The final statue was of the severe-looking man with the thin moustache that Elise identified as Isadon. Which meant that Ydia was the one who had fallen away with the missing section of wall.
All of the Gods were accounted for. But something was different.
These statues were all unlike the ones she had seen before of the Gods. Hether was easily recognized by Her bulging muscles, but Her physique was closer to that of Ermolt’s, rather than the idealized forms she had seen, with muscles chiseled into the stone that were a definition and shape impossible for a creature to achieve.
Numara’s cloak still depicted the stars, but Her body visibly deformed it, not leaving it smooth and flawless as the night’s sky. Nor was Her bust as grossly exaggerated as it had been at Her Temple, either.
The others were the same. Just slightly more believable.
It made the Gods seem more relatable.
She found herself sorely wishing that Ydia’s statue were here. She had always felt that the proportions of Her body were especially unrealistic, and part of her truly wanted to see what the God of Life would look like without breasts twice the size of Her head, above a waist that Elise could encircle with both hands.
Elise walked towards the gap in the wall—past the statue of Dasis, whose teeth were square and not razored fangs—to where Ydia should have been standing. She leaned out over the pit, looking down, squinting into the murky blackness. If she could pick out just a few details, she might have her questions answered.
She looked to ask Ermolt to toss her a torch so she could throw it into the pit, on the off chance it would illuminate part of the fallen statue, but she froze.
The Champion was once more staring at her from across the pit. But it wasn’t in the same place. It had moved farther to the right by two rooms. While Elise’s instinct was to think this meant it was farther away, she quickly realized the implication.
“Ermolt, we need to hurry up.”
“Why?” he asked, stepping up beside her. His breath caught when he saw it watching them.
“It’s further to the right this time.”
Elise waited a moment for Ermolt to come to the same conclusion she had. “He’s going to beat us to the teleporter,” the barbarian said with a hiss and a grimace.
“We need to get there before it does.” Elise turned and headed for the doors at the end of the hallway.
“But we can’t. We aren’t faster than he is.” He paused there, and Elise saw a small grin cross his lips. “But we don’t have to be. We can’t outrun him. But we can outmaneuver him.”
“How so?”
“We can go along the outside of the Temple.” Ermolt drew her to the door on the side of the hall, just behind the statue of Isadon, instead of the door at the end of the hall that would lead them into the next room along the inner wall of the Temple. “The less he can see of us, the more likely he might try and catch us, and then miss us entirely.”
Elise nodded. “We don’t outfight, but outsmart.”
“Exactly.” Ermolt looked over his shoulder. The Champion was still there. Watching.
“Let’s go then.” Elise opened the door and walked into the room beyond, holding the door for Ermolt so that she could watch the Champion as she closed the door behind them. It didn’t move while she was watching, but Elise suspected that as soon as the door closed, if she opened it again, the creature would be gone from the spot.
She didn’t test the theory, however. It was better to not know.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The room they entered looked to have been a study of some sort, though Ermolt found it hard to guess its original purpose. There were several old wooden tables and chairs strewn about the room haphazardly, and while they had mostly survived the ravages of time, they were coated in a thick layer of dust. The room was illuminated by those glowing white globes, though these seemed to burn a little brighter than the ones they had last seen on the floor below. Three of the walls were decorated with decomposing tapestries, and the fourth wall, against the outside of the Temple, was lined with heavy bookshelves.
Unlike those in the library below, these shelves weren’t cleared out. They were filled top-to-bottom with thick leather-bound tomes. The spines looked to be in mostly good condition, too, at first glance. A curiosity, but not one worth examining. Not with the Champion threatening them from afar.
At the far end of the room was another door, standing open to reveal an empty room beyond.
Ermolt was unable to find a single corpse, and the open door at the far end of the room worried him.
Was something waiting just beyond?
Elise moved towards the bookshelves, avoiding the waist-high maze the clustered furniture traced out in the middle of the room. Ermolt suspected she wanted to check out the contents of the shelves, but there was no time. The Champion was an hourglass dropping final grains of sand. He was coming for them, and unless they beat him to the teleporter, he would bar their way.
“We don’t have time to browse,” he said, gruffly, as Elise slowed down to look over the books on the shelf.
“Right. Just curious is all.” Her fingers hovered above one of the spines. “The statues of the Gods out there looked odd. I was just wondering if there was some explanation to be found here. History or something that wasn’t written in cipher.”
“We’ll just have to remember this is here.” Ermolt crossed the room to Elise’s side and glanced at the books. Nothing stuck out to him. “Once we have Athala back, we can return. I imagine that she’ll be more eager to tear into this than you are.”
Elise chuckled and her hand fell away from the books. “You’re right. And she’ll likely know how to handle such delicate works without destroying them.”
“They don’t look fragile to me,” Ermolt said. “They’re still bound in leather, and if the chairs and tables haven’t decomposed, the books are still likely fine.” He reached out for the book Elise had been toying with touching and laid his finger against the top of the spine to draw the book out from the tightly-packed shelf.
