The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 34: Apple X

"The Gugly-eater!" Elizabeth blurted out.

The Kingdom of Araya was a land of myths and heroes. It had no lack for monsters that starred in household caution tales. One such bedtime story warned of the Gugly-eater that resided in the deep crevices of the Jewelled Canyons.

Those who sought riches had often ventured into the Canyons in search of precious stones. But straying from the Jewelled Road did not bode well for them at all for the Gugly-eater awaited for prey in the darkness, in the deepest of chasms that the sun could not reach. The stories said that travellers would sometimes chance upon diamonds and gemstones when wandering off into the labyrinth of tunnels and passages that cut the Jewelled Canyons. Like fish to a lure, they filled their pouches greedily. And at the end of the dark trail, the Gugly-eater would fill itself.

Countless miners and simple travellers alike were lost in the Canyons, never to be seen again. They said it was a demon, some said it was bandits, others said it was the cruel Canyons itself that trapped the unknowing souls in its warren of tunnels, their cries drowned in the wind, their skeletons to be buried together with the stones they stole from it.

The villain of the folk tale stared at them with its sightless eyes, pushing its pale grey body up with its blubbery tentacles. For its lumbering size, it was a miracle that it had not slid off the steep wall of rock yet. Apple soon found the reason why.

Two arrays of thorns lined each of its limbs, lustrous as crystals. They bit into the rock as it climbed, ensuring its purchase and its slow but steady ascent. It groaned, mouth gaping to expose its rows upon rows of teeth. It stretched out its tongue and struck the flowers that illuminated it, scattering them.

Apple craned to behold it better but the sudden vertigo sent her back flat on the wall.

"It's truly ugly like its name," grimaced Calla who then yelled, "ARM OF THE FAITHFUL!" Her released energy compacted into an enormous arm with a clutched fist that pointed directly down at the gaping mouth of the monster. Brandishing her hand down, the arm hurtled itself onto the rotund snout of their adversary. KABAAM!

GUAANNNG! It moaned in pain as the floor shook and the edge of the strip of floor they stood on eroded by a little. The shot landed perfectly but the monster clung to the rocks like a barnacle.

"Careful! We might fall instead," Apple warned. She sent a swarm of petals into the creature's mouth to choke it. Instead, it thrashed its free limbs, threatening to bring down the ledge with it.

"Let me," Elizabeth spoke, expression twisted in trepidation. "But I'll borrow your flowers, Apple." She roared, with a tremor in her voice, with all her soul behind it, "HEAVEN'S RAGE!"

The tendrils of power that came out of Elizabeth reached for Apple's blossoms. In a spell, they went up in a blue blaze. The flames crept down to the mouth of the Gugly-eater where Apple had lodged a huge mass of flowers in. Whatever the blue flame touched was consumed. When it reached the moist blubber, the creature shrieked in pain, flames crawling all over it. Thrashing, it soon lost its grip, or it probably gave up on its prey altogether.

GRANGG! It moaned as it fell back into the blackness of the hole it crawled from. They watched as the blue blaze grew tinier until the dark had swallowed it whole.

"Nice work, Elizabeth," Calla complemented her.

At the beat of drums, five doors materialized at the opposite end of the pit. They carefully followed the ledge to reach them. At each stage, the amount of energy dropped by nearly a half. Now that these were the fourth set of doors, it was much fainter by a long shot. Luckily for Apple's team, she had the most sensitive nose for sniffing holy and demonic energy.

Nodding at Calla and Elizabeth, she swung open the second door.

The room they entered was uncannily familiar to her. She smelt the sharpness of varnish, the sweetness of paint and the earthy scent of yarn and pinewood. She blinked, thinking her eyes were mistaken.

Rows of life-sized puppets hung from the ceiling, their heads tilted askew, limbs hanging lifelessly at their sides. Their eyes gazed at no particular direction; their feet dangled motionlessly above the dusty ground. It was her father's storeroom.

The House of Rules created rooms out of the scholars' memories, she realized. Be it fantastical or real. It did not necessarily need to be a fear.

