child's place.
"...The time has come."
More than seven years had already passed since Polton's death. It would not be long. Soon enough, the hour would come to bare the fangs I had kept hidden from the world.
"Cult Leader. What'd you drag me in for this time?"
A young man in a hoodie and jeans stepped into the conference room, roughly cropped black hair tossing as he came. Seventh Apostle, Blue Gale, Mad Dog of the Casino, Black-Haired Scoundrel—Elmo Spindius wore every one of those names.
I indicated the empty seat beside me.
"Sit down, and I'll tell you."
At that, Elmo dragged a chair over, dropped into it, and planted his legs on the desk. Crossing them the other way was merely an extra touch.
"I was on a hell of a winning streak. You didn't call me in for something lame, did you?"
"Elmo. You're being far too rude to the Cult Leader."
Senia, who had reached the conference room a step ahead of Elmo, said it while toying with her peach-colored hair. Those cotton-candy locks were tied into twin tails, and her temperament stood in stark opposition to his.
"The hell are you yapping about, brat?"
"Wh-what...?"
"A brat who doesn't know how to respect her elders—that's who's rude. Ain't I right?"
I had kept Aine out of the meeting on purpose, wary she would clash with Elmo, but the consideration seemed to have been wasted. Even so, I could not leave out Senia, who remained with the Cult at all times and linked region to region, and so I carried the talk forward.
"When you say brat, you don't mean me, do you, Elmo?"
"The Cult Leader's just the Cult Leader. Look at you and you're a doll, but turn you inside out and you're a monster stuffed full of old snakes. Anyway, what's the job?"
"An invitation came from the Black Star Conference."
"The Black Star Conference? Oh. That bunch over in the Republic."
Elmo reacted to the name. He seemed to know of them already, and if he did, the talk would be shorter. That was just as well.
"You know them?"
"They keep telling me to join in. Course, I tore every one of those invites up right in front of their faces. So?"
"They sent an invitation to me."
"Those guys sent one to the Cult Leader? Why?"
"They want the Cult's purpose laid out, and any overlapping business cleared away."
Elmo sneered and rapped the desk with his foot. A voice thick with scorn and mockery filled the conference room.
"They've lost it. Don't even know whose toes they're stepping on."
"On that, I agree. They must not want to die clean."
Senia nodded at his words. Among the Apostles I reigned as a symbol of terror, and a reaction like theirs was only to be expected.
"So now you see why I called you."
"The Cult's finally making a move?"
"Yes. Under the Cult's name."
"But, thing is..."
Elmo swallowed the rest of what he had been about to say. Then, with a careful look, he asked me.
"You're not... planning to step out yourself, are you, Cult Leader?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Where's the fun in that? Leave the whole thing to me. I'll smash them to pieces, nice and clean."