by Jim Hines
Whistling to himself, Nakor walked out of the house.
I like to imagine he was humming “I Will Survive” as he left. Or maybe something by Pat Benatar.
Nakor shrugged as he and Whoo walked down the tunnel. “I guess I just needed my space.”
Whoo was about to say something else when the floor disappeared beneath them. Reflexively, Whoo flapped his wings and shot up several feet. Flame launched himself from Nakor’s shoulders and hovered next to Whoo.
Bending his knees to absorb some of the impact, Nakor crashed onto the ground ten feet below. He stood up, then winced. In his efforts to keep from falling on the lit torch, he had scraped his elbow on the hard stone floor. He looked up at Whoo and Flame, who were both peering down in curiosity. With a whistle, he summoned the bird to his wrist. Using beak and talon, Flame climbed up the sleeve of Nakor’s shirt to rest on his shoulder. Whoo floated gracefully down to join them.
“I don’t want to hear one word about footerlings,” Nakor said as they looked around.
Whoo grinned. After a respectful pause, he asked “That was the trap door you were talking about?”
“Yes. If I hadn’t been so lost in thought, I would have recognized the tunnel.”
“Well,” Whoo began, “Maybe you should try not to think so much.”
Nakor didn’t bother to respond. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember which way to go.
After a moment, he opened his eyes. Without speaking, he raised the torch and began walking down the tunnel.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” Whoo asked.
“Nope.”
Shaking his head, Whoo followed.
A large rat raced into the middle of the hall. There it stood on its hind legs and stared curiously at the pair.
Stopping, they watched the rat for a moment. It didn’t seem to have any fear of man.
“Do you think Olara could be using animals to spy on us?” Whoo speculated.
Nakor raised an eyebrow. With a shrug, he placed his index finger in front of Flame. In one swift motion, he swung his finger and pointed at the rat.
Raised eyebrow count: 17
Shrieking loudly, Flame launched himself at the small rodent.
It never had a chance. Dropping down to all fours, the rat spun and raced back to the wall. Flame scooped him up in one claw, then flapped his wings and landed on the ground.
Nakor began to walk down the hall once more.
“What about Flame?” Whoo asked.
“He’ll be along as soon as he’s done eating,” Nakor said.
Whoo nodded. Animals killed other animals for food, this was the natural order of things. It was the planned, deliberate killing of animals by sentient beings that he despised. Still, he couldn’t quite repress a shudder of revulsion as he glanced back to see Flame happily eating the dead rat.
“You could have tried to talk to it,” Whoo commented.
“Whether it was a spy or not, that rat had been living here for a while,” Nakor answered. “That means it would have been affected by whatever changed that deer we saw earlier.”
“Besides, Flame hasn’t eaten in a while,” Nakor added. He didn’t think Whoo’s theory was correct. True, it was within Olara’s power to use animals to spy on the group, but it wasn’t her style. Nakor had a much more unpleasant suspicion about that matter.
“So which way?” asked Whoo, breaking Nakor’s train of thought.
He looked up. The tunnel branched off in two directions in front of them. It was a familiar sight.
“Back the way we came,” said Nakor, smiling.
“I knew you were going to say that,” Whoo muttered.
“That’s where I was when the skeletons attacked,” Nakor explained. “I had to turn and run back the other way.” They passed Flame, who glanced up from preening himself as they walked by. Seemingly unconcerned, the fire falcon reached over and smoothed out one last uncooperative feather. Then, as the pair were beginning to pass out of sight, Flame leapt into the air and flew back to his perch on Nakor’s shoulder.
Wait, back in chapter two, I said Flame was an owl. I’m so confused!
A few minutes later, Nakor stopped again.
“This is where I waited with my sling,” he muttered. “Then I got wounded in the legs. I crawled away…”
He looked up. “I felt a breeze on my face.”
Passing the torch to Whoo, Nakor knelt down and began crawling down the tunnel. Amused, Whoo leaned against a wall and watched.
