by Elliot Burns
It was different. Slightly discolored. A 1X1 meter square of stone flooring that blended in on first glance. On closer inspection, it seemed to be made of a different material. There was something special about it, but the question was, what to do with it?
Drunk Grandpa crossed the room and stood by the tunnel. He took another gem, this one green, from his pocket and set it down. Then he joined Jack and stood over him. Jack smelled the fumes from the booze he’d drunk. He was no drinker, but at this point he wouldn’t say no. What a bar story this would make.
Drunk Grandpa said something. Jack tuned him out, but then the old man joined him kneeling on the floor. Maybe he thought they were praying or something. Jack stared at the flooring but still couldn’t work out what had drawn him there.
The growling intensified. He heard footsteps now. Slow, lurching. Dragging on the stone and making a scraping sound. It shivered through him. He turned and saw that two creatures had reached the mouth of the tunnel. One of them, heavyset but small, took a first step into the room.
Drunk Grandpa tapped Jack on the shoulder. Jack looked at him, and the old man gave a giant grin, then nodded at the tunnel, as if to say, ‘watch this.’
As the two of them looked on, the creature put his foot down on the green gem. As soon as it did, the gem hissed. Smoke came out. Rather than disperse into the room, it drifted onto the creature’s leg and wrapped around it like a vine. It twisted further and further up its leg, growing and spreading and squeezing. The creature tried to shake it off but the vines carried on relentlessly, smothering every inch of its skin.
The snake-like vines reached its chest. The creature gave a growl. This sound wasn’t aggressive, but instead seemed pleading. The monster tore at its own chest with its pointed claws, slashing at the vines but getting nowhere. Jack almost felt sorry for it. Then, the green vines slithered up its neck, around its throat, then onto its chin. The creature gave one last growl, before the vines smothered its mouth.
Drunk Grandpa laughed. It was a deep belly laugh, like someone had delivered the punchline of the best joke he’d ever heard.
Jack turned away. While the vine gem would take care of these two creatures, more were coming, and he needed to do something. He looked at the floor. Just what was so special about this part?
He leant forward. He put his hand on the floor and started to feel the stone. It felt like ice against his palms, and the surface was rough. As he pressed his hands fully down on it, something happened.
The stone seemed to warm up. A light spread across it. Faint, yellow, and tracing around the edge of the 1x1 meter square. Then it gathered in one corner and flashed across the whole surface. The flash hurt Jack’s eyes, and he put his hands on his face. When he lifted his hands away, he was surprised.
The stone had turned into a door cut into the floor. It was still the same color as the rest of the flooring, but now there was a gold handle in the center of it.
Jack reached out to grab it, when Drunk Grandpa pushed him out of the way. He was caught by surprise and couldn’t steady himself, and he felt a sharp pain in his wrist when he put his hand out. At first, he felt angry and he was going to say something. Then, he watched as the old man pulled on the gold handle until his face turned red, and it still wouldn’t budge.
He was about to stretch across to try opening it, when Drunk Grandpa reached to his belt. He pulled out a strange contraption. It was a rectangular device made of metal, but with a tentacle-like biomass writhing from it. He pressed it against the door and it made a sucking noise like a plunger. The man pulled it, but nothing happened.
Jack heard growling again. They weren’t in the tunnel yet, but they were definitely in the castle. And there were more than two of them this time. He started to get the feeling they were trapped.
Drunk Grandpa pulled another contraption from his bag. This one had a wobbly quality to it, like jelly. He held it in his palm and wrapped it around the gold handle and then pulled, but again nothing happened.
What were all these strange devices? And what was he doing here? The place was deserted, there was no doubt about that. Given that the man had tools which were apparently used to unlock doors, he must have been there to rob the castle. There must have been treasure hidden somewhere, and Drunk Grandpa was here to steal it.
The monsters were getting closer now. The volume of their growl made Jack reach down for his rock and then grip it tightly. His bicep already ached from having to use it the last time, and he wished he’d kept up his gym membership. He doubted he’d be strong enough to open the door.
Drunk Grandpa had a pile of devices next to him now, yet the door was no closer to opening. He had an exasperated look on his face.
There was nothing for it. Jack needed to do something, otherwise they were trapped. He took a few steps, kneeled next to the door, and gripped the handle. Bracing himself, tensing his muscles, he started to pull.
The door flew open so quickly that he fell onto his back. He’d pulled with all his strength, but it had taken just a tiny amount of force to open the door. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head. The old man started talking in high-pitched, clipped sentences. His eyes were wide.
Jack gripped his bicep and showed it to the man. “I used to have a gym membership,” he said. “I haven’t been in a while, but I guess I’m stronger than I thought.”
The man seemed annoyed that Jack had succeeded where his contraptions had failed. He picked up the tool that had tentacles, spoke a few growled words in its direction, then threw it across the room.
There was an opening in the floor now. Jack saw a dark mouth that led to the depths of the castle. There were cracked stone steps that seemed to spiral down, but it was too dark for him to see exactly where they went.
