Skull of Oghren

by Tuomas Vainio

  Pan's hand slides towards the pouch of pebbles tied to his belt. He may have forgotten his slingshot at the bottom of the heart of the docks district, but out of habit the pouch of pebbles has lingered on his belt, and so a solution begins to slowly form inside his mind. Something simple, and so Pan throws a single stone. It barely manages to scrape a flying book, but it is enough for Pandora to notice. Her eyes explode wide open as each of the flying the objects grind to a sudden halt. An eerie stop for a mere split second, before all of them fly in wide arcs across the room. A wild barrage with the intention of hitting any boy sized invisible target. A barrage that lands entirely on the wrong side of the room. Hence by the time the last book falls lifelessly on the floor after bouncing down from the opposing wall, Pan has already sneaked up the stairs.

  As Pandora's focus was drawn elsewhere, it gave Pan the opportunity to glide up the stairs with almost careless haste.

  Third floor, only two more to go after it. Only three challenges left to complete, and with Pandora left behind on the floor below, only Bergelmir and the old rat remain to stand in Pan's way.

  'Wuff.' Says the old rat standing underneath a more or less contained illusionary vision of a very large hound. A black dog with large fangs and visible scars on its short fur. Pan knows this dog. He has often seen it in the courtyard just three blocks away. An old dog that survived the pit fights, and somehow still appears to enjoy belly rubs from anyone who dares to approach it.

  'What?' Pan blinks and blurts.

  'Too late boy.' The old rat coldly throws back as an instantaneous reply. 'This dog has already sniffed your scent and jumped towards your throat. It is tearing it open. There is blood everywhere.'

  'But I know that dog, it likes to have its belly rubbed!' Pan tries to protest.

  'Any dog found in the tower most likely will not, at least not by you.' Following the words of the old rat, Bergelmir's illusion shatters and crumbles away like dust in the wind. Not long after, Bergelmir himself becomes visible and he is not standing too far behind the old rat. 'Whatever you will encounter in the tower, you must act without delay.'

  'How can I know if it is the right decision to make?'

  'You do not, no one does. Not really. But you need to act, you cannot afford to freeze and stand still.'

  Pan releases a sigh.

  The young Bergelmir tries to look elsewhere before he raises his own voice. 'Well, it is late for today. You must be hungry. I am.' He gives a sheepish grin. 'And I think the old rat is too!'

  'Yeah...' Pan finally adds, as he opens the harness, letting the skull fall down. Not a long while after, he casts aside the cloaks and the mask. His young body feels sore, and yet strangely liberated. Both tired and as light as a feather.

  The old rat races to climb onto Pan's shoulder before they head downstairs. Pandora tags along, and so at the ground floor our four companions join Loge around the table. There are bowls of steaming stew for everyone, and a spoonful for the old rat to nibble on.

  The days that follow progress on a similar fashion: once here and there Loge's and Pandora's gang helps the old rat to present challenges for Pan to solve and overcome one way or another. From floors covered with slippery ice to rooms full of felines shaped and wrought from flames alone. To dodge moving objects and to walk on top egg shells, while the twins hammer pots with very large spoons.

  Pan knows that he is more than unlikely to face any of the old rat's odd challenges within the real Tower of Judgement. But he cannot deny the point found with the old rat's explanation; how he needs to train his mind to overcome the unexpected. Better than ever before.

  Yet he is not having as much fun as the twelve others are. In a way, Pan's disgruntlement is understandable as the others are actively going and plotting against him. He is left to stand alone and to try to outwit them as well as he can. It does not help that Hip in particular has taken a liking for coming up with ever more elaborate challenges and traps to lay before Pan.

  Yet after long last, after weeks of trying, Pan has finally managed to sneak and reach his own room. Past the bucket traps of icy water. Beasts of fire and illusions. Locks picked open under deafening hammering. Floors covered with ice and tar. Daggers spinning in the air. Atlas running around with the key tied to his neck. Every wooden board on the stairs loosened and made to creak on the slightest misstep. Invisible barriers blocking movement. Yet there he stands in his own room and he feels surprisingly relieved.

