Chapter Twelve
Insidious Talk
If Art had another chosen profession, he would have been a librarian. For all his skill with blades, aptitude with demons, and psychic abilities Art’s greatest love was to read. The library at Evendale’s home was his favorite room in the house and contained the fascinating things from demonology and history books, to epic adventure stories and references of most interesting subjects. He spent most of his youth soaking up all he could from her books, especially since her work often took her away from home for long periods of time. They were his company and he always felt like time spent reading was productive.
The second greatest thing about actually qualifying for the Weirimen Seminary was the library. Vast, finely furnished, and packed with the rarest most fantastic stories, histories and terrifying truths of the world, Art spent nearly every night until midnight in the place his whole first year, going through everything he could get his hands on. People thought it was his drive to succeed, be the best among his peers, but the truth of it was Art just loved knowledge.
In the shadow of everything that was happening to him, Art felt more than a pinch of relief when joy spread over him at the sight of the magnificent library rising up before him. In stacks taller than any he had seen before, they were so large they traveled up to the second story of the grand room.
“Yeah, I thought this would make you happy.” Senny was at Art’s side smiling.
Surprised that she knew anything of his love of books and libraries, he blinked in slight embarrassment. She said nothing more, just followed Heavykel into the room, beckoning Art and his party.
“Let Senny know if you should require anything else, Storygrove,” Heavykel said once she had led them to the area which the Grandmaster indicated they should look. “Be sure to keep your companions out of the restricted books and away from the historical weapons displays. I expect you both to Shroud anything they should not be seeing.”
Ever’s expression clearly indicated he did not like the Weirimen and their guarded secrets but he said nothing. Lucid was entirely unaffected and took to a large comfortable chair near the stone hearth nearby the shelves they had stopped at. It did not seem that he was going to aid in the research as he curled up in the warm spot, dropping instantly off to sleep.
“So he does sleep,” Art murmured as Ever came up beside him.
“He watched over you every time you slept. He is due the rest.”
Art nodded, feeling suddenly grateful for the boy’s silent and tireless support. He had never been close to anyone, never relied on his peers. It was odd to have companions now, even an old classmate was at his side, aiding him for no other reason than his need. Even though the Weirimen had been clear on their fate should he fail, Art was still finding a small comfort in the kindness.
Yet kindness was nothing and would not last. Should the demon take him over, no one would hesitate to end his life and send the demon back to its depths. It could even be what they were planning before he left. Perhaps that was why they left him with a familiar face. With Senny around, he might drop his guard and it would be easier to take him then.
Art stopped. He had bent over a book of maps Senny had given him when his mind had raced into darkness again. He did not have to look for the demon’s influence. He knew his thoughts had been soured by it again. He would have to find a way to distinguish his thoughts from the ones planted by the thing or he could be acting on what he thought were his own ideas, but in truth were all guided by evil.
“I can't believe this thing is real,” Senny remarked as she, Art, and Ever were into their third hour of searching through books, records, and maps for a sign to the location of the Consciatosium.
“That remains to be seen,” Art grumbled as he pushed aside yet another thick, leather bound tomb large enough to strain his arms in just lifting. “We have very little to go on other than it’s near the Shard Lakes, which I have yet to find as well.”
“I believe it exists,” Ever commented, unrolling another map he pulled from a huge case of tubes holding maps new, aged, and some nearly in pieces. “However, I do not know if we will find it in this place.”
“The Weirimen have the greatest libraries in the world,” Senny defended. “If it exists, it will be here.”
“If that were the truth, then we would have no need to travel to this great demonic library.”
Senny gave the elf a slightly sour face but said nothing else. Art found himself almost chuckling. The elf had rubbed him the wrong way several times with his opinion of the Weirimen but he was finding it did not bother him so much anymore. Their eyes met for half a moment and Art recalled he had been witness to everything that had happened with Grandmaster and the mentioning of the Crimson Dispatch. He was certain the elf would have questions, but surprisingly Ever had said nothing, only aided them with the research. Art knew he would owe him an explanation later.
