Chapter Sixteen
The Consciatosium
Sweat had collected on Art’s thin mustache and upper lip, his body still trembling post the rush of real fear. As he wiped his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, his eyes darted to the mirrors. They were clear again, reflecting nothing but the Weiriman. Collecting himself, he was glad Lucid, Ever, and Orchid had not witnessed his reaction to seeing the demon reflected within him. He had thought for that moment that it had been real, released from him and ready to consume. He had not drawn his knives, not guarded himself, or even thought about defense at all. He had displayed nothing but shrinking fear.
Flashes, feelings, and moments of the battle that had taken place in his mind with the demon between Wivenguilder and Catatoran blurred into his consciousness. Art closed his eyes, pulling his mask down, needing to breath more evenly. He had to shut it out. He had used one of his last few Scarlet Extinctions. There were only two left, and he could not afford to weaken now and call the demon up. He had not even entered the library yet. It would be such a waste to let the thing in due to his own fear.
He could feel it just under the surface of his consciousness, whispering, laughing at him but he could not make its words out. Turning his face, his eyes shut just as they turned amber. His abilities could keep the thing in check, the Umbra Sweet was supposed to aid him in doing that. Still, he could feel it pressing on his Weir, threatening to force it open. Art grit his teeth, perspiration clouding on his brow. Though not part of his physical body, he could feel the pressure as acutely as if the demon was bending a joint in the wrong direction. He had to force the thing back.
A few moments more and Art could feel it withdrawing. He was grateful. He was certain if the struggle had gone on any longer he might have lost to the sheer pain it was causing. Breath wobbling out of him, Art pushed on the mirror he was leaning against and took a shaky step towards the center one. Composing himself, he looked up at the watchful red eyes. Though they said and did nothing, Art had the clear sensation they had watched and absorbed all he had just gone through and displayed. It made him uneasy but when the mirror before him vanished and a dark hole opened he took one lingering look at the watching eyes and passed through the empty frame.
Inside was chilled, smelling of dust and old earth. Walking blindly, Art had the thought of taking out his soul lantern again when a light drew ahead and he came upon a magnificent set of doors. A small single candle burned in a hanging lantern, casting only yellow light over the words scrolled above: “Consciatosium”.
Art hoped to see the others, but he did not have to wait long before a smaller door in the great gate swung open and Lucid’s head popped out.
“Lucid!" Art exclaimed, truly happy to see the youth.
Lucid gave a wave and beckoned him inside.
Once through, the gate closed on its own and Art was again happy being greeted by Ever and Orchid.
“We were beginning to worry,” Orchid confessed, floating before him. “You were taking a while. Is everything all right?”
Art nodded, lying as he indicated everything was perfectly fine, though the images of the two Weirimen, the Haunting Weirs, blade and lantern all muddied in his mind. He had been so startled by the very real imagery of the demon that he had forgotten the other strange depictions.
“What do you think that mirror was?” Art asked.
“I believe the mirror was recording who we are. The images are likely renderings of our true selves, what we are inside. Lucid’s showed both his forms, nightmare and as we see him now, as well as the dream catcher he was before he gained consciousness,” Orchid answered before asking, “Why?”
“Just curious,” Art lied again. He was even more puzzled by the images that were his portrayal.
“What did you see, Storygrove?” Ever’s eyes were squarely on Art.
The Weiriman was beginning to be unnerved by the elf’s ability to read him. Even guarded, Ever seemed to know when Art preferred not to talk about a subject. Before Art had to either create an answer or decide to recite the truth, the room lit up. It had been previously as dimly lit as the outer doors, the only thing visible, a huge empty front desk as high as their heads.
“Greetings and welcome to the Consciatosium. I am the Librarian. How might I assist you, seekers of knowledge?”
Art had to tilt his head back quite far to look up at the strange figure suddenly standing at the tall desk before them. Art was certain the Librarian had not been there before, nor had he seen it arrive. It was hard to make out the appearance but, before long, the figure was descending a set of spiral stairs leading from the desk to the floor.
Smaller than Art, the thing was about the size of Lucid, fully robed in rich, deep reds. The hood was so large that it hung well over the face, the only thing visible was a strange pointed beak-like mask that stuck out from the heavy hood.
