I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, Garfunkel was … gone. And so was the axe. I’ll admit my horror-stricken eyes were searching for a tiny blood trail when I heard, “Waaaah!” and I just barely caught sight of Garfunkel riding the guillotining axe swishing away and then back toward me.
“What are you doing?” I all but yelled, mostly to conceal the explosion of relief I felt at him still being alive.
“It’s fun!” Garfunkel yelled back. “I was getting bored. Wheee!”
“Get your ass back on the ground and pull that lever!”
Garfunkel rolled his eyes and leapt off the pole as the axe blade passed close to the ground again. He turned back to face me. “Scar’t ya, didn’t I?”
I think I growled then, and Garfunkel somersaulted forward and ballerina-skipped past the final axe blade so that he was standing next to the lever and gazing up at its towering height.
Damn, I thought. I really hope he’s strong and heavy enough to pull it. Also, hope it works. Sure, the traps looked impressive but GoneGods only knew how their inner mechanisms worked and if dwarves even tested their trap-disabling mechanisms. Daryl did say they were built to kill …
Garfunkel crouched down and then sprang up like a rocket, his tiny hands clutching the lever as he jerked it to the side while airborne. When it didn’t budge, he puffed himself up so that he was a few inches taller and pumped his body to perform some pull-ups, his lower half swinging with the effort, straining and dangling from the tip of the lever.
“Come on!” I called out.
“I don’t weigh enough!” Garfunkel called back.
“Hard to believe, considering how much you and Simon eat!” I felt a tapping at my right shoulder. “Not now, Simon, I’m about to be turned into mincemeat—”
“Use the tether!” Simon said, his tiny eyes glued on the approaching axe blades.
The magic tether? I thought.
“Jerk it!” Simon wailed.
“Right,” Garfunkel said, still dangling from the lever. “It’s called leverage.”
“I didn’t know I could do that,” I said and then mentally pictured the invisible tether connecting me to my familiars. I imagined pulling Garfunkel’s toward me, felt the resistance as he struggled to hold on to the lever.
“Little harder,” Garfunkel gasped.
I complied and there was a soft click! and the lever popped over to the side. And then … nothing happened.
The axe blade at my feet hacked into my sneakers again and I tucked them awkwardly toward my belly, my shoulder blade connecting with the razor wire at my back, slicing into my skin with a sting.
Simon gulped.
Damn dwarven trap mechanisms! So this is how it ends …
And then all the death traps stopped in near unison with a jerky brake. It hurt my aching body to do so but I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees and scurried to join Garfunkel pumping his fist next to the lever.
“I am He-Man!” Garfunkel said triumphantly.
“More like Skeletor,” I said and waited for Lucy to join me, bypassing the now-silent first section of traps. “And why didn’t you two tell me I could do that with the tether?”
Garfunkel smirked.
“You’ve got to tell me stuff like this.”
Lucy came up then and clapped me on the shoulder. “Knew you could do it. Only two to go.”
“This is the Pits”
Figuring I’d analyzed the situation too closely on the first section, I threw a quick glance at the several rows of monkey bars suspended over the pit. I selected a set of monkey bars at random and peered over the edge of the drop-off. Lining the bottom of the twelve-foot drop was, you guessed it: iron spikes. (How original—part of me had been hoping for snakes). If I fell, I wasn’t getting back up. Halfway across the pit, ropes hung limply at spaced out intervals from the ceiling to complete the passage.
“You got this,” Garfunkel said, sliding on his Hello Kitty sunglasses.
Simon’s teeth chattered. “You know, Theo. It’s not too late to turn back.”
“Kinda is,” I said as I reached out and grabbed the first bar tentatively. It held my weight so I allowed my body to swing forward, grabbing the next rung but still holding onto the first one in case it was a dud. It seemed to hold my weight (all 120 pounds of it) and I swung to the next bar.
“I’m going to be sick,” Simon said from inside his shoulder pad.