“Ah, what is this?” Ever drew everyone's attention and the pair of Weirimen gathered around to see the map the elf had spread on the table, his long finger near large shard shaped lakes, over a strange symbol and faded lettering reading Conscia---um. It was missing several letters but something in Art’s gut told him this could be nothing else.
“You found it!” Senny exclaimed. “Good eye.”
Ever lifted an eyebrow slightly, almost as if he were going to remark on the excellent vision of elves but he said nothing, only gave her a slight smile.
“This has to be it!’ Art was grinning. “Look! The lakes are even there; those are the Shard Lakes.”
“Where is it located?” Senny asked, leaning over a bit more when Ever rolled the map up.
“I think it best if we keep the location secret. Only Art and I should know.
Blinking very fast, a frown forming, she responded, “What? Why is that?”
“Your Guild has been less than friendly to Storygrove. I feel that it is best, until our quest is at its completion. We should leave the Weirimen out of it. Come, Storygrove.” The elf tucked the map into his pack. “If they will give us lodging here we should turn in and leave at first light. I shall keep safe the map.”
Senny was visibly offended at the elf’s statement, but could not bring herself to say anything about it. Instead she angrily stepped in front of Ever and pointed to the packed away map.
“Who said you could take that?!”
“It will be alright, Senny,” Art tried to sooth her. “I’ll take responsibility for the map. Thank you for your help, but I think he’s right.”
She wanted to say more, wanted to ask something but Art only nodded at her and set off in fast steps towards the exit, Ever following and Lucid suddenly at his side as if the boy had been listening the entire time.
Several Weirimen were in the front of the library and the adjoining hallway when Art made his exit. Some said nothing, watching with wondering and judgment filled stares. Others were whispering, clearly not caring that Art could tell they were talking about him. He could sense the thick hang of disapproval as he passed, his mind reading needing only to graze over the lot to know the most of it. He did not want to stay the night in their care.
“Ah, find what you were after then?” Grandmaster Felvase was suddenly at the juncture between the inner halls and those that led to the exit courtyard.
Halting his pace that had become increasingly quickened, Art tried not to frown so deeply. Taking a sharp breath, he nodded.
“Yes, thank you, Sir. We’ll be of no more trouble. I’ll take my leave and—,”
“Nonsense,” the Grandmaster squared his eyes and peered down at Art, his expression hard to follow. It made Art nervous. “Night is upon us. You should stay here and depart tomorrow.”
“It was clear you did not wish Art’s company longer than necessary,” Ever spoke.
“And I was quite rude about it.” Felvase gave the elf a grin that only seemed to set Ever on edge. “But Storygrove is very nearly a W
eiriman. Cindervail made it clear she wanted him treated as such. Tonight he should stay, despite my manners before. I do apologize. Your situation is rather a sticky one.”
Art knew the elf wanted to slide him a glance but did not break the stare he had with the Grandmaster. Art was curious as to why Ever was holding such a strong appearance of loyalty to him. They had not been comrades long but his defense of Art was giving the Guild a different impression.
“We’ve prepared a room for you and a spot of dinner.” The Grandmaster’s tone was less an invitation than it was a push and Art said nothing more. Having the Grandmaster himself show them to their room was further proof that Art had little choice unless he wanted to openly decline and disobey.
“They are planning to imprison you.”
Art knew this was the voice of the demon now and it made no attempt to hide its cold presence, licking through Art’s mind like a frigid slime on hot skin. There was a sense of fear in the thing’s warning. It did not feel it could defend itself against so many Weirimen. It knew as clearly as Art, that they would not take pity on the young man as his judgment council had. They would kill Art to deport the demon back. The thing was not strong enough to deflect the lot without first consuming Art’s soul. Its transparency did nothing to quell Art’s nervousness. Threatened could mean the beast would be more dangerous.
“Here we are,” the Grandmaster announced when they had traveled high into the fortress’ levels to the sleeping chambers. “This room is unused and set aside for guests that are not of the afflicted nature. Though you fall into the category, I can expect you will not display any of that behavior, will you, my young man?”