Elise drew in a sharp breath, but the book was already in his hand before she could say something. And already falling apart. As soon as it was freed from the confines of the books pressed around it, the tome just disintegrated. The binding dissolved first, leather cracking from Ermolt’s touch, and dried dust poured through the space between his fingers.
His first instinct was to tighten his grip to hold the pages together, but the added pressure caused the cover of the book to crack apart. The pages fanned out and broke like a pile of dried leaves, cracking and falling as tiny flakes of ancient paper.
Whatever writing had been on them was long-faded anyway, and Ermolt could see what looked like tiny burrowed tunnels through the pages made by some long-dead insect.
Within the span of two breaths, Ermolt’s hand was empty, and a pile of dust, fragmented leather, and paper flakes had settled to the ground at his feet.
“Huh. So, they are that fragile.” Ermolt looked up at the shelf the book had come from. Before his eyes, the other books were crumbling and collapsing into the gap he had left. A part of him felt a pang of guilt for whatever rarities were being lost before his eyes, but without Athala there, it was somewhat lessened. She would never know what had been lost here.
And besides, all he had done was touch it. What could anyone else have done better?
WHAM.
Ermolt spun, expecting the Champion to be filling the doorframe. Instead the darkened room beyond was lost to a thick stone slab that seemed to have come from nowhere. He scanned the room quickly to confirm that they were still alone, but his instincts were screaming at him.
“What was that?” Elise asked, her shield up protectively in front of her person. “Did something do that?”
Ermolt opened his mouth to respond, but the words were lost when the lights went out.
It wasn’t as if the glowing white globes hanging from the ceiling went dark, so much as that they
were enveloped. An unnatural darkness was filling the space, creeping down from the ceiling. Ermolt held his torch up, but the light from the flames didn’t illuminate the blanket of darkness that descended upon them. As soon as the darkness reached the torch, the flames guttered, as if in a strong wind, and then blew out.
Once the torch was snuffed, the darkness was absolute. Ermolt waited for a moment to see if his eyes would adjust, but there was no light to adjust to. His instincts were going wild, warning him that danger was nearby. But without vision, he felt painfully vulnerable.
An animalistic part of his brain screamed that he should flail about. His hammer was heavy, and he was strong. Swinging the weapon wildly could demolish anything that was trying to harm him.
But he suppressed the urge to panic.
It was important to stay calm and in control in the face of danger. If he panicked, Elise would be at risk. From him. He had to stay calm for her.
Ermolt felt a hand touch his chest. His first instinct was to break it with a quick motion. But his instincts were all gummed up, and Ermolt didn’t trust them. He reached out and grabbed the wrist belonging to the hand.
There was metal armor under his fingers. It was just Elise. Not whatever had slammed the door and unleashed the unnatural darkness.
He tried to relax.
“Ermolt?” Elise’s voice sounded so far away, for someone standing directly in front of his person. “What happened?”
“Something’s in here with us,” Ermolt said. His voice, too, sounded far away, as if they spoke through breathable water.
“What is it?” Elise pulled in close to his side, her hand fumbling over his arm until she found a flap of his hide armor that she could close her hand around without impeding his movement.
“I don’t know. Didn’t see it before the darkness. I just know we aren’t alone.”
Ermolt tried to quiet his breathing. To strain his ears to listen for movement out in the darkness.
But all that he heard was the distant thumping of his own heart, slowly gaining speed as he held his breath. It impressed him slightly that Elise was able to stay silent even in metal armor. But that also could have been whatever muffled the noise. The darkness, for all he knew.
Just before he gave up and returning to breathing like his body screamed for, Ermolt fancied he could hear a distant voice. It had to be his imagination. Blood flow restriction to his brain or whatever else.
“Do you hear that?” Elise said, her whispered tone barely reaching Ermolt’s ears.
“No, what.”
“A voice.”
“I thought that was in my head,” Ermolt said with a snort of laughter.
“Shh. There it is again.”
Ermolt once more held his breath and strained to listen. It felt as if his own thoughts were too loud, drowning out the faint whisper that tickled at the very edges of his senses. He decided that if either of them was going to figure out what was being said, it would have to be Elise.
“It’s a spirit,” she said, breathlessly. “Of course. Whatever happened here, it could have easily left behind dead who had too many concerns left unanswered to pass into the Nether. Or whatever the followers of Isadon believed. And with no one left to pray over them, to urge them to find peace, it’s a wonder this is the first we’ve encountered.”
“What do we do?” Ermolt whispered back. The hairs along the back of his neck were raised. “Do we pray for it?”
“Too late for that. We need to get away. Which way is the door?”
“Somewhere that way.” Ermolt tapped her arm and tugged in what he thought was the right direction. “But there’s furniture in our path. We need to be careful.”
Elise said nothing, but she began to move, so he figured she nodded.
They moved as a unit, or as much of a unit as they could. Ermolt was careful about his steps, trying to be as quiet as he could. But in the darkness, each step both felt too loud, and also muted and lost to the murk. As they moved, he could hear Elise’s armor clink, but it sounded as if she were a room away, and not almost attached to his hip.
“Betrayal.”
He almost jumped out of his skin. Where before, the voice had felt like it came from across the entire Temple, this was much closer now. It was still a bare whisper, but it was not impeded by the muffling darkness.
