The Gate to Thomerion

by Daniel Heck

  You ask once more as desperation tightens your chest, “What is this personal cost of which you speak?” Only silence follows. The image, calm and patient, folds its hands.

  “I would have liked to think,” you grumble, “that you were not this cruel.” The second after hearing that, the image winks out.

  You stand. Silently asserting to yourself that there must be some better way to accomplish this task, you press the cube again. It brings you back to the other side of the door, and you help calm Titania of her shock and confusion, before briefly explaining that nothing significant came of the exploration.

  Over the rest of the current day, you investigate the depths of the Arcanites’ headquarters and even start up some basic conversations with those that know about the plans for the gate to Thomerion, while pretending to the best of your ability to already know what they’re talking about. You even volunteer for a mission to occur the next morn, but insist upon sleeping outdoors—you need to reconnoiter with Galumnuk…

  The next morning, however, you find that the gagged guards have disappeared, and that you face an unusual hurdle: reciting your morning prayers no longer imbues you with any magical energies. You try channeling through your talisman, but by all estimations, it acts like a completely ordinary piece of wood and nothing more.

  You spent a solid couple decades developing divine skill, only to have it taken away; evidently, the sun goddess took offense and now considers you to have abandoned your calling.

  Who am I to challenge Thomerion now, you reflect with tears in your eyes, but a powerless commoner?

  Go back to the previous choice, or start again.

  “It’s an unfortunate truth of the universe,” you say, “that sometimes, force is called for.”

  Titania says, “Don’t tell me you’re going to fight the beast.”

  “I’ll try to keep my distance,” you say, even as you puff out your chest and exhale in a burst of forced courage.

  You step just inside the room, close enough to see the bear via the dim light but still outside the range of its claws. A tiny voice of hesitation speaks up within you.

  The church taught you to respect and preserve life. What do you think you’re doing? This creature doesn’t know better. And it’s just chained there. It has every right to be mad.

  You remind yourself that this is for the greater good.

  As the bear thrashes some more and your head reverberates from its roars, you pull your sun talisman from your vest pocket, and aim it carefully at the beast’s midsection. Its arms keep blocking the way, so you can’t get a clear shot, and you take a small step to adjust.

  A mess of pebbles shifts underneath your foot, and you slip forward, just far enough that the bear swats the talisman from your hand with one gigantic paw, then grips your left arm with the other. This sends you further off-balance, and suddenly you’re flat on your face. Before you can get your hands underneath you, you feel serrated claws dig into your back, and the bear pulls you further toward itself. Your companions’ gasps barely meet your ears, as your entire body is now caught in an underarm lock and being squeezed to the point of indescribable agony. Despite your struggles, the bear eventually crushes your sternum as easily as if it were a rotted wooden crate. The world is left to wonder, not so much what happened, but why it had to happen that way.

  Return to the very beginning.

  You close your eyes and, feeling Titania’s fingers wrapped gently around yours, channel divine energy into the cube. After several seconds, you reach toward its top with your thumb and depress the yellow button.

  The next instant, you find yourself somehow alone, near a raised stone slab. A lantern hanging on a nearby hook illuminates the small surrounding area, and banners matching the colors of the Arcanites’ robes hang over the slab’s edges. The golden door stands nearby, except this time its rune patterns are reversed, proving you made it through.

  You whisper, “If this isn’t a sacrificial altar, I’ll eat my talisman.”

  You run a finger across the slab’s granite surface. A film of dust thereon sends particles flying across your field of vision.

  But, what now?

  You think at first to recite some ancient texts you memorized in school via the divine language of the gods. Something within your spirit, however, urges you to keep things simple, should the wizards come to retrieve you and involve you even deeper in their inner workings.

  Which would probably help us in the long run, you admit, but if there’s a less risky way to do it…

  You whisper in the common language, “Powers that be, beings of might, guide me. For I seek a helping hand to dictate what shall be done in the name of protecting Ambrosinia from Thomerion, your archenemy and the dark angel cast away from the realms of divinity during the infancy of time. He threatens the purity of life via his evil ways. Whatever can be done, show me how.”

  Silence. A moment passes.

  You start to stand, when a flash of light nearly startles you clear out of your robe. Blinded, you take a moment so your eyes can recover, but then see a small image of a blond woman in cyan robes hovering inches over the altar’s surface. No more than a foot tall, the image is clearly magically projected, as if from a great distance, and ethereal. It crackles with energy but fails to physically interact with its surroundings.

  “Bartleby, my servant.”

  The calm voice puts your soul at complete rest and peace.

  “I can grant your request, but only at a great personal cost.”

  You nod and listen for more. The goddess of the sun—you’d been taught all your life that the deity was male—waits in turn. Even as you prompt her, she refuses to explain, giving only a shake of her head.

  What do you do?

  I take a leap of faith and complete the bargain.

  I pass this up and take my chances using mortal means.

  “I don’t care what you’re thinking,” you tell Stephano, “since that thing is much bigger than us. To take it on hand-to-hand would be a fool’s mission.”

  He coughs and turns his head.

