Prometheus Rising- Chapter 5/? [Fic]
Chapter 5-
As the sun rose to the peak of its journey across the sky, Alfred halted his stride. Arthur stopped beside him. Clouds shielded much of the vibrancy of the sky, swathing the ground in muted grays. The cool air was still, silent, unmoved by even the slightest of breezes. Even the birds and insects were quiet. The world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
But Arthur did not notice any of this, for his gaze was locked upon the city towering out of the forest before them. Though he and Alfred stood upon the crest of a tall hill, in order to see over the canopy of the thick forest, Almsloch still rose high above them. It was like nothing Arthur had ever seen before. He had heard tales about its magnificence, had seen the sketches done by other priests who had been awarded the privilege of being sent within its walls, had listened eagerly to the rumors of the city being even more wonderful than the royal capital, but he had never expected this.
Though Almsloch was a city built within the depths of the woods, it did not look like any of its closest neighbors. It stood tall, proud, built of smooth, carved stone instead of heavy oak beams. Huge walls rose up around the city, and from those walls rose sturdy towers. A large, ornate gate, wrought of glittering steel and gold, blocked the road from traveling straight into the heart of the city. The walls kept most of its architecture hidden from sight, save for one lone spiraling tower, which soared high above everything else. It looked almost as if, were it any taller, it would pierce the clouds themselves. Every inch of the city radiated purity and faith. Part of Arthur’s heart leaped with joy at the sight.
“Well,” said Alfred, “there it is. Almsloch.”
Arthur’s elation dampened immediately, and he turned to look up at Alfred. The man’s face appeared neutral, but his eyes were stormy gray, far darker than even the cloudy sky above them. Arthur briefly wondered what could have been troubling him so, then remembered Alfred’s unholy heritage. His mouth twisted downwards into a frown. “Yes, Almsloch. I suppose you will not be accompanying me further?”
Alfred shook his head. “I told you that I would guide you here, and here you are.”
“Very well.” Arthur hesitated a moment, before extending his hand. “You have my gratitude for leading me. I doubt I would have been able to make it this far on my own, and definitely not so quickly.”
There was silence. Alfred stared down at the proffered hand, eyes wide and confused. After a moment, he reached out slowly to take it. “It was no trouble.”
Arthur gave him a wry smile. “No trouble? I highly doubt that. But thank you, never the less.” He shifted his satchel upon his shoulder and returned his gaze to the glimmering city of Almsloch. It truly was beautiful.
“Good luck,” said Alfred. When Arthur moved to stare at him again, his eyes met empty air. Alfred was gone, as silently as ever, and had Arthur not been completely certain that Alfred was real, he would have believed he had dreamed the whole ordeal. Arthur did not dwell on it. There were more pressing matters to attend.
The walk down to the road was quick, faster than Arthur had expected. Though the forest remained thick, and the overcast sky did nothing to disperse the shadows, he found himself unafraid of whatever secrets the trees might have held. His stride was long and evenly paced. He held his head high as he stepped out from beneath the woods and onto the dirt road. It was smooth, carefully tended, without a single groove or print to indicate that anything had passed along its length. He stood there a moment, looking back over his shoulder into the forest, before starting down the road.
It was only as he rounded the bend, and Almsloch rose up straight ahead of him, that he first felt the prickling sensation of being watched. His steps slowed. The only person who had known of his coming was Alfred, and there was no reason for the demon to still be following him, particularly not with his obvious distaste for interacting with humans. However, that left few other options. Arthur cast a wary look around himself. The forest encroaching on both sides of the road seemed bathed in deep shadows. The road behind him was empty, at least as far as he could see, and before him stood the magnificent outer walls of Almsloch. His gaze ran up along the stone façade. There, at the very top, peering out over the battlements, were a number of guards. Though they appeared very small from where Arthur was standing, he could see the glint of faint sunlight reflecting from their armor.
So that was it. Arthur shook himself and continued forward. The guards had been watching him, as was their duty, and there was nothing to be worried about. Yet the oppressive feeling of being spied upon refused to leave.
