Chapter 18: The Stairs to Ostedholm

"Try not to think about who you could have saved."​

Though the crowd remains subservient, they begin to disperse as Celegwen drags you away. With a final attempt to wrest yourself free, you spit, "can you at least see what's coming?"

She's looking for cover. "A number of demons have recognized our location. They are wielding spears, Father. I suspect that they are poisoned. This does not bode well for us or Ofelia—"

Ray snarls at an unseen figure. Before you can process what threat is in the distance, a javelin streaks into the crowd. Every inch of you tenses as the weapon sails within arms reach— then impales a woman's head directly beside you.

The sound of the weapon's impact and the crack in her skull doesn't even register to your senses. Every nerve screams to run from the item sticking out from both sides of her head. A few strands of her black hair drip with blood as Mercy's light fades from her eyes. Celegwen makes a mortified sound as the woman's body collapses to the floor. The victim lands face-first with a wet crack. Blood pools from under her split skull. It’s the only motion in sight.

None of the humans around you turn to flee or fight. They are restrained. They are Merciful.

Your blood runs cold.

Two more spears streak through the air. Two more people are impaled. The congregation that you've pacified is utterly incapable of defending themselves against the growing onslaught. You call out to them in desperation.

"FLEE! Flee for your lives! These demons know nothing of Mercy!"

No one seems to respond, and Celegwen will simply not stop pulling you away from your flock. You struggle with the bulk of your shield, and silently vow to stop shaming Flesh as you unshoulder your defense. Pain carves through your chest from calling out. It's more painful still to resign to a distraction. The command you make to your allies is made with as much severity as you possess.

"Get down."

The broad, circular, metal-banded shield you keep in hand is positioned towards the source of the attack. Celegwen helps you kneel beside a nearby pile of debris. Your thread-bare silhouette is completely concealed as you all crowd behind your shield for cover. Ray leans hard against you as both a defender, and a reminder of comfort. Your free arm wraps around him for his own protection, too.

A poison-tipped spear flies over Celegwen's head, and makes her flinch as you speak.

"Ofelia will have heard me. We just need to buy her a little time. Stay close."

The crowd around you slowly begins to disperse. They're moving away from the library— and towards the lair of the demon you just slayed. You grimace at the thought of every wave of imps that chased you here— until you catch sight of the man you spoke to before. It's hard to make out anything more in the growing darkness, but he seems to know where he's headed. He's taking a number of men and women by the hand, while attempting to guide them in an entirely different direction.

You bow your head, and pray to Mercy to keep you all safe. The words scarcely leave your lips, and you feel Her beside you. You feel terribly drained, yet relief overwhelms your exhaustion. Through the light in your eyes, you witness every spear streak harmlessly past yours and Celegwen's heads.

The diversion will be worth the effort. Parting your arm from Ray, you begin to fish around in your pack for a torch.

Sweat and fear for her life puts newfound strain into Celegwen's speech. "What are you doing?"

The lord of defense will not wait idly by. "Creating a distraction— so you can fight back."

She looks at you with her teeth gritted, and nods.

"Start grabbing spears."

The flint in hand is struck. Sparks fly over treated wood. You wave the torch overhead, and watch as the kindled flame blazes forth. Before cinders fall onto the blood of your sleeves, or smoke climbs into the darkness above, Celegwen bolts away from you. She's an open target.

You swing the fire and light overhead and bellow, "OVER HERE—!"

At least five spears shoot around you in reply. The sound of Celegwen sprinting and sweeping up the projectiles is music to your ears. She's pitting the enemy's weapon against them— and grants a further distraction away from your congregation.

As more people filter away from the city, you nudge Ray closer behind you. He’s snarling with enough intensity to alert any demon to your presence. Your constant reassurance to him intermingles with feverish prayer.

The Goddess of Protection is with you.

"Stay, boy. Mercy— we'll be alright. Stay. Good boy, Ray. Mercy, tolerate this transgression. Guide their aim, that they may be restrained. Come on, Ray. Stay here with me—"

You're cut short by the sound of a devastatingly heavy object crashing to the floor. It can't be anything organic. The entire field of battle goes silent for an endless moment.

You realize that Ofelia has likely taken down one of the demons, and redouble your efforts. "COWARDS! COME ON! CAN'T TAKE A SINGLE PRIEST?!"

Pain spikes in your temples from raising your voice. Fortunately, giving into the urge to curl into yourself saves you from another javelin. The weapon sinks straight into your shield, and its point penetrates straight through the other side. Your ribs are only an inch away. You let out a ragged breath, and mind the weapon as you brace hard against your defense.