The clank of heavy wooden shoes sounded from a corner. Not yet, she wanted to tell it. It's not yet time. But what stepped out from the dark stupefied her.

"A Gabrielic exorcist?" Calla said behind her.

He was dressed in the dark flowing garb of a Gabrielic exorcist, face veiled by an equally dark curtain that draped from the brim of his tall hat. On his back he carried an enormous white sack soiled by histories of his job. He stood no more than an inch taller than her.

Why are you here?

When he raised his hands and clapped, Apple suddenly lost strength in her legs. Darkness took over her vision completely.

When she came to, she found Calla on her knees, bruised and battered but still full of vigour. Above her was a red titan of a spectre that clutched the lifeless figure of the dark-clad exorcist. Its head broke past the ceiling, revealing the sky. The Guardian. She was forced to use it. With the energy required to materialize it, it only meant she had practically depleted her power reserve.

Around Apple was a puppet carnage. A puppet's head she recognized burned in blue flames next to her. Pinewood limbs and bodies lay burning on the cratered floor. Elizabeth slumped on a corner, panting, face drenched in sweat.

I slept through it. How could I?

"Calla," she uttered, full of regret, "Forgive me I could not be of help."

Their trusty leader stepped over to her and patted her shoulder gently, "It's done, Apple. No need to fret. But I'm troubled by the fifth penalty, whether we'll make it. I'm dry. And so is Elizabeth."

As if on cue, the last set of five doors grew into existence on the featureless walls of the storeroom. It was only the fourth stage but they nearly failed if not for Calla and Elizabeth's talents. She had no way of knowing what waited for them in the fifth penalty room.

"We take the holy route this time, what do you say?" Calla asked her party.

"I'm spent, I can barely move," breathed Elizabeth.

Apple nodded. "Well then, please follow me."

She opened the door bearing the faintest fragrance of a holy artifact. The room was simple, bright and aromatic, cozy and lulling. It made her tempted to stay there. In the middle of it was a dining table with no chairs, just a crate on top containing oranges. At the far end waited a single door that led to the brown study room from before.

Carrying the crate of oranges, they stepped out the House of Rules to the sound of applause from the Aleph class. The sign on the board read 350 — the leading score, only to be beaten if the fifth penalty room would be conquered by the two succeeding groups, if they would be able to pinpoint the door to it at all.

Professor Mallory clapped for them, "That was a good call, seeing how exhausted you three are. You can go and rest or wait here."

"I'll be off, thank you for trusting me. I'll see you two tomorrow, " Apple bid farewell to her party.

"No, Apple it was thanks to you that we could navigate the House the way we wanted." Calla embraced her, beckoning the weary Elizabeth to join.

Untangling from them, she searched for her friend from Copperhill who had finished the test before her. "Hannah," she called softly.

Hannah said, understanding without the need for words, "I'll accompany you." She took her hand as they left the Henge Circle.

"Apple, I just wanted to know," Hannah said as they crossed the brick-laden path that connected the buildings in Demach, "What is he to you? Do you like him?"

She wanted to know too. "He's a friend," she answered plainly. One who put himself between her and a deadly weed, resulting to an injury that even now had not yet healed. "And I'm his only friend."

Hannah bobbed her head as if her curt replies satisfied her question enough. "Did something happen between you two that made you avoid him since the Ophanim's day?"

Maybe when you cut your strings, Apple. Then come and cut mine too. Even now, the meaning of his words eluded her. It only filled her with an unbearable unease. She struggled to enunciate to Hannah, "We had a little misunderstanding."

"Well, lovers normally fight...," her friend commented playfully.

Her cheeks felt hot. "Quit it." She hit her gently on the arm.

The way to the infirmary was dotted with maple trees, their foliage slowly transitioning into their fiery autumn hue. Their sweet scent that reminded her of vanilla calmed Apple's trepidations, even just by a little.

They found Yuri waiting outside the door to the ward.

He beamed, "I knew you'd come."

