Arc 3: Chapter 16: Into the Low City

Arc 3: Chapter 16: Into the Low City

A long moment of silence followed my pronouncement. I felt barely aware of anything in that time. I still reeled from the vision, my mind attempting to reconcile the room as it was in the real with the spiritual malice I knew hid beneath.

“A demon?” Ingram looked skeptical, leaning heavily on his cane as he cleared phlegm from his throat. “How can you be certain?”

Emma cast a withering look at the old servant and muttered, “Just look around you.”

I put a hand on her shoulder, feeling more steady, then addressed Lady Faisa. She’d been staring off into the distance, a pensive look on her face. “I’ve been trained in augury and exorcism,” I said. “And I’ve encountered Abyssal malison before. I’m as certain as I can be, though I can’t offer you proof.”

“I believe you,” Faisa said, sighing. “I have made some study of the occult myself, Master Alken. All the signs support your claim, only...”

She shrugged and smiled sadly. “I did not wish to believe it, that my Yessa could meet such a terrible end.”

“It explains her troubled sleep, her mania.” I looked around at the macabre collection in the room. “Why her own art became more...” I didn’t want to say depraved in front of the deceased artist’s former lover. “Unsettling.”

I glanced at the painting of the winged woman with the human heart cupped in her hands. “I can’t be certain,” I lied, “but I’d be willing to bet that more than a few pieces in here are depicting known demons recorded in the Church’s archives. Visions of the Abyss are a common precursor to possession. I’m also seeing signs of infestation and altered aura.”

I hesitated before adding, “Honestly, lady, much of this should be cleansed or locked away. Did you know Yselda was an adept?”

Faisa blinked, giving me my answer. “I did not,” she admitted. “I awakened my own aura in my thirties, after secluding myself in study at a convent for several years. Yselda, however, never showed any awareness of such powers.”

I frowned, chewing on that. It meant the troubled artist had likely stirred her abilities more recently. “You can’t ever really predict when it will happen,” I said. “But it happens most often in particularly passionate craftsmen or soldiers — high emotion, dedication, traumatic events — these are the most consistent ways to awaken the soul.”

I met her eyes, letting her see the aura in them. “It can also happen when someone is exposed to powerful supernatural beings. This might explain why she only became Awakened more recently.”

“Yselda did not lack passion,” Faisa said, frowning. “I always believed it was her ambivalence that held her back. She could never settle her mind.”

“This talk of esotera is all well and good,” Ingram cut in, “but are you saying this gallery is still haunted? Corrupted?” He cast a troubled look around the room. “Should we not destroy it?”

“We will not!” Faisa snapped, showing her anger for the first time since I’d met her. Ingram quailed, bowing and taking a step back.

“Destroying any of this is a bad idea,” I said, hoping to diffuse the situation. “Troubled aura, especially from an untrained adept, can be volatile. Destroy the vessels for that power, and it could evolve into curses once released.”

Ingram’s face went very pale.

“What is the next step?” Lady Faisa asked me.

“Surely it is to tell the Church?” Ingram put in.

An uncomfortable silence followed his statement. I imagined Lady Faisa had already guessed — that I wasn’t a sanctioned magus or ordained, and my involvement would be questioned at best.

More than that, demonic infestation among members of the cities renaissance movement would, if publicly revealed, be a disaster. There would be a witch hunt the likes of which the realms hadn’t seen in generations.

Did the Church already know? Was this part of the reason the Inquisition was in the streets? Why the city gates had been closed?

But the city hadn’t been fully quarantined, I realized. Dignitaries and warriors of the Accord were still being allowed in for the upcoming summit.

Something else was going on, and I didn’t have all the pieces yet.

“What Master Alken has said shall not leave this room,” Faisa Dance proclaimed, the authority in her tone brooking no argument. “You shall not speak of it without my leave, Ingram.”

The old steward hesitated, then bowed. “As you will, my lady.”

The noblewoman drew in a deep breath, then turned to me once she’d mastered herself. “You say there is no evidence you can provide. I will not cry of demons in the city on your word alone.”

I nodded. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“What is next?” She repeated her earlier question.

I realized then that I liked this woman. She was intelligent, decisive, and got straight to the point.

