Trial and Flame

by Kevin Murphy

  “I’ll go first if you hold the pooch, Roth,” Melee said with a mischievous grin.

  Roth nodded at the suggestion. “Ok, then. Good luck.”

  And that was how it was decided. Dakkon wasn’t sure how exactly to deal with Roth and Melee’s sets of proverbial brass balls. In that moment, he found their nonchalant audacity to be overwhelming. He certainly wasn’t lining up to rush in first or to be the one responsible for carrying a frightened wolf through a deathtrap. Sure, they’d all have to do it on their own in time—but they had no idea what was beyond that first corner. There could be unexpected obstacles that they’d have to avoid. There could be anything.

  The party waited for the cycle to complete as Melee limbered up. The act of stretching was entirely unnecessary, but Dakkon supposed that doing anything was better than simply waiting for your turn to run a spike-filled gauntlet. When it was time for the five long ‘claaks,’ Melee readied herself.

  *claaak-claaak-claaak-claaak-claaak* *clang*

  “Right!” everyone yelled as Melee moved into the right slot.

  *clak* *clang*

  “Center!” everyone called again, prompting Melee for what would come next.

  After two claks, even though she was barely into the hallway, Melee was hidden behind a wall of spikes when the clang sounded.

  “Center!” they shouted again. Soon, to everyone’s relief, Melee’s undamaged form was visible again, and she moved forward another tile.

  The party continued guiding Melee through the spike maze, and the next test came just after the 10th clang. Melee needed to make a gamble on the orientation of the guide. The guide could be laid out in one of two ways. Did it account for the runner turning 180 degrees and flip which bumps meant left and right, or was it all laid out from the perspective of looking toward the hallway from the room which contained the guide?

  “Left!” Everyone yelled, hoping that Melee would make the correct choice. A few seconds later, the 11th clang came with no cries of pain. Either she’d done it, or her screams had been muffled by the maze.

  The party continued to yell out directions through the entire 50 steps of the puzzle. When it was all over, Mina held her breath.

  “That was nerve-wracking!” Melee called back between clangs.

  The party collectively sighed with relief.

  “Melee, you idiot!” Mina yelled. “We didn’t know if you were okay or not!”

  “I was concentrating!” Melee cried out defensively. “It’s tense in there!”

  “Well, which way was it?” Dakkon asked. “Does the guide follow the path, or did you have to flip things on the fly?”

  “It follows the path!” Melee shouted. “I would’ve definitely flubbed it, otherwise!”

  “Good,” Dakkon said, too quietly to carry to Melee. “That definitely makes things easier.”

  “Could you hear us the whole way through?” Roth called out.

  “Yup, loud and clear!” Melee replied.

  “Well, all right,” Roth said in a lower tone. “Guess it’s my turn. Think you can say something to Jinx to keep him calm amongst the spikes as I walk through?”

  Mina looked at Jinx, then back to Roth. “He’ll be fine,” she said. “Jinx is awfully clever. He shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

  Despite her words, she then bent down to Jinx and scratched her pet behind its ears which quickly escalated into full-blown belly rubs.

  After four long and five short claks, Mina picked Jinx up and handed the wolf to Roth, who placed the beast’s head over his shoulder as he firmly held onto its back and braced it from beneath. Just after the 50th clang, they began again.

  “Right!” everyone yelled, including Melee from the other side, despite no one prompting her that they were about to start.

  \\\

  After Roth and Jinx, Cline went, then Mina. Dakkon would be the last to pass through the maze of death. The situation reminded him what it was like to be the final slot in school presentations—the anticipation had only built while he was forced to wait. He’d been sweating since Melee went through, and he was afraid that the voices of his companions would be hard to hear from the other side, so he focused intently on the first half of the solution written on his left arm.

  After the 50th clang, his teammates yelled out, “Right!” and he moved atop the first right tile.

  *clang*

  The sound was much louder from so close. It came from overhead. Rather than the spikes blunting themselves against the floor, there seemed to be some sort of hidden metal plate behind the ceiling that kept the pointed tips suspended just above the ground. While he was in the small, relatively safe opening, his pulse quickened. There was barely enough room to check his arm for the next position.

  “Center!” he heard his teammates yell. Clang after clang, he worked his way to the first bend in the path.

  “Left!” his party yelled. Dakkon darted to the furthest tile that would become the new left while he traversed the second of five spear-filled hallways. The clangs there were even louder as he was fully surrounded by puncturing peril. There was no way out except ahead.

  Dakkon slowly worked his way through the path, at each clang anticipating something to go awry. Then, when he looked at both of his arms in the third hallway, he realized that the ink had begun to bead and run. Sections of the solution on his right arm had been covered by streaks.

  Had he rubbed his sweat-dampened arm against his clothes? The realization ushered Dakkon toward panic, but he knew he needed to keep a level head. It would be all right. They had thought of redundancy. He just needed to follow his party’s instructions exactly. He couldn’t be caught zoning out to his internalizations when he so desperately needed to listen to his group’s instructions.

