by J. T. Wright
The Sergeant had assured him he’d toughen up eventually. Taking damage was how you raised Constitution. If he didn’t toughen up, then he could add Points to the ever-valuable Health Attribute.
Trent was sure his Health hadn’t decreased, He pulled up his Status to check. Pain, sure enough, but his Health was still full at 50. Full at a pathetic 50.
Another step forward, pain, but no damage. What didn’t kill you made you stronger, if it didn’t cripple you. Get stronger or become crippled; those were the options. And death, you can’t forget death.
Pain without damage, a step forward, water covering his calves. How many steps was it? If he looked back, would he be ten feet from the shore or one hundred? He was afraid to look. The pain was more intense now. Touching the flame, ever so slightly.
Fear and pain were warning signs, and they should be heeded. They meant something was wrong. Fear of pain had to be discarded, though. Sometimes the only way through fear meant pain; running didn’t mean surviving. Don’t turn your back on the threat. Fearing pain was its own kind of crippling disaster for an Adventurer or soldier, whether Warrior or Rogue, Healer or Mage.
Pain without damage. Pain and fear are warnings; they do not control you. Strength is earned by conquering adversity. Trials are meant to be challenged. Another step forward.
The words became a mantra repeating, endlessly, in his head. Or was he speaking out loud? No, he was too busy whimpering and gasping, crying! The water, the fire, the burning had risen to his waist now. He wasn’t holding his hand above the flame anymore; he had plunged into it!
The way out was behind him, right? Right? He wasn’t sure. Blue water spread out around him on all sides, and a fog had appeared, masking the distance forward and back.
Time and distance were meaningless. There was only pain, rising to his chest, his shoulders, enveloping his body. Only his head was above the burning, and even that hurt. His throat was raw, and his head was pounding from the screaming! After hours and hours of screaming, he could only manage the hoarsest of whispered moaning now.
And then it subsided. He stopped moving. The pain was gone. He stood numb, on another beach, soaking wet, whimpering unintelligibly. Before him was a wall.
The wall of white-hot flame reached into the sky. It roared like some ancient beast as it burned. It crackled and popped, spitting sparks at him threateningly. Trent’s face set, his mouth hardened. He managed one last croaking defiant scream.
“I do not fear pain!”
He stepped into the fire.
Burning… and then it was gone.
He wasn’t dead. Unless he was? He couldn’t confidently say either way. His legs shook weakly and he collapsed forward. He lay on the sand, his body shaking. He would have sobbed if he had the energy or the tears left.
A message in his Status:
You have passed through the Purifying Flame. Strength +2, Agility +2, Dexterity +2, Constitution +2
You have cleared Trial of Perseverance. You are the first to do so. Awarded 1000 Experience. Secondary Attribute Endurance unlocked. Endurance +3. You may claim your reward.
**********
Cullen waited till nightfall before going out to find Trent. By this time, worry had become anger that turned back to worry. A young Awakened might pout through one meal, but missing two? Trent didn’t have the skills to survive on his own, or the stubbornness to suffer just to make others suffer.
With Tersa’s eyes burning into his back, he set off into the dark, walking at the leisurely pace he tore into Recruits for employing. He wouldn’t want Tersa to think she’d influenced him somehow.
That Recruit did have her fair share of stubbornness. He ordered her to her tent after dinner to get her to stop bugging him. For a long minute, he thought she was going to refuse. She finally settled for sitting in her open tent flap, glowering at him from a distance. The girl would go far if she could ever pull her head out of her ass long enough to find her path.
Once out of sight of the camp, Cullen started to move with more urgency. Trent would have been shocked to see the speed at which the Sergeant moved. Tersa would have taken it as proof that he had an Assassin Class; only an Agility type could move like that.
Activating the Ability, Night Sight, and the Skill, Steady Footing, there were no obstacles among the rolling grasslands that could impede him. The night, lit only by a single quarter moon, shone as brightly as noon to Cullen’s enhanced vision. The view was strangely washed out and colorless, but the terrain held no secrets from him. No holes or roots grabbed at his feet as he flowed through the dark. He might as well have been running the well-tended pathways of a garden rather than the wild.
