Disclaimer: Dark Souls and its characters are the intellectual property of From Software.

Chapter 10

Past midnight, a dozen heavily-armed men appeared at the gates of a fine house in the Odenburg district of Vinheim. They were confronted in the courtyard by the master of the household, a merchant who had made his fortune importing silks and spices from foreign lands; he strode down the steps from the front entrance, the darkened windows of the mansion filling with light behind him as the servants and inhabitants were roused by the commotion.

"Swords and halberds?" said the merchant, a formidable-looking man of more than fifty years. "All for one young woman?"

The leader of the men stepped forward. "Apologies for our late intrusion, Master Wolfram. I am Belgar, of the Watch. We have reason to believe a Hollow is being harboured in this house."

"Mmm, my daughter," replied the merchant. "Not five days dead, and already ruffians have gathered to torment her!"

"No ruffians are we," said the guard captain. "We are the Watch, and we are entrusted with the protection of this city. All Hollows are to be rounded up, and conveyed to the asylum."

"Ten men to capture a young woman?" scoffed the merchant, scornful eyes flicking from face to face. "Or is it ten men here to line their pockets? Very well – I'm a wealthy man. How much to see the back of you?"

"I will assume for your sake that you are maddened with grief at the tragic death of your daughter, five days ago," said the guard captain, his voice becoming infused with a dangerous edge. "If you were sound of mind, however, and you were to offer a bribe to a city official...well, the Hollows can go to the asylum, and the corrupt can go to gaol."

The merchant snorted with disdain. Two other men – much younger, but just as brawny – appeared in the doorway. They made their way down the steps, and joined their father at his side. "You're not having our sister," said one.

"Your sister is dead," said the guard captain. "We're here to capture the abomination that was left in her place."

The guards pushed their way inside. As they marched through the house, doors opened and shut, anxious faces peering warily through. Some of the servants gave the guards approving nods. They hated the Hollow. They hated her mouldy skin, they hated her white, desiccated eyes, they hated the way that when she spoke, it sounded as though rotten air was being expelled from a crypt. They wished to be rid of her.

Strange, how the Watch had somehow known that an Undead was in hiding in this particular house...

Nemeta was in her bedroom. A Hollow in a white nightdress. The guards clamped a shackle over her neck, so that they could keep themselves at a safe distance by pulling taut two chains at either end. "I can walk, I can walk," she mewled in that ragged voice. "Please, allow me some dignity."

The guards marched her outside. From behind half-closed doors, the servants watched her go. They saw the pallor of her skin. They saw the blackened toes on her bare feet.

"Keep your spirits up, Nemeta!" said one brother.

"Yes, you're not defeated yet," said the other.

Captain Belgar prepared to leave, but fingers clasped his elbow.

"You should have accepted my bribe, guard captain," hissed the merchant. "Now I'll have to think of another way to spend that gold."

()()()()()()()()()()()

"Nemeta!" said Sieglinde. "Heavens, you're almost Hollow!"

Indeed, Nemeta looked as though she had just spent a few days in a freshly-filled grave, and then been dragged back out of the earth. Her flesh was sunken and discoloured, her hair white and untidy, and her clothes mud-stained and dishevelled. She seemed confused, also – she wavered a few paces from the group, uncertain, and from the way her gaze wandered about, it appeared that she could not decide which was stranger: the fact that Quelana was standing amongst her Undead companions, or the fact that the Archives were being gobbled up by flames.

"You alright, friend?" said Laurentius.

Nemeta peered at Quelana, and then back at the inferno. "Why are the Archives on fire?" she asked, at last.

"Seath possessed Logan, and then he tried to kill us all," said Sieglinde, the squeaky matter-of-factness of her voice an odd counterbalance to the ghoulish horror of the event. "We were able to escape, but now we have to burn all of his books to make sure he doesn't possess anyone else again. But look, Nemeta! Your teacher is here!"

Quelana stepped forward, and Nemeta goggled at her in something approaching amazement. There was something almost surreal about her, and then Nemeta realized that Quelana was so much a part of Blighttown, so intrinsic to its atmosphere and ambiance, that it simply seemed unnatural for her to be anywhere else. It was unsettling for Quelana, with her tattered black robes and shadowy cowl, to be amidst the gleaming spires of Anor Londo. It was off-putting to see her anywhere but that dark swamp.

"It is rude to stare, my student," said Quelana, breaking the girl's trance.