I swung to the next bar. “You know, this whole trial by fire thing would be a lot less dangerous if you two did your flashy thing and morphed into Lady Justice or Superwoman or whatever it is you really are, Libra.”
Garfunkel smirked like a mischievous Smurf. “But then this obstacle course wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining. Oh, and it would involve burning time—”
“—which would bring down the ceiling!” Simon finished.
My hand grasped the next monkey bar and then the next, discomfort starting to set in to my arm muscles. Man, I really needed to start incorporating more upper body workouts along with my runs.
The following monkey bar was a dud—it fell off as soon as my palm brushed it. I swayed backward and on my next forward swing, my hand knocked off the next bar as well. There was only one last monkey bar before the vertical rope section, so if that handhold was a dud as well …
Simon and I both sucked in our breaths as I swung forward and just barely had enough length in my arms to grasp it. It held, so I brought my other hand forward and then grabbed onto the first hanging rope, positioning the insides of my shoes onto a rope knot at the bottom so I could rest and catch my breath.
“You both know I’m opposed to Others burning time,” I said as if there hadn’t been a break in our conversation. As I rested above the rope knot, I stared forward at the seven or eight ropes of varying length and distances apart spanning the rest of the pit. What could go wrong there? (Because there had to be some trick or surprise after relatively coasting through the monkey bar portion.)
When neither of my familiars responded, I said, “But I don’t think that’s the issue. Were you hurt in the fall maybe? Or cursed by a witch? Come on, am I even close?”
“Theo,” Simon said, “I don’t think now is the time to be having this conversation. You’re literally dangling 12.65 feet from some very unfriendly-looking spikes.”
“OK, Mr. Calculator. But sometime soon we are going to have this conversation.”
Simon swallowed. “Sure! After you find the artifact and we’re far away from here, we’ll, uh, tell you right quick!”
“I’m being serious. We are going to have that talk. I didn’t know about being able to pull your tether—what else do I not know about you?”
“Theo, can you please hurry across the spike pit?” Simon said.
I glanced down at the spikes. It may have just been the lighting but I thought I saw the glint of poison smeared on the tips. Overkill much? Simon was right—best not to wait too long, no matter how secure the rope above me felt.
As I reached for the next hanging rope, I said, “It’s not like I can exactly hide anything from you two—you’re always there. But you both had an entirely different life before the gods left. When are you going to open up to me?”
I gripped the rope, tested it and transferred my weight to it. “I’m good to you. I feed you and water you and I even give you guys shelter. Come on …”
“Not gonna work,” Garfunkel said with a glance at Simon. “Right, my anxious ‘better half?’ ”
“Meanie!” Simon wailed, retching. I waited for the sound of vomit splattering to the spikes below but Simon must have gotten control of his bodily functions. “Both of you! You’re both big meanies!”
What can I say—that got me. Hit me like a boot to the gut. “You’re right, Simon,” I said. “I’m being really insensitive to your fear of heights (everything).” The next rope looked … sketchy, like it was older than the rest, frayed, and I reminded myself I needed to get my head in the game or my
body would become spike pit decor. I raised both legs out before me, clamping them around the sketchy rope to see if it seemed solid. It did. Grabbing it with one hand, I entrusted it with my weight but I didn’t stay there long.
Of course, the next rope was a ways away from this one, but after a quick set of back arches and leg swings, I brought my rope close to the next one, resting the insides of my shoes above another rope knot. “Just answer me this: If you change into Libra again, it won’t kill you, will it? I mean, it doesn’t burn that much time, does it?”
They exchanged a furtive glance and then quickly shook their heads no. I sighed; that was good to know. They were just so damned secretive when it came to their origins. If not for the surprise exposé at the Arena, I’d never have known I had a constellation hitching a ride on my shoulders.
Below me, the poison-tipped spikes still gleamed. “I hope you guys know I’m not trying to pry. It’s just,” I clamped onto the next rope with my sneakers; it seemed secure, “if you guys are hurt or in trouble, that’s my burden too. We’re bonded. We can trust each other.”