  Relying on his party, Dakkon made it through the fourth and into the fifth hallway. Here, the number of long claks meant that there was a little more time between the fall of each spear. After the 42nd clang—one of the sections that had been rubbed off from his arm—Dakkon heard his party yell both left and right.

  Dakkon’s eyes bulged wide. For an instant, the usually-swift spears seemed to retract in slow motion. Rather than try to figure out which tile came next, he bolted for the exit.

  *claaak-claaak-claaak-claaak* *clak-clak-clak* *clang*

  [You have been stabbed for 72 damage.]

  [You have been stabbed for 72 damage.]

  [You have been stabbed for 71 damage.]

  [You have been stabbed for 72 damage. Remaining HP 783/1,070]

  Dakkon’s right foot erupted in pain. He had been forced to dive the final stretch to avoid the worst of the spikes, but he had come up a little short.

  “Dakkon!” Mina cried out.

  After the clang, the spikes rose, cleanly pulling free of Dakkon’s foot. Roth and Cline pulled him forward and away from the spikes.

  “Oh gods! Dakkon!” Mina wailed. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Just patch him up,” Melee said as she glanced to her friend. “It’s fine. We all made it.” She looked down to Dakkon and gave him a playful kick in the side. “Good sprint there, Dak. You’re quicker than you look.”

  Dakkon looked up at the worried Mina with what he had hoped was a reassuring—though pained—grin. Things could have gone a lot worse than they had. The flub could have occurred in the fourth hallway where he’d have been forced to make a guess. Sure, between drowning in a closed room and being surrounded by thrusting, industrial-strength spikes, he had probably gained two new life-long, recurring nightmares—but, for the time being, he was done with it.

  Mina finished a short chant and Dakkon’s body was wreathed in blue light. His health points surged back as the holes in his right foot mended.

  [You have been healed for 455 hit points. Remaining HP 1,070/1,070]

  Dakkon stood up and he walked forward, reflexively favoring his right foot despite no trace of pain remaining. When he touched the exit door, it swung open easily and the clicking and clanking of the spea
r trap behind him abruptly ended.

  Dakkon turned back to his party with pursed lips as he glared at them. “You mean no one bothered to touch the exit!”

  Melee shrugged. “Didn’t want to risk changing the pattern,” she said.

  Dakkon was pissed. It didn’t matter that Melee had given a good reason. He marched right out onto the next walkway, completely forgetting his desire to tread lightly on his recently-kabobbed foot.

  The night sky greeted him, and a frigid gust of air caused the incensed Dakkon to shudder reflexively. Then, he immediately coated himself in an insulating thermomantic barrier.

  As his party walked around the spiraling walkway, Dakkon let his frustrations slip by him with a sigh. When they soon arrived at the next entrance, he created a larger heat bubble using his Hotspot skill, centered in front of the door. So long as his party members huddled up there, they’d be warm regardless of any malicious drafts.

  Chapter 19: Reflect and Select

  The text above the unopened door read ‘reflection.’ The first two had been labeled ‘path’ and ‘memory.’ Neither were great indicators about what lie in wait for them when they entered the room, so the party placed no great weight on the significance of a room’s name.

  To the door’s left, the upcoming trial’s relief waited to be inspected. It contained the image of two figures facing each other, with legs bowed into ballet-styled plies. The androgynous figures’ arms were held stretched out above their heads. Each limb pointed roughly 45 degrees toward the image’s left—at about the 10 and 11 positions on a clock face.

  “…” the party examined the carved stone image in a confused, reverent silence.

  “What do you guys make of that?” Cline finally asked.

  “Beats me,” Roth answered for everyone.

  “Yeah, I doubt we’ll know before we go in again,” said Dakkon.

  Cline steeled his resolve. “Better to get it done with, wouldn’t you say?” He said while looking to the others who were wearing their reservations openly. Counting the next area and the three that loomed above them, there seemed to be at least four more trial rooms ahead. After surviving the first two, manifesting the will to tackle four more life-imperiling rooms was a trial in itself. It certainly drained Dakkon’s will to go on.

  Having heard no outright objections, Cline moved forward and pressed his hand against the large stone door, expecting it might swing inwards. This time, the door slowly raised like a portcullis. Thinking about the speed with which the previous doors had closed, the party hurried inside lest they be caught dawdling beneath it. After a few paces forward into the room, the door slammed down behind them with an ominous crash.

  “Well, that was different,” observed Roth.

  The room was different, too. Rather than a trap room, the area looked more like some sort of gladiatorial arena—complete with tiered stone seating along the left and right walls. The room’s center dropped slightly in elevation, forming a sort of theatrical pit. In the pit, there were two large cylindrical platforms—each with a top of about four meters in diameter.

  One of the platforms had a small, stone staircase which led to its top while the other had none. Instead, sitting atop the second platform was a blocky-looking stone statue which had a shape not wholly unlike one of those century-old, crudely-constructed, cymbal-banging monkey toys. Unlike those toys, it had segmented limbs which appeared as though they could be articulated in the standard ways, and possibly many exotic ones, too. Next to its eyes, its head was its most rounded feature, though it became flat at its top. At eye level, a raised band of stone protruded slightly outward from its face and held twin, eye-like spheres of some variety of smooth, white crystal or equivalent gemstone.