Common sense told him not to follow a darkened staircase to the dungeons of a castle. The problem was, he knew he had to. Not just because the creatures were getting closer and that it sounded like there was an army of them. There was another reason he needed to take the stairs. The tugging sensation had come back, like fingers trying to drag him forward. For some reason, he felt like he had to go down these steps. That everything he’d ever done had led him here.
Taking a deep breath, he put his foot on the first step and began to descend.
Chapter Five
The staircase was pitch black at first, but whenever he put his foot down on a step, it lit up for a few seconds. The steps kept a residual glow, like a lamp dimmed down to its lowest setting. He followed it down into the bowels of the building. As he went further, he heard a slamming sound from above. The old man must have followed him and closed the door to keep out the creatures.
He turned around. “You okay up there?”
He heard the old man walking toward him, but couldn’t see the steps glowing under his feet. It was only when he was close enough to smell the alcohol that Jack could sense him. It was weird that the steps lit up for Jack, but not Drunk Grandpa.
He turned around and carried on walking. His calves started to ache. His throat felt tight, and he realized it had been a while since he’d had anything to drink. He hoped there was a vending machine somewhere in the castle, but maybe that was too much to wish for.
As he took a step, he felt something splash over his face. He took a sharp breath in shock. His face felt cold as though he’d walked through a waterfall, but when he put his hand on his cheek, it felt dry.
What was going on? He turned around, but he couldn’t see anything.
The old man had stopped. He tried to take a step forward, but something stopped him, as if there was some kind of invisible screen.
“There’s nothing there,” said Jack. He reached out and touched the old man.
“Rere um va,” said the man. He tried to step forward, only to be met by the invisible field again.
“I guess I’m the only one who can go down here for now,” he said. “Just sit tight, I won’t be long.”
Something was strange here. Well, all o
f it was strange, but the last few minutes defied any sort of explanation. The door had only opened for Jack, not the old man. Then, there had been some sort of forcefield that allowed Jack to pass, but stopped the man. Was it a trap?
There wasn’t much choice, he had to go on. He followed the staircase down another three twists until he reached the bottom. There was a doorway in front of him, and he saw a room.
It was small. Dark like a crypt, except for a dull glow on the stone walls. Looking round, Jack couldn’t see the source of the glow. There was a wooden table pushed against the west wall, with a thick book resting on it. In the centre of the room a square block of stone was raised a couple of feet off the floor. There was something special about it, but he couldn’t see what.
He walked over to the table against the wall. The book resting on it was the biggest he’d ever seen – at least 10,000 pages. Or, as he likened it, almost ten times the size of Lord of the Rings. And given how long it had taken him to read that when he was younger, it meant it was a hefty book indeed.
It was opened at halfway, on a blank page. He reached down and tried to turn the pages, but they wouldn’t budge. It was as though some unseen force held them in place. He wondered what it was that he wasn’t supposed to read. He grabbed the corner of the book and turned it over so that he could see its title. When he did, he stepped back in shock.
On the cover of the book, written in spiraled gold letters, was ‘Lord Alfie Halberd.’
He felt a dull thumping in his ears. Seeing his uncle’s name knocked him off balance far worse than even the creatures he’d fought upstairs. Why was Alfie’s name on the book? And why was he called ‘Lord’?
He felt something in his chest. Like the rush of nerves before giving a speech or taking a test. It gathered in him, spreading through his body so quickly that he felt nauseous. The walls glowed sporadically, glinting on and off like a torch running out of battery. Jack took a step back and leant against the table so that he didn’t lose balance.
What was happening? What had Alfie got to do with this? And why couldn’t Drunk Grandpa enter the room? Was he going mad?
He barely had time to think about it, when a tremor shot through him. It was so fast that he lurched forward. He lost his balance and fell to the floor. Something inside was pulling him, trying to make him move. He looked across the room and saw the stone.
Touch it.
He heard the words in his head, but knew straight away that nobody had spoken. He felt drawn to the raised stone. He suddenly felt that he had to crawl over to it, as if it was the most important thing in the world.
He tried to stand up, but couldn’t. His head throbbed. He focused on the stone and began to drag himself across the room. Inch by inch he went, the dust from the floor clogging his throat and making him cough. The throbbing in his head intensified but he realized he didn’t feel pain from it, just a sense of urgency.
Finally, he was in front of the stone. He was sapped of energy, like he could just flop down and sleep for a month.
Touch it.
He raised his hands. At the same time, he didn’t know if he was raising them, or if some force was making him do it. All the same, he knew he had no choice. He reached forward and placed his hands on the stone.
The square block began to shake. A glow spread across its surface, and it started to get hot. The glow intensified until it seemed like it covered the stone, and Jack heard a vibrating in his ears. Suddenly light flashed out from the stone, blinding him with its pure white. For seconds, he saw nothing. He knew his eyes were open, but he saw nothing but the white light.
Then it faded. The light receded into the stone walls and floor as if it was being sucked away. It retreated like water running down a plughole, leaving darkness in its place.
Jack’s legs worked this time. He stood up. Taking a deep breath, he looked at the stone.
There was a shape on it. One he knew too well. One that was a part of him.
“This can’t be happening,” he said.
Carved into the surface of the stone was a sickle - the same as his birthmark.