I rode the rope to the next one, continuing this process without incident until I reached the last few ropes, which looked the same as the previous ones. I had a good rhythm going and I was starting to think the rope portion was a freebie. Then, foregoing caution I reached out with my hand instead of my feet. The next rope seemed secure and I wanted to put this relatively safe section of the course behind me.
The rope appeared to hold my weight so I let go of the previous one and that’s when my world was turned upside down … literally. The rope gave out as I transferred my full weight to it and I did a sort of backward cartwheel downward toward the spikes. There was nothing for my hands to grasp but my legs closed around the last rope as my chest and head snapped toward the spikes. Simon screamed. I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, I was hanging by the rope clenched between my legs and shoes, suspended like a possum from a branch about six inches over the spikes. This was one of the longer ropes so there were no other ropes within grasp; I would have to shimmy backward up the rope, the equivalent of climbing a gym class rope in reverse. With aching muscles that felt like they were on fire …
So, yeah. It’d be a tough cookie. I had to try though.
But first I checked on my familiars. Garfunkel was hanging from his shoulder pad by the tips of his fingernails filed into claws (those are definitely coming in handy for him) but Simon …
Simon was nowhere to be seen.
“I Reaally Hate Dwarven Trap Makers …”
“Simon!”
The word had barely left my mouth when I became aware of tiny hands scampering up my tucked-in shirt and pants and up the rope. Then there was a faint grunt followed by a soft thud above the pit’s lip next to the lever. I felt my magic tether tug sharply against me and then …
Click!
There was a sudden grating beneath me and I looked down to see the iron spikes retracting through the floor of the pit. What more, I could also see recessed indentations in the pit walls that could be used as handholds to scale the pit like a ladder.
But how …?
“What are you two waiting for down there?” Simon called from the edge of the pit twelve feet above Garfunkel and me.
“How did you—”
“Adrenaline,” Simon said with tiny arms waving over his head as if he had to pee. “Now hurry! So we can finish and get out of here!”
Couldn’t argue with that logic. Of course, I was feeling pretty inadequate not having been able to successfully complete the first two sections of traps on my own. See, I’m a rather independent gal—I don’t accept help lightly. It’s a sort of dampener to my pride. Was I getting soft? Was it time for me to hang up the mantle? … But I was only twenty-five!
I dropped the remaining few inches to the pit floor and pushed the thoughts aside as I hauled ass up the wall to where Simon was gesturing in frantic, boot camp instructor fashion. Pride aside, I was glad Simon did what he did. Furthermore, I estimated the lever to be just under twenty feet from my hovering position above the spikes. Talk about close calls …
I patted Simon on the back with a single finger (didn’t want to break the little feller’s back). “Good job. And you’re more athletic than you look, climbing my body and the rest of the rope and jumping to the lever. I know heights is one of your greatest fears; I’m quite proud of you.”
Simon clasped both hands together and blushed. “Aw shucks, Theo, I learned from you.” He straightened. “Now let’s hurry up and finish this thing!”
The twenty-yard expanse of floor leading to the last lever and the door to the treasure room was comprised of foot-by-foot square ceramic tiles AKA pressure plates. And I didn’t want to know what happened if the wrong one was pressed … (OK, I totally did want to know; I just didn’t want to find out the wrong way.) Multiple stone dragons stood guard in front of the door and lever, arrayed in various positions so that their fiery breath spat forth in almost constant bursts.
Beside me, Lucy said, “What’s the holdup?” and stepped forward. I caught one of her arms as a pressure plate clicked, pulling her back to safety as yellowish gas spurted out from all over the ceiling and walls via tiny iron spigots tapped into the rock. There was a tiny spark followed by a whoosh so hot and heavy, it knocked Lucy and me back to the floor.
“Have you learned nothing from watching Indiana Jones?” I asked, appalled at both her carelessness and disregard of a national treasure (the first three films).
