Chapter Eleven
Wivenguilder
The smell of fresh death woke Art from a dream in which he felt like he was being chased, strangled, smothered, and consumed. A blur of ugly images and sickly feelings gave way to wet, sticky coughing and a stiff neck and back. Looking around wildly he saw dawn breaking through the forest as the tall Tree Elf from the night before loomed over the Weiriman.
“Awake, Storygrove?” His silvery voice hinted at a foul mood.
He said nothing else, before taking a step over the log Art had propped himself up against. Cranking his neck, Art spotted the source of the foul smell. A large dead beast, warped and twisted from whatever it had formerly been before it was Demon Touched, lay nearby. The elf was retrieving arrows and cleaning them when Lucid was suddenly in Art’s face.
Art jumped back surprised, but Lucid only grinned and offered Art some food and an Umbra candy from his pack. Art ate less then the boy wanted him too, but his stomach felt sour, his mouth tasted bad and no amount of drinking from his canteen was washing it away. He was grateful that he had not actually spoken with the demon in his dream.
“You look unwell, Weiriman,” Ever said once they were packed up. “Did you not sleep well?”
Art noticed a heaviness in the elf’s question, as if Ever had already known the quality of his sleep. Perhaps the man had been fitful and the elf had watched along with Lucid.
“Nightmares,” Art mumbled, annoyed, but knowing he had not told Ever of his issues, the elf was taking the moment to remind them both of that fact.
They headed towards the edge of the wood. Lucid seemed happy to pick up the couple for the journey. He kept bouncing around Ever looking for Orchid until the elf told him she had to rest at times since her soul was weak due to their situation. Pouting, the boy left him alone.
“We saw an unusual number of demons this night past,” Ever said just as they were clearing the wood. “Perhaps it was providence I joined your odd band of two. You slept through the night and did not take a shift of watch. I assume this is due to some…condition you suffer from?”
Though well worded, the question had not been subtle and Art truly just wanted to ignore him. Knowing he would not be able to do that, he stated shortly, “Yeah.”
Some satisfaction bloomed in him when Ever shot him an irritated look. Art was thankful for the aid, but not happy that he had slept through the night and left Lucid to deal with what his Weir had drawn. Despite the issues it might cause, Art still planned not to tell the elf about his problem for as long as he could. The reaction his own Guild had displayed left him distrustful and leery, though he could not blame them. He truly was walking about with a danger inside him.
“Do you know where we are headed?” Art changed the subject.
Still looking cross, Ever nodded and extended an arm to point across a set of small rolling hills.
“We should head towards the town of Crestbelth.”
“That’s not a town that has a Weirimen Guild.” Art frowned having had memorized nearly all the places that had one.
“It does not, but it will have an airship that can transport us to Wivenguilder.”
Art knew of the largest city on the outskirts of the Wyld Lands, which they were in. It was host to one of the largest Weirimen Guilds in the network. Being on the edge of the Wyld Lands that hosted a great many haunted grounds, people were often afflicted by wandering demons and spirits. Killed in these areas harbored a greater chance that a soul would become a wandering spirit or leave a piece of itself to haunt the place of death.
Art sometimes wondered why people chose to live in some of these dangerous places. He suspected several of his graduating class would be stationed at Wivenguilder because the demand for exorcism was higher. Being on the outskirts of the Wyld Lands meant for encounters with Demon Touched and that brought another whole set of demonic and evil inflicted maladies. The thought of running into his newly graduated classmates after the rapid rumors likely circulating made Art’s stomach twist up. He hoped none of them had been transferred yet.
The trek to Crestbelth was easy, though it took nearly half the day. The elf’s pace was faster than Art was accustom to, but he kept up and Lucid seemed unbothered. Stopping for lunch, the group exchanged little conversation. Art suspected that without Orchid, and with Lucid only speaking when the situation was dire, he and the uncomfortable relationship with the Knight might stay tensioned for quite some time.
He was most relieved when the afternoon wore through and Orchid appeared, floating out of Ever like a shimmering billow of white mist. Lucid was extremely pleased and after some pleasantries, the atmosphere lightened and Art started to feel more comfortable. They were all sad to see her disappear when Ever said it would be best when they entered the nearing town.
Crestbelth was larger than Art expected and as they hurried into the town, Ever explained he worried they might miss the last flight of the day. It was far too dangerous to fly at night. Great demons rose out of the woods on all sides of the town attacking airships under starlight. Arriving at the airship docking station, Ever inquired about the last flight, happy to find it still had seating. Ever paid for the lot, not even asking Art for coin before beckoning them to board.
