Chapter 228: High Priest of the Lionheaded Spider
The sewers were as dark as an abyss. Putrid, rancid liquid churned in the ditch. Mice and cockroaches scuttled in the corner, chirping loudly. Quiet sound of footsteps approached the corner, and three men with torches in their hands came to a stop.
“The fleders’ corpses are missing,” someone said.
“Human blood is irresistible for vampires, and the blood of lower vampires is irresistible for beasts as well.” Auckes touched the side of his hood and whispered, “The monsters must have devoured the fleders’ bodies.”
“Look around. There’s no flesh or bone around. It doesn’t look like the bodies were eaten,” Serrit said.
After sending the knights back to Adda. Serrit and Auckes came to the sewers with Roy. A group of three witchers could deal with most dangers.
The witchers’ eyes started gleaming, and they saw the trail of something getting dragged away. A red ribbon made up of blood floated above that trail, pointing straight into the darkness. “Here.” Auckes wiped the putrid water off on his bandana and strode ahead, following the crimson trail.
Roy and Serrit followed. Contrary to Auckes, they were more careful. They put out their torches and hid themselves in the darkness, looking around them with every step they took.
The bodies were not dragged away very far. They went past two marked passages and came to an old wall filled with moss and small plants. It was a junction. The left and center paths were uncharted territories. This was where the crimson trail stopped.
The witchers exchanged looks and searched the area. In the end, they found some marks on the brick of the corner wall. It was some basic runes of the common speech in the north. It was impossible for something like this to appear in the putrid, dangerous, and remote sewers, unless it was a trap. The witchers knew that, of course.
Serrit and Auckes remained still. They had no idea what this was. Roy thought about it for a moment, and he was reminded of that bizarre dream he had. He was trapped in the web, and that spider-like creature screeched at him. “Grayba the Black… gray… ba…” Oh yeah. The fleder’s tongue had that engraved on it as well. Is this a coincidence? Roy looked at the runes on the wall again. No. It’s no coincidence. “This is the trap’s password.” Roy touched the brick and told his companions to unsheathe their blades and cast some signs. A battle might be approaching.
When he was done touching all the runes, a clear, crisp sound rang in the air, as if someone had unlocked a door with a key. Roy pushed the brick ahead, and the wall, which had not budged a moment ago, swung open. The heavy wall dragged itself across the ground, and it rumbled. Eventually, a secret chamber revealed itself before the witchers. They waited for a moment, but nothing came out, so two of them went inside to scout.
Serrit went in first. He took out a glass ball the size of his fist and rolled it across the ground. Roy stepped ahead, walking strictly on the line carved out by the ball. They came into a narrow corridor, and the floor was covered with a crimson carpet caked in dried blood. They also saw the trail of fresh blood. The walls were dark and dank just like the sewer walls, but someone must have polished them, since they looked a bit smoother.
A spacious hall stood behind the corridor, and a brazier burned in the corner, illuminating the hall. It was a stark place with nothing but an altar in the center. The witchers then caught a whiff of a stench more putrid and nauseating than the one radiated by the sewer water.
The altar was filled with bones. Hundreds, if not thousands of bones were piled up on it, forming a small hill. There were the bones of small animals, dogs, drowners, nekkers, and even humans. Most of the skeletons had been there for years. They were nothing more than bones, but some of them were new. They were decomposing, and pus and blood stuck to them, while bones were poking through from the flesh.
They also saw the fleders’ bodies there. The witchers looked ahead, and a big wooden rack stood behind the altar, while a portrait was hanging on it. There was a web in the portrait, and a lionheaded spider was nestled in the middle of the web. It had black fur, sharp legs, and a grotesque body. That spider was the mini version of the monster Roy saw in his nightmare.
“Grayba the Black… Is it referring to this spider?” Roy paused for a moment. It was then the crimson pattern on the back of the spider started squirming, as if it were alive. It turned slowly at first, but it picked up speed until it became a whirlpool that attracted all his attention. At the same time, he heard the murmurs of a hundred people in his ears. The young witcher saw an illusion appearing before him, and he started spacing out, but his incredible will rang alarms in his head. He shook his head and bit his tongue. The sharp pain crushed the illusion before it could form, and he looked away. “Don’t look at that portrait!”
Roy was starting to look a little solemn. “If I’m right, the Great Weaver you’re talking about is also the God of Omens, isn’t it?”
“Y-You’ve heard of it before?”
“That’s not all. I’ve seen it before,” Roy said, sounding grim.
The God of Omens. That was what the people called the Lionhead Spider. It was a cruel deity who believed in darkness and destruction. It expected its believers to give it frequent bloody sacrifices. Its believers saw it as the weaver who weaved human fates into a great web. The web was constantly expanding. Once a line was broken, it would mean death for a certain person. If someone were to commit suicide, their thread would break as well. The Lionhead Spider was also called the god of sudden and unpredictable death.
The Lionhead Spider and its cultists were infamous for their human sacrifices and their priests’ evil curses. Some of the priests knew a lot of curses. They could sacrifice their own life and curse their killers, taking their lives even from beyond the grave.
Roy had seen that twice. Alan, the late leader of a troupe, was cursed to change into a werewolf every night. He met a grisly end to save his own children. Nivellen the beggar also faced a cruel fate because of a priest’s curse as well.
The cult of the Lionhead Spider was infamous in the north. Almost every kingdom had banned it, and its church was nearing extinction. However, Roy never thought a secret base would exist right under Vizima’s nose. It would have been kept a secret far longer if it were not for him clearing the place out for Adda. “The cult of the Lionhead Spider and the Church of Virtue both want to set up camp in the sewers. Is this place some sort of lucky spot? And the fleders!” Roy looked at the corpses before the altar. “What do they have to do with this cult?”
Abigail leaned backward, putting a bit of distance between her throat and the blade. “They were the guardians tamed by the last priest.”
Roy was shocked. “The Lionhead Spider’s priest can tame monsters? Hm, I guess so. You wouldn’t have surrendered if they were still alive.” Roy looked at the priestess again. The look in his eyes made her tremble. “So, Abigail, are you a local? Where’d the remaining priests and believers go?”
“I grew up in Vizima.” Abigail looked at the brazier, her eyes gleaming. “My foster mother, the last priestess, died many years ago. I’m the only priest left in Vizima.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Serrit brought the blade closer to her throat. He did not care about the believers or this woman. He would rather kill them all. They had created this evil cult after all, but Roy stopped him.
He wanted to use Axii and get some answers out of her, but the young witcher pulled his finger back all of a sudden. Alarm bells were ringing in his head, telling him that something disastrous would happen if he kept this up. The Elder Blood is warning me? “What a troublesome case.” He would rather face another fleder than dealing with a cult’s priestess.
“I’ll leave this for the Church of Virtue,” Roy decided. “Let’s go. Take Abigail to the princess. She wanted to set up her church in the sewers, after all.”
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