Soon, Nakor grinned and leapt to his feet. Reaching out, he shoved a part of the tunnel wall. There was a click, and a portion of the wall slid backward a few inches. With a shove, Nakor opened the door.
“After you,” he said, gesturing to Whoo.
Holding the torch high, Whoo walked into the small room. Nakor followed, grinning.
Once inside, Nakor turned and shoved the door shut.
“You’re sure this is the right room?” Whoo asked.
As an answer, Nakor rolled up his sleeve to show the scratches on his elbow. He gestured, and the cuts closed.
“I’m sure,” Nakor said, brushing the dried blood off his skin.
He pointed at the door on the opposite wall. “I never opened it, so I don’t know where we’re going from now on.”
“Then we’re even,” Whoo replied, opening the door. He glanced worriedly at the torch. “Nakor, we’re about to run out of light.”
With a smile, Nakor took the torch from Whoo’s hand. Blowing hard, he extinguished the last of the dim flames. Then he concentrated, and a small ball of fire appeared in one hand.
Tossing the useless torch aside, Nakor walked through the door.
“Show off,” Whoo muttered, walking behind.
Chapter 10
It wasn’t long before they came to another door. Nakor opened it, then leapt back in surprise.
A large vicious-looking dragon was coiled around a white pedestal. On top of the pedestal sat an ivory spider, clutching a crystal sphere.
The dragon growled. Polished green scales gleamed, reflecting the light of Nakor’s flame.
With this dragon, I believe we’ve won Fantasy Cliché BINGO!
“Now what?” Nakor whispered, looking over at Whoo.
Whoo grinned. “I’ll handle this,” he commented, winking at Nakor. Then he marched boldly into the room, nocking an arrow. “I say we kill it,” he said in a loud voice.
“What?” demanded an outraged voice. The dragon shimmered briefly, then vanished.
“You wouldn’t dare!” Pynne shouted, running over to embrace the pixie. Jenn looked happily at Nakor and Whoo.
“We heard you at the door,” Jenn explained, “So Pynne cast the dragon illusion over us. How did you know?”
Whoo grinned, then turned to Pynne.
“You always make your illusions with such big, black eyes,” he chastised. “Dragons have yellow eyes.”
Pynne does everything anime style.
Pynne rolled her own blue eyes. “Like most people are going to stop and study the eyes.”
“I did.” Whoo said, still grinning.
Jenn’s smile vanished. “What about Galadrion?”
“We found the priest,” Nakor said. “He was very dead, and Galadrion was gone.”
Jenn relaxed. “So she’s alive.”
“Nakor,” Pynne said excitedly, “We found Averlon’s journal.”
His eyes widened. “Do you have it here? Did it have the scroll? Did it explain what we have to do?”
Pynne smiled at the jumble of questions pouring from Nakor’s mouth. “No, no, and no,” she answered. “We didn’t want to take the risk of Olara getting a hold of it.”
“What about the scroll?” Whoo asked.
“Averlon hid it somewhere in these tunnels,” Jenn butted in.
“Just like Nakor and I guessed,” she added with an obnoxious smile.
I am really tired of this author’s habit of splitting dialogue by one character and
breaking it into two paragraphs for no reason. It’s confusing and obnoxious. What’s wrong with this guy? Hasn’t he ever read a book to see how dialogue is supposed to work?
“We just came straight from the lower levels of the temple,” Whoo said. “So the scroll must be hidden somewhere ahead.”
Pynne frowned. “We’ve explored everything behind us, and it’s not there. There wasn’t much to explore, really. A few empty rooms, nothing more.”
Random lava. Ancient treasure vault. You know, the usual.
“Oh no,” Jenn groaned, “You don’t suppose it’s on the other side of the canyon, do you?”
“Canyon?” Nakor asked, raising an eyebrow.
Raised eyebrow count: 18
“The dwarves used to have a bridge leading to more tunnels,” Pynne explained. “But from what I saw, it hasn’t been there in a long time.”
“Dwarves?” Whoo asked.
“Yeah,” Jenn answered. “Didn’t you know these were dwarven tunnels?”
