By the time Oak’s feet touched the first step of the stairs leading to the fifth floor, he was about to pass out. At first, the strain of keeping the flame he had summoned going had made him sweat like a pig, but as time passed, he began to feel chilly. Before long, he was shivering like mad. It felt like the blood in his veins had turned to liquid-ice and his teeth were chattering so hard he could barely speak.
The flame went out. Oak turned around, expecting to see the horde of books rushing forward to kill the three of them. Not a single book approached the staircase. The horde stood still for a moment and then, almost like the books had reached a common decision of some sort, the swarm dispersed back to their shelves.
Oak stared at the calmly receding sea of books in incomprehension. Why aren’t we dead? He could not figure out why the books retreated at the moment of victory. Legs feeling like jelly, he stumbled back and sat down on the stairs. Ur-Namma slumped down next to him and Geezer walked past them both, settling down a bit higher up.
“Why aren’t we dead?” Oak asked, after his teeth stopped trying to chatter their way out of his skull.
“I’m not completely sure, but I would wager that has something to do with it,” Ur-Namma said and pointed up the stairs.
Oak turned his head and looked. By the Chariot. He turned back to Ur-Namma and asked, “Am I seeing things or is there red flesh growing on the stairs?”
“We are not lucky enough for that to be a hallucination,” Ur-Namma said.
“Fuck,” Oak said. “I knew it. That flesh is going to try to eat me, mark my words.”
“I think that is a fair assessment of the situation,” the elf said and handed Oak a water bottle. “Drink, before you pass out. That last stretch looked rough.”
Oak blinked. When had the elf opened the rucksack on his back and taken something out of it?
By Ashmedai’s balls, I am dizzier than I thought.
He accepted the bottle and took a long swig from it. It felt so good he ended up drinking the entire bottle in one go. When he finished, Ur-Namma handed him another bottle and a package of hardtack.
“Eat,” the elf ordered, and Oak was in no state to argue. He dug into the biscuits in a mechanical fashion, shoveling food inside his mouth like it was a furnace in desperate need of coal, which was not too far from the truth.
Once Oak had eaten his fill and there were no black spots in his vision any longer, he wiped his hands on his trousers and decided it was time to ask some questions.
“So. Now would be a good time to tell me what’s up there,” Oak said and pointed up towards the fifth floor. “Especially since the books fear it so much they did not dare to even approach the stairs.”
“There are a lot of reading rooms up there, community spaces, that sort of thing. They used to be open to the public before the Doom,” Ur-Namma said.
“And?” Oak asked. He knew the elf was keeping something back.
“Well. To tell you the truth, most of the floor is filled with ritual chambers,” Ur-Namma said.
“Ritual chambers?” Oak asked. He had not thought it possible, but the sinking feeling in his stomach had just gotten worse.
“Yes. There are multiple small and medium-sized ones, and then there is the massive circular chamber in the middle of the floor for large workings,” Ur-Namma replied.
“Right. Okay. Sounds great. Fucking fantastic,” Oak said, waving his hands towards the stuff of nightmares covering the staircase. “Do you have any theories about this red, cursed looking flesh growing all over the stairs because that looks fucked? Proper fucked.”
“Not as such,” Ur-Namma said. “I have an inkling about how this devilry came to be, though. You see, the Imperial University held some captured dwarves for research purposes. They were trying to lift the curse. I guess the dwarves escaped their cells when the city fell to Yam-Nahar’s malice and ended up here.”
“I appreciate the history lesson, but what does that have to do with anything?” Oak said. The flesh on the stairs was making him anxious. “I also resent the implication. A lot of devilry is perfectly reasonable behavior.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Bear with me,” Ur-Namma replied, ignoring Oak’s valiant defense of the Hells. “We have only run into so many dwarves here. The university had a lot more of them captive, and Alasie was the only mage among the ones we have killed.”
“Meaning?” Oak asked.
“I suspect that the rest of the spellsingers are responsible for whatever that is,” Ur-Namma said, nodding towards the cursed looking flesh. “In addition, I think the reason an onslaught of dwarves has not killed us lies in the same place. The rest of the dwarves are inside that cursed flesh. They are that cursed flesh.”
By the Corpse of God, why? Cursed dwarf paste? I hate my life.
