by Ember Lane
I emerged into Hell's Chimney.
Hell’s Chimney, at least that was all I could liken it to. Imagine a hewn shaft around twenty feet in diameter, its base reaching the bowels of the land, roiling orange and red with blistering lava, and up, up so high it stretched beyond the moon. It was a heat so fierce it nearly burned the skin from my cheeks, superheated my ear studs. It was Hell’s Chimney. Imagine the roar of a great fire as it burns everything before it, and you have Hell's Chimney. Sweat poured off me as I sat there, but slowly, steadily, I became used to it. Dread filled me, because I suddenly knew why I’d been brought there.
Leaning over, looking down into the orange lava, I saw a line, no more than a hair, perhaps a hundred feet down. A bridge, I thought. My instincts told me down, down was the path that I should take. I took out Grog’s grasping powder, stuffed my staff and cloak in my sack, and stashed it inside my tunic. Dabbing my fingers in the grasping powder, I then popped it into my tunic pocket, and took a breath. But something held me back, some part of me knowing that it was suicide to just climb down.
Holding my hand out, I felt the heat rising past, flowing up. It was as much as I could bear just to keep my palm steady. For a while, nothing, but then I thought it abated slightly. After a while longer, I realized the whoosh of the flue had quieted, and its hot breath had stilled. A clap from above made my heart jump into my mouth, and a rush of cool air plunged past my hand. Looking over the ledge, I saw the roiling lava crust brown, as if solid rock had just formed.
I waited, counting. Before I’d gotten to fifty, the crust below erupted, and bullets of molten lava spat up the flue. Pulling my feet in, I rolled back as the fiery rock fled up. Then a lull before I heard that heavy sound like boulders of hail were scuttling down the chimney, bouncing off its sides, and I remember thinking that nothing could escape this place. I remember thinking I’d found the reason for its rythym. Hell’s Chimney was breathing.
Letting it cycle again and again, I eventually settled on my count. I had two hundred and twenty-two to crawl down and find shelter before the lava fire would kill me. I set my respawn point to the ledge, and held for my count, crawling back from the ledge, waiting for the lava bullets to fire past. Even though I was expecting them, the belch and scream of their flying past still made me jump. I waited for them to crest, for the small silence as they crusted over in the cool of the upper chimney, then I waited for the clatter as the newly formed rocks sped down to their doom. I clambered over the edge after them.
Head down, I crawled for the faraway bridge, if a bridge it really was. The rocky sides had been blunted and chipped by years of rocks raining down, and they’d been striated by splats of molten rock that had burst, cooled, and stuck to those chips. Handholds were easy, plentiful, and I clambered down quickly.
Fifty.
I saw some cracks in its side, not like the deliberate tunnel that I’d emerged from, but cracks large enough for me to wedge into. Were these a result of the rock constantly warming and cooling?
One hundred.
Bursting down, I sensed the coolish air slow as the lava began to split and glow orange again and knew my time was short. Was I sure of the count?
One hundred and fifty.
Beginning to look around frantically, I tried to find a fissure big enough to squeeze into. Nothing around me. I scrambled down another twenty yards.
Two hundred.
Now desperate, I saw one dead opposite me and scrambled around the circumference of the rocky pipe. Squeezing, letting all my breath out, I folded myself into it.
Two hundred and twenty.
The rumble, the growling belch, then the whoosh, I waited for the molten balls to fly past me. Then pain, like nothing I’d ever felt. Searing pain, as though the skin of my arm had been peeled of. And I screamed, screamed like I’d never screamed before, drowning out even the sound of the chimney, the clatter of the falling stones.
Damage! You have received 182 damage. You have 318/500 health left.
Caution! Your health will continue to fade until you tend your wound or drink a health potion. Your health will drop by 5/minute.
I squeezed back out of the fissure, glancing at my arm. A viscous stripe of black-crusted crimson started just above my wrist and ended by my shoulder. I felt my head swim, but tried to pull back, tried to focus. Gritting my teeth, I carried on down, no thought of scrambling away even in my mind.
