A vision flashed into Alex’s mind. He moved toward the eroded bust that stood just to the side of the doorway, looking more closely at the worn features. Standing nose-to-nose with the masonry, Alex was glad he had stopped for the ghostly woman. Upon further inspection, the features, though worn down, were remarkably similar to those of the ghost he had met. Alex was still holding her mask in his hand. Carefully, he placed the mask over the face. It fit perfectly, and as it locked into place around the sculpted features, a loud rumble shook the passageway. The entrance to the second tunnel was sliding upward, revealing a safer path—or so Alex hoped.
With no time to lose, they moved through the newly opened passage, praying it would prove kinder than the alternative route.
After following a dim, torch-lit tunnel for what seemed like an age, they emerged into a grand room, decked out with tapestries and fine furnishings. All around the walls were elegantly painted urns, depicting friezes of Grecian battles and ancient deities, but most intriguing of all was the magnificent feast laid out on a long table in the center of the room. Mountains of food rose up from silver platters and golden sauce jugs, from clusters of plump, ripe fruit, to desserts piled high with cream and chocolate. Alex’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he still was, until he saw the beautiful spread that had been laid out.
“Do you think this is for us?” Aamir asked cautiously.
Lintz licked his lips. “I don’t know, but it sure looks good!”
The professor was right: it did look good, and Alex had a feeling it might be some sort of reward for having come this far through the vault. He reached out to grasp a glistening slice of fruit-filled pie, but Aamir’s hand shot out to stop him, snatching his arm away.
“Hey! We’ve earned this,” insisted Alex, none too pleased by Aamir’s intervention.
“We shouldn’t trust anything we see,” Aamir said. As he removed his hand from Alex’s arm, a strip of his bloodied bandage fell onto the table below, making impact with the slice of pie. As soon as it touched the enticing pastry, a swarm of vile-looking bugs with jagged pincers surged upward and engulfed the food in a writhing mass. When they receded, nothing was left of pie or bandage.
Alex shuddered, thinking about what would have happened if he’d actually made contact with the slice.
“I guess my stomach got the better of me,” Alex murmured.
Upon closer inspection, he realized that the whole inner core of the feast was rotten, everything decaying, covered in a forest of gray and black mold. It was an illusion. Only the outer layer was fresh and glistening, designed to entice gluttonous hands, to encourage the flesh-eating bugs to come out of hiding. Alex understood that this was test number eight as he read the word embroidered on the purple velvet tablecloth: “Temperance.”
Alex glanced toward the beautifully decorated urns, and felt suddenly nervous. If this was a task, then what were the urns for? For the first time since entering the vault, Alex wasn’t even sure he wanted to get the book anymore, but the thought of Virgil, and the promise of destroying the Great Evil, of setting everyone free, pressed him on.
“We should go to the next room,” Ellabell said, urgency clear in her voice. “I don’t like this place.”
The others nodded and made their way toward the door at the other end of the room. However, as they neared, it became clear that the doorway was a trompe l’oeil, a deceptive painting, made to look realistic. There was no door.
Panic flooded Alex’s veins as all the torches were blown out. From the sudden darkness, a glowing, unnerving light filled the room. A split second later, frightening specters, very like the ones Alex had seen around Vincent, floated upward from the urns, their wispy forms twisting into being.
“Close your eyes!” Alex yelled. “Don’t look them in the eye! Whatever you do, do NOT open your eyes until we are out of this room, under any circumstances!”
“What? Why?” asked Ellabell.
“You have to! Close your eyes now, and don’t open them again until I say!” he insisted, his panicked voice making them obey.
Even with his eyes closed, Alex could feel the cold prickle of the specters all around him, brushing at his skin with their vaporous hands. Goosebumps rose on his flesh.
“We are the Gaki, the starving ghosts of the greedy,” some whispered, passing close to his ear.
“We are the Goryo, vengeful spirits of the dead,” said the others.
