Chapter Two
Soul Lantern
Art was suddenly breathing hard as if air had been forced through him like water through a narrow tube. Sitting straight up, he hacked and wheezed, tasting blood and smelling a foul odor similar to scorched flesh. Eyes blurry and mind pounding, his attention went to the woman sitting near him. Professor Cindervail stared, expressionless, though if Art had to guess she might be worried.
“This is the infirmary?” The white walls, a light stone, were instantly recognizable. Most of the Weirimen Seminary, where the novices lived and trained, was made of heavy dark stone. “What happened?”
His head ached but it was second only to the pain of his entire body. Trying not to wince even when he breathed, another man came to stand over Art.
“What indeed! It’s an abomination! He should be expelled from the program and confined. He can’t be allowed to exist like this!”
Professor Minevur had never liked Art. He first thought it stemmed from his bad blood with Art’s guardian, Evendale. After being in the program for a year Art learned the man was just a sour, angry person. They were not destined to get along. However, what he was saying now was over the top, even for Minevur.
“Confined?! Allowed to exist? What?!” Art stumbled over his words when yet another instructor stood from her chair.
“You cannot have him condemned! We do not even know how that thing got in there. We still don’t know what this all means.”
“Yes, we do,” the short man blasted back, pointing his finger at Art. Art secretly believed Minevur hated him because Art was just taller, and the little man always had to look up at him, even when he was scolded, which was often. “We know he’s possessed with a demon none of us can exorcise. That alone should qualify him for imprisonment, or even death.”
“Death?! Wait! I’m not possessed! What are you talking about?! What happened?” Art’s head was spinning. They were talking about him; Minevur was pointing at him and Professor Shimthil was clearly upset, but Cindervail had said nothing yet. Art’s eyes went back to her, desperately hoping she would clarify.
“You saw that thing! No one has ever seen anything like that! We’re lucky we were not all consumed! He kept this a secret from us! He should be brought to the active Guild Grandmasters for judgment. But I know they will condemn him. It’s too dangerous to be let loose on the world.”
“Stop! I don’t understand,” Art barked. Minevur, who had been acting like the young man was still unconscious, turned his wide face at him.
“You don’t get a say here! You kept it secret that you have an abnormal Weir. Yours does not connect to the outside world, it’s like a closed pocket in your mind. Instead of keeping demons from the world-in-between and the beyond the Veil out, you had one imprisoned inside you! What were you hoping for? That it would get out and kill us all?! Are you working with the demon to destroy the Weirimen?! Are you a blackened? You made a pact with this thing?”
“What the hell are you talking about!?” Art snarled, completely confused and starting to become overwhelmed by his aching body.
“Enough,” Cindervail’s calm voice silenced the pair. “Art, look at me.”
Frowning, Art obeyed. He knew Cindervail had the ability to look into someone and know if they were lying.
“When you opened your Weir, we discovered what Minevur said. Your Weir is not a dam holding the evils of the nether out. Your Weir is like a floodgate; you actually have two. They imprison the evil between. Inside you was something called a Pith demon.”
Art knew the term Pith demon: very rare, very evil. So rare there was only one record of a Pith demon ever recorded in Weiriman history. It had killed several members of the early Guild and records on the incident and the thing were incomplete and somewhat confusing. How it was defeated and what its true name might have been were unknown.
Art wanted to ask how his Weir could be different, and if they were certain it was this rare kind of demon, but Cindervail went on.
“It appears this thing has been sealed inside your Weir. When you opened it you released this evil. Had it not been for the whole judgment panel’s presence and participation you would have been consumed.”
“Vestor is still in surgery.” Minevur’s lip was curled, his anger barely contained.
Cindervail ignored him saying, “We had to force the thing back inside your Weirs when we were unable to exorcise it.”
“The whole Judgment panel was unable to exorcise this thing?!” Art was in disbelief.
These were some of the most powerful Weirimen in the entire Guild. The fact that they could not bring the thing down together, meant a level of evil and power Art had never heard of or even read of.
“We had to seal it back inside you.”
“But not completely,” Minevur added gruffly.
“What do you mean?” Art’s brows were pressed down so hard on his forehead he was causing himself even more discomfort than his throbbing head already was.
“We were unable to completely close your Weir,” Professor Shimtil said quietly, ringing her wrists, the marks of the battle showing in long cuts bandaged on her fingers and forearms. He now noticed all three professors were banged, bruised, or injured in some way. The battle that must have taken place had to have been terrifying to cause these hardened veterans of this dangerous profession so much injury.
“The demon was too powerful,” Cindervail explained. “The force of its power keeps your Weirs just slightly open. In time the thing will break free.”
“Break free?” Art asked the question but his mind was colliding with the horrible answer.
“Yes, and consume you,” Minevur’s voice was cold. “And in doing so it will become even more powerful, because you know what happens when a demon consumes the soul of a powerful psychic.”
“Its strength will double at least,” Shimtil murmured, fearfully.
“We can’t allow an evil like that into the world!” Minevur blustered. “He has to be imprisoned until we can figure out a way to destroy the thing, or he has to be put down and the demon with him.”
“Put me down?!” Art started but Cindervail was speaking again.
“It is true we do not know how to deal with this demon, Art. However, I have no intention of confining you or putting you down.”
“WHAT?!” Minevur exploded.