“I’m uncertain of protocol,” Art started, “but I seek the name of a demon.”
“A demon you say?” The voice was odd, and when it spoke Art was uncertain if it were male or female.
“Yes, a Pith demon,” Art confirmed.
“Ahhhhh,” a smile could almost be heard in the tone, “the one you carry within you?”
“How do you know that?” Art’s brow bent deeply.
“All who enter the Consciatosium add to its knowledge. You gave your consent before entering and the library has read and written your story. This way.” Its scantily flesh covered hand, with nails long enough to be claws, beckoned to them. “I shall take you to the Hall of Demonic Tomes. There you may hunt for your name.”
“I told you,” Orchid whispered as they headed after the creature. “The mirrors likely looked inside us and learned all about who we are.”
“Though I suspected this also, it makes me no less uneasy,” Ever murmured back.
“It was likely some kind of payment for our use of the library,” Orchid speculated, and Lucid who was walking alongside her, nodded his agreement. Art recalled the Weaver had told him Lucid could get them to the library. He wondered if that meant the boy had been before or was it just he would be able to actually lead them through the catacombs as he had done. The question would have to be posed another time.
“There is little we can do now,” Art added, trying to swallow his own anger. He did not like the idea of anyone knowing his personal struggle with the demon and his very real fear and doubt about being able to save his own soul. The sadness and loss at the dismantling of his life and future seemed very far away now as the clear image of the demon in the reflecting mirror burned in his memory.
The group followed the librarian through a great stone archway along a rough red carpet so dark it was almost black. A hallway opened up to a wide stone staircase against a wall, a high cathedral ceiling stretching over head, braced by great arching supports, dangling a massive iron chandelier. As they approached the stairs, Art watched Lucid shuffle away from whatever he saw on the wall, causing the man to quicken his steps until he was next to the boy.
“What’s wrong, Lucid?” He asked as his eyes fell on the strange carved masks that lined the entire wall leading up the stairs. They were ashen, like stone, but so lifelike. Just faces, suspended by no seen support, up to where the ears should have been. As odd as a line of facemasks was, the most disturbing attribute was from each of their closed eyes poured a continuous stream of blood tears. The line of tears was not just an illusion of paint, whatever the liquid was, it flowed down the masks' cheeks and disappeared back up under the edge of the thing so nothing spilled to the floor.
“Do not be alarmed,” the Librarian spoke in its strange voice. “Those are some of our patrons that read things their minds could not processes. We did not let their condition go to waste and now their souls aid in the maintaining the Consciatosium.”
“These people are alive?!” Orchid was horrified.
“In some sense, yes, but they are no longer fettere
d by a mortal shell. Their souls nourish the library.”
“You speak as if this place were alive and evil,” Ever’s dark tone caused the Librarian to turn back, its strange mask poking out of the fabric, displaying no expression.
“We are just beyond the Veil here. To exist and allow both the physical and nonphysical to use the facilities requires...,” the thing paused as if to think on just the precise word, “Energy. It requires energy. To call the Consciatosium evil is not accurate. It only feeds on what has met with unfortunate circumstances while in its walls, and only those that are drawn here.”
“Like a carnivorous plant?” Orchid asked.
“Yes, lovely one,” the Librarian’s voice was smiling again. “That is correct. We ask our patrons to explore with caution, unless you would like to add yourself to the Consciatosium permanently.”
“I have a hard time believing the souls you say power this place are here by their own choice.” Art frowned.
“Oh, my young Weiriman, you would be shocked by the number of souls these walls harbor by choice or draw. The Library is always in use. So, be wary the resources you seek here often have a mind of their own. Caution, caution.”
Art started to pull his mask back up when the Librarian, not even turning to see him, spoke again, “Do not bother with your filter, young Weiriman. Demonic miasma is filtered from the air and collected. Nothing is wasted within these walls.”
Glances were exchanged as the Librarian continued to lead them up the stairs and into the grand expanse that was the central hub of the building.