Art’s eyes were rimming amber color at the direct shot at his condition. He wanted to mouth back, shout at the man. His stress flared open and he was annoyed they would not let him leave.
“This is more than adequate for our needs,” Ever said as both he and Lucid passed between the men. “If we might, could we supper here?”
“Dinner is served in the hall,” the Grandmaster said stiffly. “We will see you soon then.”
He dropped a look at Art, eyes hard. Art wondered if Felvase noticed his very sudden, very near loss of control. If he did, he said nothing and closed the door, leaving the group alone.
“You have some explaining to do, Storygrove, and I would make haste before we are expected in the hall.”
Art felt anger rising in him again, a bitterness he had tried to suppress since this all started but he was feeling hot, flushed with emotion and reeling at the imbalance in the world.
“I…,” he started, voice edged and sharp when he felt a tug on his sleeve.
Lucid smiled up at him, an Umbra Sweet in hand. Art stared, first vastly irritated. As the boy continued to smile and made the motion that Art should chew, the man’s anger started to ebb. Hand slightly trembling, he took the candy and lowering his eyes put the sweet thing into his mouth, gnawing slowing. As the sugary taste spread over his tongue he started to calm, feeling foolish and a touch bewildered.
“You are possessed?” Ever said very quietly, as Art slumped into one of the large comfortable chairs by the window, dropping his bag as heavily as himself.
Art was silent a long moment and Ever waited. Lucid, looking between them, shrugged out of his own gear and took to one of the beds in the room, pulling his legs up as if to watch the conversation unfold.
“Yes, and no,” Art finally said, the candy consumed. He felt slightly better, though he could still sense the presence of the demon watching the words float out of his mouth.
Ever’s brow arched but Art was not looking at him. His eyes were on the setting sun, casting golden light onto the vast city before them, chimneys billowing gray smoke into the evening.
“Can I ask you something?” Art turned back to the elf. Ever said nothing but tilted his head indicating Art should go on. “You defended me today, aided me, even though you knew there was something wrong with me that I didn’t want to tell you.”
“I did,” the elf confirmed.
“Why?”
Ever gazed at Art as if he did not want to answer. As the moments dragged out into uncomfortable silence a glow appeared around Ever. Lucid perked up, grinning as Orchid appeared, billowing out of Ever like glowing petaled wings. She seemed to take a deep breath, though if she could smell the air or not Art had no idea. She did seem refreshed when she opened her yellow and fuchsia eyes, giving him a radiant smile.
“I’m sorry to suddenly appear, but I feel your question deserves an answer and Ever, likely, will not bring himself to do so.”
The elf dropped a stern look on the ghostly dryad but she shyly gave him a little smile and glided over to Art. He sat up just a little as she stopped before him, her long hair weaving about her spectral form.
“We are moved that you would help us, Art. Where we have been met with mostly ideas of release and death, you shared Ever’s revulsion at the idea of moving me on.”
“Killing you, Orchid,” Ever corrected. “Do not use their terms. It was a sentence of death, not release. Art saw it for what it was as well. Just because evil forced us into this situation does not push you into the same realm as a demon invading another soul. I resented the implication and the comparison.”
“He was moved that you saw things differently from your kindred. You said it was your duty to help, even though you were under a cloud yourself. The races of men do not often inspire a Scarborough Knight.”
“I never claimed he inspired me, flower,” Ever popped one brow at her.
She only smiled and returned her gaze to Art.
“Your pledge has caused us to make one of our own. We will aid you as well, Weiriman. Please share your plight with us so we can do all we can for your cause as you said you would do for us.”
Art looked into her beautiful face, watching the light move through her transparent form like sun on water. He did not trust easily, but it was hard to see anything but honestly in Orchid’s eyes. Ever, though still stern looking, had softened his gaze on the man. Lucid’s ever pleasant face was the last note Art needed before he settled back against the chair and relayed the events of the past few days, hinting at his life and aspirations before the demon’s discovery, finishing with his time with the Weaver and the retrieval of Weir Hewn.