Alex didn’t know whether they were the same species of specter as the ones that had surrounded Vincent, or simply an illusion, but he wasn’t willing to risk an incident, regardless of where they had sprung from. They were creatures of dread, made all the more terrifying by the fact that they could not be fought in the conventional way.
“They’re telling me I have to open my eyes!” Aamir shouted. “I can feel them trying to lift my eyelids… I am not sure I can fight them,” he added, his voice strained.
“Don’t listen to them!” Alex instructed. He, too, could feel the spirits physically trying to lift his eyelids, their ice-cold hands making his eyes dry and itchy, compelling him to want to open his eyes and blink away the discomfort. He held fast, keeping them squeezed shut. He didn’t want to experience what Caius had.
Thinking fast, Alex wondered if there might be a key or a lever within the moldering buffet, but he couldn’t bring himself to plunge his hand into the mess, just to have his flesh gnawed off by disgusting bugs.
“Professor, what is the ninth virtue of Orpheus?” Alex asked.
“Honor!” Lintz replied.
Honor? thought Alex. What is that supposed to mean here?
Feeling the tug of vaporous fingers pulling at his eyelids again, he thought about how he could get the specters back into their urns. What might entice them back in? He had seen them in his encounter with Vincent, but they were not something he had fully delved into—he knew he wasn’t supposed to look them in the eyes, but that was about it. Wracking his brains, he considered holding the urns and asking them to return, perhaps saying a few words or a prayer, in order to honor the dead. That would fit the bill, Alex reasoned, but the idea seemed a little too easy.
He thought about performing a necromantic incantation, but he was painfully aware that he didn’t know any. It made him wonder if he was entirely equipped for this series of tasks after all, or if he was missing an ability. Perhaps the golden disc had read his talents wrong.
His only link to necromancy was walking the spirit lines, and the way he was able to incorporate mind control, to manipulate memories, but he had no idea whether any of that would work on these beings. Before, he had used those talents to make people feel happy, and to restore their minds, but he didn’t think these specters could be made to feel happiness.
Going back to plan A, he clumsily made his way toward one of the urns and reached out to pick it up, almost knocking it off its plinth in the process. He held it steady, realizing it was a stupid idea, but knowing he had to at least try it out.
“Please go back inside, honored spirits,” he said.
“You think we will obey the words of a feeble human?” one of the specters cackled, making Alex feel foolish.
That left only the spirit lines as the sole valid idea he had. Dubious of its success, he fed his anti-magic out into the space of the room, seeking out the pulse of the spirits. To his surprise, he could almost see them as clearly as if he’d had his eyes open, though there was a more human quality to them when he viewed them through a necromantic lens. Where before there had been hollow eyes and gaping mouths, he could make out the echoes of their previous faces shifting beneath the surface. With an almost magnetic pull, he drew the spirits to him, letting his anti-magic flow into the wells of their former minds.
Pushing his energy into the mind of the first specter he encountered, he saw a flash of her history. She had been a young girl, no older than Alex himself, running through an empty house, her head turning fearfully backward over her shoulder as she mounted
the rickety steps of a spiral staircase. There was somebody behind her, Alex could feel it, and the adrenaline pulsing in her veins pulsed in his. There was fear and dread as she hurried across a landing into a room where everything was draped in dustsheets. Panicking, she realized she had nowhere to run, the sound of footsteps gaining on her. Standing in front of a stained glass window, a shadow fell across her. Alex couldn’t make out the face of her attacker, but he heard the girl’s scream. A firm hand shoved her hard in the chest, sending her careening backward with such force that she sailed straight through the bright glass pane, shattering it with her body, before plummeting to the ground. Everything hurt, her broken form lying twisted on the stone below. Death did not come instantly, however, her eyes managing to glance upward one last time to see a handsome man standing in the shattered window, looking down upon her, a cruel smile on his lips.
With her dying breath, she whispered, “My love.”
This was not a happy spirit, but searching deeper into her memories, he found a small pocket of warmth. She was sitting by a fire, reading a book to a smaller girl, who looked up at her with loving eyes and an awestruck smile. Alex fed the memory to the forefront of the spirit’s mind, and felt a shift in the specter’s emotions. The vaporous being pulled away.