The structure was tremendous with ceilings so high it was dark and hard to make out the actual shape. Great archways, slopping staircases and huge windows looking out into an unsettling blackness circled all round. Yet, as grand as the surroundings were, everything appeared in a state of semi-decay. The stonewalls were bruised and cracked with time, tapestries withered and worn. The furniture and shelves housings books in every wall, cranny, and alcove were tattered, old, and even seemed unstable.
“The place seems…a little…,” Art wished he had not started the sentence having no polite way of finishing it. He had been too curious about the disarray.
“The library is ancient, but I assure you what you seek you will find here whether or not the appearance meets with your standards.”
Art pursed his lips, wondering if the strange person could read his thoughts.
The Library only continued to unnerve the group as they ascended a flight of stairs passing many massive statues of people shrouded in fabrics, faces covered, bent in the strangest positions. Some had their arms outstretched as if trying to escape their stone prisons. Others were not facing them, bodies arched in painful ways, arms curled behind, faces towards the walls.
The higher they climbed into the structure, the more the décor took on strange disembodied body parts: sconces made of arms and hangs folding together to mimic the shape, headless bodies were pillars, tables had actual legs, and arm chairs were made of a conglomerate of limbs all coming together in such a subtle way at first glance one would not have seen the arms nestled against one another. Everything appeared as wood or stone carvings, but Art was suspicious. A demonic library that fed on the souls of those who succumbed to its dangerous information, the experience left the possibilities of its activities wide open.
Finally, the Librarian took them off the stairs and to a set of double doors. Words tarnished and half faded on a plaque dimly shining in lantern light read: Eternal Reading Room.
“What is this place?” Ever inquired, suspicion evident in the slight clip at which he spoke.
“A reading room of sorts. All information may be absorbed here, all information can be read here, but only by those willing to part themselves from their bodies. As most of you are physical, I plan to lead you to the actual book you seek. However, we must pass through this room to get to that wing. Won’t you follow me, please?”
Not entirely sure what was being expressed, Ever and Art shared a dubious glance and followed the Librarian cautiously. With a wave of its boney hand, the doors flew open and a puff of old air rushed out as if a tomb had been suddenly exposed after decades. Art instinctively covered his nose and mouth, eyes squinting as he peered into the room. Light from the lanterns in the hallway poured in showing an empty reading room, book stacks at one end, tables and chairs in the center. A huge, unlit fireplace stood cold near the doors at the far end. Saying nothing, the group entered.
Two steps in, Art was certain he was hearing voices, whispers and flashes of ideas and mumbling. Frowning, he tried to quiet his abilities, uncertain the source until the doors slammed closed behind them and the room plunged into darkness. Alarmed, both Ever and Art started to speak when ghostly lights formed shapes in the space. Art placed his hand on Ever’s forearm to quiet him as they watched the wisps of light come together and make figures of people. In a few moments it became clear that the room was teeming with ghosts, reading, lounging, some just standing and thinking, or perhaps just staring. Books were floating off shelves hovering around the transparent people, some being taken and leafed through, others just sliding onto stacks near readers and on tables.
“What in the world?!” Ever whispered.
“The eternal reading room,” Art whispered back and pointed to bones strewn around on the floor. “It looks like people died in here just reading and reading.” Some souls were actually sitting among their slumped over bones, having never noticed they had died.
Art steeled himself, the ghosts not noticing their presence. Carefully, he took out his soul lantern. Ghosts could be dangerous when angered but mostly they just needed to leave them alone. Art had no plans to try to move them on from their predicament. When the lantern came to life, every soul the light fell on disappeared. That was not normal and told Art these souls were forcefully trapped. It would take more than his skills to free them should he even want to try. They were part of the library now.
“Come,” Ever urged. He was obviously uncomfortable.
As they neared the exit the elf started to feel strange. His normal confident step wavered and he stopped, placing a hand to his forehead, looking dizzy. Art did not notice, but Lucid grabbed his coat and the Weiriman turned, casting light on Ever’s paling face.
“What’s wrong?” Art started when he suddenly noticed Orchid was not right behind Ever as she had been.
Lifting the lantern, Art’s eyes traced the tether linking them and found it stretched out much longer than he had seen it before. Frowning, he stepped behind the elf and followed its faint glowing line until he saw the woman floating towards the stacks of books. He called her name but she did not respond. Art’s concern grew when Ever’s breathing started to hasten and the Weiriman noticed the tether growing thinner.