After his story, a long moment of silence webbed between all in the room and Art’s down cast eyes glowed with worry. In telling, all he might have accomplished was to rob himself of the only allies he would hope to garner in his predicament. The Weirimen were unlikely to continue to help him as he exhibited more and more symptoms of the possession. Though Lucid would help him, he was not sure the boy was up to the task of protecting him when they traveled into more haunted ground country. His cracked Weir was going to draw the most awful of things.
“Seems providence we found one another.” Ever was the first to speak. “Our goals are uniquely suited. We will get you to the Consciatosium, Storygrove. You just concentrate on holding that demon within your Haunting Weirs. Now, let us to supper. We should eat, rest and depart this place as soon as the sun is up. I do not trust the Weirimen.”
“Except Art,” Orchid added, her ghostly tether drawing her after him as he moved across the room to remove his gear and weapons.
Ever did not say anything but did give a small grunt. Art tried not to smile.
Art had run through a list of horrid, agonizing things he would rather be doing other than going to dinner in the Weirimen Hall. Though it consisted of things like taking his Weiriman entrance exam again, battling a demon blindfolded, allowing his instructors into his inner most thoughts, and the week long physical training test that ended in a broken arm and forty three stitches down his shoulder, back and thigh, Ever still insisted they needed to go.
“You and I both know refusing this ‘request’ from the Grandmaster will only generate fear and misgivings. You are well aware of my suspicions of your
brethren, but in the shadow of your story, I have even greater worries.”
Art did not need to ask what Ever meant. He was also fielding the same concerns. The Grandmaster’s back-peddling on Art’s presence in the Guild House, combined with the demon’s clear warning of capture, had the Weiriman believing there could be something other than goodwill behind Felvase’s reasons. Their chief mandate was to rid the world of demons hiding inside others’ souls and Art carried the promise of the most dangerous kind.
“I know,” Art mumbled, wishing he did not have to leave his gear and jacket behind in the room. There was no reasonable expectation for him to show up at dinner dressed to run, though he was at least relieved he could wear his blades. Weirimen were expected to be armed at all times. He felt self-conscious though without the hood, knowing everyone would be staring at him.
Lucid had been inspecting the room’s every nook and cranny when Art removed his long coat and ran a hand through his hair. The long slightly waving strands of dark blond laying heavily into his eyes on one side, while the under part, sheered very short, took on a deep goldenrod. Art had a habit of wearing his hood up and pulled tight over his head. The boy was suddenly at his side, inches away from his face inspecting the hairstyle he had seen little of.
“Woah, Lucid!” Art blinked surprised by the boy’s sudden movement. “What are you doing?”
Not answering, Lucid looked at Art’s hair and reached out touching the small exposed shaved part, before poking the long strands that covered most of Art’s head. Curiosity satisfied, Lucid grinned and then headed towards the door, completely unaware his behavior might be socially awkward. Art frowned and blinked a few times before looking at Ever and Orchid. The dryad giggled but Ever only shrugged.
“What was that about?” Art rubbed a hand over his light mustache and goatee, checking his knives and running his hands down his shirt nervously for at least the fifth time. He really did not want to go to dinner and be seen by even more of the Guild.
“Perhaps, he has not seen an under-cut hair style before?” Orchid offered.
“I don’t think it’s that usual. I’ve had my hood off before.”
“Perhaps he has just noticed.” She gave a light smile as she watched the boy poke at a hanging lantern on the wall, the ornate swirls and curves of the black metal causing him to run his finger over the loops.
“I hope he doesn’t do anything like that at dinner.” Art grumbled as he followed Ever out the door, Orchid disappearing before she could be seen by anyone passing by.
“It will be a good distraction for you. Try not to look so concerned. Your brow is knit so deeply your face could be mistaken for tree bark.” Ever dropped a judgmental glance.
“Thanks,” Art droned sarcastically, but did try to smooth his expression.
The hall was busy. Art had not seen so many Weirimen in one place before. Even for a city as large as Wivenguilder, he had not expected the numbers. The profession was rare and dangerous, but he supposed he should have known there were more than he expected. Demons were prevalent but not taking over the world so there had to be a significant force standing against the darkness.