“I am remembered,” she whispered, before disappearing into the urn she had risen from.
Moving from spirit to spirit, Alex did the same for each, though some had minds crowded with dark remembrances, making it all the harder to find a lightness with which to make the specter return to its urn. When he came across such a mind, he manipulated the memories he did find, altering them until they could be skewed as happy. It took longer, and he was forever conscious of the struggling cries of his friends as he forced these false memories into the forefront of the specters’ consciousness. At least this way, Alex thought, these ghosts would be able to rest awhile in peace.
As the last specter returned to its urn, Alex heard something clatter onto the floor. Nervously, half expecting it to be a trick and to see a hollow-eyed spirit swooping toward him, he opened his eyes. The room was clear of ghosts, and on the floor, beside the painted door, lay a key.
Alex picked it up off the flagstones, noticing for the first time a small keyhole in the ground beside it. With a hopeful heart, he twisted the key in the lock. There was a quiet click, followed by the grating sound of stone on stone as a section of the floor moved away, revealing another downward spiral staircase.
Almost there, thought Alex triumphantly. Almost there.
Chapter 11
“We should get out of here,” Alex said, glancing at the others. Their faces were pale, and they were reluctant to open their eyes, though Alex had promised them it was safe to do so.
“Are you sure they’re gone?” asked Ellabell.
Alex smiled. “I promise they’re gone.”
Tentatively, the group’s eyes opened in one collective movement. There was more fear written on their faces than Alex had ever seen before, and he could understand why; the specters were worrying creatures to come up against.
Feeling a pang of terror, Alex addressed the others. “Do you swear the specters didn’t open your eyes?”
“They tried, but I managed to fight them,” said Aamir.
“I kept them squeezed tight, I swear,” replied Ellabell.
Only Lintz did not answer right away, his face drained of color.
“Professor?” prompted Alex.
Lintz shook his head as if shaking off something unpleasant. “I didn’t look at them,” he answered at last, bringing Alex a small measure of relief.
“Good, then we should get going,” he said, pointing toward the spiral staircase leading down into the floor.
They descended toward the next task, but the mood had taken a drastic turn. Nobody spoke, the only sound being the scuff of their shoes on the stone steps as they headed down, the atmosphere growing hotter the farther into the earth they walked.
At the bottom of the steps stood a vast iron door, with a depiction of Theseus and the Minotaur carved into the metal surface. It didn’t bode well, bringing to Alex’s mind a remembrance of the task with the mechanical beasts. A relatively easy challenge, in hindsight, but no less frightening at the time.
“Abandon hope, all ye who enter,” said Lintz ominously, smoothing his hand over the frieze.
Alex gave a tight chuckle. “No need to be pessimistic—it can’t be any worse than the last room,” he said, immediately wishing he hadn’t tempted fate. The others seemed to share his feeling, as they flashed him worried looks.
The door opened by itself with a force that shook the walls, making dust fall from the roof above their heads. As it slid to one side, it revealed two corridors that split off in either direction, instantly clarifying the depiction on the door. Theseus and the Minotaur—it could only mean one thing: they were heading into a labyrinth.
On the side of each entrance were two tiles. On the right-hand tile were the letters “M” and “N,” and on the left were the letters “L” and “W.” In the center, above both tiles, was an inscription, reading, “Here is where your paths diverge. Pray they cross again.”
“What do you think it means?” Alex asked, taking a closer look.
“I think it means we have to split up,” replied Aamir, gesturing toward the letters with a trembling hand. His injury had become worse, his hand flopping limply, the bandage drenched in scarlet.
“Yes, you see, the tiles—I don’t think the letters are arbitrary,” Lintz agreed.
Ellabell’s eyes widened. “You’re right, Professor! ‘N’ and ‘M’—Aamir’s last name is Nagi. Mine is Magri. So, the two of us must go this way. Alex, that means you and Lintz need to go that way,” she said, with an apologetic look. “It’s probably for the best; I can change Aamir’s bandage on the way. It’s starting to look a bit nasty,” she added, with forced brightness.
