by Sever Bronny
“Pretty sure we passed the deadline,” Leera glumly said. But they did not pursue the matter, and instead allowed their imaginations to roam the dark corridors. Augum pictured King Samuel readying a group of slaves to sacrifice for his blood debt. He tried not to think of people from Arinthia being part of that awful number. He tried not to think of a lot of things.
More hours passed and the dark mood subsided in the deep silence. They stopped at the next alcove, too tired to care that the door looked like something from a prison, with its rusted iron banding and thin slatted wood. Augum helped the girls remove their breastplates, then Leera helped him with his. They placed them aside, deeming the armor too uncomfortable to sleep in. They needed a good night’s sleep to survive what likely lay ahead.
Augum withdrew the square of fur. “Expandio cota.” It exploded into a coat, which he donned. The girls followed his lead. They settled in, backs to the door, nestled in blankets in the alcove as if expecting it to shelter them from the storm. They felt exposed out in that infinite space, whilst hiding in an alcove felt cozy.
Leera peeked around the corner. “Anyone else find this hall unnaturally spooky? I mean, feels like I’ll wake up in the middle of the night, peek around the corner and see some massive horse demon galloping toward us.” She sat back and cuddled next to Augum while pulling the blanket over herself. “Exhausted is right. Need sleep. Night, you two.”
Bridget leaned the other way, against the corner, drew her hood well over her head, and then drew the blanket up to her chin. “Night.”
Augum gently unspooled from Leera and peeked around both corners. The eternal Hall of Rapture made him feel like he was at the very bottom of a giant chasm, the walls a vise. He drew his hood and nestled back with Leera, holding her tighter and planting a kiss on her head. He had not wanted to admit it to the girls, but he was worried … and scared.
The Journey
“Wish we had the thing,” Augum said as they ambled along, bringing his hands together and expanding them as he squinted, trying to make out the object in the distance.
Leera raised a brow. “The thing?”
“You know, the thing to see faraway things with. We had one in the war. Shoot, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”
“You mean a spyglass?”
“That’s it! Thank you. Yes, a spyglass.”
Leera looked back down the corridor and squinted as well. “We wish. Couldn’t afford one anyway as the glass-grinding process is arcane and pricey. Might as well try buying a Dreadnought dagger.” She blew her hair away from her face. “Gods help me the whole thing is a blur. I should have gotten spectacles instead of worrying how terrible I’d look.”
Augum and Bridget exchanged looks but stayed silent. Neither wanted to state the obvious, that yes, she should have. But talking about spectacles with Leera was like tiptoeing around a sleeping tiger.
They had endured the cold night and, after a small breakfast of dried bacon bits, cold potatoes, journey bread and a single apple—all of which they shared—the trio had resumed their trek, only to spot a distant black speck jutting out from the left wall.
Bridget adjusted a side strap of her golden breastplate. “Only thing we can do is keep our guard up.”
Augum’s war instincts took over as he habitually scanned the few alcoves within sight and repeatedly glanced over his shoulder. They all walked by the wall, in case they needed to duck into an alcove for protection.
Time passed and the speck drew closer. When they were about a thousand feet away, they compressed their coats with the Deflatio cota command.
“Still a blur,” Leera noted. “Can anyone make it out?”
“It’s flat, whatever it is,” Augum said. “And it’s sticking out of an alcove.”
Five hundred feet later, Bridget gasped. “Those are legs!”
The trio stopped to stare as if unsure if they should continue.
“Don’t commoners think something like that is an ill omen?” Leera whispered.
“To some, everything is an ill omen,” Augum replied, staring at the legs, almost expecting them to twitch. The question was, was this part of the quest, or something else entirely? Was this one of the missing students?
They resumed a cautious pace, spreading out for better mobility in case of combat. Augum unsheathed Burden’s Edge and held it steady by his side.
Whoever it was, they wore an amber robe, indicating 7th or 8th degree. As the trio stepped before the alcove, they saw a person whose head was obscured by their hood, hands tucked inside the sleeves, leaning against the door. The air here was ice cold, fogging their breath.