It had taken Trent hours to reach the Burning Lake that morning. Cullen arrived from camp in less than fifteen minutes. His breathing was relaxed and easy as he stood at the water’s edge. If there was an edge to his posture, it was not from effort, but from the sight of a discarded bag laying in the sand.
Trent’s bag, still laying where he let it fall, was filled with the fruits of the day’s labor. Cullen’s eyes searched the empty beach, but there was no sign of a struggle, only a few wind-swept footprints leading to the water’s edge where they disappeared.
Cullen consulted his locating rod, and it told him Trent was ahead and safe. Cullen didn’t want to believe it. No one would enter the lake voluntarily. How could the boy be safe if he couldn’t be seen? It’s not like he could breathe underwater. Ultimately, he had to accept the rod’s conclusion. There was magic that could interfere with the rod’s enchantment, but it was rare and powerful, not likely to be wasted on a small, unassuming boy.
Maybe Trent was on the far side of the lake, napping, as boys were prone to do. The information the rod provided was accurate but not incredibly detailed. It was possible.
Cullen circled the lake’s perimeter, constantly monitoring the rod. He only grew more concerned when he had made a complete lap. No matter where he stood, the rod said Trent was in the lake. Safe.
He stood next to the water. Cullen was not an indecisive man, but this situation had him perplexed. He did not want to enter the lake, and, by all indications, there was no reason for him to do so. Trent was safe.
Trent was a Summons. Was there something in the lake that drew him in? No one could enter the seemingly peaceful waters without experiencing intense pain, but Trent was different. Maybe whatever gave the lake its name was beneficial to him.
Cullen stood in place for hours. The sun was coming up the next morning when Corporal Francis found him.
“Sergeant, is everything all right?” Frank gave an uneasy glance at the Burning Lake. Sure, they teased Keller for his superstitions, but that was only because he said them out loud. They all shared them in one way or another. The other Guardsmen had enough sense to know that talking about unlucky things was unlucky.
“I don’t know,” Cullen replied softly. His brow was furrowed, but no other sign of anxiety was apparent in his body language. You’d have to know the Sergeant well to realize he was close to exploding with tension.
“I sent the recruits for their morning training,” the Corporal said, “but that Tersa nearly talked my head off asking about Trent. I gave her a talking to, but can’t say I’m not curious and worried, myself.”
It hadn’t felt right sending the boy off alone, but Frank hadn’t really considered it to be dangerous. There wasn’t anything in the area that was truly threatening if you were careful.
“The rod says he’s safe,” Cullen answered the Corporal’s unspoken question. “I’ll wait a little while longer.”
Frank nodded and dug into his belt pouch. If the Sergeant could wait, he would as well.
“Hey, Sergeant? You got a smoke handy?”
**********
Trent noticed the messages from his Status, but he didn’t consider them for a long time. He knelt, shaking, in the sand, bent forward with his forehead to the earth. The pain was gone, but the memory remained.
“Intere
sting.” A voice that crackled and popped drew his attention before his own gains did.
He still wasn’t certain if he was alive or dead. What did it feel like to be dead? Was that why the pain had stopped?
“Four hundred years and not a single challenger has ever come close!” The voice didn’t sound right. A roar and then a hiss and a snap, none of which sounded real, as if the words were put directly in his mind instead of entering properly through his ears.
“And now, you. Such a small human, such an insignificant challenger. Should your reward be less or greater for your inability?” the voice continued. Was he imagining it?
“No. Regardless, you are the first! The reward must match the deed.”
With trembling arms, Trent pushed himself upright. Sitting back on his heels, he looked around. He was on an island at the center of the lake. White sand spread out in a perfect circle, glistening in the sun, unbroken by any plant or tree. In the center of the island, Trent could see a large ornate chest, gilded in gold.