Countless weapons sail through the air, and they’re all pointed your way. The enemy may be aiming for the bits of your robes that are too loose to keep flush against your body.

For many long minutes you frantically pray, and dare to wave the torch from time to time— but the pain in your head is building rapidly.

Your words fade, and you don't dare to call out again. After several more minutes, the pain in your head is almost too intense to see— let alone inspect the source of four more deafening crashes.

You can barely keep the torch aloft. Crouched deeply behind your shield, Ray pushes up against you for your continued, mutual protection. Someone taps on your shoulder. You turn around wide-eyed, and swing the flame in hand their way.

It's Ofelia. She's up to her elbows in blood, and grins sheepishly at you as she catches the torch by its handle. The blood on the rogue's arms is not her own. It's black, full of viscera, and is obviously a demon's. Her weapons are slick with the same substance. She doesn't offer you a hand to get up, and neither does Celegwen. You both slowly lower the torch while Celegwen runs up to you both. She discards a spear from each hand.

Everyone collapses to the floor. The demon slayer speaks out first. "Got 'em."

"Yes, you did." Celegwen sighs.

You remain silent, and wince at their every syllable. Though your head is splitting, you dare to look up from behind your shield, and confirm the kills. The inert bodies of four minor demons can barely be seen in the dark. Inky, jagged knives protrude from their bodies in every direction. You're reminded of cacti. Each one of the figures is twisted into a distinctive shape, despite their many spikes. The one with the longest limbs is adorned with spears, and was likely the source of the assault. Others are more squat, and seem prime for defense. They likely worked in tandem. All of them have suffered from Ofelia's skill. Tar-like blood leeches away from their forms, and there are no other figures to be seen. No humans. Nothing but the city beyond, and your breathless allies.

You breathe a sigh of relief, drop your shield, and return to laying on the ground. Relief soaks into your tortured frame as you stop moving for a blessed moment. You speak partially to the Goddess, and somewhat to the rogue beside you— but mostly to the floor. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Ofelia gives you a fleeting, genuine smile— before dread takes her gaze to the city above. "Yer gonna hate me for this guys, but we can't stay here. There were way more up ahead. Way more. Looks like they've beefed up the security here since we last visited, Gwen."

The elf’s exasperation is breathy, but deathly serious. "Of course they did. Were there any safe passages this time around? Any gaps in the patrols?"

"Oh yeah. Richard's stunt got a good number of 'em pulled out. They're all worked up. More are comin', sure, but we got a good bit of relief here. At least near the entrance. Not sure if you wanna just barrel in there, though. There's always all the side passages, but they're guarded pretty heavily. I could try and carve some of 'em up, but I'd rather have you three behind me..."

The low torchlight sears onto your closed eyes, and burns into the growing pain within your skull. Ray licks the sides of your robes while whining in reassurance. It's agonizing to speak, but you have to try before your headache reaches critical mass. "You have— you have been here before. I trust your decisions. I am more than spent."

Ofelia leers over you. You draw into yourself. She flashes you another smile. "I gotta' get this gunk cleaned off me sometime, and you're lookin' worse for the wear. Let's head inside. If anyone gives us trouble, we'll give 'em what for."

"Hopefully after a break." Celegwen's voice drags as she moves to stand as well. "Come on, Father. On your feet."

"I would like to, but I will— I will need a hand." The light is unbearable, but being pulled to your feet or being carried blindly would be far worse. Grimacing, you let your eyes drift open. Celegwen is kneeling beside you— right where Ofelia was just standing.

You can't help but let out a gasp in pain as Celegwen firmly grabs hold of your free hand, and pulls you to your feet. Slinging just one of your arms around her shoulders, the elf is able to support you with far more ease than you're comfortable with. Ofelia picks up your shield, and pouts as Celegwen gestures for her to hand it over. They don't need to exchange any words to stress that the equipment is far too large for a halfling.

While they distribute the rest of everyone's gear, you keep a hand to your skull. Celegwen takes the torch from you as well— and promptly puts it out. "This is going to attract far more trouble than it's worth."

You can't protest. Easing the building pain occupies all of your concentration.

It's quiet and dark. We're moving slowly. Try to stay calm. Try not to think about who you could have saved. There will be a time for that…

Later.

Keep moving. Keep it together.

Ofelia takes the lead. Ray keeps a close eye on you and Celegwen from the rear. The elf can apparently see well in the dark, and murmurs a word of direction from time to time as your group navigates.

You keep your eyes shut through all of it. Blood sticks to the soles of your shoes.