"She slew Seath for us," said Sieglinde, always eager to be as helpful as possible.

"Mistress, I looked for you," said Nemeta, quite a bit more of a quaver in her voice than she intended. If her bottom lip were not decomposing, it may perhaps have wobbled. "I went down to Blighttown, to look for you. You weren't there. I thought something might have happened to you."

"Oh," replied Quelana. In spite of all her years of seclusion, in spite of all her feigned uncaring, a fragment of her mother's maternal instincts survived within Quelana, and now she realized that a little tact was required. "Forgive me. I came to Anor Londo to find you. I never meant to cause you trouble. We can talk now, can't we?"

Nemeta nodded, pretending to understand. Mistress came to Anor Londo to find me? Well, it's about time she made the effort! Perhaps when she's had to slog her way through all those miles a few times, she'll be more appreciative of what an exceptional student she has. Still, leaving Blighttown is rather unusual for her. Whatever would prompt her to leave her home?

For the time being, Nemeta pushed her doubts to the back of her mind. She noticed an unfamiliar face, at the back of the group. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Who am I?" Patches made a big show of looking around to ensure no one was standing behind him. "Only a slave, a prisoner, a beast of burden." He pointed a shaking finger at Quelana. "This enchantress has enslaved me!"

"Enslaved you?" said Laurentius, baffled.

Nemeta gave Quelana a questioning look. "He's a brigand who preys on unsuspecting travellers," she explained.

"A brigand?" said Sieglinde, alarm rising in her voice. "We allowed him into the Archives!"

"You needn't worry," said Quelana. "I have him safely under my thumb."

Patches fell uncharacteristically silent as he felt Sieglinde and Laurentius' combined glare focus upon him.

"Is everyone safe?" asked Nemeta. "Where are Griggs and Ingward? Did they get out of the fire?"

Laurentius shook his head, sadly. "No. They perished in the struggle with Seath. And Logan is dead, of course."

Nemeta sagged. "Oh, gods..."

"And now we have to chase after the books that his sorcerers stole..." he added, rolling his eyes.

"What? Why?"

"Seath discovered a different way to achieve immortality," said Quelana. "Through his books. Do not let it bother you."

The Undead seemed to remember at once that Nemeta had her own responsibilities to consider. "Nemeta, did you battle Gravelord Nito?" asked Sieglinde.

"Y-yes," she said. A dazzling flame appeared in her palm, and Sieglinde and Laurentius gave an appreciative gasp. "I took his Lord Soul."

"Oh, nicely done!" said Laurentius. "Only one more to go!"

"But first, a nice long rest," said Sieglinde, cheerily. "If only we still had a nice place to stay..."

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you Hollow, Nemeta," said Laurentius.

"Yes, you look so strange!" said Sieglinde, with rather unnerving joviality. "I'm so used to seeing you as a pretty girl! Have you no sprites left, Nemeta?"

Laurentius laughed. "I always tried to tell Nemeta: sprites are the most precious treasures in all of Lordran. We use them to preserve our humanity, and to strengthen the flames, but Nemeta, she just wants to look handsome! Whether she's trekking through a sewer, or fighting her way through a mausoleum, Nemeta always has to look her best, always has to look like a human. Friend, you must be the only soul I know that uses sprites as cosmetics!"

Quelana sprang forward, and took Nemeta by her arm, leading her away from the group. "I must speak with my student," she said. "Nemeta, come."

()()()()()()()()()()()

"You burned down my Archives," said Nemeta, sorely. "That's why you went to the trouble of coming all the way to Anor Londo, isn't it? Wouldn't want me sleeping too comfortably, would we? No, my pupil, no carpet and cushions for you! Grass and muck, that is the pyromancer way!"

Quelana made sure that they were enough of a distance from the others, and then she took a deep breath. May as well plunge in.

"Nemeta, you have been deceived," she said. "You are not going to be the Queen of Sunlight."

Nemeta stared at her. Her face was too far decayed to express astonishment and incomprehension very well, but Quelana could guess her mood. "What?" she asked, simply.

"Kingseeker Frampt and Gwynevere have been misleading you all along. They intend you to link the Flame, that much is true...but when you do so, you will be bound to the fires, eternally. Gwynevere will inherit her father's mantle. That was always her plan. She will rule as the Queen of Sunlight, while you...you will sustain the Flame. You will prolong her Age of Fire."

Nemeta's cadaverous visage afforded her a degree of inscrutability. "You are mistaken," she said, her voice faint.