  Titania says, pointing to the huge iron gate, “Let’s try to knock the yeti out.”

  After some discussion, your group heads back to near where the yeti still sits occupied. The bear corpse, however, looks much more deeply picked over, almost barren. It seems you are just in time, as the creature slowly stands, stretches, and glances about at its surroundings for more.

  Stephano and Titania each take a position on opposite sides of the archway, with Titania manning the lever. Waving your arms, you step into obvious view and take several large bounds forward, to within yards of the creature. It grunts and stands abruptly.

  “Come get me, ya big galoot!” you shout.

  Its fur standing on end, the yeti roars, pounds its chest and stomps toward you with a gait longer than the height of all three humans put together. You cover the distance back to the archway in the swiftest sprint you can remember mustering, but when you get there, you extend a hand for Titania to hold action until just the right moment.

  The ground shakes as the creature’s sheer mass compacts the dirt, one huge, unthinking step after another, and you almost slip in anticipation. “Wait…. One more...”

  It’s now just a few yards ahead…

  “Now!”

  Titania flips the lever, which clanks loudly. True to your suspicion, the porticullis rumbles into action, as gravity hurls its spears into the head and shoulders of the beast, which collapses before it even realizes what’s happening. Gruesome amounts of blood spill from the wounds and seep into surrounding dirt, tinting it midnight blue.

  Holding a hand over one eye, your love gingerly peeks at the corpse, only to retch and move the hand to her mouth.

  Stephano claps a few times and cheers, “Well done, well done.” As Titania backs away, the paladin raises the lever back into its original position, and the porticullis retreats into the archway. The spears make a doubly sickening scrunch as they de
tach from the clearly dead monster.

  After allowing some time for your adrenaline to subside, the three of you casually stroll toward the end of the tunnel. You say to Stephano as you walk, “Thank you for bringing us here.”

  He chuckles, half-smiles and replies, “No. Thank you.”

  Suddenly, Stephano bolts toward the far wall, grabs the golden monkey half, turns and makes a beeline for the exit.

  “Hold!”

  You and Titania get ahead of him and wedge yourselves in the archway. Stephano’s momentum almost bowls you over, but he stops short.

  He yells, “You would never understand!”

  You think you see, just underneath a corner of his armor, part of a robe of black and red, like that of a Thomerion devotee. Your mind flashes back to six years ago, when you saw such vestments on much less experienced youths, ones that could have argued at the time that they didn’t know any better.

  “Oh, we understand,” you reply, “that you’re not whom you appear to be!”

  At that, the paladin swings his fist at you. You dodge just in time; a gloved knuckle brushes your nose as you quickly ready your sun talisman. Titania kicks Stephano in the groin, and he buckles in pain, which gives you enough time to recite a mystical word. But something occurs to you amid all the din: this traitor probably knows a lot he hasn’t said yet.

  You aim to subdue, but in the hubbub your arm gets nudged too far; a ray of energy blasts forth from your talisman and strikes Stephano straight in the heart. He drops to the floor with a shout, and the idol piece clanks in the dirt, thereafter rolling several yards away.

  “By the gods. This thing doesn’t always work as intended.” You kneel and channel just enough healing energy into the paladin’s chest to keep him alive for a few more minutes. The wound does not close.

  Stephano mumbles, “I know when I am defeated, as rare as it might be.”

  You and Titania exchange dubious glances. The circumstances dictate quick questioning.

  “Why did you bring us here,” she asks, “If you knew that we wanted the same thing for different purposes?”

  “Do you think,” he replies, “that I would have been foolish enough to take on the yeti alone?”

  “And yet,” you comment, “we killed it with what was already here.”

  “Enough,” Titania chides, “What more do you know about the idol?”

  “The Arcanites want it. The gate shall open, if they have anything to say about it.”

  “We want to destroy it. Is there a way to do so safely?”

  “That is a long-kept secret among their inner circles.”

  You frown. “Would you rather die knowing you didn’t divulge it?”

  Stephano pauses, breathing heavily as his body begins to fail. He scrunches up his face, then starts to weep mildly. “I should never have associated with them,” he says, his tone filled with remorse, “for the path of the paladin is one of honor! This, all this, is merely shame.”

  You look straight into his eyes. “Then, redeem yourself.”

  Another pause. He nods, struggles to clear his throat and continues, “One of the cannons atop the royal castle in Whitetail is enchanted. If you load anything you want within it, aim it straight upwards, light the fuse and fire it with no powder whatsoever, its magic can launch the object into the expanses of the universe, never to be seen again. Look for the cannon with two small notches near the end of its shaft.”

  You nod. “Thank you.”

  You and Titania stand and have taken a few steps toward the exit, when Stephano creaks, “There is one more requirement, before you can fire the cannon.”

  You turn and kneel over him once more. “What? What is it?”

  He coughs mightily, and his eyes flutter. “Go to the throne room, and… and…” In the next moment, with a final wheeze and a tremendous shudder, Stephano’s head and body go limp.

  You check for a pulse, but find none. “He’s gone.”

