The Gate to Thomerion

by Daniel Heck

  I leave our plans unchanged.

  I ask Titania for her opinion.

  “Great,” Matthias whines, “What do you guys get? A harmless statue and some goblins. I get a man-eating bear. How very typical.”

  “I meant to ask earlier,” you say, pointing at one of the geegaws in Matthias’s pack, “But what is that you have sticking out of there?”

  He glances over his shoulder. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just trust me.”

  Matthias frowns, and crosses his arms. “It’s a pan flute.”

  “Ah ha! Soothe the beast to sleep,” Titania suggests.

  “But…” the stablemaster says, dragging a toe in the dirt, “that would imply I’m musically talented.”

  “Maybe you are.”

  Matthias’s jaw flaps a couple times, as he searches for the right words.

  “I’ve… been dabbling a little, performing for my siblings here and there. Nothing serious. Nothing that… that could have that kind of effect.”

  You blurt, “How do you know until you try?”

  Matthias hangs his head.

  “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “It doesn’t work, and the bear kills me.”

  A moment passes.

  “Okay,” you admit, “That would be pretty bad.”

  Titania says, “Don’t encourage that kind of thinking!”

  She turns toward Matthias. “Look at me,” she tells him, and he complies. “If you’ve ever believed in yourself, for any reason, now is the time to reach deep inside you and resurrect that feeling. If it was when you were performing on pan flute, excellent. But it doesn’t need to be. It can be when you had your first kiss, or your first child, or anything.”

  Matthias smiles, even as fear shakes him to his core.

  “We need you,” Titania continues, “and after all, if you weren’t talented to at least some degree, don’t you think you would have given up the pan flute a long time ago?”

  “I have. Many a time.”

  Matthias puffs out his chest and exhales. “But…” he groans, “there’s no sense in just standing here, is there?”

  He inches toward the rightmost chamber, while staying well outside the archway. Upon second sight of Matthias, the bear again roars, and you hear it straining against its chains, banging its paws against the floor and walls. You wonder just how securely the manacles are bolted down, but for the moment, the connections must be holding.

  Breathing hard, Matthias slowly reaches over his shoulder and slips the pan flute out of his pack. He locks eyes with the beast, raises the longest tube of the flute to his lips, and inhales.

  The beauty of the sound that escapes thereafter astonishes you. Deep, soulful notes stretch on for ages, penetrating your spirit and infusing your bones with paradoxically relaxing energy.

  The song is a common one, heard by hundreds around the central Ambrosinian plains, but no bard you have ever encountered has done it justice in comparison. As Matthias shifts the flute across his mouth, from left to right and back again, his performance seems as effortless as a hawk’s gliding upon an autumn breeze.

  “It’s working,” Titania notes.

  A third of the way through the song, the bear stops thrashing and returns to all fours. It sways slightly, in tune with the melody. The pitch shifts upward, but in lieu of a crescendo, Matthias backs off his airflow just enough, and the music now resembles the moaning, subtle call of a blue whale.

  Soon, the creature lies down, its fur draping a swath of the floor’s stone, then slowly rolls onto its side. You hear it breathing heavily, and step just close enough to confirm that its eyes have closed.

  “Great job, Matthias!” you shout.

  The others simultaneously say “Shhh!” and put a finger to their lips.

  “Oh, yes. I mean, great job,” you whisper. The bear does not stir.

  The square above the rightmost archway now glows with a soft white light.

  If all the tunnels are lit, proceed further into the labyrinth.

  Otherwise, return to the main chamber and pick an unexplored option.

  “We wish to learn more from these people, since there’s no sense in jumping to conclusions. Please hide, and wait for my cue,” you whisper to Xelbane. It complies, taking Fedwick with it, by tucking itself into a craggy offshoot. Only its spiked tail sticks out from the shadows.

  You pull away from Titania, move toward the very center of the cavern’s open ceiling and wave your hands frantically. You shout, “Hark! We wish to speak with you!”

  Titania mutters, “Are you sure about this?”

  You reassure her, “We can handle it.”

  “But… there are far more of them than us… even when you consider…”

  Her objections go unheard, as the gryphons have already descended nearly toward the cavern lip. You continue waving, being sure not to display your talisman or any intent that could be interpreted as hostile.

  A well-kempt male in golden armor nods in your direction as his gryphon lands. Others follow and begin scanning the area. “Hail, friend,” the leader says with a salute. “We are the Shieldwings. An elite unit of the royal flight brigade.”

  “I greet you in peace,” you offer, “but, what might such illustrious warriors as yourselves be doing in this part of the wilds?”

  “I was about to ask you a similar question.”