"I am not," said Quelana. "Gwynevere has woven quite the web of lies, but I was able to find the truth. The fate that she has in store for you...it is not what she promised you."

Nemeta's face remained an impassive mask, and Quelana realized how much she missed the girl's expressions; her exaggerated pouts, her skeptical eyebrows, her smug smirks, and all the other ways that her emotions found such ready expression. "But...I...perhaps I misunderstood her. Perhaps she didn't explain clearly enough. Perhaps, perhaps she will become Queen of Sunlight, and I will become the Sun, and..."

"Nemeta," said Quelana, gently. "If you link the flames, as Gwynevere intends, you will spend the rest of eternity burning."

Quelana held Nemeta's empty gaze, silently willing her to understand, to accept.

And then Nemeta began to shake her head.

She began prodding her finger in front of Quelana's face. "No," she said. "No. No, no, no, no, no. No, you're lying. You're lying!"

"Lying?" said Quelana, aghast.

Nemeta huffed and wheezed. "You're trying to trick me!" She began to shout and shriek, and as she ranted on, the dryness of her voice made her seem even less dignified. "You just want to save your mother, and your sisters! You know that I have to go down there to slay her, and take her soul! You'll do anything to fool me into staying away!"

In an instant, Quelana's recent journey flashed before her eyes. The Valley of Drakes, Firelink Shrine, Sen's Fortress; all the hardship and terror that she had endured to be here for her pupil.

"Oh, you stupid girl!" she spat. Without thinking, Quelana reached up with one hand, and pushed her cowl away. At long last, Nemeta saw her Mistress' face.

Quelana was every bit as youthful as the day she first reached womanhood...and yet her eyes spoke of a thousand years of seclusion, and loneliness, and bitter regret.

The Witch of Izalith had been a beautiful woman, indeed.

"Listen to me, you blithering idiot! That Flame will devour you for eternity, do you understand? If you are wondering how it will feel, allow me to enlighten you. Immediately after you link the fires, the flames will begin to lick at your flesh, and you will instantly rue your decision. But it will be too late, by then. The fires will burn you, make your skin melt, make your blood boil in your veins, and there will be nothing you can do about it. You will cry, and scream, but not a soul will come to your aid. You'll cry for your mother – because you are such an infuriating child – but she will not answer. You'll cry for your father, your brothers, but they won't hear you. You'll cry for me, but darkness knows, I tried my best to save you! You'll be trapped, do you understand? However much you beg, you will not escape. It will never end. You will never die, and you will go mad with the pain. You will go insane. You will spend an entire era deranged, screaming in agony, clawing at your flesh while it burns endlessly, and the only hope you will ever have is that some soul, just as foolish and blundering as you, will come along to put you out of your misery."

For a moment, Quelana was reminded of the horrifying stories the Witch of Izalith told her little children to ensure they behaved.

Nemeta could not cry. Tears could not form in her eyes, snot could not run down her nose, and her throat and lungs were too dry to force her to sob. As she watched Nemeta tremble and fidget, Quelana realized that the girl's entire universe was crumbling about her. Her dreams of becoming the Queen of Sunlight – the dreams that had kept her sane throughout this Undead nightmare – were rotting away to nothing. Gwynevere – whom the girl had, much to Quelana's consternation, idolized – had deceived and betrayed her. The girl was brimming with fury and disappointment and unhappiness and desolation, and, worst of all, she was trapped in a decaying body which would not allow her to release it

Quelana sighed deeply, her arms hanging limply at her sides. "My mother and sisters are gone," she said. "They have been lost to me for a very long time. I don't have very much in the world. I just want my pupil to be well."

It took a while for Nemeta to speak next. "How did you learn this?" she said, quietly.

"There is a...an Everlasting Dragon, in Ash Lake. Yes, the Dragons that my mother and I fought in the ancient war, difficult though it may be to believe. Some of their kind survived. He...he knows that, even today, Lord Gwyn abides in agony at the heart of the First Flame. It seems the Dragon finds this fact so amusing, that it will tell anyone who happens to wander into conversation with it."

Gradually, the resentment and anger and hatred seemed to seep out of Nemeta, and she began to more and more resemble the lifeless husk that she actually was. "Princess Gwynevere lied to me," she stated.

"Yes."

"And Frampt."

"Yes."

Nemeta pondered this a moment. "I don't what to do," she said, finally. "What should I do?"

"Run away," said Quelana, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Leave Lordran, and never return."