“It’s behind us.” Elise’s grip tightened on Ermolt’s armor. “Keep moving.”
Ermolt bit back a sarcastic retort. It wasn’t the time to start an argument. It wasn’t like she knew, anyway.
Spirits were the true bane of the barbarian tribes of the north. With how easy it was for the snows to bury someone and leave their bodies lost forever, angry spirits were not uncommon.
But they were unable to be harmed by common weapons, and usually they required a wizard’s magic to defeat them. It was why barbarians who had the gift of magic were usually forced into practicing their abilities. Their unique effectiveness against angry spirits was too useful to allow them to devote their lives to a different career.
Ermolt really missed Athala’s magic. He felt selfish for it, especially since he was missing her magic instead of just her. But here he was, facing the subject of every campfire scary story he’d ever heard as a boy. He doubted anyone could have expected him to be anything but terrified.
Elise bumbled forward through the darkness just slightly ahead of him, and Ermolt heard her bump into a piece of furniture. The resulting clattering was loud, but still so distant.
“Betrayal.” The voice came again, this time from so close he could almost feel the spectral lips brushing against his ear. Ermolt shuddered at the unwanted closeness, and couldn’t stop himself from flinching. His arm lashed out.
If the spirit had a physical body, his movement would have shoved them away. But as a spirit, they didn’t work the same way. Instead, his arm pressed into the space the ghost occupied, and his skin felt like it was submerged in scalding water, minus the actual burn.
The pain was not the most pressing concern.
His mind was suddenly flushed with emotions that were not his own.
He felt a sense of loss and sorrow running through his head, but it was drowned out by righteous anger. It felt alien and strange, and he tried to force it away.
This wasn’t his rage. His rage was the falling snow of the northlands.
Instead, this anger ran hot. It was glowing red metal, clenched in a smoldering fist. This anger drew his lips back from his teeth in a grimace so wide it made his mouth muscles ache.
Ermolt shoved away the foreign emotions, and he shrunk back from the spirit. He bumped into Elise, and he heard clattering furniture. Even more distant now.
“Are you alright?” Elise asked from the darkness. She was so far away, even though her fingers looped around his armor.
“Betrayal.” The spirit’s voice was louder now, though it still sounded as if they had screamed themselves hoarse, and were now only capable of a harsh whisper. “I trusted.”
Ermolt focused on Elise. “It touched me,” Ermolt said. “And it’s angry. So very, very angry.” He pushed her forward. “We need to get out of here.”
He felt the touch of scalding water again, this time down his back. Anger that was not his own consumed his thoughts, and Ermolt cried out. The sadness beneath the rage was growing oppressive, forcing his other emotions down to make way for the searing heat of the ghost’s fury that pounded through his skull.
“Betrayal!” Its voice was gaining strength. “We were all betrayed!”
“There’s a table in the way,” Elise said, although she sounded kren away. She was tugging on Ermolt’s arm, moving him to the side. “They weren’t arranged like this when the lights were on!”
“Forget the table,” Ermolt growled. The rage that was not his own was driving him forward. “We need to move!” He pushed past Elise and swept his hammer down in the darkness, one-handed. There was a crash of shattering wood from so far away, but impact ran up his we
apon and into his arm. With a wordless cry he charged forward, pulling Elise along behind him. Furniture shattered under his feet, or parted away like children’s toys.
In the darkness, Ermolt felt—more than heard—Elise gasp. The ghost must have struck her.
“Betrayal!” The spirit roared behind them, the ragged voice booming off the darkness like hammer against stone. “Injustice! Treason! Crimes that must be punished!”
Ermolt pushed forward, away from the voice. As he went, it got slightly easier to think. Or, so he told himself.
He felt his knee slam into a chair, and he kicked it out of the way. Ermolt brought his hammer around in front and he swung it to the side. Wood splintered under the strike as he forced his way through the shattering furniture. He didn’t wait to encounter the next obstacle. Instead, he swung his hammer back and forth. The strike swung through empty air, but he struck more wood on the backswing, scattering what felt like a chair to kindling.
A fragment of wood struck the wall to Ermolt’s left. He used the sound to orient himself as he moved forward evermore.
“Ermolt!” Elise cried out again, her small hands shoving him forward. “We need to get out! I can’t take this!”
“Betrayal!” the spirit howled, and endless storm of anger and sorrow. The sound reverberated off the walls, masking all else. “There can be no forgiveness! Only vengeance! Only blood! Only death!”
“Find the door!” Ermolt shouted over the wailing shriek. He guided Elise’s grasping hands to the stone wall. “We’re almost out. I’ll distract it!”
Ermolt could hear her armor clanking in the darkness as she scrambled against the wall. He stepped into the space behind her. Braced himself for the worst.
Its next touch was almost tangible. It felt like palms pressing down on his shoulders, fingernails digging into the skin above his clavicle. The anger that filled him was all-consuming.
For a moment, he couldn’t remember his own name.
All he knew was rage and loss and pain.
The only thing that kept him from giving in, from succumbing to the horrible anger, was how foreign it felt. This was not his anger, and so he would fight against it until his dying breath.
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