Tower of Trials: Book One of Guardian Spirit (9 page)

“How nice of her. What is she? A guardian like you?”

But the map lacked details. One in particular: Labor’s final destination, the exit. Just this room was shown, filling the entire parchment. It made the small, square anteroom, with its one doorless opening, seem much larger and more important than it was.

“He’s not going to—”

“A reaper,” Guard answered.

“Oh,” Lydia said. Shalott said nothing. Not surprising; humans feared reapers above all spirits. They didn’t even like saying the name.

“And have you no foster-father?”

“He was . . . ” Guard frowned despite himself, for the words did not come easily. “He died, and I am honored to take his place.”

“Oh, how that must hurt. I’m so sorry. Was it recent?”

“By Bara, can we hurry?” Shalott stomped off a bit, his back to them, and then stomped back. “Time is wasting, Oh Glorious Guide.”

“Not here, Shalott,” Guard corrected. “Time was the last Trial. This one is—”

“Labor, yes. What does that mean, Guide? Let me see that.” He snatched the map. “How is this helpful?” He tossed it back.

“Oh, be careful!”

Guard caught it.

Shalott snorted.

Guard smoothed out a wrinkle. “It is very old, Shalott.”

“And very useless.”

“My mother would not lead me wrong.” He gritted his teeth. He had not intended to say that, but he could not stand for the callous disregard of his mother’s gift. “This map will lead us safely through, but speed and efficiency are not the points of Labor. The journey and how one handles the journey are what matters in this one.”

Shalott snorted and stomped off again, heading for the other end of the room.

“May I see?” Lydia asked.

Guard handed it to her, and she carefully took it. “In a way, it is yours, Lydia. As the upper level of The Crypt was customized for you and your path, so is this level.”

That made her perk up. “How fast you spirits act! So what did The Crypt look like before? It changed for me? How did your mother know my heart?”

“Mother is a reaper. Sylphs would have created the map and the Trials, same as they created every part of The City. But they would have followed the goddess’s design.”

That made Lydia’s mouth drop, and her voice followed. “A goddess . . . ? Oh, my.” She shook her head and then shook it harder, before she managed to speak again. “‘Well-a-day and anyways,’ as my aunt and mother always say. Especially when we get distracted.” She held out the map with one hand and linked her arm around his elbow with the other. “This might not be a timed Trial, but still let’s catch up, shall we? Before Perce blows his top.”

So Guard put away his map and picked up his bow, and they followed in Shalott’s wake.

* * *

Shalott had not made it far, for he had come to a stop at the exit of the anteroom, and beyond was a space that could easily hold the prior Trial’s maze. Most of it was filled by a huge, round chasm. But that black void was wrapped around by a spiral of wall lights and white stone-wood: a narrow ledge that turned into railless but well-lit staircase of large steps.

“Bara’s Balls,” Shalott whispered.

That echoed. Loudly.

Lydia tittered. But turned it with a cough when Shalott blushed. “How is this room possible? This Crypt seems so much larger than your Tower.”

“The Tower operates on a similar basis as my pouch. Its rooms expand to fit their purpose.” Guard turned to her companion. “And that would be impossible, Shalott.”

“What would?”

“Bara or Baran is Barathrum. She is a goddess.”

Blushing anew, he said, “Barathrum is the Pit, the abode of the damned. Everyone knows that.”

“Not the spirits. Barathrum, the goddess, created and rules over the abode of the damned, the Slough of Despond, not a Pit. Just as her sister the goddess Pleasance created and rules over the Garden of Plenty and their sister the goddess Purgatory created and rules over the Cities of the Dead.”

“Rubbish,” spat Shalott, and he stomped off. Then stomped off even further before again spitting, “Just like your map.” But he stopped at the first stair and held out his hand. “Lydia, dear, let’s be getting on now.”