Bridget raised a hand and, using Telekinesis, delicately pushed the hood off … revealing another Bridget. This one looked up at the real Bridget with bloodshot eyes, and there was a snarl to her features. Her skin was deathly pale and had a waxy sheen.
“What is this?” Bridget whispered, taking a step back, hands shaking but prepped in attack position.
The body began to rise in a most unnatural manner, with the torso floating upward and the feet dragging back. The trio recoiled, summoning their shields and shouting, “Summano arma!” Burden’s Edge elongated into a longsword crackling with lightning; a watery short sword appeared in Leera’s fist; and Bridget readied an earthen arrow in an ivy bow that appeared in her hands the moment she finished pulling back the arrow.
But none of this bothered demonic Bridget, for she hovered in place, feet dangling uselessly below her, arms at her sides. Her head tilted down as her eyes remained fixed on the real Bridget. “Squire,” demonic Bridget said in a deep voice. “Answer me this. How much pain would you endure for love?”
Bridget’s breathing was rapid as she thought, arrow poised to fire. “I … I don’t know,” she whispered at last. “I don’t know!”
Demonic Bridget let out a breath that sounded like a long and low growl. The door behind her clicked and opened, revealing a cramped ivy-encrusted room, except the ivy was blood red and blotchy, as if sick. In the center of the room was a stretch rack. Olaf writhed on that rack, hands and feet bound.
“Bridget!” Olaf shouted. “Bridget, it’s me! Is that the real you? I was teleported from the academy all of a sudden. What’s going on? Please, gods, help me, what is happening? Bridget, oh, Bridget, please help me—”
“It’s not real,” Augum blurted. “You know these trials, Bridge, they test the mind.”
“Aug, are you crazy!” Olaf shouted. “I’m no damn apparition! What are you three waiting for? Get me out of here! Kill the demon! Kill it!”
Demonic Bridget ignored Olaf’s pleading. “You can take his place, squire, or watch him suffer.” Demonic Bridget raised a hand and a large crank began to turn on the rack. But instead of replying, the real Bridget loosed her arrow. It lodged into demonic Bridget’s head with a squishy thunk. The demon fell like a ragdoll to the ground, the arrow disappearing, leaving a black hole. Augum and Leera were about to charge in to save Olaf when Bridget stuck out her arm. “No. It has to be me.” She summoned another arrow and drew her bow, stepped past the body and entered the room, checking the corners. Augum reached around the doorframe and held the door in case it wanted to slam closed, cutting them off.
Bridget approached Olaf, who squirmed in place. After checking it was clear, she allowed her bow to disappear and frantically untied him. When he was free, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of there.
“Baka!” Augum said, arcanely shoving the body of demonic Bridget back into the room after Bridget and Olaf had flown by. He reached around the frame once more to telekinetically pull on the door and close it. Then he stepped back, a shiver running down his spine.
Olaf’s face was red and sweaty as he spoke. “Gods, Bridge, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. That was the right move. She would have tortured you, I know it—” She grabbed the sides of his head and pulled him in for a kiss.
Augum and Leera exchanged a warm look and averted their gazes to give them privac
y, though not completely in case Olaf wasn’t as real as he claimed, especially considering the squire trial.
“You are so incredibly beautiful,” Olaf said when they stopped kissing. “And I’m so goofy and … and fat.”
This caused Bridget to snort a laugh and Augum and Leera to snicker.
“Stop insulting yourself,” Bridget said. “I appreciate you for who you are. Your personality and your kindness eclipse everything else. But you are a bit of a goof. It’s endearing.”
If blushing could make a sound, Augum was sure they would all be deaf.
“Are they treating you all right?” Bridget asked.
Olaf’s face fell as he swallowed, and it was then that Augum noticed his amber robe was muddy and there were cuts on his fingers. Bridget noticed them too, for she grabbed his hand between hers and whispered, “Oh, Ollie—”
The door opened again, and they all started. But instead of a demon, it was Trintus Bladeofbright who emerged, hair, beard and Frock of Perpetual Fire aflame. He stood before Bridget. “There are always five options. The first, the second, both, neither, or one freshly conceived.”
