Chapter Twenty-Four: Sanctuary in Chaos.

  Selriph glanced down as the reek of the drained came from below; the stonework made way for Relia‘s visage, one bearing confusion and concern.

  As Selriph reached the base of the ladder, Hagan‘s gaze moved between him and Relia, an expression somewhere between a request and a command.

  “Selriph… what is it…? What did you see?” the woman’s voice came, tinged with apprehension

  The faintest tilt of Selriph’s face met an almost imperceptible shrug in the boy’s figure. “How do I put this… the streets above are in chaos. No way we can exit through here.”

  Relia’s eyes widened, worry bloomed on her face.. “What do you mean by chaos? Something happened to the celebrations?”

  ‘Something’ was an understatement.

  Selriph took a half breath through his nostrils, paused by the tunnel’s odour—he attempted to keep his voice calm, reassuring. “I don’t know the specifics, all I can say is that it isn’t safe in Tollerton.”

  The image of the chaos above flashed roughly through his mind. The smell of rune powder clung faintly to his nostrils—the implications weighed. If this wasn’t just an isolated incident, plazas beyond the Tollerton district might be in a similar state. If they attempted to emerge from the centre of another district, similar disarray would meet them, accompanied by the unwanted footfall of guards and templars.

  “Relia, let’s just say the situation above has… stirred up the guard. We won’t be able to get you to Shaylee like this. We need to think of an alternative, a place to lie low until things die down up there.” His fingers stroked his bare chin.

  Relia‘s voice came, uncharacteristically firm.. “Selriph! You still haven’t told me—”

  Hagan placed his large hand on her shoulder, the reassuring gesture cutting her query. “We don’t have many options, lad. We can hardly stay here in these stinking tunnels. The lass would not appreciate it,” as he gave a firm pat on her shoulder.

  Selriph’s mind churned. Hiding out in an alleyway? No, the guards would sweep every nook and corner. Attempt to rent a room in a tavern in some quiet area of town? Although plausible, it was risky; his face could be recognised, and their request for a room might be denied due to the recent situation.

  The most sensible option would be to turn back now. With the guard riled up, any chance their ill-conceived plan would succeed had become infinitesimal at best. Selriph’s eyes landed on Hagan, the only obstacle to prudence.

  “Hagan, perhaps we should… with the city riled up like this, there’s no chance—” He paused, the word catching in his throat as the memory of being thrown to the ground flashed in his mind.

  The disapproval came not from the Woodsman standing before him, but from the woman who stood at his shoulder height. A silent shake of her head, her eyes conveyed far more than her brief gesture.

  “Forget what I said… sorry.” As Selriph’s gaze drifted upwards to the muffled sounds of discord coming from above.

  Was there anywhere in the city that could provide a modicum of safety, of sanctuary, of respite?

  Respite?

  In that instance, the solution sparked to life, like flint against steel.

  A place where he had known solace in between his gruelling hours in the Knights Templar.

  Selriph turned silently towards the tunnel, met by puzzlement from his two companions.

  His voice came in a quiet hush, yet confident. “Follow me. I know where we can go.”

  The trio found themselves in one of the many back alleys in the streets of the imperial capital, wiping themselves with mint and lavender. The gentle patter bounced off the grime-streaked walls as they attempted to cleanse the sewer’s stench from them.

  Around them, the streets still held the sound of commotion, although a far cry from the storm of chaos that Selriph and Hagan had witnessed—it more closely resembled that expected bustle of the night.

  Selriph paced towards the entrance to the main street. Recognition flickered to his consciousness, the trail of opulent residences to his right, an artisan cafe to his left.

  To the left, two streets down, then make a right and straight, exactly thirty-five paces. See the spire to your right, then enter the alleyway, then into the alleyway, between the restaurant and the jewellery store. Find the door.

  Selriph glanced back as Hagan and Relia, who had now entered a crouch as they made their way to the bow, saw the slightest imprint of moisture trailing them from their dampened footwear.

  “Where are you taking us? This is the upper district, no? Are you expecting to walk up to some noble and ask if they have a spare room?” Hagan’s voice came with confusion and slight irritation, almost loud enough to permeate into the waiting streets.

  Selriph waved a soft downward gesture with his hand as he said, “Not a noble, the only person I could trust in the entire city. Enough to keep his mouth shut if we show up at his door.”

  That was the optimistic outcome he indulged in. With the city in this state, would he even entertain his request?

  Selriph buried the thought as he motioned for the young woman and the woodsman to follow, adopting a half-casual walking stance as he followed the route, one of many variations he had taken many times over.

  The streets crackled with footsteps from people in hasty steps, no doubt returning to the safety of their homes from the unfolding chaos in the city. The guard, no doubt, would enforce a curfew soon.

  But even if they met the guard, they could simply explain they were on their way to their residence. Any other sign of trouble, they could navigate around. There were plenty of alternative routes to Selriph’s intended destination; one that his companions were still in the dark too.