The gates of Almsloch were larger than they had seemed from afar, and decorated with the most elaborate metalworking Arthur had ever seen. Golden coils spiraled up along the edges, meeting in the middle to form a big, brilliant sun not unlike the pendant still nestled within Arthur’s satchel. Below that was an array of perfect gold feathers, all curling up towards the sun. Centered between them, directly across the gap between the two doors, stood what appeared to be a man, draped in long, flowing robes, his cowl hanging low over his face so that any features were obscured. In his hands he held a book, thick and bound with clasps. The sight stole Arthur’s breath away.
He stood there in front of them for a moment, merely taking in their wondrous beauty, before he turned his attention back to the matter of getting inside. There were no smaller entryways carved into the gates, no bell to ring, no heavy ring with which to knock upon. He frowned. “Hello?” he called out.
“Hello.”
The voice, quiet but gruff, startled Arthur, and he whirled sideways to face the strange man standing in the shadows of the wall. He was dressed in robes reminiscent of the Church, but his chest was covered by thick armor, painted with the symbol of the sun. His arms were also encased in silver gauntlets. Arthur frowned at him. “Are you the gatekeeper?”
“That I am.” The man did not move from his position. Now that Arthur looked closer, he could see the hilt of a sword protruding from his belt. “What business do you have in our fair city?”
“My business? I am only hoping to see the legendary library, and perhaps stay the night in one of the taverns. Surely that’s nothing to be worried about?” Arthur smiled, but it felt strained upon his lips.
The gatekeeper smiled back, equally strained, defensive. “Of course not. It is my duty to guard the gates here, and questioning travelers is a large part of that.” He lifted one hand to gesture behind himself, towards a small door carefully hidden in the shadows. “Forgive me if I do not sound the bell to open the gates themselves. You do not appear to be a visiting dignitary of any kind.”
Arthur shook his head. “It would be foolish to expect such treatment. Now, if I may?”
Nodding, the gatekeeper stepped sideways, away from the door, and inclined his head slightly to Arthur as he moved past. “I hope you enjoy your time in Almsloch. Our city is beautiful, and she holds many wonders for travelers to discover.”
“Thank you.” Arthur unlatched the door and pushed it open, casting one last glance back at the gatekeeper. “I’m certain I will be delighted.”
Then he was no longer outside the gates of Almsloch, but within its walls, surrounded by sights and sounds that he had never before experienced in his twenty-five years of life. The door swung closed behind him, but he did not look back at it, instead focused on the street on which he now stood. It was long and wide and curved gently around as it followed the interior of the walls. Braches split off of its side and meandered their way towards what must have been the center of the city. Every inch of the roadways were paved in smooth white stone, polished so heavily that it almost seemed to glow, even in the muted sunlight. Buildings, also formed of the same wondrous stone, rose up from the ground at the edges of the streets. They seemed to be organized precisely within the roads, set up in various groupings that would almost have seemed random save for the preciseness of the way they were built. No wall was too close to another, no balcony extended out over the street, no stairway sat in the path of moving feet. Every inch of the city appeared pristine, utterly spotless.
Even the people were no exception. They stood straight and tall as they made their way around the streets. Children laughed and played, but did not bump into anyone or stumble across the paving stones. The adults chattered amongst themselves as they walked, their arms laden with whatever items they required for that day and time, and though they appeared to be focused upon their conversations, they did not stray from their paths, did not move slightly towards the center of the streets or veer a bit towards the side. Their clothing was pristine, not even a small fleck of dirt visible upon long skirts or leather boots.
Arthur stared at it all for a moment longer, standing still at the very edge of the street. The city seemed absolutely beautiful, wonderful, perhaps even perfect, and yet the lack of faults almost felt strange. He would likely have stood there for even longer had a sudden, pointed sound not caught his attention. Turning to the side, he found himself staring up at the disgruntled face of a man dressed in an oddly clean smith’s apron. “Pardon?”
The man’s frown deepened, his thick beard tilting downwards alongside his lips. “You’re blocking the road.”
“Oh.” Arthur glanced down at his feet. As he’d thought, he was standing less than a foot away from the inside of the wall, blocking only a small portion of the street. Still, the man’s obvious displeasure with a stranger pointed to him having committed some horrible sin, so he inclined his head slightly. “I beg your pardon. I had no intention of getting in your way.”
“Well, then, get out of it,” the man snapped, as though he was incapable of moving around Arthur.