Fifty.
This time I stopped at one hundred and fifty, not because I was being careful, because I was struggling to go on. I stopped at the first fissure I came to that was large enough to give me a chance. Now the count meant two things to me. Every sixty was five less health. Every couple of hundred, the lava would come. I waited. It screamed past. It clattered down.
One.
I stopped at one seventy-five this time, this fissure, like the last, now marked in my head. This time I didn’t hide right at the back of it. This time I gauged how far I’d come. I was halfway to the impossible bridge. Impossible because it shouldn’t be there—it should have been destroyed by the lava long ago. Mesmerized, I stared out at it as the brown-crusted lava glowed orange, belched, and sent forth its death riders screaming toward me. They passed straight through the bridge. I snapped my head back in the nick of time.
Scrambling down again, at one fifty I started looking, and at two hundred I started panicking, and at two twenty, I knew I was doomed, stranded on that rock face. Desperately, I searched around, but nothing. The belch, the blast, then nothing, and then a pain so incredible, I must have instantly fainted. A pain so quick, that I’d forgotten it even as I woke up on a cool slab of stone. A candle burned between my naked legs.
You have died.
I blinked and looked at my arm, the burned one. It had healed. It was as good as new. Its pain just a memory—for that I was thankful. Looking around, I saw a familiar brown, crusty rock and the golden glow of the gilden rock glancing off my slab; I saw the milky-blue, iridescent hue of the Endings River. I knew I was on a ledge in the catacombs. Blinking, I jumped off the slab and searched for my way back. A small archway at the rear of the ledge offered the only way barring jumping into the river. I scrambled for it, and came to a small alcove with a circular pool for a floor. Without hesitating, I jumped in, swam down and through a narrow neck, and then up toward a light. Before I knew it, I was back in the blistering heat of the tunnel that led to Hell's Chimney.
My clothes had formed back around me, and my sack was tucked inside. I didn’t bother checking my stats, other than my health. I now had 500 HP, and nothing else really mattered. I began the count. I remembered my route. I would find a better place to stow myself after the first count.
This time I hit a rhythm. I’d look after one hundred, no more, no less, and I’d only chance a deep crack, one where I could weather the splashes and splats of the lava. This time I got so close to the bridge that I could almost touch it—when I ran out of luck.
My eyes became wide. The walls had suddenly smoothed, as if someone had honed them flat. I was twenty feet above the bridge. My count was 150, and I was doomed again. I’d never make it back up to my last hidey-hole, and the bridge couldn’t really exist. My heart thumped. The anticipation of that searing pain was too much. I scanned the smooth rock for a foothold, but even with my climbing ability, nothing showed.
Two hundred.
Fear took hold of my heart; desperation took my soul, and insanity took over my mind. The crust was brown. I saw orange crack it. I leapt for the bridge. My feet landed on something solid. I saw what looked like a golden web, and understood that the bridge was a magical lattice. At the bridge’s end, I saw a tunnel. The lava below belched. I knew I was dead, again. But just before the molten bullets tore through me, I changed my respawn point to the tunnel, and died smiling.
You have died.
I awoke dripping and disoriented. My mind was foggy this time, as if dying twice in such quick succession demanded further penalties. Billy Long Thumb
had told me all those days and weeks ago that the time I’d have to spend on the slab would be longer, the clepsydra, longer, the water, thicker—if it was, it was marginal. But this weird feeling was well worth avoiding. I felt sick, dizzy, and washed out, but I was in the tunnel at the end of the bridge. The only question now was simple: Was I in the right one? I looked along the bridge at the other tunnel. It looked identical to mine.
Taking a deep breath, I checked myself over. I still had my mauve tunic, leggings and boots. I fished out my sack and checked its inventory, and saw that everything was there too. Looking up my stat board, everything seemed normal apart from my skills progression; they were all zeroed. I still had the levels, just no progress to the next one—I could live with that.