"Why are you outside here?" Hannah asked.

Sniffing the air flooded with a familiar fragrance, Apple gained a clue as to why.

"Well, someone came in. I felt I should leave them be," he said more softly.

"Who is it?"

He whispered, "Marco Vermilon."

"Really? Why?"

"It's beyond me."

"But is he well?" Apple asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

Yuri nodded, "You can see yourself." He swung the door ajar.

Apple glimpsed Marco Vermilon sitting next to Lucas's bed, a book in his hand. The vast sea of his holy reserve overwhelmed Apple's senses. On the other hand, his brother seemed peacefully asleep, scentless as a young fawn.

"Go ahead, Apple," Yuri shoved her tenderly, "See you at supper." He shut the door behind her.

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Marco looked up from his reading. "How was your Test, Apple?"

She walked over to them silently, scared she'd wake Lucas. "Not bad, we got 350."

"Oh, impressive," he praised. "I knew you'd have no trouble sensing which doors were which."

"But you got the perfect score last year, that's much more impressive," she said.

"How did you know?"

"I believe only you would be capable of it when Professor Mallory told us a team from last year managed to reap 450."

He laughed, "Well, it was a team effort."

The Genius of Demach always humbled himself. She knew he could breeze through the Test all by himself.

"How is he doing now? Earlier, it looked as though he was in an escapable trance." Apple had seen those same looks before in Father's missions. Waking them was complicated. More often than not, they succumbed to it, their minds trapped forever.

His eyes fell on the sleeping figure of Lucas. "He woke up earlier, but he only said he's tired and wanted to sleep."

He said the same thing to me too when I questioned him. She wondered if it was no different for Marco Vermilon, if Lucas even trusted him.

Perhaps... She mused over it for a moment before she asked, "Diana told me why she loathed him. Do you know the name of David Rupert?"

Marco Vermilon stayed quiet for a second, his hand touching the scar on the left side of his cheek. It was a long gash that had imprinted a shadow of a line over an otherwise impeccable face. Apple was curious about it too but she thought it was a mystery for another time.

He sighed, "The skeleton in his closet catches up to him eventually, huh?"

"Is it true?" She could not help herself asking. If it were, she believed there must have been an excuse for it, a reason for a gentle lad like him to commit such atrocity.

"Ten witnesses claimed so," Marco replied, not denying the accusation, "But I myself was not there. I cannot tell you if it's true or no."

Diana's rage was justified. Apple understood then why she wanted him dead.

"To answer your first question, David was a foster child of my family. But House Vermilon failed to protect him. He died an untimely death, in the most gruesome way."

"Is that why he was disowned?"

He nodded slightly, "A punishment for a little boy who was barely five." He turned to her, "You know why I'm telling you?"

She shook her head at him.

He went on, "Because David Rupert was his close friend. As his friend now, you ought to be aware. Whether you'll stick by him or cut ties with him is up to you. I had hoped he could start a new life here, meet new people. But I see now, that's impossible. Lucas has to face the consequences of his past, no matter how difficult it is. He needs to reconcile with it."

To Apple, his words were enough confirmation. The white dove's letter alluding him seemed more likely now.

Apple recalled the day when she went to see her father in his atelier, the afternoon after she visited the injured Lucas in the streets of Gallenport. She had found Uncle Patrick there in his dark garb, his face veiled, the enormous white sack on his back.

"Patrick has found a suspected demon," Father had told her. "He said you are acquainted with him, my child."

She had no choice but to admit it then, "I'm still observing him, Father. We need absolute confirmation. What if he isn't?"

"You knew for a time, and you kept it from me?"

"Forgive me, Father, I was unsure."

"It's alright, my sweet daughter. But have you ascertained now?"

"I cannot say. It is hard to tell. He is scentless." If she divulged that he smelled like a demon on particular instances, the exorcists would rid of him without forethought. She owed him that much for saving her life. She wondered if she was making a mistake.

Uncle Patrick had uttered, voice deep and grating, "I have sent word to the Order. More exorcists should be on their way by now."