Next to the chest was a pillar of white flame, standing eight feet tall. No, pillar wasn’t the right word. As the flame swirled and pulsed, a figure could be seen. A leg shifted, an arm twitched, a face, no, not a face. A head with darker colored flames where the eyes should be. Without a mouth or nose or any other features, you couldn’t really call it a face.
The chest called to Trent. Presumably, it held his promised rewards. He had no intention of approaching the fiery figure, though. He’d had enough of flames.
“The heart, Yes, and the cowl.” the voice was coming from the figure. He was certain of it somehow. “The cowl and the axes. Won’t that bewilder you?”
Trent had heard Tersa describe a campfire as merry once. The laugh that came from the figure held little mirth. It was sinister and mocking. If a campfire sounded like that, people would shelter from it in the dark.
It was reasonable to assume that the figure was talking about him and clearly not to him. It seemed to be deciding on something. Trent’s head tilted curiously, though he had no intention of approaching the flame.
At his movement, the figure moved to the left, away from the chest. Trent followed it with his eyes, and suddenly, the figure shot towards him. Trent could only stiffen and gasp, and then it was in front of him. Dark flame eyes studied him.
Oddly there was no heat. As if the figure were an image of a flame, an illusion. This fact didn’t lessen Trent’s apprehension. Walking through water that burns like fire gives you a healthy respect for things that aren’t what they appear to be.
“Human,” now the voice was directed at him, “can you see me? Hear me? Answer!”
Trent nodded and stammered, “Y-y-yes,” at the figure’s demand. He would have run, but the lake, the Burning Lake, just as fearsome as the figure, surrounded the island. His legs wouldn’t move.
“Not possible, but clearly possible.” The figure’s hissing, snapping voice rose and fell in volume, “Four hundred years and now you. But you aren’t completely human, are you?”
Trent shook as the figure leaned closer.
“A Summons! A human, but not quite human. Summons! Whose toy, are you?”
Toy? Was the figure asking about his master? It didn’t seem so, but the figure continued without waiting for him to respond.
“Interesting,” the word had a drawn-out quality this time. “A puzzle. I see no mark on you. A puzzle and a boon.” The figure’s face was incapable of expression. Still, Trent thought its eyes looked contemplative. “How did you come here, Summons?”
Trent felt a sliver of indignation slip past his fear. He had a name. “Trent. My name is Trent!”
“It is. That much is clearly marked, though twisted,” the figure mused. “Very well, Summons Trent, how did you come here?”
“I walked.” Trent immediately sensed that this was not the answer the figure wanted. “This is a Trial. Trials are meant to be challenged. I entered the Trial and walked.”
“Yesss, four hundred years I’ve acted as Keeper of this Trial, and you are the first. Why?” The figure glowed softer for a moment. It appreciated his answer.
“Keeper? You’re the Keeper? What’s that?” Embolden by the creature’s seeming approval, the question popped out of the boy.
“Not THE Keeper! A Keeper!” the figure roared. Its flames brightened until they shined brighter than the wall of fire, the Purifying Flames, from before. “Bring no Tribulation down upon me with careless words, Summons!”
Trent closed his eyes. There was no heat from the figure, but Trent could remember the heat. “I’m sorry!”
The figure softened slightly again in the face of the boy’s terror, “Open your eyes, Summons Trent! Open them and answer me. How is it that such a small Summons, with no outstanding deeds marked upon him, is the first to clear this Trial?”
Trent’s eyes peaked open. He dared not anger this being. “I don’t think people know that the lake is a Trial.”
“Hmmm,” The figure mused, “but you did, and you can see me. Perhaps you are not a toy; perhaps you are a tool? But whose?”
The figure paused. “Perhaps mine, I would bargain with you, Summons Trent. I can offer you great rewards, if…”
Another pause. Trent wasn’t certain if he cared to be called a toy or a tool, but he was sure he’d agree to anything if this figure would move away.