Whoo looked at Nakor, who shrugged.
“I don’t want to go back,” Jenn said.
Nakor turned to study the sculpture on the pedestal. “This wasn’t part of your illusion, then?” he asked Pynne.
“No, that was here when we walked in.”
“Have you had a chance to study it?” Nakor asked.
“We only got here a few minutes before you did,” Jenn answered.
He peered at the sphere, held tightly within the spider’s legs. It was highly polished, reflecting the light he held in his hand. There was a slight blue tinge to the crystal. He raised his eyes, noticing that the spider seemed to be watching him.
“Averlon would have wanted us to be able to find the scroll,” Nakor said quietly.
“But he needed to keep it safe from Olara,” Pynne pointed out, “So he couldn’t have made it easy to find.”
Nakor closed his eyes and cast a quick spell. Opening them again, he smiled at the green glow of magic that permeated the sphere.
“Let’s find out how easy it is,” Nakor whispered. Reaching out, he touched the sphere with one hand. Nothing happened.
With a frown, he extinguished the flame in his hand, plunging the room into darkness. He touched the crystal with his other hand. Still, there was no response.
“What exactly are you trying to do?” Pynne asked curiously.
Nakor frowned. He had assumed that this magical artifact must have something to do with finding Olatha-Shyre. Wrinkling his brow in concentration, he recreated his small flame, lighting the room. Then he turned to answer Pynne.
“Watch out!” Jenn cried out.
Behind him, the statue of the spider had begun moving. Nakor ducked, and it leapt over his head and skidded across the floor.
What a shocking twist that no one could have anticipated, despite the exact same thing having happened earlier in the book!
“Can’t Olara do anything better than create living statues?” Pynne asked as she flew up out of reach.
“Goddess or not, she’s still a footerling,” Whoo answered. Drawing one of his last arrows, he fired at the spider.
Whoo’s eyes widened as it passed through the statue without harming it. “Uh oh,” he muttered.
The spider turned and looked at Nakor. With a shrug, Nakor tossed his flame at the small stone creature. Like Whoo’s arrow, it passed through without harm.
Annoyed by the disturbance, Flame flapped over to perch upon the now unguarded crystal.
“I don’t know what this thing is,” Pynne said, “But it’s no illusion. I’d know.”
Nakor drew his rapier and began to advance.
Without warning, the spider leapt high into the air. Nakor lashed out, but was too slow. It crashed into Pynne’s hovering form, sending them both crashing to the ground.
Pynne screamed as the spider’s pincers closed on her neck. Then she was still.
“Pynne!” Whoo cried out. Instantly, he fired both of his remaining arrows at the spider, to no effect.
The spider turned slowly, studying the opponents who remained. Then, as if it had come to a decision, it began to advance upon Jenn.
She backed away, holding her dwarven dagger in front of her. She sensed Nakor coming up next to her, sword ready.
Nakor was still in shock. He glanced over at Pynne’s still form. She wasn’t breathing. A wave of grief threatened to overcome him, but he brushed it away for the moment. He couldn’t afford to break his concentration.
True story: When I was writing this book, I would let my girlfriend read what I had written at the end of each day. She seemed to really like it. Then again, she was dating me, so we know she had questionable taste.
When she read this scene where Pynne dies, she got so mad she broke up with me…which probably says something about the health of our relationship. (We did end up getting back together a little while later.) But hey, if the point of writing is to evoke emotion, then I certainly succeeded!
This is one of the reasons I no longer let anyone read my first drafts.
Faster than any natural creature could move, the spider leapt again. Jenn screamed and brought her dagger up, hoping to fend off the creature.
Without thinking, Nakor crashed into her, shoving her out of the way. He tried to swing his rapier at the spider, but was too late. It landed on his chest, sending him stumbling back.
Panicking, he clawed at the spider as it prepared to bite. His hands passed through it with no effect, and Nakor watched in horror as the pincers tore through his shirt and pierced his chest.