  Pan takes takes a deep breath and releases a sigh that is almost ecstatic. But he cannot help but to ask of himself: 'What now?'

  'What indeed?' The rat replies lazily behind a bed leg. 'There is still time left before our venture to the tower. You can move with the skull, but perhaps a more important question to ask is...'

  The boy swallows. 'Yes?'

  'Can you properly run and climb with it tied on your back.'

  'I guess?' Pan scratches the back of his head. 'I have been kind of stuck inside the house.' The boy motions to towards his mask other equipment.

  The old rat grins. 'Well, you finally reached your room. So perhaps we should focus on running and climbing along the roofs of the city under the sun.'

  'Not in the city beneath the streets?'

  'No, passage through there is not needed. Not to mention how it is in our best interests to avoid the hassle spewing back and forth.'

  Pan gazes towards his desk where the scissors lie. 'Yeah, I think I got the idea.'

  Thus on the days that follow, the remaining week that precedes the end of three month time span, Pan runs through the roofs of the city with the old rat above his shoulder. The harness made to carry the skull chafes, the mask makes it harder to breath and see, but little by little Pan's body learns to adjust and to deal with the burden. His steps learn to find new strength, and certainty, as he leaps from one building to another, as he balances on the laundry ropes, as he slides down the rain pipes, and peers far to the distance on top of chimneys.

  The boy's destination glimmers in the distance. A once grand tower at the corner of the docks, ever vigilant in its guard of the sea. Ever harbouring the imprisoned within the depths of its tunnels and jails as the shrieks of the seagulls mask underneath the cries of horror emanating from the lightless pits. Those forbidding from the salvation of mining in the salt mines. Some say it is mercy compared to suffering caused by the affliction, some find it in them to disagree, but none truly travel over there out of their own free volition.

  Thus as the old rat whispers instructions to Pan's ear, guiding him where to head next, where to run and climb next, what new challenge awaits for him to over come… The old rat is sure that he has done all he can to prepare the boy. But in his heart, Albezjer wonders if he truly has the boy's best interest in his mind, or rather his very own.

  The rat's whiskers shake, as the rat smells the coming winter. It smells colder than the year before. He knows that it won't be long until the first snows shall fall.

  Chapter 14:

  'Look at it.' The old rat whispers next to Pan's fox mask. The night air is chilly. The streets before the Tower of Judgement remain stark, as the ancient monolith lingers on its silent guard, as the light at the very top shines towards the sea.

  The boy shivers. 'Do you think it will snow tonight?'

  The old rat chuckles in return. 'The strange questions you ask.' The rat's gaze wanders up. The nose twitches along with the whiskers. 'Maybe, but shouldn't you be more curious how we are going to sneak in?'

  'I doubt there will be any windows open, and I doubt that the old trellis on its walls could even withstand any weight on it.'

  'Yes, the tower used to be adorned with wines crawling upwards. Indeed, it has been a long time since. A lighthouse that wore scales of green, a sight to be seen by travellers.' The old rat sighs. 'It still is, in a way, in its rugged exterior, and with the light it shines.'

  'So... We just walk in through the front door?'

  'Yes, we sneak in the moment the guards at the
main door switch at the end of their shift. They are tired men in the night with longing to bid farewell to the cold air. Not to mention those coming out will long to head right back. So in a sense, it would almost appear that your disguise of invisibility would be unneeded...'

  'Right.' The boy snorts, and steps into the open from the narrow alleyway. A gust of wind catches him off guard, and the boy shivers yet again.

  'Keep your mind focused. We only have once chance to pull this off.'

  'There are still few days after tomorrow.' The boy snorts back.

  'If we fail tonight, and manage to get back home, we will flee the city.' The old rat's gaze turns distant, as if he was staring beyond the depths of the night sky itself.