Seated, Art watched as Lucid, excited and interested in everything, took the window seat and waited impatiently for the ship to launch.
“Will there be lodging at your Guild or should we look for rooms when we arrive in Wivenguilder?” inquired Ever.
Art had been distracted by the light whispering he was hearing from the other passengers. It could have been his slight use of mind reading or perhaps his control to keep the voices out that had been fatigued by the demon’s pressure. But the voices sounded so sinister and strange, not like the thoughts of regular people. He was concerned they were leaving behind a group of demons somewhere that he should be looking to root out before leaving the town.
“Storygrove,” the elf commanded Art’s attention back. “You do not look well. Do you not take flying in stride?”
Art had not even noticed the ship had taken off and they were now gliding at great speed across the massive lake that separated the Wyld Lands from Wivenguilder.
“Oh, no, no I’m fine with flying,” Art answered, noting his face felt cold and to his surprise his lip was damp with chilled sweat. He dabbed it hastily from a handkerchief in his pocket and tried to turn towards the window Lucid was dominating.
Something was definitely wrong with him though. What the demon inside him could be doing now, Art was not sure. He had not heard the thing’s voice all day and though it brought him comfort, it also worried him. Was the thing doing something more insidious now? He would have to be on his guard.
“Tea?” The elf offered when the beverage cart came around.
Art gladly accepted and sipped the smooth warm liquid, hoping it would settle him as the elf eyed him cautiously.
The tea did help and before long Art had settled into the small comfortable booth they had reserved for the flight. It had a nice window and a good view of the rest of the ship. For a while, Art watched the other parties, some well dressed on obvious holiday, but mostly they were weary travelers and commuters. He wondered what kept people so close to the dangerous parts of the world. The threat of evil, possession and being attacked was dramatically real. The thought turned amusing when he thought of himself. He, of all people, could not question such a life. He had chosen to be a Weiriman after all.
“Do you hail from a large city, Weiriman?”
Art had not expected Ever to make conversation and had thought the flight would be as quiet as the day’s travel. The questions about his origin was equally surprising but then he had the thought perhaps the elf was trying to gauge him. They were nearly complete strangers, trusting one another, though much mystery hung between them.
“The Weirimen Seminary is in a fairly large city, but I grew up in one of the surr
ounding nine villages that was much smaller.”
“You do not strike me as a village boy. Though I suppose the moral promise you made to aid Orchid and I should have guided my assumptions of you otherwise.”
“Your experiences with Weirimen cannot all have been bad,” Art offered, watching the elf’s gaze linger on the passing world outside the window Lucid was so interested in.
“They have not been all bad. My garrison rarely dealt with them. We were often in the deep of the Wylds, protecting elven and fey settlements as well as animals of the woods. I was not one of those that worked on the outskirts of the cities of men. Yet, even so, I was taken back by their solution to Orchid’s condition. It has soured my opinion of your brethren.”
“I don’t blame you for that,” Art half mumbled not meaning to sound so concurring.
Ever’s eyes returned to the man and after studying him for a long moment said, “It is rare to see one of you out alone. Do you not travel at least in pairs? We know the boy is not a Weiriman. Will you not share with me something of your sojourn so that there might be some trust between us?”
Art had expected to be called out eventually, but had expected the elf to wait a few days, or maybe witness one or two events with Art before doing so.
“It’s not something I want to share just yet,” Art confessed, hoping truth would win out over the suspicion. “We did not exactly have the most cordial of introductions.” He meant what he said but gave the elf a friendly side smile, sweeping the long bangs from his eyes. His shoulders ached and he was still feeling ill but he did see the reason to make something of an effort with the tree elf at least in manners.
Ever, still looking guarded nodded. “You are correct, I did strike the first mark against the trust between us. I will give you time and ask you no more, less you give me reason to do so again.”
“Unless I give him reason, huh?” Art’s thoughts were sour. He feared that would be happening sooner than the liked. He could feel something at the back of his mind, like an itching in a wound he knew he could not scratch, less it infect and bleed constantly. A whispering was just beyond his hearing, present, but not audible, hinting at words, licking at ideas. Art tried to suppress the feeling and block out the voice. He did not want the thing to talk to him. He did not want to feel its presence again, though he knew it was the source of his growing fatigue. He had hoped symptoms of the threatening possession would have taken longer to overcome him. But the thing inside him was powerful and fully conscious of its affect on the Weirimen. Art would have to be on his guard. Blinking a few times and settling his back hard against the cushion of the booth, he tried to get comfortable and pretend nothing was wrong. Perhaps a meal and thoughts about other things would distract.