  We should be fine, as long as we don’t run into any guardsmen that want to give us trouble…

  As if endeavouring to punish him for indulging in such hopeful fantasy, two crimson-cloaked figures came into view, framed in his vision as they turned the corner. Their postures hunched over in a heated conversation with a feminine figure.

  Selriph abruptly jerked before their gazes could land on him and the people tailing him, causing Hagan and Relia to stumble behind him.

  Selriph pressed his ear to the street's cornerstone, just out of view. The words were barely intelligible. “Pipedown… arrest for... Insurgent activities… divine… your innocence” The voice's clarity cut just enough for Selriph to make out his words from the distance.

  “I did nothing wrong. I was just on a stroll near the celebration!” the woman’s voice protested, now audible enough for Selriph to understand her words without effort.

  “Shut yer pipe," the other voice came low and gruff. “That’s what they all say.”

  Selriph’s blood boiled; the Templars and the guards were no doubt on an indiscriminate spree for the ones responsible. The merest whisper of doubt would see countless others in a similar state.

  Selriph turned, finding the streets almost deserted except for a few people heading home—a smart move, considering the situation.

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  A brief gaze of understanding flickered between the three of them. While the woman’s plight was stark, there was nothing they could do, a rare movement of concurrence.

  Selriph motioned once again for them to follow, this time taking a right at a preceding junction, away from the commotion they had nearly stumbled into.

  The alternative route proved problematic, taking them through neglected streets and necessitating a climb over a wall—Selriph assisted his female companion. Ten minutes unfurled slowly, as if kneaded and pulled thin in their perception, through winding back alleys and fox-like crossing across the increasingly empty streets of the upper district.

  Then, they emerged onto a fully exposed promenade. Crafted wooden chairs were stacked neatly along the street beneath folded patio tables. The sudden nakedness of the open space made them quicken their pace, rushing towards the alley beyond the darkened windows of an artisan goods store.

  The alley offered the comforting snugness of a burrow after being exposed on a wide, barren plain. A light tap came on Selriph's shoulder. He glanced back, met two faces etched with silent questions.

  “Just a little more, nearly there.”

  Although their minds were etched with unanswered questions, his voice barely placated his compatriots.

  And then, just at the base of the spire, its darkened silhouette reaching as if it pierced Raclune overhead, they came to a wooden door, a side entrance no doubt.

  Selriph gently rang the bell at the side.

  Ding ding… ding ding ding.

  The rings tolled almost with a calculated, measured rhythm before silence enveloped their surroundings like a shroud. The seconds felt like eternity as Selriph’s gaze darted to the corners of his vision, wary of any silver-adorned or crimson-cloaked individuals in these crucial seconds of exposure.

  And then, a click, followed by two ocean blue eyes that came into view through the rectangular door hole.

  A voice came, slight, raspy yet light and feathery at the same time.

  “Can’t you read? The grand library is closed for the night. Come back tomorrow—”

  The words coming from the person beyond the door caught, as if snagged on thorns.

  The eyes flashed with disbelief and recognition.

  “What in Merda’s light are you still doing here?!”

  The trio followed the hunched-over man through the library, their footsteps muffled by the thick, plush carpet that lined the grand hall. The ceiling soared high above them, adorned with an intricate chandelier, its jewels sparkling faintly even in the darkened interior. Their walk was met with shelves on either side, stretched endlessly with rows of books, the scent of parchment and leather in the cool, dry interior.

  The hunched figure led them up a flight of stairs, past a wooden framed map of Imperial territory, next to a statue of the Sadria, deity of divine wisdom and knowledge.

  The voice emerged, hoarse yet surprisingly high-toned. “What devil possessed you to come back all the way here, boy? Forgot to return some dusty book I lent ya?”

  “No, Sir… Gerey. All the books I borrowed are in your care. I am here for… extrinsic reasons.”

  Selriph caught the slightest twitch of Hagan’s eyebrow from the periphery of his vision. A mix of confusion and surprise, as if taken aback by the respectful salutation that had escaped his lips, addressed to the seemingly unremarkable man before them.

  The hunched-over man—Gerey glanced back at Selriph’s company as they came to the upper landing. “Your reasons have brought you back at the most inopportune time, my boy,” as he paced down, away from the chandelier that hung as the centrepiece.

  He paused at a dark brown door, its surface broken by horizontal metal strips, one high, one low, reaching for the keys that hung by his belt. “Don’t know if you buried your head in books again, but there is a disturbance in the city.”

  The door unlocks with a mechanical clack as Selriph says. “Yes, we witnessed it in our entry to the city. What happened out there?”

  Gerey led the trio up a flight of stairs, his raspy voice echoed off the walls, “You well know what it is, old tale as time. A gesture of defiance, of resistance—a fight for hope.”

  Selriph cut in, his voice clear. “Through violence.”

  “Exactly. Good to know your disappearing act hasn’t caused your bright wits to go along with you.” Gerey turned back, the faintest hint of amusement on his weathered face.

  Silence fell on the corridors, save for the echoes of their footsteps as he led them silently to an indiscreet door. The door opened with a creak.