The large hall was filled with beautifully furnished tables and chairs, as grand as any other part of the compound. The Weirimen did live well, though Art knew the majority of their fortune did go to the equipment, training, and defense of the Guild. Many a dangerous thing was contained within the Guild House’s walls.
As Art started towards a table on the edge of the room all eyes were on him. Whispers of thoughts, hushed voices and heavy staring bore into him and he sat, back to the corner. He would rather have not faced them but he could not bring himself to leave his back vulnerable, feeling paranoid.
“Would you like a menu, sirs?”
Art glanced up at the server. The Guild employed a great many who were not Weirimen to work in the kitchens and take care of the other chores.
“Thank you.” Ever nodded and took the menus, handing them to Art and Lucid.
Art did not care what was for dinner. He was struggling to ignore the eyes on him, the talk. He was getting bits and pieces about what they had heard, what had been said, the mandates about what was to be done about him should he start showing signs of possession, and how they all were directed to be leery of him.
“Art,” Ever commanded the man’s attention back.
Art had started to rub his hands together roughly, his expression growing more and more intense.
“You need to ignore them and order some food.” Man and elf looked at one another for a long moment; Art felt as tightly wound as a ball of metal wire. Then, blinking twice rapidly, licking his full lips, the Weiriman nodded and snapped open his menu, forcing himself to read the words and ignore the thoughts.
“Lucid, what would you like?” Ever asked, after layering a heavy look on Art’s nervous behavior.
“Can’t read.” Lucid grinned at him. “Want cake and toast.”
Art glanced at the boy and cracked a tight smile. “Don’t you eat anything else?”
Lucid cocked his head before shaking it.
“Just nightmares. I like cake and toast though.”
Ever and Art both smiled a little. Perhaps the boy did not really need to eat. Art had noticed the only thing he ate out of the food he had were biscuits, crackers, and peanut butter with honey sandwiches.
“I’ll have steak,” Art said, suddenly craving the meat.
Ever glanced at him, watching Art closely but the man did not feel his stare was like the others. He never expected to become so comfortable with his new companion so quickly and at such a time of adversity. He wondered why he had never made fast friends with the other novices at the Seminary.
Art managed to make it through his meal. It helped that the food was good and Lucid was so enthusiastic about the many different dessert and toast options available to him. Before long, Ever had dropped into interesting conversion about his forest home and Art was feeling almost normal when someone approached their table.
“So you are this ‘Storygrove’ we have heard so much about?”
Art knew the tone and it only coiled his hackles. The person, whomever he was, was only out to make trouble. A loner and gifted in a dangerous, competitive profession had given rise to many occasions Art had encountered bullies, trouble makers, and those seeking to prove themselves or test their peers. Knowing he would be looking into the eyes of someone he knew without ever having encountered them before, Art did little more than tilt his head up a hair’s width and slide his eyes over.
“I’m not here to socialize,” he said coolly.
“That is some truth there,” the man spoke his hands on his hips, his tall muscular frame enhanced by the four others he had brought with him. “None the less, I am Joss Lirecolden, one of Grandmaster Felvase’s chosen elite. It is my business to see the source of so much talk and the reason for the Crimson Dispatch.”
“I think you’ll be disappointed at the effort. I’m not much to see.” Art titled his head up more, his amber green eyes bright. He did not want to show weakness but gave the man an out to leave him alone. He hoped he would take the hint and leave Art be.
“Not even out of the Seminary and you’ve already fallen prey to the darkness. Such a waste. Grandmaster Cindervail spoke so highly of you to Felvase. Must be hard for her, putting so much time and effort into a prized pupil only to have them succumb to darkness and failure so quickly. Everyone knows she left the field to teach. Cannot help but wonder now if there was not another reason for her retirement from combat. Perhaps she’s not as good as they say she is, producing new Weirimen such as yourself.”