“Orchid, wait!” he called again but she did not seem to hear him.
Something was very wrong and Art acted. He grabbed Ever by the arm and pulled the elf after him. Trying to protest, dazed and somewhat confused, Ever could do little more than allow himself to be pulled along, Lucid following.
“Lucid, if you can stop her, do it!” Art ordered and the boy broke into a run ahead of man and elf.
He came to a stop before Orchid, unable to touch, he stood in front of her. Art hoped that would slow her down but she seemed unable to see him and floated right through the boy even as he held up his hands to halt her. Art wasted no time and pulled Ever after him until they found her and Lucid in the book stacks. She was reaching for a book on the shelf when Art’s eyes blossomed into amber-gold and he spoke in his Weiriman’s voice.
“Stop, Orchid, I command you!”
That seemed to jar the dryad out of her trance, and she blinked rapidly, her transparent form flushing with the slightest hint of pinkish color. She looked around, seeming completely confused when her eyes fell on Art and Ever. The elf now slumped on the man just to stand.
“Ever! What happened? How
did I get over here?” She rushed over, floating up to him, her dress and hair billowing around her as she moved. “What happened? What have I done?!”
“I don’t think it was you,” Art said eyeing the ghosts around seemingly completely unaware of their presence. “I think you being a ghost caused you to be drawn to whatever book in here you needed to read. It would be my guess, since you’re linked to Ever, the library started feeding on both his and your life forces as it drew you into this room. It was trying to keep you, Orchid, and once it had you, it would have drained Ever and likely made both of you part of the Eternal Reading Room.”
Orchid looked completely horrified, and Art watched as she agonized to touch Ever, to comfort him.
“I’m sorry!” she apologized but Ever was shaking his head.
“It is all right. I will be all right. I just need to recover myself.”
“Wish we had some Umbra Sweets. They make those that can be consumed for demonic energy draining.”
Ever shook his head again. “I will recover. Do not fret.”
He lifted himself off of Art’s supporting shoulder and teetered just a little, catching himself. Orchid wanted desperately to steady him but her hands moved right through his shoulder. Art felt for her as he watched her ball her fists up in concern and frustration. That in mind, he turned towards the bookshelf Orchid had been hovering in front of. Lucid was also there already inspecting the books.
“You find what she was looking for?” Art asked, lifting the lantern to read the titles.
Lucid nodded excitedly and pointed just as Art’s eyes came to rest on a very interesting book.
“Abnormal Weirs: a Study in Experiment, Treatment and Ritual by Doctor Nicklaus Bancroft.” Art reached for the book but his hand went right through it.
“All the books in here cannot be touched by physical hands,” the Librarian suddenly spoke, appearing next to Ever and Orchid who both startled.
“Are we able to find this book in addition to the name of the demon I seek?” Art asked, coming out of the books, Lucid behind him.
“Oh yes. Please follow me now, follow me.”
Both Art and the elf wanted to say something about the near death encounter to the Librarian but the whole party knew that was pointless. It had cautioned them, and as a servant of the Consciatosium, the suspicion was that the Librarian would rather see the party succumb to the place than aid them.
“It happened so fast,” Ever spoke to Art in his mind.
Art was startled as they had never communicated telepathically before but answered, “Far faster than I thought it would. We’ll have to watch each other more closely.”
“Agreed.”
Art could feel the whispers at the back of his neck, like hands caressing the hair at the base of his scalp with cold scaly fingers. The use of his powers had taxed him more than he wanted to admit. The voices could be his inability to keep the souls trapped in the library out or worse, it could be the demon trying to get through once more and speak to him. In such a dangerous place he was certain the thing wanted to take advantage and push him hard, hoping to break open his Haunting Weir and free itself.
Art shook his head. He had to banish thoughts of it, concentrate on navigating the Consciatosium, for it was as carnivorous as any demon, and its prowess was on display in its very walls. How much blood must be soaked into the bones of the building, Art had no desire to find out.
“Follow me, please, good people,” the Librarian beckoned, its sloped back of deep red robes leading the way into the immense black of a hall that stretched out like a great throat opening just before the swallow.