“My apologies,” Arthur said again. He stepped backwards, until his back pressed against the wall. Before the man could pass him by, though, he asked, “You would not happen to know the way to the great library, would you?”
All at once, the smith’s entire demeanor changed. The irritation melted away from his features, and was replaced by a sudden joy. The switch was so abrupt that Arthur would have thought it false, were the man’s smile not so natural and effortless. “The library? My apologies, sir, I did not realize you were a traveler so devout. I hope you can forgive my rudeness.” He bowed low. “I assumed you were one of the reckless heathen visitors we so often receive, here to try to lead us astray from our great god.”
“It’s no trouble.” Arthur smiled. The smith was obviously passionate about his religion, and it made sense to be so when he lived in such a devout city as Almsloch. If what else he said was true, and other visitors did often come to jeer at their religious beliefs, then Arthur could not rightly hold a grudge against the man, not when he had come from such a background himself. And yet, somehow, something about the sudden change felt odd.
“A true man of the faith, I see,” the smith said, his posture relaxing further. “We need more men like you to come see our fine city. If it’s the library you are looking for, sir, just follow any of those roads and you will come upon it eventually.” He gestured towards the various meandering roads that broke off from the seemingly circular street they stood upon. “The library stands in the very center of Almsloch, the core of the city. I am sure you will find what you’re looking for within its walls.”
Arthur nodded and inclined his head once more. “Thank you, sir. Your city is indeed beautiful, and I have no doubt it will help me find the answers I need.” He began to walk away, carefully now so as not to step in front of any of the other city folk.
“Once you are done in the library,” the smith called out from behind him, “come and see me at my shop! It is easy to find, and if you just follow the outer road you’ll come across it. I can offer you a great deal on whatever metalwork you might need.” Arthur called back his thanks and continued on his way.
As he walked, he found himself staring around at the city’s architecture once more. The smooth facades of the buildings were so perfect that he would have believed it was impossible, had he not been seeing them himself. Though they were beautiful in their perfection, he could not help the lingering feeling of something being wrong, as though the city itself was sending frightening chills down his spine. The people he passed would only spare him a glance, or perhaps a glare if he stepped in their way, but said nothing to him. Memories of Alfred, and what he had seen in Dartwell, the bloody, ruthless murder of those who disagreed, filled his mind, and though he did his best to push them aside, they only grew in strength as he ventured further into the center of the city.
Before long, the gentle curves of the street evened out, and Arthur stopped to look up at the tall, spiraling tower that he had seen from outside of the city’s walls. Even from down at its base it seemed to want nothing more than to pierce the clouds. The tower grew out of a huge, beautiful, ornate building made of the same stone from which all of Almsloch was formed. Instead of the usual smooth walls, though, the library had every inch of space covered in detailed carvings. The large doors, made of the same steel as Almsloch’s front gates, also shared their exact design, save for the two glittering amethysts set in the shadowy face of the priest with the book. As Arthur moved forward, the carvings in the walls became clearer, and he soon realized that they were intricate images of scenes from the holy books of the Church. He recognized many of them- the descent of the Sky God as a massive silver eagle, the rising of the demons from the fiery hell beneath the ground, the first of the priests being chosen by trials of wind and water, the fall of the old gods… In those carvings were blood and death and triumph and hope and faith. Arthur’s body thrummed with the force of it.
He passed through the front doors, which were propped open by a small wooden block. The interior of the library was just as large as the outside implied. It was somewhat dark, illuminated only by a few small windows carved out from the walls and various torches and candles placed alongside the bookcases and upon the few desks scattered throughout. Books and their shelves took up most of the space, narrow aisles between them linking to one another and creating a simple maze. A long staircase crawled up along the walls, rising from the floor all the way up until it disappeared into the shadows of the tower. A few priests, dressed in the white robes of their order, passed quietly between the shelves. Upon Arthur’s entry, they turned to regard him, but soon looked away. The presence of an outsider was not unknown within the library’s walls.