Art knew Lirecolden was only trying to rile him up. He knew he was testing him to see the hold the demon had over his emotions. Those possessed had lower impulse control and could even lash out violently as a result of their subconscious mind trying to fight off the demon within. Knowing all this, Art
could still not suppress the flush of anger that shot through him. He felt the demon’s chill, riding the heat of his emotions, its thoughts molding with his, whispering Art should defend himself against the accusations, defend his instructor. Art could show them what he was capable of, how skilled he could be, how he could cleave their Weir’s right out of their bodies with the new blade he had acquired through no small act of skill and courage. It would be easy, and the spilling of warm blood would soothe the aching cold he was feeling in his hands.
Art’s heart rattled suddenly at the dark thoughts that had all too easily flooded his brain. He was not sure when he had risen from his seat. He heard little else of what Lirecolden and his allies had said. The smiles on their faces and the jeering laughter told Art it had all been mockery.
“Enough,” Ever suddenly spoke, rising from his place, Lucid doing the same. “I will not sit here and watch those who claimed to be of a good and honorable profession ridicule and mock one who is afflicted, by his own fault or not. Who placed you in the position to judge his torment and to lay bare before a dining hall of your peers his trial? Should he fail his very life will be forfeit to the malady. Your jeering is nothing but a show of the honor-less pack of coyotes your kind can be.”
“Here, elf, you are a guest in our house and you talk to us in such a manner?!” the woman next to Lirecolden bit.
“I speak when it is necessary, a tradition your kind should exercise more often. We will retire for the night, as the company has soured the wine.”
Steely eyed, Ever headed toward the exit, Lucid grabbing Art’s forearm and pulling him along with them. Art glared at the group, some smiling, others scowling back, but he said nothing else and followed elf and boy back to their chamber.
“Bullies,” Ever spat angrily when they returned to the room.
Art hardly heard him though. He was embroiled in his own thoughts. So many times that day the demon had inserted itself into his thought stream, as if it were just another fish in the river. It did not seem to matter if Art was conscious of it or not, he could not stop the current and was swept along with the dark and violent thinking of the thing.
“Storygrove?” Ever called but Art ignored him, going to a chair near the window, night starting its fall.
He had thought he would have had more time. With the aid of the Umbra Sweets, Art had expected to have better control over the beast.
“Storygrove!” Ever was standing over the man now, frowning down at him with concern. Beside him Orchid floated, her lovely face also a mask of worry. “Are you all right?”
It took a long moment but Art finally looked up at them, his brow a knot of concern, his hands in tight fists.
“Is it the demon?” Ever asked, trying to sound gentle but there was fear in his voice and Art hated that he could hear it much louder over the concern.
“It…it speaks to me,” Art said almost against his will. “Its thoughts are like my thoughts, but I don’t want to be thinking them.”
Ever said nothing for a long moment, taking a controlled breath.
“From what you have conveyed to us, this thing is of an ancient malevolence and cannot be contained while it is still within you. You must resist its pull until we learn its name for exorcism. There is nothing else to be done. You must resist.”
Art felt a pang of anger. “You think I don’t know that?!” His voice growled, his eyes turning dark. “I have been trying but it gets inside my thoughts!”
“You must not allow it to gestate doubt within you,” Ever pressed. “You must remember who you are. When darkness forces its will on you, cling to your own identity and fight that beast within you.”
“I am trying!” Art’s voice pitched loudly, his desperation in the volume.
“That is all you need to do, Brother.” Lucid was by Art’s side, handing him an Umbra Sweet.
Art starred a long moment, face screwed up, his confusion tinged with fear. He did not want to lose the fight to the thing even before it forced its way out of his Haunting Weir. He had to find a way to hold on until he could learn its name. He had to maintain his strength or he would never be able to battle the demon once he had separated it from himself. Should it consume or weaken him too much, cutting it from his Weir would only free it to take him and then unleash itself on the world. Having consumed a powerful psychic soul, the Weirimen would then have to banish it back from whence it came, taking Art’s soul with it. That would be a fate worse than the death they would deal him should he fail to learn the thing’s name. Art looked on approaching the night feeling the weight of his ebbing life much like that of the darkening sky.