His left wrist started to grow hot. He held it in front of him and saw his uncle’s bracelet. Where before it was scratched and dull, now the metal was perfect. It was so golden that it gleamed. Jack touched it with his finger and then quickly drew it away, scolded by the heat of the metal.
“Damn it,” he said, as the metal heated up. He watched in horror as the bracelet grew bright red, like metal in a blacksmith’s forge. Smoke began to rise from his wrist, but he felt no pain.
The metal grew hotter and hotter and the smoke rose to his eyes, making them water. He tried to touch the band again but it was too hot to move. It was as though it didn’t hurt his wrist, but would scold his hand if he tried to pry it loose.
He stumbled back. What was happening? He heard the old man shouting from outside, but the words were incomprehensible. The table scraped on the floor as he stumbled back and bashed into it.
“A little help in here,” he said, as the metal glowed bright orange on his wrist.
He held his wrist out in front of him. The metal band seared into his skin, getting deeper and deeper until it was embedded in his forearm. It was as though it had burned through him without leaving a single mark, and now he couldn’t see it. All the same, he felt like it was inside him; that it was a part of him.
And then he heard a voice. It was the old man from outside, but his voice was different now. Clearer, more comprehensible.
“What in the Gods is going on in there?” said the man.
“Wait - I understood that. What the hell is going on?”
As Jack struggled with his confusion, words appeared in the air in front of him. It was as though light particles had gathered together to form the shapes. They hung in midair, there for him to read.
Interface initializing…
Please wait…
Loading Complete.
Welcome to Royaume, Lord Halberd.
Chapter Six
Lord Heren Veik’s Throne Room
50 Miles East of Lord Halberd’s Lands
The window in his throne room looked out onto the square where they used to hang people. It was a spectacle back then; a man on a platform in the centre, quivering while the rest of the peasantry watched. They’d shout things, tell the executioner to hurry up, yell insults at the condemned man.
Even at forty, Lord Heren Veik was still too young to have seen a hanging in person. Not that executions didn’t happen anymore – they did. In fact, Heren himself signed the orders with the same pen his father had used. It was just that now, by Heren’s decree, they were done in a more tasteful manner. Behind closed doors, most of the time. Much nicer.
Today wasn’t a day to think about executions. Heren sat cross-legged in front of his throne while his children set up the game. It was a simple one played with marble balls, but both children enjoyed it.
As one marble rolled across the tiled floor, Heren’s ears prickled. He sensed a presence in the room. He looked behind him and saw Tacher Carmichael stood twenty feet away, by the door.
“Come in,” said Heren, waving him over.
Carmichael’s loops jingled as he walked. When Heren was younger he'd sneak out of bed after hours. He was always able to rush back into bed before the Tacher caught him. The ringing of his metal loops on his robe was a giveaway. The loops signified Tacher's knowledge mastery, but they were no help with stealth.
“You are dining with Lord Tyken’s ambassador tonight, my lord. Your clothes will be filthy from sitting on the floor.”
“I didn’t know that we’d hired a second mother for me when you joined the family. Anyway, I’m guessing you aren’t here to talk about my attire? Come on, Carmichael, spit it out,” said Heren. “I can tell you have something to say. You know I don’t get much time with Lizzie and Dhynan.”
Carmichael folded his arms. He had a healthy deference to authority, but sometimes a rebellious instinct foug
ht in him and made him resent being spoken to harshly. Heren found it funny to watch the Tacher’s face as he battled with his inner nature.
“I have to inform you of,” he said, then looked at Lizzie, the youngest of the children, “an incident earlier today.”
Heren straightened up. His knees hurt from the simple act of sitting cross-legged, a sign that he’d let his training go to waste. Maybe he didn’t need it, anyway. Father had always told him a lord should lead from the front, but Heren didn’t subscribe to that. He felt a lord’s job wasn’t to run blindly into battle, but to scheme and plot from a safe position. Your brain was no good to anyone if there was an arrow sticking in it.
“Go on then,” he said. “What’s Lizzie been up to?”
Carmichael stood with his hands hidden by his enormous sleeves. A green loop hung from his collar. This one was a symbol of his chemical mastery. It was the one Carmichael was most proud of.
“The two were having a test today,” he said. “Arithmetic. I gave them the same test, as you requested, despite their age gap.”
“How did they fare?” asked Veik.
At this, Dhynan dropped his marbles and stood up. As the balls rolled across the tiled floor, he looked at Heren and beamed. Heren saw nothing of himself in his son. He was looking back at a stranger’s face. Still, what could he expect? There was no cheating the laws of nature.
“I got 48 out of 100,” Dhynan said, with pride. His voice was beginning to deepen.
“Well done, lad,” said Heren. He knew his son’s mental limitations. “And Lizzie?”
Carmichael scowled. “Lizzie scored 98.”
“That’s my girl,” said Veik.
Lizzie didn’t look up for encouragement, nor did she smile. She sat on the floor, absorbed in her own world. She had never needed compliments from her father, and Heren was fine with that. Compliments didn’t come naturally to him. He tried sometimes, especially where Dhynan was concerned, but his tongue wasn’t silver.