  'Right...' The boy finally adds. He places the fox mask on and pulls the hood to cover his head before focusing his mind to turns his visage invisible to the eyes of mortal men. Thus our boy makes his way under the glare of the street lights, leaving nothing but faint flickers of his shadow cast on the street in his wake. Almost as if it were but a play of the lantern flames themselves.

  It does not take long before Pan can see the faces of the guardsmen. Thick bushy moustaches, with surrounding cheeks and noses red from the cold night air. To hear how their jaws rattle every now and then, how the large men shiver, for they have not yet been granted their permission to wear their winter uniforms. How their supposedly still guard twitches for the fleeting warmth of any small movement.

  And then there is the invisible boy peering forth behind the nearest corner, keeping his eyes towards the steps leading to the great black oak doors with iron and steel spikes both adorning and protruding outwards. The door is both ancient and heavy, well beyond the means of our small boy to open on his own.

  It takes some twenty minutes of waiting before the large door finally creeks open. It groans as the replacement guards push the left side open from within. The men who had been shivering in the cold welcome the switch of guard with their struggled smiles and small words of appreciation. They are happy to head back in to warmth of fires, but do not want to rub in the fact as their replacements were almost caught almost bare by the cold night air.

  Pan makes long quiet strides with his legs. He skips onwards to catch the heels of the guardsmen heading back inside, and well past as the two guards turn to pull the door shut after them.

  From outside Pan had reckoned that the tower was massive, but he had not quite considered its actual size. There is a large open hall with stone stairs running upwards on both sides of the walls. As for the middle of the room, there lies a dark round pit. It is not unlike that in the heart of the docks district, Pan notes to himself, as he peers over to gaze into the nigh endless darkness wallowing far below.

  The old rat whispers. 'Look up. That is the elevator they use to reach the prisoners confined within the depths. We cannot go up while it is held in its place.' Pan nods, making the hood of his cloak shift underneath the rats feet. It is a crude way of communication. 'Drop the smoke cubes, all of them, and get read to stay out of the way.'

  The boy stands still. He looks down, and around, especially at the solid iron doors at the ends of the stairs, and how the guardsmen at the base level huddle around their tables and braziers. Some play cards for small coins, some trim their moustaches in front of personal mirrors, while others are napping against the wall. For Pan they seem surprisingly disorganized, and even messy with their sloppy appearances. A clear contrast to the guards he has seen marching on the streets on day time.

  'It is no use boy, the only way to open those doors at the end of the stairs is for someone to open them from within. Well, it is possible to push through them, but I do not think you have the muscles for that.' The old rat adds while reminiscing his ancient past with Surtur.

  Thus, Pan carefully moves his hand under his cloaks, He reaches out for the second pouch hanging pouch on his belt, the one little left of the scissors. The string opens by pulling, and soon pan can feel the leather bag rest on his palm. The boy raises his hands out from underneath his cloak, and lets the contents of the pouch fall down. His heart beats hard.

  'Now get away from the edge.' The old rat commands, and so the boy makes his way to the wall to stand under a crude wooden shelf without much at all on it. One that was once long ago used for helmets

  At first nothing happens. Then distant screams begin to echo and emanate from the pit, and soon after a gust of black smoke washes out and dims the room dark. The men cough and rub their eyes, until one of them manages to dash up the stairs and bang the knocker. A sharp metallic beat, until the slit on the opens with a metallic screech. The exchange of words is too distant to be heard, but not long after the central elevator begins to lower. On it a platoon of the halberd brandishing guards and the magisters assigned with the mundane task of prison stewardship.

  The old rat too coughs with its tiny mouth while Pan is surprised that he has no such urge. The old rat whispers: 'It is a very old mask. Legends and magic tie within an object's sinews.' Pan nods. 'They will be moving the elevator up and down, you cannot step on it proper, there is no space for us, you need to climb up along the ropes and chains.' Pan nods his head once more.

  As the guards on the floor focus on pushing the great doors open to get rid of the smoke, Pan's feet spur to action. He crosses the floor straight towards the pit, and leaps towards the descending chain right before him. The boy barely manages to cling on as his weight yanks the chain, and rocks the entire elevator down below. The people on the elevator look up fearing for worst, but without additional jerks their hearts calm. Pan was lucky that the guards on the ground floor were more focused on opening the front door, and how the rising smoke covered any fluctuation within his disguise of invisibility.