“Oh, Perce.” She looked away from his impatient gesture to the waiting chasm and stairs. She shuddered as she peered down, hand going to her throat and the bow tied under her chin. “My, this place is rather warm, despite its . . . size.” Lydia’s fretting had disarranged her ribbons, so she pulled off her gloves and began removing pins from her hat. “Guard, would you mind terribly—?”

He moved the duster aside, so she had free access to his pouch.

“Oh, thank you.”

As she removed her coat as well, leaving a torn green dress (a color Victoria favored, too) and its other layers beneath, Guard noticed the temperature at last, and realized he should have paid attention to it before now. Variations upset humans with their weaker constitutions, and he had heard Mace say it “fouled up” their moods, too. That might go a long way to explaining Shalott’s temper. So, as Lydia added to his pouch (with a smile growing on her lips as each item disappeared one by one), and as Shalott’s glared at them both, Guard extended the invitation to him.

The response was a grumble. Still grumbling, Shalott yanked off and pocketed his gloves, retrieved the gun and bullets, tucked the one into the back of his waistband and the others into trouser pockets, and shucked the coat. By the time he had stomped back to them and tossed it Guard’s way, he had fallen quiet. Guard caught it easily despite the bow in his hand, and it joined the rest of their possessions in the expandable pouch.

For a moment, Guard thought the tactic had worked.

He had been listened to.

And the grumbling had stopped . . .

. . . to be replaced with: “I want that back once we are outside. Lydia’s, too. Humans don’t bear cold well, not that you’d notice—or care—if we didn’t say anything, would you, Great and Wonderful Guide?”

So Guard reasoned that temperature changes had very little to do with the unpleasantness of the male’s moods. “Of course, Shalott.”

The response, this time, was a scoff. Then Shalott held out his hand, shaking it at Lydia. “Coming now, dearest?”

“Oh, Perce.” Lydia shook her head and turned to Guard, her hands playing with her fiancé’s ring now that she didn’t pull on any more ribbons or unbutton any more buttons. “I can see why they call this one Labor. So many stairs. I fear it will make up my next nightmares—endless stairs—” Without moving, she craned to stare down into the chasm. “And I already know endless falls will haunt my nights for a while. That and grabby statues.” She shuddered again. “Or worse, grabby statues waiting at the end of a great fall to lift you up and drop you down all over again.”

While she rambled on, she dropped her hands and at last started to edge around the chasm. At that point, Guard retrieved the map. It had changed, having filled in to show the cavernous room, or at least this top part of the stairs. There was still no hint of the ultimate destination nor a hint of how to win, but there seemed to be nowhere but one place to go. Down. He carefully rolled up the map, returned it to his pouch, and carried his bow in his left hand for readiness. Then he followed, worrying over the citrusy tomb-wood he smelled behind cracked white walls and flooring, and the lack of evident enforcers like the retrievers. The memory of them awoke his imagination, making their touch spill down his back. He tightened his grip on his bow, not wanting to see one of those automatons in this place. But wanting didn’t change the reality, so instead Guard wisely kept a close watch on the unguarded walls for the first hint of danger.

* * *

They started down the deep stairs—and he had to take two large strides to move from one to the next. But where the stairs were generous in one direction, they were stingy in another: just wide enough for three abreast. After that first stair, he fell in on the outside, nearest the chasm, and they kept Lydia in the center.

His charges seemed to remember the retrievers, too, for their gazes constantly crept back to the smooth walls, searching among the wall lights for something . . .

They had not gone far before Guard smelled this anticipated something a couple stairs ahead: a moving spicy mass of . . . “Tomb-wood.”

Lydia stumbled as a figure bulged from the wall as Hasp had done on the outside of the Tower. But this formation was bronze colored. Guard caught her, and she clutched at him and Shalott equally. “Oh, no, what is it?”

“Stay here,” Guard ordered, and he approached it, arrow aimed.

It was not a retriever; it was . . . a figure of a man, life-sized, half a foot taller than himself and broader of shoulder. He pressed his arrow tip to it, and bone-wood faded right away. That meant a great deal of tomb-wood.