After a server came around to take their order and the light food was being served, Art felt a tug on his sleeve. Turning to Lucid, who had only ordered cake and crumpets, he was greeted with the boy holding up another umbra sweet. He was glad Lucid had an understanding of such things because Art kept forgetting to eat them. He wondered if that was him or perhaps the demon was at work in the back of his mind. The thought unsettled him and he chewed the candy down before taking to his dumpling soup.
The flight was smooth and uneventful. Before Art realized, it they were docking at the Wivenguilder side lake terminal. Disembarking always took less time than Art expected. The ship and crew were well organized to get everyone off in a quick and efficient manner. It ran nearly as well as the railway.
Before long Art, Ever, and Lucid were heading into the grand bustling city of Wivenguilder. Different from the city Art had spent the last six years in, the enormity of its size. Mixes of new and old buildings were blended together, lining city blocks and hugging street corners. Everything seemed at least three stories tall, brick and stone and wood, making an attractive but eclectic appearance of new and old world coming together to accommodate a bustling population.
“Do you know where we are going, Storygrove?”
Art did not say anything to the elf, but pulled out his compass and its needle spun wildly until it gave him a heading.
“I’d say we should head this way. Only the Guild should have such a strong demon energy reading as it should be the only place housing relics, demons, and the afflicted.”
“In a city such as this, I do not know if that is a true statement.”
Art tilted his head towards the elf, looking for explanation.
“A place such as this is likely to have an underbelly of black market trade as thick as the night is cold.”
“Let’s hope you’re not entirely right about that,” Art mumbled.
He had heard of black markets that sold and traded in demonic relics, demon fused, or touched items, even those possessed. Blackenmancers and Weirimen alike tried to root out such corruption. He had always thought such a large Guild as the Wivenguilder sect would have a good handle on the black trade of its own city. Ever seemed to have a different opinion of their capabilities.
Saying nothing more on the subject, the small group headed into the city. Lucid was fascinated by nearly every street vendor and shop. Before long, Art had to take a firm hand to the situation and explain they needed to get to the Guild before night. Pouting a little, the boy understood and begrudgingly followed the two others with a frown.
All pouting was forgotten when they reached the Wivenguilder Weirimen Guild House. Lucid stood in awe at the collection of buildings before them, towering over even its tall neighbors. Great gates stood sentinel, a work of scrolling black metal. Art approached and was greeted by a guard, dressed similar to him, hooded and wearing the Weirimen insignia.
“What is your business here?”
Art produced his temporary license and stated his name.
“I seek use of the library resource. These two are my companions. I would like to bring them in with me.”
“You’ll have to produce proof of Shrouding before you may use the facility or seek further permission, brethren,” the guard warned but opened the gate and allowed Art and the others to pass.
Art had been to several Guild Houses in his training years, but none as well fortified as the Wivenguilder. Tall walls of silvery gray stone, bound together with great arches and thick doors. Grand, beautiful, but also powerful and warding. It stood like a cathedral against the world’s darkness, judging all who passed by its tempered glass panes and iron gated grounds.
“Your buildings are cold, Storygrove,” Ever said coolly as he followed behind Lucid.
“Our world deals very rarely with warmth that is not brought on by fire of hell,” Art’s voice was dark, “and you’ll find the deepest fire burns cold. Weirimen are not close to the organic world like the elves.”
“Evident.” Ever dropped a look on Art when the man looked behind him.
He wanted to be offended by the elf’s passing judgment on the Guild, but he too was feeling the chill in the air. The way his Guild had threatened him was weighing on his mind again, more so than he had planned to allow it. A voice inside him said he would have to tread lightly because he was not among friends, though these people were supposed to be his brethren. He wished the dark thought had been voiced by the demon within him, but he worried more that it was from his own mind, and that carried much more fear with it.
Passing into the large courtyard, they were greeted by a pair of guards who questioned him just as the front sentury had. Art knew what they were doing. The front gate was not the real test at all. The courtyard was an area intruders could easily be captured, rigged with traps, and watched carefully. Young or dim demons, hoping to infiltrate a Guild, sometimes tried to wonder in hidden within a person. The Weirimen were not easily fooled and Art knew while he spoke with one Weirimen the other was scanning him with her abilities, looking for possession and trickery. Anxiety started to fill him, knowing he carried darkness within him and he started to reach for a letter Cindervail had give
n him to offer other Weirimen when the woman lifted her hand.