Cindervail continued to ignore him, “You will be given the chance to save yourself. Pith demons have two references in our archives. First, you must travel to one who was there when a Pith demon was battled.”
“Someone is still alive who was there?” Shimtil looked baffled. “It was so long ago, no one could possibly still be around.”
“There is one. He’s touched by many different bloodlines, mostly Fey, and has an unusually long life span.”
“The Weaver,” Minevur mumbled, still visually angry at Cindervail’s decision.
“That weird old man who lives near the Woods of Reaching?”
“Yes,” Cindervail explained. “You will go to him and perhaps he can tell you more about this Pith demon. There is no use in taking the steps we normally would to research this demon. No book here has this thing’s name, nor are we powerful enough to stop it. Your only hope is the Weaver.”
Art was starting to understand the severity of what was happening to him. “But how did this thing get inside me? Why is my Weir different?”
“We don’t have these answers, Art. But, allow me to ask you just to satisfy all, did you know this thing was within you?”
The color of Cindervail’s eyes always showed her ability to see the truth in others. It was common when Weirimen used their special skills that their eyes changed or glowed. As her gaze bore into him, they shown silver gray, like moonlight bouncing off frosted windowpanes. Art could sense her using her mind, looking into his, and if he wanted he could try to block her. But he did not need to try or to lie, for the truth was he did not know about the demon.
Answering, he simply told everyone in the room that Art was just as much in the dark as the rest of them. He had no idea why he was different or where this malevolent thing had come from.
“Now,” Cindervail’s eyes returned to normal and she rose, “come with me. The second thing mentioned in the account of the Pith demon is in the Wine Vault.”
“The Wine Vault?!” Minevur screwed his wide face up, alarmed but Cindervail paid him no mind. Painfully, Art rose and followed her, leaving the other two professors behind, Minevur burning holes into his back with his gaze.
Art had never been to the Vault. As far as he knew, no novice ever had. It was off limits, forbidden, and said to be dangerous. Even getting to it seemed like an unnatural act. Cindervail led him to the back of the Seminary’s compound, through a dense crop of trees that felt more like a wall than a line of them. The archway to get to there was too low for anyone to walk under without having to duck deeply. After navigating the path, they came to a strange building Art always thought was some kind of crypt. The door on the front had no handles and it was commonly thought that it did not open.
The ground came up around it, as if the Vault had been built partially into the small hill it was nestled against. Pillars of stones and carved statues of fallen Weirimen still doing battle with demons adorned the sides, giving its deeply gothic look an even eerier tone. Some novices had speculated that it was an actual mausoleum and the bones of the most prestigious Weirimen were buried inside. Art never believed that though, because Evendale was not buried there, and she had been one of the best that had ever lived.
It stood tall over the pair as Art, still nursing a pounding head and sore body, watched as Cindervail placed her hand on the front panel. The slab, a carved shield inscribed with the motto of the Weirimen: “Life within to dam the darkness throughout,” rumbled when somehow Cindervail pushed the thing open without much effort.
“Only those with the greatest control of their Haunting Weir can open this,” she explained as she took a lamp from the hook just inside and it burst into light with a tap. “The only light that will function in the Vault is a soul lantern, and you know, only one with an unpolluted soul can use such a tool.”
Art nodded, Weirimen often used such devices. It kept the possessed or those being controlled or haunted by demons from using their weapons or getting into their most important places, such as the Library of Demonic Antiquity, used to research the Weirimen’s cases.
Inside was small, but hosted a pointed ceiling. It smelled old and dusty; the only light from the soul lantern. Cindervail guided him to a hidden door and pushing the heavy stone aside, started down a steep set of spiraling stairs that descended into more darkness.
“The Wine Vault, is where we keep the most dangerous artifacts collected over the years of Weirimen battles and cases. Cursed items, weapons, books and even imprisoned demons are housed here.”
Art was surprised. Never had he expected that such things were so close to the Seminary and all stored together.
“I know.” Cindervail smiled, having a little more than a touch of mind reading ability. “But in the Vault they are quite safe. Severe precautions are taken to maintain the Vault and its safety. There is some evil you cannot destroy and so it has to be locked away. So, they are still in the world but kept out of it. My colleagues did not want me to bring you here,” she continued as they moved down stairs, passing strange alcoves and openings in the walls that lead to hallways and other places in the Vault.
Finally, they stopped at an archway, deep in the earth. Cindervail led them through and off the stairs though Art noted the stairs did descend even deeper. The hallway was primitive, hewn from the earth and rock with just enough room to walk through. Art felt mildly claustrophobic at the close walls, the stale air, and the deep darkness that swallowed up anything that the lantern did not illuminate.
They passed weird cages built into the walls, windowed holes and other strange displays that Cindervail did not give them enough time to inspect. Uncertain about what else to do, Art followed her silently until they came to a tiny cell in the wall. Quickly, Cindervail drew a key out of her pocket and put it into the lock. The metal glowed when it clicked in the locking mechanism and the wall rumbled to life. Art watched, eyes wide, as the wall changed first into a briar patch of twisted metal, then peeled back as if organic and living, like leaves. It opened to the pair and Cindervail reached inside to pull out a strange lantern.
“This will be your one true weapon against all the evil you will face in your search to rid yourself of this rooted demon.”