My water bottle was half full, so I took a sip of its tepid water, and a bite on some dried meat. My head began to clear. Taking out Sakina’s sword and belt, I strapped it on. Retrieving my staff, I stashed the bag, blinked to gain some clarity, and began to march away from the bridge. There seemed little point in choosing one tunnel over another, and the other was over the bridge.
Some hand or another had clearly hewed the walls of the tunnel, and its floor was perfectly smooth, as if someone or thing had walked over and over it. It had a slight curve to it—barely perceptible, but there nonetheless. I crept and crept, just my breath for company and the metronome of the chimney to time me. Nothing changed, nothing at all, until I came to it.
At first I couldn’t believe my eyes, it was another bridge, nearly identical to the last, and it crossed another chimney, identical to Hell's Chimney. I sat by it, counting away until the lava shot through it, counting away until the rocks rained down, and then I crossed it, and hurried across it too. The next tunnel was exactly the same as the last. It led on and on until it came to another bridge. I sat. I counted, and I slapped my head.
Running across, I pulled out my sac, called for the black dagger, and carved a V shape in the rock. This time I ran until I came to another bridge. Crossing it, my dread thoughts were confirmed. It was one big circle, nothing more, nothing less. I slumped to the floor by my V.
Had this calling trapped so many here that the floor had been smoothed by their ever-circling feet? Worse, had I actually trapped myself here forever by changing my respawn point to beat that smoothed out part of the chimney? Was I the inquisitive insect that had sought out the lure of the trap?
I didn’t even need to wonder what had happened to the previous prisoners. The lava would make swift work of any, and the slab in the catacombs would be preferable to the heat and hunger of this place. Just as I had found heaven, so I had now found hell. I paced out the circle and crossed the bridge once more, and then I paced out halfway again and sat, wanting to be as far away from that chimney as possible.
What the hell had I done?
It had crossed my mind that this inability for players to die must have some pushback. I mean, if ShadowDancer were to rule the land one day, what was to stop a player just coming at him again and again? The only true way to defeat any of us was despair. To vanquish us, you had to make us give up. That was all; it was that easy, and it was their only way.
And this was their perfect trap. It was an upturned beer glass to a thirsty wasp, a block of cheese for a starving mouse. I had wanted to feel that call, wanted to do something on my own, and I’d taken the cheese, and the trap had been sprung.
My eyes closed as my mind demanded a rest, but before I dropped off, it came up with one last question.
How did they get out?
7
The Prisoner
I must have fallen asleep. Maybe it was the time of night, or maybe it was because I died twice in such quick succession. When I awoke, I was still in the middle of my nightmare. The lava was still shooting, cooling and falling like a slow beat to insanity. Somehow, I had to rally, to get myself together and to figure out this problem. I knew one thing: I couldn’t afford to die again, no matter what. If I did, I doubted I’d come back.
How tranquil would that slab above the Endings River be, how peaceful The Gilden Lode? Then I wondered if I shouldn’t just die. Hadn’t I escaped from there before? Wouldn’t Billy take me back to Greman’s well? But how long would I have to wait for him to row by my slab or for Greman’s bucket to fall? Looking out over the bridge, I comforted myself that it was an option, a very last option, but one that might get me a meet with The Choosers, a final meet too as they ended me with their falling staffs.
Turning my thoughts to escape, I assessed my options. The puzzle was made up of three areas. Puzzle, I elected to call it that rather than hellish prison. First, there was the tunnel, then the bridge, and finally the chimney itself.
The tunnel was a uniform shape, around seven feet high, four wide, and a slight arch to its top. It was made up of rough, chiseled rock and a worn, smooth floor. If there was a way out, it would be an illusion or a secret doorway—a little like Shylan’s tower’s door—hadn’t that been disguised as brick? So that was one possibility.
Then there was the bridge, a golden lattice that appeared to be made up of some kind of magical force. Could I tap into that and somehow use its energy? It was an option, if say…I was any good at magic.