“This is him, Knifecaren, this is the man the Crimson Dispatch spoke of: Art Storygrove.”
Art fell silent. He was unaware a Crimson Dispatch had been sent about him. Only the most important news was sent by this special letter, received by all the Guilds, concerning only the gravest and most dangerous of contents. He suddenly felt he might be taken in custody at that very moment. Perhaps Minevur had won out after all and gotten the others to side with him rather than Cindervail and Art would be condemned.
“You must not let that happened. Do not let them take you now. You have a real idea how to cleanse yourself. You could destroy this thing.” Art felt his jaw clench as he watched the pair glance at him before nodding to an unseen observer high in the rampart of the walls of the Guild. He knew they were signaling one another, maybe even talking through Shrouded Telepathy that he could not hear. “You must not let yourself be condemned and destroyed! You have only just begun your quest. It would be unfair to try and stop you now.”
Another pair of Weirimen arrived, a very tall slender female and her partner, short and petite, both wearing Sin Breath masks similar to the one the hung at Art’s neck. More shrouded thoughts passed between the four. Their faces gave away little of what was being said and Art grew all the more nervous.
His hands were itching to be on his blades. He wanted to be ready if they attacked him, wanted to be able to slit throats and use bodies as shields when the arrows started to rain down on him as he tried to escape. He would need to take the large one first, he would make the best shield for…
Art stopped, completely shocked at his line of thoughts. His mind had raced through a whole scenario of who to kill in what order, which traps would be triggered, how he would need to avoid them, and what he would have to sacrifice between the elf and the dreamcatcher to make it out with his life. His mouth went dry. Though he often thought out his moves, his escapes, his plans for how he would execute an operation, he had never done so in such a brutal manner. He had never thought about killing other Weirimen, nor betraying allies such as Lucid and Ever.
He could feel a cold inkling in his limbs and he tried to control the trembling when he felt the black eyes of the demon within staring. It was laughing, mocking him, grinning and Art felt nauseated. It had slipped thoughts so seamlessly into his mind he had thought them his own, long after he should have known better.
Shaken, but trying not to show it, Art forced his attention back to the Weirimen just as the smallest of them was approaching him, pulling down her mask and pushing back her hood. He was stunned to be greeted with both a smile and a familiar face.
“Senny Greiventine?” Art managed to waft out.
“Don’t sound so surprised!” She gave him a wide smile with full lips and sunny brown yellow eyes. “You knew we were getting our assignments. This is my post. And this is my partner mentor, Heavykel, Korfa Heavykel.” The taller women acknowledged him with her eyes, but did not remove her mask.
“I didn’t know you would be sent way out here on the frontier,” Art admitted.
“Me either, but I’m excited. We’ve already had our first serious exorcism.”
“Did it go well?”
Senny had been all smiles but when Art asked the question her face darkened.
“Not everything is like classes,” Korfa Heavykel spoke before Senny could answer. “Many out here are beyond our aide. The darkness is thick here, the haunting grounds many. We are much nearer the core of darkness.”
“The Wyld lands are not the source of darkness, Weirimen,” Ever spoke. Art had almost forgotten he was standing behind him.
“But they are greatly afflicted by it, elf,” Heavykel spoke back, tone edged. “Here it runs as ramped and unchecked as any of your kind.”
Art did not have to turn to see the remark offended Ever, but the elf stayed silent, leveling nothing back at the Weiriman other than in icy stare.
“Come, Storygrove, before you are allowed access to our library you must be seen by our Grandmaster, Felvase.”
“Don’t worry, Art,” Senny tried to comfort as they followed Heavykel, the other pair of Weirimen watching the whole time. “Our Grandmaster has been briefed on your situation.”
“That’s what worries me.” Art thought to himself as they led the trio through the huge doors of the Guild’s great house.
The hallways were never well lit but not dark enough for Art to use his goggles. Weirimen could operate in lower light than most men and they preferred to keep the Guild user friendly to only those with the gifts. Art knew an elf could see in even deeper darkness than they and Lucid could function in pitch black darkness. But it was not their comfort he was really thinking of, it was their company.
Weirimen worked with Scarborough Knights from time to time but only on larger operations and only in areas of the Wyld they already patrolled. For him to be with an elf and an unidentifiable creature such as Lucid was somewhat taboo and at the very least highly unorthodox. He was hoping they would not be seen as further complication to his already overly complicated predicament. Cindervail had told him to go alone on this quest.
