24. The Guard
A red light flooded into the ghost room. Hundreds more torches in brackets were burning a blood red. There was plenty of light to see by, but it cast a strange glow around the room and onto their faces.
They found themselves in a large room, the other side of which they could not see. It was circular, and a great domed roof rose up above them like in a cathedral. Painted on this roof, white clouds held Ancient Greek gods, all dressed up in war gear. They held spears and swords and maces and bows, charging at the enemy. In the centre of the ceiling, the army of Greek gods clashed with creatures of hell, the God of the Underworld, Hades, leading the attack, whilst his minions roared behind him.
Shelves and shelves of books stood, side by side, cramped up even in the expanse of the dome. Books of all the different subjects they could possibly think of were jumbled and placed randomly on the shelves, squished up. Some books hadn't found a place on the shelves, so they had been thrown to the floor. Every surface was piled high with books of all shapes and sizes.
The walls were entirely shelving. There was no patch of actual wall visible. The books rose to the ceiling, the highest ones so far up that they appeared minuscule. On the other side of the room, a titanium sliding ladder was in itself covered with yet more books. Each rung (they were flat) was piled with at least three or four books, in some cases as many as eleven or twelve books all stacked up in one precarious tower.
Charlie turned to the others, about to speak, but closed his mouth. He felt a sharp pang of guilt. Where he'd escaped relatively unscathed from their adventures, the others bore wounds from their recent encounters.
Phoenix had a large gash across her cheek that was bleeding freely, the brilliant red blood dripping down her face. Jason sported a blood soaked shirt. Peter limped from a deep cut in his ankle.
But Emma's was the worst. She had been suffering in silence, she hadn't said a word. But now Charlie could see the holes in her wrist where the fangs of the snake had penetrated her skin. Blood trickled from the two holes, twining down her palm and dripping gently off the end of her fingers. A nasty yellow colour was slowly, steadily spreading from the bite. Her hand was almost entirely covered, and now the poison was working its way up her arm.
He looked at her and he saw in her eyes the pain, but she glared at him so fiercely, holding her head high, straightening up, that he knew she wouldn't let it stop her.
Pressing on, they weaved through the shelves that towered above them, making for the centre of the room. If they hadn't been able to tell where they were from the ceiling, the shelves would have been like an unbeatable maze. As it was, they tried to make their route as direct as possible.
Peter tripped and knocked a book off a shelf with his flailing arms.
“What To Feed To The Loch Ness Monster by Gertrude Thornton.” he muttered. “That sounds exciting. How do you even write a book that long about that?” He shoved it back onto the shelf.
Past a few more shelves they stumbled, finally rounding the last bookshelf. In the centre of the room, a great white pedestal sat. It was ornately carved, steps leading up to the top, which was about a metre from the ground. Atop the pedestal, a colossal book lay open. The pages were worn and thin, yellowing to a colour similar to that of when you spill tea on a piece of paper. It was hand written, a looping, fancy handwriting written in a red ink.
Plunged into this book, a titanium sword gleamed. An orb was set into the pommel, glowing faintly white. It gave out a slight radiance, drawing their eyes like magnets. Inside, it pulsed, and as they looked closer they saw within it clouds swirling, like a miniscule storm.