“Honor’s class,” Augum whispered, recognizing the lesson.
Trintus placed his fiery gaze on Olaf. “Thank you for agreeing to give aid, Squire Hroljassen. You have done a service. Now it is time for you to return and forget.” He stepped aside, leaving the door open. Beyond was a room of bright green ivy, in the center of which waited a black portal.
Olaf took both Bridget’s hands in his, kissing them once. “Goodbye, Bridge, and good luck.”
Bridget’s hand trailed along his until their fingertips let go, and she watched him enter the room.
Trintus glanced at them with a grave, molten look before closing the door.
“Why … why didn’t I ask him to wait?” Bridget blurted, holding herself and staring at the closed door. “I could have said the things I’ve wanted to say for a tenday. I could have—” She shook her head. “I’m so self-absorbed.”
“Pfft, don’t be absurd,” Leera said. “If you’re self-absorbed then there’s absolutely no hope for the rest of us. Your problem is you focus too much on others and not enough on yourself. Besides, didn’t you hear Trintus? Olaf will forget the whole thing even happened.” Then she chortled as she elbowed Augum, whispering, “Trintus used him like latrine paper. Poor bastard. Guess honor had a different interpretation in the olden days.”
Bridget only sighed.
They walked for hours on end, taking the occasional break to rub their sore feet. But it was the food situation that worried them most. Out of the three waterskins they had brought, two were empty and the third was half gone. And they were down to about a day’s worth of rations—maybe a day and a half if they stretched things out.
“We’ll have to conserve our strength,” Augum said at one of their rest stops. “Which means we keep talking to a minimum, and no unnecessary movements.” He glanced at the distant black vertical line where the Hall of Rapture went dark. “Let’s conserve our provisions, because we don’t know how long this journey will be. If we’re lucky, we’ll be home tonight, but we shouldn’t count on it.”
They resumed their journey. But after countless more hours, with their steps evincing winces and gasps of pain and the air cold as winter, they settled into another alcove to hunker down for their second night and wordlessly resumed the trek in the morning. They walked all that day too, rehashing everything they had learned as Arcaners, including the Sacred Chivalric Code of the Arcaner, before crashing into an alcove at night, spent and wheezing, feet blistered from wear. The next morning they got underway yet again, talking little during the day, finding an alcove at night. But four whole days of walking had nearly finished them.
Leera shakily withdrew the small pouch of nuts and fruits and poured the contents onto her satchel. With a laborious effort that exhausted her, she counted out eleven pieces, giving Augum and Bridget four each and keeping three for herself, refusing their meek protests for her to have four.
Augum savored a raisin, a salted peanut, and two pieces of dried apple, sucking on each one as if it were a delicacy. It was a miracle they had made the food last as long as they had. He then withdrew their remaining waterskin and squeezed the tiny lump of water that remained toward the opening—enough for two small sips. The girls’ lips were chapped, their mouths open, and there was a raging thirst in their eyes. He pretended to take a sip but only wet his tongue, then passed the waterskin to Bridget, who took a conservative sip. Leera did the same, but it was enough to finish it. For a long while they stared at the empty waterskin. When Leera shivered—even though she was wearing her coat and had her hood drawn—Augum drew the blanket tighter around her. When his hood fell off his head, she drew it up for him, love evident in her tender gaze.
As they limply sat, too tired to even remove their turnshoes, Augum thought back to the war. He and the girls had once been lost in a sprawling cave structure and had nearly starved to death. It had been harrowing, and he had thought he’d never have to go through that again. Yet here they were, steadily returning to an emaciated state. This time, however, he was armed with knowledge—he had taken Survival class partly to never experience this again. Now he just needed to find a way to put that knowledge to use.