  With a heavy heart but also renewed vigor, you find your way out of the fortress and locate the gryphon, still obediently waiting. Unsure of how to fly it, you see little other choice as to how to get back home. Fortunately, it lets you mount, then steer it with gentle pulls on the reins. As you soar, it strikes you that you will have to act quickly once you get home, since Stephano’s absence is bound to raise red flags among both the Shieldwings themselves and these Arcanites, whoever they are.

  The flight proceeds without incident. By the time you reach home, the sun has dipped well beneath the horizon. As the gryphon is without a true master, you incant a calming spell to induce it into sleep. With droopy eyes, it curls up in a pile of weeds outside your home, looking comfortable and safe.

  Just enough time remains in the day to hire a pair of retired militiamen as bodyguards, a task Titania takes on with fervor. As they help ensure that you and the idol are protected for the night, you retreat to bed, and swiftly fall asleep.

  If you have both halves of the idol, press forward with your plans.

  If you still need the other half, proceed toward finding the nomads.

  The tracker raises an eyebrow.

  “I know far less about stone than about living creatures,” she says.

  Darlayne cautiously approaches the statue, examining its detail. She runs a hand across the stone, then retracts it with a visible shiver.

  “Are you all right?” Titania asks.

  The tracker nods. “Cold…. but not as lifeless as I thought.”

  She puts a thumb to her chin. Her eyes lower, their gaze meeting the statue’s base. From your perspective, the mooring appears loose. Another moment passes, before the tracker glances over her shoulder with a mischievous smirk.

  You and Titania exchange glances.

  “What are you thinking?” you ask.

  Suddenly, Darlayne pushes off from the ground, launching herself into a charge. She crashes shoulder-first into the statue, but it holds fast. She rebounds with a yelp, holding her arm in agony.

  The statue’s eyes zero in on your party. Titania gasps and holds a hand to her chest. You lunge forward, but an invisible force repels you.

  “By the gods! That one-per-chamber rule…”

  You hear a gravelly dwarven voice echo from within the chamber, and think you see the statue’s mouth move. “I expected kinder company,” it grumbles. As Darlayne stands by helpless, it raises a stony arm, which reaches toward a unique brick in the wall. It shoves the brick aside, and the ground starts to shake. Walls crack, and stalactites fall. Panic floods you.

  Running for your lives, you dodge dirt and detritus with every step, and feel your heart pounding, begging for survival. Your party has made it to within a few yards of the entrance, when the ceiling caves in. A boulder shatters your skull; the pain lasts only long enough for you to wonder, one last time, whether Duke Mudd ever truly cared for your servitude in the first place.

  Return to the very beginning.

  Better safe than sorry.

  You whisper to Titania, “If memory serves, these creatures are rarely found alone. We can wait a little longer… but not much.”

  The will-o’ wisp evidently hears you. It closes the distance and changes its bobbing pattern: it now streaks back and forth in jagged lines faster than your eyes can keep up, leaving traces of light on your retinas. Then, it starts to buzz, and changes colors from pure white to an irritable orange.

  You and Titania exchange glances. It seems to pose much less actual threat than you perceived at first, but when you step aside to proceed further, it flies back in front of your face like a persistent gnat.

  You roll your eyes. “Enough of this,” you grumble. You hold your talisman in front of you and aim carefully as it continues its protest. A scorching beam blasts forth from the item, sails right through the creature and chars an anthill on the other side. The wisp doesn’t visibly react.

  “I should have known.”

  “What do you mean?” Titania asks.

  “Its body�
�s made of light. It’s unharmed by divine energy.”

  Titania scratches her head in confusion, and bites her lower lip. “Of course. Anybody with half a brain knows that.” You cough at her thinly veiled sarcasm.

  “May I?”

  Titania reels when she sees that you mean to borrow her dagger.

  “You’re going to fight it hand-to-hand?”

  “Don’t argue.”

  She irritably shoves a fist into her hip, but hands it over. Your heart accelerates as you slash several times in quick succession. It dodges most of your strikes, but you keep trying. You are about to give up when a final attempt feels like it should have struck home, but much like the energy beam, does no damage whatsoever.

  You arch an eyebrow as you slow down and catch your breath. “That… makes no sense,” you huff.

  Titania pulls on your arm. “Look! There!” She points toward the trunk of a large maple, behind which a bearded man lurks within the shadows. Seemingly in the middle of casting an illusionary spell, he freezes for an instant, then breaks into a full run away from you. At the same time, the will-o’-wisp disappears entirely.

  “Stop, by the authority of the church of the sun!” you shout. The man ignores you and keeps running.

  If this is an Arcanite, we must prevent him from reaching his superiors…

  What do you do?

  I use my talisman to blast the wizard!

  We chase him on foot through the woods!

  “I overheard some plans just now,” you share, “that I think I need to speak with Stephano about.”

  “Plans?” Titania asks, “What kinds of…. Wait!” Before she can finish, you’ve already stood and begun pushing gentlemen and ladies alike aside in your fervor. As the paladin is not as noticeable without his armor, you listen carefully for his voice, stopping occasionally to stand on tiptoe and scan the room.