  Thus by clenching his teeth, the boy begins to climb upwards as the chain continues to plummet down into the depths. The boy's effort to climb up might seem hopeless, but it is necessary to make sure that there will be space when he jumps off the chain.

  Therefore when the chain's speed finally starts to show signs of slowing down, Pan greets it with something of a relief. A moment of stillness as the chain shifts slightly as the men and the few women step off. And then the chain begins to speed upwards. Pan's eyes dart ahead to the distant lights as he hopes for the best. As he wishes that he will not end up squished wherever the chains are being rolled with mechanical fury that roars from above.

  With growing haste the boy and the old rat hidden under the hood continue to ascend ever higher. Ever faster. The wind rushes past Pan while he is unable to see clearly what lies before him. Yet that tiny voice near his ear gives words of confidence and instructions, until it shouts out a single word: 'Jump!' On reflex, Pan follows the command and he leaps away from the chain. He feels how he floating in the air before he comes tumbling down. He rolls and spins around before landing on and shattering an old barrel.

  Pan's body feels incredibly sore, his vision is dizzy. 'Where are we?' The boy barely manages to utter the words from his mouth.

  The old rat sighs from relief. 'Within an old dusty storage room.'

  'How did you know when I should jump?'

  The old rat climbs on top the fox mask with a grin on its face. 'I did not.' The grin widens ever more. 'This is what being a thief is all about! Luck.'

  Pan's eyes widen with rage. 'I... we...' He stutters.

  'Well, I only remembered the existence of this room on our way up.' The rat glances away. 'It takes a very specific amount of time for the unloaded elevator to go all the way up. Not to mention how your arms are only so long. So perhaps we could call it a lucky educated guess.' The old rat doesn't mention how the Tower of Judgement has been built and rebuilt over the the centuries, resulting in ever different layers of bricks and stones. How there are variations in the way that the building materials themselves smell.

  The boy groans.

  'Can you stand up?'

  'Yeah... I think so.' Pan replies before slowly getting up. He looks around the
dark room as the rat slinks back inside his hood. The room is filled with Wooden barrels and crates, lined up and piled in tall stacks. After peeking inside a few, Pan and the old rat conclude that the other barrels and crates are likely just as empty as the one they broke. Truly it is a forgotten storage room. Therefore the beam of light shining from the keyhole becomes something that cannot be ignored by Pan or the old rat.

  The boy leans down and peers through the keyhole. The pain and soreness vibrates through his body. There is no doubt that he is bruised, but it cannot be helped for now. The sight that is revealed is an empty corridor with wooden doors on both sides. Thus, after picking the lock open, Pan refocuses his mind and slowly pushes the door open. The door hinges give their quiet squeaking protest, but after some heart pounding and waiting, it is clear that none were around to hear it.

  Hence Pan follows the old rat's instructions as he begins the journey upwards. Where to turn left or right, when to head for the stairs, and when to stay still as the rat's nose picks up the scents of the men and women approaching them.

  The higher they climb, the more refined the interior becomes. Barren corridors shift to those adorned with painted walls, and eventually even to decorative statues standing in their silent guard. The smoky situation down below has left many of the doors wide open, and along the way Pan cannot help but to grab a trinket or two. And the old rat smiles, after all, a real thief makes use of any and all opportunities.

  Yet the ease of progress ends eventually. The boy and the rat find themselves by the stairs leading to large and heavy door. Behind lies the guiding light of the tower itself, the beacon that shines towards the sea. The old rat tells how the elevator takes people right under the light mechanism. How once long ago the massive hole where the beacon resides was shaped like a mouth of a dragon roaring towards the skies. He adds how the tower's craftsmanships has since fallen to great disrepair, paint chipped away in flakes, and how the facial details were battered by weather and siege alike. But still, what lies ahead is that closed door.