That just left the chimney itself. I’d need to run my hand over the smooth stone and make sure it wasn’t an illusion—I’d rushed that part before, my panic getting the better of me—or maybe under it, was there a way there? Was there a way down? Could I stand the heat any closer to the lava?
I decided to start with the tunnel. It had, to my mind, the best chance of success. The trouble was, as soon as I was a little way in, the glow from the chimney faded, and I had to rely on my night vision. I carved another V where I sat, and began creeping along. First, I was going to go over every inch of the floor. Inch by painful inch, I began crawling along it, looking for anything out of the ordinary. What I hoped for was a crack, a trap door, and what I found was smooth rock, an entire horseshoe of it. So I started on the outside wall.
My hands traced every rock, every nook, and every cranny. It took an age, a grinding age, to move three feet, to move four, or six. I had to go back on large areas, aware that my mind had just switched off, and check them over again. Even so, I was disappointed to see the bridge, to know that the wall was just that. Crossing the bridge, I started again, this time it was the inside wall. Different wall, same outcome, and I sat at the halfway mark, crushed.
I must have nodded off again, because when I awoke, I realized my head was finally clear of the fog of my recent deaths. Next up was the bridge. I walked around to it and then looked along it. Shimmering golden brown, it resembled a planked walkway with a rope balustrade. Each of the magical planks had an even gap between it and the next. That confused me.
While I was no expert on magical bridges, it seemed an awful lot of work to go to, to fashion in such detail. Surely it would be much easier to just put a slab of magic across. Curiosity got the better of me, and I started my count. As soon as the rocks clattered down, I pulled myself forward.
Touching the first of the magical planks, a small surge of its power ran up my fingers, a little like a mild electric shock. Drawing my fingers over it, I prodded the gap between the first plank and the next and felt nothing there.
One fifty.
I grabbed a plank, and tried to pull it toward me, but it didn’t budge.
Two hundred.
I scrambled back into the safety of the tunnel.
I waited for the lava to shoot, for stones to fall, and then renewed my scrutiny. It seemed odd to me that the rocks could pass straight through the bridge, and yet my hand could grab hold of it. Why? Why could stone pass through? I felt this must be some clue; some cryptic explanation of what this was all about, though more like a taunt from whoever set this damn trap. When the rocks had fallen, I pulled myself onto the bridge and leaned over it, looking at the chimney beneath.
Like above, the smooth stone stopped after about twenty feet—I could
climb down farther, if I could just reach the craggy parts. Scrutinizing the smooth of the close stone, I realized it had been sanded to negate the climbing skill—to stop us cheating. I’d have to jump and hope my grasp stuck. While this wasn’t in my top ten things to do, it was better than nothing. I scanned the other side for any undulation, any shimmer, but nothing. My count neared two hundred, and so I pulled myself back. I waited, as usual, then darted across the bridge, got down on all fours, onto my belly, and looked under the bridge again. This time, I snapped my head back, blinked, then looked again.
Tucked right underneath the bridge was a square, about the size of the tunnel way above. It was definitely a darker hue, almost like a shadow. My breath was coming in short bursts, my heart racing. Was it an escape, or just another trap? Waiting for the count, waiting for the rocks to fall was unbearable, but I dashed across and then waited again—I needed the maximum time for the plan that was hatching in my mind. While I did, I stowed my sword in my sack and dipped my fingers in grasping powder. As soon as the rocks stopped clattering by, I crawled onto the bridge, swung off its side, and grabbed a plank and hung there.
The square was clearly a tunnel, but was a few feet down. I was too close to swing back and get a jump toward it, so I grabbed the plank behind and inched my way backward. Three planks back, and I began to swing my feet.
Somewhere along the line, I’d forgotten my count. The glow from below faded, and the cool wind stilled. I heard the lava crack, groan in pain as the magma under it strained to explode up. I held my breath, aware that any moment the bolts of lava could come screaming through me. Shutting my eyes, I swung hard, heard an almighty bang below, and let go of the magical plank.