So Time’s enforcers were made of a weaker mixture than Labor’s?
Not good.

What did the map say of these automatons?
Or automaton.
As he pulled his mother’s gift out, Guard looked around and could not spot others. Either this one was going to follow, or more likely, the tomb-wood threats would only emerge at certain intervals, for he doubted there would only be one to cover three people.

The map confirmed his scrutiny: only one stylized half-circle bulged on the wall. It was colored bronze.

He put his mother’s gift away, looked back up the stairs, and said, “You may approach.”

They did so slowly, and the automaton’s gaze tracked their progress.

Lydia stopped short, hand clasped over her mouth. “Oh, my, that is Ravenscar.”

Shalott squinted up at the statue’s face, beginning at the short wavy hair, moving down the strong, shaven jaw, then lingering on the slight, crooked smile. “Oh, yeah. Same irritating smirk.” He waved a hand before its eyes, but the gaze never left Lydia’s face. “So Ravenscar’s a retriever now?”

“It is made of the same material, but it is different. The material is purer, stronger. Its arms do not reach. And it emerged from the wall instead of lying in wait. I am not certain its function is retrieval.”

“Oh, I couldn’t bear if he—you can carry us down through the . . . the drop if he . . . if the statue turned out to be one, right, Guard?” Lydia’s hands crept to her throat. “Just maybe don’t carry us so tightly this time.” She coughed.

Guard wondered about that. That would completely circumvent the purpose of this Trial, but still it was worth finding out what sort weapon this place would wield against them. He shouldered the bow and said, “Wait there.” He pointed down the stairs, away from the statue.

“Why—”

“Move away from the possible threat.” Once they obeyed, Guard stepped backward, aetherizing as he went, proud of his speed at that ability. He didn’t even need to pause; he simply dropped off the edge, hovering just below stair level. From there, he floated out to the middle of the chasm.

The statue didn’t respond. The room did.

The stairs flattened and extended knifelike from every direction, aiming toward the center as fast as a bayard-back ride, the swiftest speed known to spirits.

Groaning and shaking, the stairs cast the seekers onto their hands and knees, perilously near the gaps.

Guard lunged up and to the wall, wondering if he should try for the seekers, but where would they go? The former stairs, now giant blades, heaved under him and threatened to buckle under and slice up his charges. The spot under himself was the most violent of all. Taking the hint, Guard quickly dropped back into human form.

The response? A soft rumble and then stillness and silence as the deadly stone-wood and tomb-wood mixture retreated, snicking neatly into place around an unfathomable depth. The weapons were stairs once more.

So scouting ahead was not only impossible but deadly. Running a hand along the bowstring secure across his chest, Guard sought his charges.

Shalott was helping Lydia stand, scowling and fretting over her. She held her knee and limped as she ascended toward the stair Guard stood on. “It’s all right, it’s all right. I just landed hard.”

“I can’t aetherize to scout ahead or carry you. It would defeat the purpose of this Trial.”

“Yes, thank you, Glorious Guide, we got that when we nearly pitched headlong into Bara’s Toothy Pit.”

“Perce.”

“Some guide—he doesn’t even know this stuff. Just trial and error.”

“Because you are not the only ones being tested, Seekers.”

“And her love is being tested by a long descent?” They stopped on Guard’s deep stair. “How stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” Lydia stopped rubbing her knee and raised her chin. “I’d do anything for love. Even walk a million miles.”

Shalott sneered. “At least, he has to walk it with us—at our side, for once.”

“Oh, Perce.”

“If you’re going to cheat, Cambion,” Shalott began, stalking closer to him, “you have to do that at our side, too. Or better yet, not cheat at all!” He gestured wildly at the chasm. “I think cheating had nothing to do with the ‘complicated nature of her heart’ and everything to do with you. Which is why that death trap”—He stabbed a finger at Guard’s chest—“happened.”