"What will happen if I do that? What shall happen if I leave?"

Quelana shrugged. "Perhaps some other soul will come along. Perhaps someone will prove themselves as strong and brave as you, and become another Chosen Undead."

"And what if they don't? What if there isn't another?"

Quelana steeled herself. "Then the curse of the Darksign will continue. It will become worse, in fact, the weaker Gwyn becomes. The more time passes, the more Undead will rise, and the more the world will fill with Hollows. It won't be long before there will be more Hollows than human beings."

If Nemeta were fully human, at that moment her skin would have whitened, and her eyes widened in horror. Instead, she could only put a hand to her mouth in dismay. "How will I live with myself?"

Ah, now there was a question Quelana could answer. "I lived with myself for a thousand years," she said. "It's simple. You'll see."

"But...so many Hollows...all the suffering...all those poor people, trapped in a nightmare...and it would all be because of me!"

Quelana could easily have lost the argument, at this point. She could easily have hemmed and hawed, and failed to say anything meaningful, failed to allay Nemeta's fears. She could have failed to convince her pupil to flee this forsaken land. Nemeta might have sacrificed herself to the First Flame, Quelana standing helplessly by as her student languished in the fire.

But Quelana knew exactly what to say.

Quelana knew exactly what Nemeta needed to hear, and how it needed to be said. She had been practising ever since she had left Blighttown.

Each step of the way, the insects had been following Nemeta through Lordran. From her den in Blighttown, Quelana had been watching as Lautrec betrayed Nemeta, and cut Anastacia's throat. Quelana had been watching as Seath snatched Rhea away, and indulged his sadistic whims upon her.

Quelana had been watching as Gwynevere and Frampt promised Nemeta the Sun.

Quelana drew near to Nemeta's face, demanding her gaze. "What do we know of the world, my pupil? Silver-tongued beguilers who flatter and seduce innocent people, and then stab them in the heart. Deviants, degenerates, perverts, who violate and dishonour women who are not strong enough to resist. Liars, and tricksters, and cheats, who prey on hopes and dreams."

Quelana studied Nemeta's face, and caught an almost imperceptible nod. Raising her hand, she gently stroked Nemeta's cheek, fingertips grazing putrefied flesh. When she spoke next, her voice was almost a whisper.

"The world doesn't deserve your sacrifice, my young student. It's not worth saving."

In her mind, Nemeta realized that she did not need excuses to leave forsake her duty.

No, the world did not deserve her; it never did.

It was too late.

Nemeta had seen too much. She had learned to much.

They should have seized her and thrown her upon the First Flame the moment she arrived in Lordran.

They never should have allowed her to meet Lautrec.

They never should have allowed her to witness Seath's atrocities.

They never should have allowed her to see the world for what it really was.

The Nemeta that first arrived in Lordran – a terrified Hollow in a white nightdress – believed that the world was worth saving.

The Nemeta that stood now in Anor Londo – the protégé of the mother of pyromancy – knew better.

Nemeta remained silent. Peace had settled upon her, and Quelana knew that she was victorious.

Some way off in the distance, Quelana and Nemeta could see that the towering flames of the Archives had attracted the attentions of the Lady of the Darkling, who was now in conversation with Laurentius, Sieglinde and Patches. "If I leave," said Nemeta, "what is to stop the gods from sending their servants after me? They could hunt me down, and take me back to Lordran in chains. They'll toss me on the fires."

"Never mind them," replied Quelana, dismissively. "I remained undiscovered in the swamp for a thousand years. They'll never find us."

Nemeta brightened ever so slightly, and Quelana's heart leapt and danced. "Mistress is coming with me?" she asked.

Quelana gave an amused snort. "Blighttown was my home for a millennium. If I'm willing to set even one foot outside for you, I'm willing to go anywhere, wouldn't you think? Anor Londo, Astora, Vinheim...they're all distant places, to me. You didn't imagine I would let you face this alone, did you?"

"And mark this, my pupil. Every time you begin to wonder whether you did the right thing, I will be there to knock some sense into you. Every time a hint of guilt or doubt enters your silly head, I will cast it out."

()()()()()()()()()()()()

The Undead rested for a few days, and then it was time for Laurentius and Sieglinde to leave, to embark on their journeys back to their homelands, and warn their countrymen of Seath's enduring malice.