“We hardly have the energy to walk,” Augum croaked, voice cracking from thirst and not having been used all day, “let alone pass the trial.” He glanced up at the door handle, caked with verdigris like all the others. They had been trying doors as they went, but all were jammed or arcanely locked, and no amount of force could open them. But this particular door had a keyhole, through which a small plume of moss jutted. A keyhole … how odd. None of the previous doors had had a keyhole.
He used the handle to haul himself up, which tired him out, forcing him to rest. The girls moaned in annoyance, their coziness spoiled, for they were bundled up in a pile of blankets and coats and only wanted to sleep.
Augum patted the door clumsily like a drunk. “Going in.”
“We’ll help,” Bridget wheezed. The girls tried to stand but stumbled. Augum silently cursed himself. They had pushed themselves too hard, walked too long, conserved too little. He gave them each a hand, then they all leaned against the alcove wall, gasping.
After they recovered, Augum turned the handle, but found it locked. Keyhole. Of course. Fool. But there had to be something here. He opened a hand to cast Unconceal. “Un vun deo,” and felt a faint pull. He stepped back, hand rising toward the top of the alcove, where the keystone met the white marble of the Hall of Rapture. He reached up and nudged the keystone, finding it loose. After fiddling with it, the front of the block clicked open, revealing a rusted old key. He withdrew the key, triumphantly showed it to the girls, pulled the moss out of the keyhole, and unlocked the door.
They smelled the forest before they saw it. After being in a sterile hall for four straight days, starving and thirsty, the fresh scent felt like a breath of life. There was the aromatic scent of flowers and the subtle scent of spruce and the sweet scent of berry bushes and the potato scent of earth and the crisp scent of a stream. There was the chirp of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl and the rustle of the tree canopy in a light wind.
The forest was in the grip of a summer evening. The heat alone was like a furnace in comparison to the shiver-inducing Hall of Rapture. But no moon shone overhead. The only light came from the dim hall, a window into an unknown wood.
“Shyneo,” Augum said, and his palm fluttered to life with lightning, pulsing subtly with the beat of his heart, as happened when he was extremely weak. Prudently, the girls didn’t light their palms to conserve energy.
Before them loomed a small summer glade surrounded by spruces, pines and oaks. Knee-high grass moved in waves with the wind. Scattered among the grass, Augum identified Solian ginger plants, which if eaten, calmed the stomach. He dug up a few and placed the roots into his satchel while Leera extended a hand out to a small boulder an
d telekinetically rolled it against the open door. The doorframe floated in the air with no wall around it.
“Object Track,” Bridget said. They chose the doorframe, chorusing, “Vestigio itemo discovaro.” The connection established, they turned their backs on the door and walked into the mysterious forest. As trained in Survival class, Augum took it slow, paying attention to how things appeared around them—the arrangement of a spruce, an oak and a pine here; an orange clump of bushes there; a particular formation of rocks; a dip in the earth. He absorbed his surroundings, all while hunting for sustenance and walking toward the scent of a stream. He found a blueberry bush first, which the trio plundered like pirates enjoying their first haul. Then, mouths blue from the sloppy eating, he found a pear tree and then a crabapple tree, both of which they pilfered. Having eaten crabapples as a starving kid, he knew they would likely make them sick, but there was no helping it.
They ate first then filled their satchels. Augum listened to the night and, while paying attention to their meanderings, guided them to a freshwater stream. They dunked their heads in and drank.
“Small mouthfuls and not too quickly,” Augum warned between sips, eyes roving, searching, identifying. He spotted a small clump of what looked like large seeds—deer droppings! Fantastic news.
After drinking their fill, Leera grabbed her stomach, wincing. “Ugh, don’t feel good.”
Bridget winced as she grabbed her stomach as well, and Augum could feel his own rumbling ominously. He withdrew the ginger and broke it apart. “Eat this to settle your stomachs.” He handed the chunks out, munching on some himself.
As the girls rested by the stream, chewing on ginger, Augum poked about, soon finding what he was looking for—deer tracks. “You two up for an excursion?”