Still, Arthur felt as though he did not belong. These archives were sacred to the Church, and he had turned his back on that order. The uneasiness that had accompanied him ever since stepping foot into the city seemed to grow even more oppressive. Though he had no idea where to search, now that he was standing amongst all of these books, he could not bring himself to ask any of the priests for aid. He strode forward into the nearest aisle, avoiding one of the small desks. His gaze skimmed the spines of the books alongside him. They were manuscripts of various sorts, all written by hand, some penned in different styles than others, bound in leather or cloth or wood. There seemed to be many copies of the same texts. None of them were what Arthur was searching for, so he continued onwards.
Shelves passed him by, and one aisle turned into another, and the light shining through the windows began to fade as dusk fell, and still Arthur kept searching. He had come all this way, and risked so much. There was no chance he would turn back now.
Just as he was about to turn and make his way down another aisle, something caught Arthur’s eye. The faint light cast by a nearby torch illuminated a small opening between two books. Inside that space, there appeared to be something glistening. Arthur turned and moved towards it. He reached slowly into the opening, wary of what could be lurking in the shadows, and closed his fingers around the unknown object. It was soft in his hand. He unclasped his fingers to peer inside.
It was a feather, small and bent out of shape, as though it had been crushed between books at some time. The pure white of its coloring almost seemed to glow orange in the light. Arthur frowned down at it. Though beautiful, it was out of place in the library. He turned to look up at the nearest window, and the faint rays of fading sunlight, and imagined that the bird must have flown in through there. Hopefully it had escaped.
He slid the feather into his satchel, for no reason other than that it felt wrong to simply drop it to the floor in such a holy place, and would have continued along his way had something else not caught the light from within the shadowy space on the shelf. He reached inside once again, but this time what his fingers found was not soft but hard. At first he almost believed it to be the wood of the shelf itself, and that his eyes must have made some mistake, and then his hand slipped down somewhat, and he felt the sensation of stiff paper glide across his fingers. He grasped at the object, which he knew now to be a book, and pulled it into the open.
Arthur stared down at cover, eyes wide. This book was like none he had ever seen before, and he had seen quite a few over the course of his life. It was bound together by what seemed to be strips of long grass threaded together. The covers were constructed of some sort of polished red wood, smooth and firm to the touch, and into them were engraved various symbols that Arthur could not understand. Some of them almost appeared to be part of some foreign language, perhaps from the lands beyond the Anhael Mountains. The carvings were choppy and rough, as though done hastily. He carefully lifted the front cover. The first page was full of a delicate ink painting of the same unknown priest who decorated the front gates of Almsloch and the library’s doors. In this one, though, the cowl was pulled back, and the man’s features were visible. The dim lighting of the library made it hard to make out his exact visage, so Arthur leaned closer, eyes narrowed in concentration.
“Have you found what you were searching for, my son?”
Arthur started, losing his balance slightly and stumbling backwards to bump against the bookshelf behind him. Several books fell to the floor around him. He turned towards the direction the voice had come from, and found himself looking at one of the small desks. A priest was sitting upon its chair, his cowl raised. Arthur clutched his free hand to his chest. “I beg your pardon, father, you startled me.”
The priest chuckled. “It is I who should be apologizing. I had no intention of causing you such a fright.” He gestured at the books around Arthur’s feet. “I hope you will put those back in their rightful places? I would help you, but my legs are not what they used to be.”
Now that Arthur listened more closely, he did notice that the priest’s voice sounded vaguely muffled and worn, much like several of the older men from back in Lamglen. He inclined his head respectfully. “Of course, father.” Bending down towards the floor, he quickly gathered the books into his arms and went about putting them back in their proper places. When he came to the last one, though, the strange one he had found with the feather, he hesitated. He did not know where to put it, and for some odd reason, he found himself unwilling to part with it without first reading through its contents. He slid it into his satchel, as quickly and inconspicuously as possible. It was not thievery, he consoled himself, for he had every intention of returning it to its shelf once he was finished, and he simply wanted to look at it without a priest nearby to cloud his judgment.
“Are you finished?” the priest asked after a moment. When Arthur nodded, the man waved him over towards the desk. “There is an extra chair by the shelves. You appear troubled, my son. Please, come sit with me and tell me about what bothers you.”
Arthur stood there a moment longer, unsure. The unease from earlier was growing stronger by the moment, and he felt as though he was missing something important. Yet there was no good reason to refuse the priest’s request, so he made his way over to the chair and carried it back to the priest’s desk. “I am not sure my problems are anything that you can help me with, father.”