  As the scent of ink, parchment and lantern flame met his nostrils, his eyes took in the familiar sight: a faded floral couch, worn and slightly slumped, sat tucked in the corner. Three walls held overflowing bookshelves, crammed with books of all sizes and ages. A sturdy desk, the only object against the empty wall—the surface cluttered with a chaotic arrangement of papers, quills and pencils, a half-empty mug that hinted at a recently consumed beverage.

  The scent was familiar, comforting to the boy—a musty scent of old parchment and leather. The scholarly disarray, the only sense of home. Like an old friend, the sight greeted him, and the haphazard arrangement of the room reflected the surprise of his unexpected return.

  “Just enough space for your… friends there,” as Gerey gestured to the worn couch.

  “Thanks, Hagan? Relia.” As he mirrored the old man’s gesture.

  “Selriph…? Who is this person?” Relia’s voice came softly, yet intoned with curiosity as she carefully took a seat next to Hagan.

  “What do you think, girl? That I am some old geezer that holed up in the centre of literary knowledge of the empire..?” he turned his head to Selriph. “People your age need to learn to read between the lines.”

  “Yes, Sir… I am sure she can infer who you are,” as Selriph’s eyes landed on Relia, his head subtly gesturing to the book-lined walls. “She was just asking out of politeness.”

  “Being nice doesn’t preclude the redundancy of asking the obvious,” his voice was casual, despite the comment.

  “It’s.. just been a taxing day for us, forgive us if we are a little slow on the uptake,” as Selriph paced towards the old man, now seated at the desk.

  “Well, your head better be awake enough to answer the first question I gave you: what possessed you to come back? Templars came here in waves, asking around for someone of your likeness.” He paused as he took a sip of the dark liquid in the mug, accompanied by a soft gulp.

  “Won’t be long before they come back, even with them distracted by recent events.” his words came as then dripped the quill in ink, returning to the work that the trip’s untimely arrival had interrupted.

  Selriph paused, unsure of how to articulate his explanation without incurring a berating response from Gerey—they had a mutual understanding. This endeavour was folly. There was no poetic ending to this plan; it would simply serve as a quintessential illustration of na?ve optimism.

  Hagan rose from his seat, walking up to the older man, his voice low but firm. “We are here to rescue a mutual friend recently captured by the Templars. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

  “You need to learn to be more specific.” The scratch of the quill on parchment punctuated the silence between words. "Many people have been caught up in the latest witch hunt due to the resistance's reckless actions," his voice intoned mockingly.

  “Not them, old mage, living in the tunnels. The one that had a scuffle with a Blackguard gave the inquisitor a black-eye.” Hagan replied, voice restrained, the slightest hint of frustration in his voice.

  “Same difference, central prison complex. Impossible to break out. Should that indeed be why you’ve returned, your folly challenges even the sorrowful tale of Cal’hur,” his gaze flicked briefly at the muscular woodsman, casting a shadow on the old man.

  “Shift your form, you’re casting a shadow,” as Gerey said as his hand waved a dismissive motion.

  Selriph interjected, “We—I know it’s folly. I am here for… moral obligations”. The mention of the word caused Gerey’s quill to stop dead in its tracks, as if frozen in ice.

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone to adhere to moral obligations, not after your many passionate tirades, especially after chancing upon Falnor’s Paradox.”

  Faulnor’s paradox, to insist on doing good in the face of all circumstances, exposed for what it is: sanctimonious nonsense.

  Selriph paced towards Hagan, his head shaking as he gently gestured for Hagan to return to the couch, away from the lantern that hung at the door.

  “Let’s just say recent events have… forced me to reevaluate my take on it. Anyway, that is not the only reason I am here,” as his head turned slowly towards the woman sitting on the couch.

  Gerey turned, His eyebrow quirked, a subtle sign of his puzzlement. “Came back for her? What could—”

  Regretting his initial words, Selriph interrupted Gerey while berating himself internally. “She has family here. I promised to escort her to them. After that, we will be gone, won’t overstay our welcome here. You have done more than I could have hoped by letting us in here.”

  “Fine. But you and the lass are to be gone before first light tomorrow, won’t be long before they start poking around here for more scapegoats to hang for this debacle.” as he turned back to his writing.

  “Of course, we won’t tarry.” Selriph stepped forward, catching the corner of Gerey’s eye.

  “Then the usual, two rooms down from here. The key is in the usual place.”

  “Thanks… I could not say this before I left, but I want to say now: thank you.”

  Selriph received a silent nod, a brief flicker of affection in the old man’s eyes, mirrored in his own blue eyes, for a fleeting second.

  The boy turned to the door, gesturing for his companions to follow.

  Down the familiar hallway, to the room, which was the closest place that felt like home during his nightmare in the Templar compounds. Where all returned to their families for a recess, prayer and reflection.

  The memories of the cold winter nights of the Solhallow—the final days of the year. The only time he wasn’t bound by invisible chains to his bunk in the Templar Compounds.

  Buried in the comfort of books.