Passing through many stone walled hallways and finally through a gallery of art depicting Weirimen and their many battles with darkness, they came to a figure at the back of the room of portraits. Art was expecting to get questioned again but the man turned around sharply and started to speak.
“So you are Storygrove. I am Borne Felvase, Grandmaster. Can’t say I'm pleased to have you show up at our doorstep, as you are, bearing evil and towing strangers. But with Minevur’s dramatic announcement about the dangerousness of your state, I truly half expected you. We are on the edge of the wild and if you are to cure yourself of this unique affliction to this cursed place, I expected you to come.”
Towering over Art’s already tall form, the large man of flaming red hair and blue orange eyes struck quite a figure in his black and brown layers of Weirimen dress.
“Now what it is you’re looking for in my library and what can I do to get you on your way because I do not want Cindervail’s prized, but afflicted, favored pupil in my camp any longer than you have to be. Should you break down into full possession, I would hate to have to face her if we be the ones to put you down.”
Art was surprised and affronted by several things in that statement. Never had he thought he was favored by any of his instructors. But to hear Cindervail would be upset should he die did bring a small measure of comfort.
“I need to find a place,” Art explained.
“What place might that be?”
Art hesitated. He had always been told the place he was looking for was a myth.
“Out with it, boy, what’s this place?” The Grandmaster urged, his broad, breaded face screwed up with impatience.
“The Consciatosium.”
For a moment the Grandmaster stared, then dropped his face into a flat, sneer.
“Awe, hell, Storygrove, I knew you were trouble the moment I sensed your presence here.”
“I didn’t think it was real,” Senny spoke, her and Heavykel having not been dismissed but having stayed to listen.
“Oh it’s real all right,” Felvase blustered, thick hands on his hips. “We just don’t tell everyone it’s real because the place is damned dangerous and somewhat taboo for us to visit. You could be corrupted buy it, you know.”
“Corrupted, sir?” Art frowned.
“Yes, boy, the Consciatosium is a very real place. It exists on the edge of worlds, saddled in the center between ours, the Veil, and the Demonic. It is a library that hosts all the knowledge of demon history.”
“Surely, such a place would be useful to Weirimen,” Senny said, sounding excited. “Couldn’t we use it to learn all the deeds and names of all the demons we face? It would not be such a struggle then to research the names of great demons.”
“And this is w
hy it's knowledge that shouldn't be known,” the Grandmaster turned large, darkening eyes on the young women. “It holds great secrets, much knowledge, and in truth, it has everything we need to do our work. But this library is alive.”
“Alive? What do you mean alive?” Art cut in flatly, his nerves starting to dance at the ferocity with which the Grandmaster spoke about the place.
“This place has a mind all its own and it favors no one, man, elf, demon or fey. It tests you, weighs you, toys with you, all at its leisure. And it had been known to corrupt, turning righteous to darkness or darkness to wanderers. In our history, many Weirimen who ventured there never came back and some who did were no longer themselves.”
The man’s grim face was a testimony to their possible fate in the Consciatosium. He did not trust the Weaver in the traditional sense. He was a crazy man in the woods who had put Art in several situations that very easily could have killed him. But he had enough sense to know the Weaver had been correct and clear about what Art needed to do or he would perish under this great evil.
“I have to go,” Art mumbled tightly.
The Grandmaster looked hard at the man for a long moment and Art could hear whispers of his thoughts. The man was remembering times spent with Cindervail, how much he valued her skill, opinion, and for some reason she placed great trust and value on Art. The man would trust her recommendation to aide him.
“All right,” Felvase agreed. “Take him to the library. You can shroud the minds of your companions from our secrets, can you not, Storygrove?”
This is what the guard had meant by passing a Shrouding. Often when non-Weirimen were let into the Guild their minds were shrouded from things the Weirimen did not want the public knowing. There could be weapons, secrets, displays, and books in the library the Guild would not want Ever and Lucid to see. Should Art come across one of those, he was to hide it from his companions.
“Yes, I can do that, Sir.”
The Grandmaster waved his hand, “I need to see no test of skill from Cindervail’s finest. Now go.”
Art nodded his thanks and followed Senny and Heavykel out. Though surprised himself by the Grandmaster and much of what he said, he had not missed that both women too were taken back by his faith. Art had never been aware that Cindervail thought anything special about him, though he knew she had been close with his guardian, Evendale. Did Cindervail know more about his past then she had let on?