  “What the heck is that thing?” Mina asked. “Some kind of golem?”

  It was a golem. Dakkon would bet on it. An autonomous, magically-animated being created to serve a specific task. The question was: what was its task?

  “Yeah, that’s a golem all right,” Dakkon said. “Think we’ve got to fight it?”

  “Well… the trial is called reflection,” Roth said. “Maybe we’ll have to shoot something back at it?”

  “Ugh, who’s going to do that?” Cline asked. In a moment, all eyes were focused on him. “What? Me?”

  “You’re the ranger,” Melee said. “Also, you were the one who was so gung-ho to come in here. Batter up.”

  Cline grumbled momentarily, but he soon relented and began to slowly make his way over to the staircase then up to the dueling platform. The rest of the party made their way to one side of the spectator’s gallery and took their seats on the sidelines.

  “Mina, get ready to heal him should anything happen,” Dakkon said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mina said, waving the comment away. “Like I wasn’t going to do that, anyway.”

  Dakkon knew she wouldn’t let him down. He sat with his Dousebinders at the ready. Should something unexpected happen, he might be able to freeze the golem in a block of ice. When magic was part of the trial, though, there was no way to be sure. For all he knew, the golem might be able to break through a meter of ice with relative ease.

  Cline dragged his feet as he climbed up the stairs, then cautiously stepped atop the platform and grudgingly moved to its center. His eyes didn’t stray from the golem for an instant. He didn’t know what was coming, but he was determined to be as ready for it as possible. Despite his preparation, when he stood on the platform nothing happened.

  Cline stood tensely as he waited for something to occur, but nothing did. Eventually, his audience began making suggestions.

  “Try shooting it?” Roth said.

  “I don’t know,” Cline replied without taking his eyes off the golem. “This is the reflection trial, or whatever. Shooting at it sounds like a pretty bad idea.”

  “Well, what then?” Melee heckled. “You two just gonna stand up there and stare at each other? I bet you crumble before it will.”

  “What about the mural outside?” Dakkon joked. “Maybe you should strike a pose?”

  “I’ve got a pose for you,” Cline said as he flipped his middle finger up toward the hecklers.

  “No, wait,” Mina said. “I think that’s worth a shot. Why don’t you try copying the monkey golem’s pose?”

  “Huh?” said Cline as he hunched forward and let his arms fall freely in front of him. “Like this?”

  Suddenly, the white stones in the golems eyes began to glow. Clines actions had activated it. The golem rocked its head side-to-side—left, then right. Next, it froze back in its original position.

  “What are you waiting for!” Melee yelled. “Monkey see, monkey do!”

  Cline tried copying the left and right head sway that the golem had exhibited. When nothing happened, he realized what he needed to do. He assumed the monkey’s original position, and the golem’s eyes flared once again.

  This time, Cline mirrored the golem exactly as it moved its head around and watched as the golem added another action to the sequence. The golem quickly squatted to the ground and raised its hands over its head, then began to sway them. Unable to anticipate this next move, Cline had to start over from scratch.

  “Oh, I see,” said Roth.

  “Nice work!” Dakkon added.

  After Cline had effectively mirrored the golem’s squat and arm waggle, Melee cried out, “Shake it, monkey boy!” causing Cline to blush, but he did manage to learn the next move in the sequence.

  Fun though it was for the spectators, progress was tedious. The moves became more erratic as the sequence grew longer. His body unaccustomed to moving in such ways, it took Cline a lot of effort to match the pace of his monkey golem dance partner. There was quite a bit of trial and even more error. Not only did the sequence grow longer, but Cline found that he had to mimic the monkey’s actions closely. He failed nearly every move the first time he tried it, and many on the second and third attempts as well.

  Then, after 50 minutes of learning the routine
step by step, Cline was a golem-dancing master. He monkey posed; craned his neck; dropped down and waggled his arms, then wind milled them; kicked out both legs—one then the other—while holding out both hands as if balancing a scale; thrust out his chest three times; patted his shoulders as he hopped on one foot; pointed forward with his left arm, then to the audience; suspended himself off the ground with his arms as both legs hung in front of him; then, finally, he matched the monkey’s eyes-forward bow. When the monkey assumed a normal standing pose after that, Cline suspected he had won.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with what appeared to be a smug glint in the monkey golem’s white eyes, it took one step to its left. The construct locked its gaze with Cline, an action hinting at some degree of sentience. It placed its right hand on the ground, then slowly and deliberately rolled onto its flat-topped head—never breaking eye contact. Next, the monkey golem crossed both arms over its chest and balanced on its head by spreading out its legs. With its eyes still staring forward, challenging, it begun to mechanically spin the rest of its body like a top.

  “Oh, come the hell on!” Cline snapped as he turned away and marched down the steps. “There’s no way I can breakdance like that! One of you guys do it!”

  “No way, dude,” said Roth. “You’re the most agile. Plus, you know the routine by now.”

  “He’s right, man,” Dakkon said with a grin. “Still, I don’t think you can master the headspin today. I think we’re going to need to cheat a little.”