He felt pain spreading through his body. Stumbling to his knees, Nakor tried desperately to heal himself, to purge his body of the poison racing through his veins. Then everything faded to blackness.
* * *
Nakor was in a large, empty room. Everything was white. The floor was covered in white tile, as was the ceiling. The walls seemed to be made of some sort of polished white rock, and pure white pillars formed a perfect circle around Nakor. The overall feeling was one of emptiness.
“The character wakes up in an empty, featureless, white room.” Translation: the author couldn’t be bothered to do any description. (Either that, or Nakor had been transported into The Matrix.)
Confused, he looked down at his chest. The shirt was undamaged, giving no evidence of the spider’s bite.
“Hello?” he called out, looking around.
His voice echoed around him. Then, slowly, a figure began to materialize in front of him.
Nakor didn’t move. He just watched in silence the man, dressed in grey robes, stepped forward. He was tall, probably an inch past six feet. His long hair was pure grey, and his face displayed the lines of age. Graceful pointed ears displayed his elven heritage, as did the pure green eyes that stared intently at Nakor.
You can tell this guy is very important because he has green eyes.
For a long time, neither spoke. Nakor began to get the impression that the elf would be perfectly content to stand in silence for the rest of eternity, if need be.
Eventually, Nakor broke the silence. “Where are we?”
The elf frowned. “That’s a difficult thing to explain.”
His voice was clear and strong, showing no signs of age. “I guess you could say that we aren’t anywhere.”
Nakor raised an eyebrow.
Raised eyebrow count: 19
“Who are you?” the elf asked.
“My name is Nakor. And you are?”
“I am the caretaker of this place. My name is Averlon.”
“You’re Averlon?” Nakor asked incredulously.
“Not precisely,” he elf answered with a faint smile. “But I was created in his image. Averlon made me, a long time ago, and left me here to wait.” He shrugged. “I have no other name, and the true Averlon no longer has need of it.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“Perhaps I’ve been waiting for you, Nakor,” Averlon answered. “You have passed the first test, and are ob
viously no priest of Olara.”
A dark frown spread across Nakor’s features. “Test?”
“Had you been such a priest, your reaction to the spider would have been quite different. You would have gladly laid down your life and allowed it to kill you, if that was its desire.”
Wait, you mean all we have to do to fight these evil priests is dump a bucket of black widows on them?
“In addition,” he continued, “by sacrificing your life to save your young friend, you proved your loyalty.”
“Pynne is dead,” Nakor said bluntly. “Your test killed her.”
Nakor completely misses the implications of that “sacrificing your life” bit here.
Averlon glanced down momentarily. “Surely you understand the necessity of preventing Olatha-Shyre from falling into the wrong hands. I am sorry if your friend was harmed, but perhaps we will be able to do something to rectify that situation.”
“Such as?” Nakor demanded. He was too angry and hurt over Pynne’s death to worry about being civil.
“All must be done at its proper time,” Averlon said softly. “First you must prove to me that you are the one who should receive Olatha-Shyre.”
“How do I do that?”
“You can’t,” Averlon answered with a smile. “This is the other problem I face. There is nothing you could do to prove yourself that could not be faked by one with evil in his heart.”
He looked into Nakor’s eyes. It was a disconcerting look, but it was somehow familiar as well. Then Nakor remembered. It was the same look that Thomas had given him back in his small monastery.
“Therefore,” Averlon continued, “we must rely on what you have already done.”
Nakor said nothing as Averlon reached out to gently rest his first two fingers upon Nakor’s temple. There was a momentary flash of pain.
“Do not be alarmed,” came Averlon’s soothing voice. It was muffled somehow, as if Nakor was hearing it from a great distance. “This will not harm you.”
Mostly because you’re already dead.
Suddenly images began racing through Nakor’s mind. Scenes from his life were remembered in an instant, then vanished again. He saw himself hitting his human father, then a moment later he was hurling a sling bullet at a skeleton. He saw Whoo and Pynne, eating happily at his table. He saw Galadrion, walking alone in the street as she had been the first time Nakor had met her.