The priest shook his head. “Nonsense. The Church can aid you with whatever you might need.” He held his hands out to Arthur, and for the first time, Arthur noticed that they were heavily gloved. That was not part of the traditional priest garb. Almsloch was further north than Lamglen, though, so perhaps they had changed the clothing to suit the cold. “Come, child, tell me of your fears.”
“All right.” Arthur laid his hands upon the priest’s, and was surprised to see just how much larger the man’s palms were than his own. Oddly, it reminded him of Alfred. He decided to start the conversation there. “When I was journeying here, father, I met a strange man.”
“A strange man? There are many of those in the world. Perhaps a few more details?”
“Well, I suppose he was not really a man.” Arthur frowned down at his hands. “He was not human, father.”
The priest tilted his head slightly. “Not human? A demon, then?”
“Yes. Or at least, I thought he was one at first. He had teeth like a wild beast, long and sharp, and nails like claws. He was tall, taller than any human could ever achieve. Everything about his appearance was demonic, father- unwashed, strange, inhuman- but…”
“Did it speak to you, child?” The priest’s long fingers closed around Arthur’s hands, a gentle pressure. “Many demons were granted the use of human speech, to try to lure us astray from the Sky God.”
Arthur shook his head. “No. Well, yes, he did speak, but that is not the problem. He saved my life, father. Not only once, but twice. He led me safely through the forest, shared his food with me, protected me from any creatures that could have caused me harm. I cannot help but wonder if he is truly a demon at all.”
“How strange.” The priest did not release Arthur’s hands. If anything, his grip tightened. “It seems you have encountered one of the most cunning of demons. Even if its motives are not clear, such a beast is no less dangerous than its lesser cousins, and perhaps even more so. It was likely trying to win your trust, and will pounce when you least expect it.”
“But he did not once try to attack me, or even make any aggressive moves towards me, father.”
“It will, my son. See, even now you refer to the demon as a he, not an it. Its sly ways are already at work within your mind, and if you are not careful, it will be able to easily grab hold of you.”
“Somehow, I cannot believe that.” Arthur stared up at the priest’s shadowed face. The man was tall, Arthur realized, even while seated. The shadows cast by his cowl were unnerving. Something cold settled in Arthur’s stomach. The feeling of unease was growing to an extreme, and now, he was beginning to understand why. “He showed me something, something important.”
“Oh?” The priest’s grip on his hands was now almost painfully tight. “What kind of something would that be?”
“Something horrible.” The light cast by the nearest torch flickered as the priest’s head titled slightly, and for one brief moment, the priest’s lower face was illuminated. Or, it would have been, had it not been covered by a cloth mask. Arthur swallowed heavily. “Have you ever heard of the town named Dartwell?”
“Dartwell? Of course. It is the home of some of our most devout followers.” The priest’s voice sounded different now, less old.
“Then you know what they did?”
“Ah.” The priest chuckled. The sound was cruel. “So your demon man showed you what those fine people did? Does it weigh heavily upon your conscience, Arthur Kirkland?”
Arthur tried to pull his hands away. The priest’s grip tightened to an immense level. “How do you know my name?”
“Why, word travels fast amongst the Church. I know you abandoned us in Lamglen, and I know why, and I know what you met in those woods. People such as you and your companion are dangerous to the continued wellbeing of our order. I had to keep an eye on you, you must understand.”
Arthur shuddered. He did not try to pull his hands away again. “What is beneath your mask, father?” he demanded.
“Do you not know?” There was no trace of elderly innocence in that voice anymore. The priest abruptly released Arthur’s hands and raised his fingers to pull down his cowl, revealing cruel violet eyes as vibrant as sunsets, as vast as the sky, and a pale, youthful face. His other hand hooked in the top of his mask. “Tell me, Arthur Kirkland, what am I?”
Arthur did not respond. He did not need to, for in the next moment, the priest pulled the mask downwards to show a smile full of the sharp, dagger-like teeth that Arthur knew all too well. He could not bring himself to move away. All he could see was the face of a monster, dressed in the robes of a holy man, flickering with the light of flames, and all he could think was that he wished Alfred were there beside him.