“I need to consult with my employer.” I said, thinking of Lias. The wizard would help me confirm my notion — strong as my intuition was, I wasn’t absolutely certain a demon had been at work here. It could have been a diabolist wielding dark magics, or any number of things my powers might read as fiendish.

Wishful thinking. I knew well enough what I faced. I felt it in my bones, in my soul.

“I also need to do some research,” I added. “If my hunch is correct, then I should be able to put together some clues and find out what we’re dealing with.”

Once I knew what I faced, I could hunt it. I could slay it.

“How are you so certain you can uncover this creature’s identity?” Ingram asked, furrowing his brow.

“Most of the demons in Urn have been identified,” I said. “There are only a few older spirits in the further reaches of the Wend with uncertain identities, and I doubt one found its way into the largest city in the subcontinent. We have clues to go on — these insects that appear at every killing, these scarlbeetles, they might be a Demon Mark. Most of the named ones have them. I’d also like to know if my hunch about Yselda’s art is correct.”

I looked to Faisa. “I’d also like to investigate the scenes of the other murders. I need to make sure the same imprint I felt here is on them as well.”

“And who are you, sir, to know so much of demons and the occult?” Ingram clutched his cane with both hands, suspicion writ on his face.

“Enough, old friend.” Faisa sighed and nodded to me. “Lord Yuri promised an expert, and it seems one has been provided. I will not look a gift unicorn in the mouth. Make your inquiries. I will send your employer addresses for the other murders, and make certain you are not impeded in your investigation by either my own people or the local watch. I would still tread cautiously, Master Alken — I have no power over the Priory or its agents.”

She dismissed me then, but lingered in the room. I left her there, knowing what I’d revealed had been painful for the highborn lady to grapple with.

Wounds left by demons rarely heal, and do so crooked if at all. Those slain by them have an even worse fate. There would be no peaceful rest in Draubard for Yselda of Mirrebel, or even an uncertain wandering beneath the pale moons.

The scars on my face still burned like lines of dull fire on my skin. That, more than anything, had confirmed the truth of my vision in the bedroom. That, and...

No. I needed to focus. What I faced would be deceptive, and even its shadow couldn’t be trusted.

“What now?” Emma asked, once we’d gone into the hallway, drawing me from my thoughts.

I shook my head, more to clear it than as an answer. “We talk to Lias.”

***

“She goes where I go, and doesn’t take orders from you.” I turned my golden eyes on the little man for the first time. “Piss off.”

Gregori huffed, the white shirt beneath his coat puffing out in a good imitation of a balloon. “How dare—”

But the figure atop the stairs only sighed. “Peace, Gregori. We will talk, Alken, but the girl remains here in my foyer.” He turned then and vanished deeper into the tower.

I glanced at Emma and raised an eyebrow.

Shrugging, she cast the bored eyes of a cat which hadn’t yet decided if it were hungry on the servant. “I’m certain I can find some way to entertain myself. Perhaps Gregori and I can have a little talk, servant to servant.”

Gregori swallowed, the bump in his neck bobbing.

I ascended the stair after Lias. I found a hall at the top, and through it another chamber. This one was far busier than the one below, full of tables and material, and strange apparati I had no name for. Glassware full of bubbling liquid glowed ominously within complex frames, papers and tomes lay scattered everywhere in a scholarly chaos, and the taxidermy remains of rare chimera snarled in silent fury at me, their limbs supported by strong wire.

I heard the scratching of a quill, and followed the noise expecting to find Lias. Instead, I found the feathered tool flitting across a page of its own accord, copying the contents of another tome set nearby.

A wizard’s sanctum, in all its glory.

Movement caught my eye, and I saw the black-robed figure I’d spotted on the stair appear from behind one towering array of alchemy. The shape paced around the apparatus until they stood amid all that arcana, watching me from within the deep shadow of their cowl’s interior.

I still hadn’t put the axe away. “Lias?” I asked, suddenly uncertain.

The hood, and the overall shape of the figure, was very similar to how I imagined I looked with my cowl up, my features obscured by my blood-red cloak and aura.

The anonymous cowl tilted toward my axe. “Are you here to kill me, old friend?”

The voice was Lias’s, and the words were the same I’d said to him during our last meeting. I breathed a sigh of relief and slung the weapon back through the iron ring on my belt.