"Goodbye, Nemeta," said Sieglinde. "Or perhaps I should address you as 'Your Highness'? Despite everything, I am looking forward to the future! If we never meet again, I just want you to know that I think you'll make a wonderful Queen of Sunlight!"

"Farewell, my friend," said Laurentius. "It was a pleasure knowing you. When you come into your kingdom...well, people probably won't believe me when I say that the Queen of Cinder once saved my life. But hey! Don't delay in linking the flame, now! If I'm still Undead when I return to the Great Swamp, they'll throw me in the asylum, and we wouldn't want that!"

"Goodbye, Quelana," said Sieglinde. "You saved my life in the Archives. I will never forget."

"It was an honour to meet you," said Laurentius, bowing respectfully. "I cannot express how much your pyromancy has enriched my life, and the lives of others. Thank you."

"You be good," warned Sieglinde.

"Any harm comes to those two women," said Laurentius, "and you'll have me to deal with, you scoundrel."

Nemeta watched as Laurentius and Sieglinde vanished into the mountains that separated Lordran from the rest of the world.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Quelana kept Nemeta confined to a house on the outskirts of Anor Londo. She kept her amused with pyromancy, and sent Patches out to hunt for food or luxuries.

Quelana did not allow Nemeta to confront Gwynevere, or Kingseeker Frampt.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Before Nemeta and Quelana departed Lordran, there was one thing to do.

The pair delved into the remotest, most inaccessible region of Sen's Fortress – keeping Patches safely in front, of course, lest they fall afoul of any dangerous traps. In an almost unreachable culvert, they left the three Lord Souls that Nemeta had gathered from all around the realm – the souls of Gravelord Nito, Seath the Scaleless, and the Four Kings of New Londo.

If indeed a new Chosen Undead came to claim his 'throne' in Anor Londo, perhaps he would have the good fortune to stumble across what Nemeta and Quelana had left behind.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Nemeta and Quelana knew that, if they tried to leave Lordran through the mountains, Gwynevere's agents could give easy chase.

No matter. Quelana knew another way.

Down the three went to Sen's Fortress, to Darkroot Basin, to the Valley of Drakes, all the way back to the bottom of the Blighttown swamp. There, Quelana stood in the middle of the great marsh, the poisonous goop slopping about at her heels. She gazed at the mosquitoes buzzing about. She gazed at the enormous pillars stretching through the air. She gazed at the ramshackle city clinging stubbornly to the walls above.

"It must feel strange, saying goodbye to your home after such a long bloody time," said Nemeta. She had regained her human beauty, and now quirked an ironic eyebrow at her Mistress.

"Hmmm," said Quelana. "Well, there will be plenty of time to wallow in nostalgia later. Come. Let us be on our way."

Before they left, Quelana allowed herself one final glance westwards, at the massive silken mound at the far end of the swamp. Perhaps Quelaan was still alive, Eingyi still pottering about at her arachnid feet. Perhaps she had perished abandoned and forgotten not long after Quelaag was slain.

Quelana turned away, and followed Nemeta and Patches into the Great Hollow.

()()()()()()()()()()()

Further downwards, to Ash Lake.

Quelana led Nemeta and Patches to a secluded bay, and there they found, of all things, a small wooden vessel, resting on the sand.

Patches threw a little tantrum, lamenting that the waters were full of unspeakable beasties and that they would all be devoured alive.

Quelana blandly asserted that she had avoided the attentions of the Blighttown predators for a millennium, and was confident that she could do the same on the lake.

Nemeta tartly suggested that if Patches so feared being eaten, he could at least row quickly.

His shoulders slumping in defeat, Patches pushed against the side of the boat, and began to slide the craft into the water.

"And so the reign of Queen Nemeta never comes to pass," said Quelana.

"And so Salaman will never be surpassed as your greatest accomplishment," replied Nemeta, ruefully.

Quelana snorted. "Are we prepared?"

Nemeta nodded, her lips pursing, her eyes hardening. "Yes. Let's go."

Nemeta and Quelana climbed aboard the vessel, and together they cast off from the shore, their servant pushing through the black water with his oars.

Nemeta and Patches peered apprehensively about. Patches did not shatter the eerie silence with inane babble. Nemeta did not spoil the surreal atmosphere with clever quips. The three drifted silently across the waves, the archtrees soaring high above, the waters stretching out in each direction as far as the eye could see. At the bow of the craft, Quelana's eyes were tightly shut, all her thought focused upon concealing their presence.

Quelana and her pupil left Lordran behind, and never returned.