Everyone pauses in front of the enormous staircase leading up to the library. Where there was once a flat, unbroken plane of solid stone is now a narrow bridge.

"The space has changed." Celegwen murmurs as softly as she can. "It's a good thing you're staying close. Ofelia may have gotten lost if you hadn't created such a distraction before as well." She offers you a slight smile.

You keep a hand to your head, and don't particularly care to deliberate on how this could have affected the men and women who were trying to escape this way. Your grimace lessens, and you try offering a nod.

The pain in your head spikes tenfold. The rogue in your midst takes a cursory glance around before darting ahead to scout. Her voice ramps up your agony even further. "Is he going to make it?" The halfling corrects herself with some annoyance. "Up the stairs, I mean?"

It feels like a knife is being driven into the back of your skull. Barely able to stand, you lean as much as you can onto Celegwen. Her frown is palpable, as you fight to stay aware of your surroundings. "Father?"

"I'll b-be fine." Stammering fails to get the words out as quickly as possible. An attempt to right yourself has you leaning even harder against Celegwen.

She bends slightly from the motion, then suddenly slings your shield over your pack with a single hand. You nearly collapse, but she keeps you on your feet. Her slender hands shift you almost onto her back, gets both of your arms around her shoulders, and enables her to carry all your weight. The sorceress gives you a reassuring grimace. "You'll be fine."

"Come on." Ofelia calls out from just a few yards ahead, squinting into the shadow and unnatural light. "I'm sure they'll be looking for us. We'll hide once we're inside."

Replying is out of the question. As you all ascend the stairs leading into the tower ahead, you can't part your hands from clutching at your head and chest. It's difficult to place where the pain is more severe, but nothing is helping.

Celegwen looks at you periodically as you do your best to help climb. The stairs are steep, smooth, and there’s no railings to speak of. Ray nips at the elf’s heels every time she falters or pauses.

You do everything in your power to help her with the effort, and Ofelia runs back frequently to check on you both, but everyone is worn thin. Your estimate was correct. There are easily several hundred steps leading to the library's entrance.

By the time you all reach the top of the steps, you're all ready to collapse again. Yet Ofelia is either undeterred by her exhaustion, or too frightened for your collective safety to rest. She rushes ahead to closely scrutinize the front doors.

You hadn't even noticed the entrance. Her small, blonde, hooded silhouette is hazy. The loss of so much blood is stealing the last of your sight and strength. It's been some time since you attempted to aid Celegwen with the climb. Any additional motion sets off another explosion of pain.

The halfling produces a small bag that she's kept close to her person. With her gloves back on, she extracts several small tools. The long, thin, and metal devices are used to fiddle with something inside of the grooves within both metal doors.

A small click causes her to jump back. The rogue silently tackles you and Celegwen to the ground right at the top of the stairs. Celegwen cushions most of the hard fall. As she groans from the landing, Ray growls, and continues aggravating Ofelia's assault on you. You don't call him off, and struggle not to scream. "Wh-what's wrong—?!"

The door slowly opens. Ofelia is visibly sweating, deathly pale, and looks over her shoulder in abject horror. "Stay down."

"Ray. Down."

The mastiff obliges instantly, but continues his growling. There's a faint ticking sound. It stops as soon as it starts— and is followed by a faint melody.

Ofelia has yet to stop staring. "The fuck?"

The woman underneath you may have temporarily fallen unconscious. As Celegwen stirs, all the blood left in your body rushes to your face. Sandwiched between two women, you scramble to get off of them. Ofelia permits you to move safely aside before she creeps towards the door.

From your position on the ground— now a safe distance away from both women— you see the blonde scrutinizing a mechanical instrument that's come out from beneath the door. It's what’s responsible for the quiet melody.

This music is too quiet to be used as an alarm. For what purpose—

With a groan, Celegwen slowly drags herself off of the floor. "What trap was worth that…?"

"It's a music... box? Thing?" Ofelia is making no motion to test the item before her.

You awkwardly wait for Celegwen to get to her feet and help you up. A quick command is made to Ray as you all get back on your feet. Ofelia has carefully opened the entrance, and permits everyone to step into the doorway of the library.

On the planks of a wooden floor lies a small instrument. It’s no larger than a child's toy, and vaguely resembles an organ. It's almost as enchanting as the real, gargantuan instrument you've seen in the holy capital's church. The tune it plays carries a high pitch, creates a mechanical noise from within the contraption, and is something you have never heard before. While Ofelia closely scrutinizes the object, Celegwen looks towards it with curiosity as well, and moves you directly in front of the doorway.