Lucy propped herself up with two of her hands as her eyes played over the flames sizzling to nothingness before us. “I don’t have time for movies or pop culture. They are distractions.”
“Yeah, good distractions,” I said. I stood up and wiped dust from my pants. “The key is to not step off the path. Just got to find the path … Any ideas?”
“Don’t get burned?” Lucy offered, her eyes glued to the door and final lever twenty yards away.
Kameno tost …
I turned to my familiars but they didn’t have any suggestions (for once). Only briefly did I consider checking if the pressure plates were sensitive enough to be tripped by their meager weight, but judging from the small amount of pressure Lucy’s foot had applied, I figured these were hair-trigger-rigged. Besides, the distance between here and the lever was three times the length of their twenty-foot invisible leash.
Lucy placed a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’ll figure it out. You’ve been in tougher situations than this.”
I had. Like the time I’d found myself dangling from a palace roof in the Forbidden City in Beijing. Or the Catacombs under Paris where I’d had to fight a dragon (OK, basilisk, but for all intents and purposes, I’m calling it a dragon!).
Speaking of dragons … even if I found safe passage over the ceramic pressure plates, the final lever—and door—was guarded by stone dragons strategically placed so that their fiery breath covered all the angles of entry. The puffs were erratic and unpredictable, some lasting a mere second while others dissipated after a few moments.
And the yellowish fumes of the gas issuing from the stone dragons’ mouths stung my eyes. Luckily those air vents in the wall near the ceiling prevented this whole section from becoming a flaming fog.
Sure, the stone dragons would definitely be a formidable obstacle, but in order to tackle them, I had to reach them. Which brought me back to the pressure plates …
Simon cleared his little throat. “The pressure plates have markings on them. But they’re in dwarvish.”
Damn. I didn’t know enough dwarvish to trust my translations. Good thing Simon was a walking, talking Others encyclopedia. I gave him a hopeful nod. He twiddled his thumbs and began to whistle.
“Seriously?” I said.
“Dwarvish wasn’t one of the languages I bothered learning. Mostly because I hate being underground and—”
“Yeah, whatever,” I groaned. I turned and waved at Daryl who, from the trap
room’s entrance, waved supportively at me. “What the f—?”
“There’s a reason dwarves live underground,” Garfunkel cut in, “far, far away from humans and Others. Devious little tricksters, they are. And don’t forget their shifty eyes.”
I really didn’t like this trap. Even if I found a way across to the lever that would undoubtedly disable the fire, I wouldn’t be able to get through the intermittent spewing of flames. I doubted if even Simon or Garfunkel were quick enough to dart through.
There had to be another way …
“Maybe you’re thinking about this all wrong,” I heard Orion’s voice say in my mind. “Don’t look to the obvious. In any environment, there is always a pattern, no matter how difficult to detect. Find the pattern and then unfocus your gaze. Search for any detail—no matter how small—that breaks it.”
I played my eyes over the room once more, this time loosely scanning the walls and ceiling as well, down to the tiny iron spigots stuck into the rock …
I slapped my forehead. Thanks Orion.
“That’s it,” I said.
“What’s it? What’s it, Theo?” Simon said.
Lucy just smiled, took a step back as she watched me do my thing: mentally calculating my preferred path to the objective, the one least likely to get me killed.
Simon was whining now. “You’re killing us with the suspense. What is it?”
I wiped some perspiration out of my eyes. “I don’t know if it will work or not. But …” I indicated the vent opening high up on the left wall. “I think I can climb those tiny iron spigot things in the stone, work my way around the side wall like a mountain climber traversing a sheer cliff. Then I’ll climb into the rock vent that carries the excess gas away. There’s air flow there which means there’s an opening leading to the surface. And I’m hoping … also a vent to the treasure room on the other side of that impossible door. In fact, I’m thinking that the door itself could just be a decoy. This might actually be the builders’ intended path to the treasure room.”
Axes and Angels: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Novel (Better Demons Series Book 1) Page 27