Oak stared at Ur-Namma for a moment to make sure the elf was not joking, but he seemed deadly serious. “I have to say, that is the most diabolical thing anyone has ever said in my presence,” he confessed.
“Thank you?” Ur-Namma said.
“Right. Before we do anything else, I’m going to take a piss. I don't want to die with a full bladder. Then we can start wandering into the cursed, whatever the fuck, so our bodies can provide sustenance for it when it inevitably kills us all,” Oak said, and stood up. He was going to piss over that railing and he was going to enjoy it.
Life is short. Make every moment count and so on.
***
To say that Oak was not feeling confident about any of this would have been a gross understatement. Sadly, their current predicament could be characterized as a dilemma. Those were Oak’s favorites. He loved it when every possible course of action sucked balls.
“Have you considered just calling it quits?” Oak asked. “There might be nothing useful in your sister's vault after all.”
They were standing right in front of the cursed flesh, which seemed to grow down the staircase. Now that they were up close and personal with it, he could see veins and strange black growths inside it.
“No, I have not considered retreat,” Ur-Namma replied, and stepped on the flesh.
Oak could not help flinching, but against all of his expectations, nothing happened. “I was kind of wishing it would attack you so we would have a valid reason not to continue forward,” he admitted.
Ur-Namma gave Oak a flat look. “Who dares wins,” the elf said.
“All right, all right,” Oak said, and stepped across the dividing line between stone and flesh.
The first thing he noticed was the fact that the flesh was warm to the touch. It was radiating heat through the soles of his boots, and it was soft like a baby's bottom. His feet sank in just a tiny bit.
Geezer sniffed the flesh for some time, before Oak convinced the hellhound to step on it. Fortunately, the dog had the good sense to not take a bite. There was no telling how that would have ended.
With careful steps, the three of them started walking up the stairs. Geezer managed just fine since his claws gripped the flesh with ease, but Oak was glad there was a railing to hold on to. The flesh was slippery.
The climb was not too difficult, but it was tedious. The stairs zig zagged up the wall, so every once in a while they reached a small landing, and turned around. Oak did not want to stare at the flesh he was walking on, so he distracted himself by looking at the library hall below.
The books had, for the most part, returned to their normal places. Individual books patrolled on top of the shelves, but there was no sign of the horde that had assailed them earlier.
There had been something insect-like about the way the books had swarmed.
Like ants or locusts. This place is like a hive. We are very lucky books can’t reproduce.
All thoughts about the nature of walking books vanished from Oak’s head, when his foot slipped and he slammed face down onto the flesh covered staircase. The solid grip he had on the railing was the only reason he did not roll down the stairs.
“By the Chariot,” Oak cursed and picked himself back up. The stab wound on his forearm had not enjoyed being slammed against the stairs, and now it was aching like mad.
“I recommend not doing that again,” Ur-Namma said.
“Please jump into a well, skeleton,” Oak muttered, but the elf just laughed at him. “The nearest lake would also be acceptable.”
Geezer trotted to Oak’s side, and the worried dog licked his hand. He bent down to give the dog a scratch behind the ears. “See, unlike you, Geezer cares about my wellbeing,” he said and cradled his wounded left arm.
Once Oak had gotten his bearings, they continued to climb.
Soon they reached the final landing before the fifth floor, and Oak could see the entrance at the top of the stairs. The cursed flesh traveled up the walls and the ceiling, covering the edges of the entrance from all directions. When they walked inside, it would utterly surround them. To make matters worse, some type of fleshy tendrils covered the entrance, drooping down to the floor from the ceiling.
The tendrils were wriggling.
“Oh, fuck absolutely all of that,” Oak said.
If we walk in there, the flesh will be all around us. From here, the fifth floor looks like the insides of some great beast's stomach.
“I have to admit it looks disconcerting,” Ur-Namma said. “But I do not see any other way.”
Oak took a deep breath and slowly let it out. I’m still breathing. Like the old man used to say, indecision and delays are the parents of failure. “Ain’t nothing for it then. Let’s go before I lose my courage.”
Every hair on Oak’s body stood on end, as he pushed the tendrils covering the entrance to the fifth floor aside and walked into the belly of the beast.