“No, that is against the rules. All the rewards I can offer, you have already earned.” The figure shook its head. “A boon. I ask a boon, a favor. I ask that you listen well and consider it. That is all. It will not affect your reward.”
The figure dimmed and shrunk. Soon it was no larger than Trent and had assumed a sitting position. It was slightly less intimidating this way.
“I am a Spirit of the flame. A Spirit, you understand, not the Spirit.” Trent didn’t but nodded anyway. “For four hundred years, I’ve been Keeper of this Trial of Perseverance. You are the first successful challenger. Others have come before you, but they always turn back. I had wondered about this. There must be some in the World with ambition and fortitude enough to succeed, yet they never come. Now you say that the people are unaware of this Trial.
“Your words, ‘trials must be challenged,’ are truer than you know. I ask that you speak of your success and tell others of the rewards waiting. I can offer you no Quest, my authority does not extend beyond this place, but I ask the boon nonetheless.”
Trent coughed. He had prepared himself for a much more arduous task. Was that it? Of course, he would tell others! His master would want to know, and the Sergeant. Trent was uncertain how much time had passed in the Trial, but he knew Cullen was going to want an explanation. A good one. He just hoped clearing a Trial would do.
“I will, I will tell people about you and…” Trent agreed eagerly.
“No! Speak of the Trial. You must not mention me. It is already stretching the rules for us to speak.” After seeing Trent’s hesitant nod, the figure continued, “Now come, Summons Trent, and collect your reward.”
The figure flowed to its feet, keeping its much-diminished form. It crossed the short distance to the ornate chest, and Trent scrambled to follow. His legs still felt unsteady beneath him, but he managed. The Fire Spirit gestured for him to open the chest. He had to use both hands to lift the heavy lid.
It was a large chest; the top of its lid reached past Trent’s waist, yet the inside contained only a few items. Trent lifted them out.
First was a piece of folded black cloth. No, a hood. A cowl? The item of clothing was a headdress that would drape over his head and shoulders. It was made of lightweight material, and Trent was sure he’d never be allowed to wear it. His leather cap would offer more protection. He put it around his shoulders for now.
The next item was actually three items, a belt with two hand axes hanging from built-in loops. Trent studied them curiously. He’d never seen weapons like these before. Solid wood shafts wrapped in leather were attached to heavy, curved blades. The edge of th
e blades measured approximately six inches and curved slightly, like a cleaver. Both axes were identical, and, weighing them in his hands, Trent found their heft comfortable and reassuring. They had more weight than his short sword, though they were smaller. They would probably be exhausting to train with. Then again, he’d gotten stronger recently, hadn’t he?
He wrapped the belt around the axes and tucked them under his arm. He would put it on later when he had time to move things over from his current belt.
The last item was a glowing red crystal. About the size of a fist, it twinkled and shone happily. If you could freeze fire, this is what it would look like. Trent reached for it, apprehensively.
When his fingers were still inches away, the crystal leaped towards him. Before he could scream out his panic, it was past his arm and at his chest. It passed through his clothing and into his torso.
Trent felt a warm relaxing feeling spread throughout his body. His panic faded as the warmth eased clenched muscles, and he felt good for the first time since he encountered the lake.
You have gained Ability: Heart of the Inferno. You are now resistant to fire. All Fire Spells and Skills will contain a Purifying effect. All Fire-related Spells and Skills will be enhanced, and their costs will be reduced.
Trent wanted to jump with excitement. This was major! This was why Adventurers challenged Trials. He was sure if it. This was what had pushed him into the Trial to begin with!
Trent turned to the figure, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
“You are pleased,” the figure said. “Good. Then…”
Trent bowed, obviously the Spirit was waiting for his thanks. “Thank you! This is exactly what I needed!”
The Spirit did not have eyelids, but Its eye holes narrowed until they almost disappeared. Its head tilted back as if it were praying to the heavens.
“Summons Trent,” it said slowly, “those are powerful gifts, and meant for you alone. You must bind them to leave this place. I assure you they are not cursed.”