Alex didn’t feel positive about the decision in any way, though he knew better than to argue with the vault’s demands. If he were to argue and insist on going with Ellabell, who knew what retribution the challenge might take? It seemed to him that the vault was doing this on purpose, splitting Alex and Ellabell up, to test them separately. Perhaps it was also meant to test his resolve in putting the tasks before any personal feelings. It wasn’t fair, and he feared the reasoning behind it, but he wasn’t about to defy the rules of the game. Not with so few tasks left to undertake.
“Our paths will cross again,” she said, evidently seeing his discomfort. “If we move quickly, and follow the rules, we’ll see each other again soon.”
Alex smiled, pulling Ellabell into a tight embrace and planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. He still didn’t feel comfortable kissing her properly in front of the watchful eyes of Aamir and Lintz, but he desperately longed to.
“I’ll see you on the other side,” he whispered close to her ear.
“You better.” She smiled, melting Alex’s heart a little.
After a more casual farewell to Aamir, the group parted ways. Alex watched as Aamir and Ellabell disappeared down the right-hand passageway, before following Lintz down the left. It became clear within minutes that this place was definitely a labyrinth, as Alex had suspected, but what purpose it was intended to serve wasn’t yet apparent. It was just plain stone, no traps, no tricks, just an ever-winding walkway.
“How are we supposed to know which way to go?” Alex asked, brushing his hand against the blank wall.
Lintz smiled. “There’s a mathematical knack to these things. You stick with me, and I won’t lead you far wrong!” he explained, charging off through the maze. Alex followed confidently, knowing the professor had as good a chance as anyone of getting them through it.
Turning a corner, Alex spotted the first clue. A giant glass bubble of water, tinted blue, sat perched on a plinth. Nearing it, Alex could see a golden letter trapped inside, about the size of his palm—the letter “P.” However, the bubble was enclo
sed in its entirety; there was no lid to lift, no gap through which to attain the letter. It was truly trapped in there, with no easy way out.
“We could try smashing it?” Alex suggested, as he approached the glass orb. Trying to pick it up, he felt his muscles twinge under the strain; it was much too heavy to lift.
Lintz twisted the ends of his moustache in thought. “It must certainly be smashed,” he said. “The question is, how?”
The pair of them stalked around the orb for several minutes, inspecting every curve, in the vain hope that they might have missed something. Alex investigated the plinth too, wanting to seek out a secret lever, or a button, or another clue as to how to break open the glass orb. No such clue appeared, the stone plinth devoid of anything useful.
“In the study of physics, and it has been many years since I’ve studied such ordinary sciences, vibration is often a good means of shattering glass,” Lintz said, having walked around the glass globe for a tenth time.
Alex looked at the professor with excitement. “Vibrations! Of course! If we put our powers to use on both sides of the glass, we might be able to shatter it.” He thought back to his high school physics classes, the teacher explaining how it was possible for an opera singer to break a champagne glass with only their voice.
“Shall we?” Lintz grinned.
Alex nodded enthusiastically, approaching one side of the orb, while Lintz approached the opposite side. They stood, facing each other, and rested their palms on the cold glass. Taking a deep breath, Alex wove his anti-magic through the glass, letting it flow within the molecular structure of the orb. He felt his energy touch that of Lintz’s, and held his anti-magic back from it until the globe was alight—half gold and white, half black and silver.
“Ready?” Alex asked.
Lintz beamed. “Let’s science this thing into submission!”
Alex vibrated the molecules within the glass, feeling the pressure build. It pushed harder and harder, the anti-magic expanding the very fabric of the orb until, with one triumphant crack of breaking glass, the globe shattered, water surging over the edge of the plinth like a waterfall, cascading to the floor. Now that it was drained, the golden letter lay in the center. Alex plucked it out, careful not to touch the jagged edges of the broken glass.
The Test Page 8