“I might,” I growled. “I’m not happy about today. You could have talked to me first, rather than just throwing me into an investigation with no prep time.”

“What preparation do you require?” Lias said, pacing over to one of the desks and running his gloved fingers along a page of text there. It was the same one the animated quill diligently copied. “I imagined the task would be quite simple,” he said in a bored, distracted voice. “Find traces of the murderer, track them, then dispose of them. That is what you’ve traditionally been good at. Did you have to swing an axe at my door?”

I ground my teeth. “Faisa fucking Dance was there. She apparently expected me. Care to explain that?”

Lias’s hooded gaze lifted up, staring at some uncertain point. “Ah. Well, you’ve always had a certain charisma to you, not to mention a degree of luck with highborn women. You’re still here, and with your head on even, so I imagine things went quite well?”

I had forgotten, in all these years, that Lias could be very good at making me want to break his teeth.

“Faisa is a business partner and drinking acquaintance of Lord Yuri, whose guise I often take these days.” Lias had moved over to another table, this time fiddling with the position of some abstract apparatus. “She became involved in the investigation after that courtesan she favored became one of the victims.”

That courtesan. He could have at least bothered to remember the poor woman’s name. Lias had always been callous, and it didn’t comfort me to see that trait hadn’t changed.

“Are you aware there are demons in the city?” I said.

Lias paused, then straightened and turned to me. I still couldn’t read his expression beneath the concealing cowl — the shadow beneath its brim had a touch of glamour, and even my eyes couldn’t pierce it.

“You are certain?” He asked, his disinterested manner vanishing.

I nodded, folding my arms. “I found signs of a serious infestation in that house. Yselda had visions of the Abyss before she died, and her bedroom was practically boiling with curses.”

“How do you know she was having visions?” Lias asked, more curious than skeptical.

I hesitated, then admitted, “She painted one of the demons who were in Seydis. I recognized it.”

Lias considered that a moment, then nodded. “This is exactly why I wanted you here, Alken. Even with all my Art, there are none better at detecting the presence of extradimensional beings than you Alder Knights. I had suspected sorcery of some kind had been employed in these incidents, but couldn’t ascertain its true nature.”

“Is this why the Inquisition is involved?” I asked. “Do you think they know?”

Lias approached me, folding his gloved hands together. His voice had a troubled note when he spoke again. “Perhaps. I have my spies in the theocracy, but I’ve had no luck gaining an in with the Priorguard itself. I am not privy to their inner council.”

“Have all the victims been members of the Garihelm renaissance?” I asked, settling into business.

“Most,” Lias said. “A few have been dignitaries, clericons of lesser rank, or persons involved in the cities reconstruction.”

I shifted, frowning. “Just how many people have been victims of this Carmine Killer?”

“Twenty-four, with this last one.” Lias offered the number without even a moment’s hesitation.

“Bleeding Gates.” I lowered my eyes to the floor, taking that in. Twenty four, and I had no doubt Lias had verified each showed the same signs as Yselda.

Out in the countryside, that would have mobilized an entire demesne into panic. Here in the city, did it even register to most that something terrible moved among them? Certainly, some greater powers had taken note, but I imagined only because of the strangeness of the killings.

“I might be able to identify what we’re dealing with,” I said. “I’ll need your help. The Church keeps records of all the Abyssals who’ve had an influence in Urn — can you get me access to those archives?”

“Not easily,” Lias admitted.

Considering the problem I added, “Do you have any records of your own?”

I could practically hear Lias scowl, even if I couldn’t see it beneath his cowl. “There was a time the Magi were in charge of those vaults, but the priests are convinced we might use them for ill purposes.”

“Well,” I said, “to be fair, Li, some of you have—”

“I know, I know!” Lias waved me off. “I have attempted to compile my own records, from my own experiences and the findings of other scholars. It is incomplete, but perhaps we can find something of use.”

Otherwise, I’d have to try and enter Myrr Arthor, the largest and most well guarded cathedral in all the subcontinent, and somehow gain access to the Church’s own archives under the noses of their inquisitors.

I’d do it, if I had to, but it would be risky and like to get me tossed into a torture chamber.

“Let’s hit the books then,” I said. “And hope we can find something.”