You gasp. Hundreds of books, scrolls, loose pages, and countless sagging bookshelves hug the walls. The library is not only lined from floor to ceiling with parchment— the very first room you lay eyes on is teeming with life. It's no wonder why the humans you saw earlier were gathered here. There's running water, and greenery overflowing from a little stream running through the room. There's no telling where the source of the stream could be— but the ceiling stretches on upwards, and out.

​

There are many rooms beyond here. The pain in your head is hard to ignore— but you move slightly ahead, and pull out from Celegwen's grasp.

"Hold on, Father.” The elf warily keeps an eye on your swaying steps. “I know this is urgent, but this object is of great concern. Please wait just another moment."

It's the least you can do to wait. Leaning hard against the front of the building for support, it appears that the walls here are all painted. It's a similar custom to what's practiced in the capital city. You wonder if the humans here are to blame, or if this is the work of someone else before Celegwen steals your attention away.

The sorceress begins to conjure something with her staff, then stops abruptly.

"What's the matter?" Ofelia pipes up, having hid behind the door.

"I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's get inside." The elf is frowning so deeply, you think you might see a single wrinkle form in her face.

Ofelia cautiously wraps up the musical device in a spare handkerchief. Holding it at arm's length, she delicately places the item with the rest of her things. Celegwen mercifully lends you a shoulder again to enter the library. You sigh in relief, and stagger forward. There's a collection of terribly moldy armchairs in one corner, but the elf offers to help you lean against a desk instead. You collapse against it, relieved beyond words for the break.

Ofelia closes the doors behind you all, and murmurs, "not yet. Get some water, Gwen, Richard. Ray. I'll gather some moss. There's a safer room ahead."

You genuinely don't know if you can go any further. You're desperate to explore the countless pages spread out before you— your eyes want to devour every word on every spine on every book— but you can barely make out the wood on the aged desk you're leaning against now.

The kindness you’ve been shown makes every excruciating word worth the effort. "I know our supplies are low. Is there— is there any way I can help—?"

The strain on both women’s features soften. Ofelia speaks gently. "Just take care of yourself. We'll rest soon. Try to drink something."

You wince, nod, and try to not collapse.

It dawns on you that you can’t walk yourself over to the stream. Every effort to get your legs to cooperate is moot. Severe embarrassment is pointed with your pleading look to Celegwen. It would be unthinkable to actually ask for any more help than she's already given.

She gives you a small smile, shoulders you again, and takes you both over by the water. The sound is heavenly. You haven't heard clean, running water in ages.

When was the last time I saw a stream?

The sun?

Even moss?

How long have I been down here for?

“Father—” Celegwen keeps her eyes off to the stream. “—I know you've been through a lot. Drink. We'll rest very soon."

You blink a few times. The pulse in your head makes even the small motions an ordeal, but you nod to her. She's leaned you down to the floor and you hadn't even noticed. Both hands tremble as you move to cup a little water in them.

Getting a good look at your palms in unnatural light turns your stomach. They're absolutely caked with the blood and bile you produced from your prayer to Vengeance. You reach for your water skin instead. The stream is cold, clear, and shows no signs of pollution from any demons.

Though water seeps into the parchment all around, and has no doubt ruined many of the pages, you make a note of the surrounding area. There’s a hope you can come back here again.

With shaking fingers, you manage to fill your water skin without polluting the stream. It’s stashed away for later. You simply can't handle any more pain right now. "Ray. Here, boy. Drink."

Another spike of pain hits you every time you speak, but looking after your boy is far more important. He’s seen to, the bulk of the mess on your hands is cleaned up, and you wipe down your holy symbol for good measure. Celegwen doesn't say a word until you're finished.

"Ready?”

As she helps you once again to your feet, you hope it will be the last time. “Yes."

All of Ofelia’s things are cleaned. She packs her equipment with as much greenery as can be pilfered, and most of the blood is removed from her arms.

As you set off, she takes all of your company’s equipment, and scouts ahead to make sure that the way is clear. It takes several turns around progressively more complex paths to leave behind the steady trickle of water.

Every hallway is lined with wood and a faint golden light. Every wall is adorned with more paintings or etchings of a forgotten civilization. The ceiling lowers the further you all walk. The chambers you pass through become narrower. There are no windows to speak of. The deeper you venture, you know with absolute certainty you would immediately become lost were it not for your guide. It’s slow going thanks to how often Ofelia doubles back or scouts ahead— but after what feels like an hour of navigating, the rogue vanishes from sight.

Her voice is muffled, thanks to a narrow opening between two innocuous bookshelves. "Hidden room's still here."