  A cleanshaven subordinate shakes the leader’s arm. “Paulino,” he says, “there’s treasure over here. Huge amounts, in fact. We may have stumbled into…”

  “May I remind you,” Paulino grumbles under his breath, “that we already have what we need, in physical terms…”

  In that moment, you notice two somethings hanging from Paulino’s belt loop. Their metallic surfaces glint in the midday light. You squint just enough to make out their shapes: two halves, the bottom and top, respectively, of a monkey.

  He continues, “A certain dwarf, he goes by the name of Fedwick, I believe… knows a keyword we need. Do you…”

  You hear a guttural voice interrupt, “He has the idol!” An instant later the dragon barrels out from his hiding place, its claws digging huge chunks out of the floor with every stomp, such is its ferocity. Paulino’s men shout and scatter in fear, although he himself, pale in complexion, seems frozen in place, a leg twitching wildly as if disobeying its master. “Xelbane!” Titania shouts, “Stop!”

  It stops, but only long enough to rear back its head and unleash a torrential jet of flames from within the depths of its throat. Utterly engulfed, Paulino falls to the ground, screaming and writhing. With little authority over the dragon’s actions, your insides scream similarly, as you watch in horror.

  Once evil, always evil, you realize. There was never a chance to talk this through from the beginning.

  The rope connecting the idol to Paulino burns as quickly as the rest of him, and within seconds, the monkey falls to the ground with a clank.

  “May the Arcanites suffer for all eternity!” Xelbane roars.

  It approaches, and, throwing all its weight into a single purposeful step, crushes the idol underneath its foot.

  What happens next is all too fast for you to process. Your disembodied soul thinks you saw the idol flash with blue light--ever so briefly--upon impact, in a way that reminds you of an old property of heavily enchanted items you learned about in school: If manipulated in a violent way, they can unleash a tremendous explosion of magical energy. Perhaps Xelbane knew this, and thought he could survive. Or perhaps instead, the defeat of the Arcanites was important enough to him that he was willing to sacrifice his own life. Only time will tell both the reasoning behind and the impact of the dragon’s decision.

  You may have lost your life, but the gate will never be opened!

  Is there more to the story?

  Keep reading The Gate to Thomerion for more endings.

  Summoning even greater patience, you decide to wait until the dead of night to learn
more. You pass the time with prayer and discussion with Titania—staying well out of earshot of the encampment—and as dusk approaches, the remote possibility that this is all just a red herring occurs to you.

  Surely, you whisper to the sun god, our having come all this way must carry some sort of divine meaning.

  When darkness prevails, you touch a corner of your vestment and incant a mystical word. It emits a faint glow, just enough to see by for a few feet ahead. Titania grips your hand and stays close as you approach the encampment. Snoring, some severe and some light, meets your ears from many different directions at once.

  You gingerly search for some sort of clue as to what’s going on, peeking within tents while taking great care to not wake anyone. When outside, a crisp desert breeze whips your hair about, and at one point, Titania visibly shakes, her eyes and goose-bumped skin betraying discomfort and anxiety.

  You are about to reach out to comfort her when you think you see a spry gnoll wielding a spear turn a corner, look aside, and slowly pivot in your direction. In a flash, you conceal your light and crouch behind the nearest tent, pulling Titania with you. You thank the gods that the sand underneath your feet makes no noise.

  You hear a confused grunt. Then, silence hangs.

  After holding still for an eternity, you hear a sigh, then a sound like rubbing burlap, as if flaps of a different tent are being manipulated. Scanning the premises, you feel confident, at long last, that the watchman didn’t see you, or at least didn’t suspect that you were anything hostile.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  The touch on your shoulder startles you nearly out of your vestments.

  Next to you stands a gnoll child. You estimate she’s no more than six years of age. She smiles, exposing underdeveloped canine teeth, giggles quietly, and gestures for you to follow her.

  You glance at Titania, who shrugs, but focuses on whether this distraction could awaken the whole camp. Once your heart slows down, you whisper, “We’re not here to play tag…”

  The girl gestures again, seeming to insist.

  You stand, and she leads you to a very small tent offset from the others. She enters. You poke your heads in; the space feels more than a bit crowded. She retrieves a small item from a pack and shoves it in your face.

  Titania grins. “I think… she wants you to play,” she says.

  You attempt to look closer at the item, feeling the item’s texture in your palms. It takes the general shape of half of a monkey. Small golden threads therein reflect your vestment’s magical light, which by now has faded considerably.

  Unbelievable!

  An idea strikes you.

  You ask in a desperate whisper, “May we please borrow this? It’s very, very important. We’ll bring it back as soon as possible.”

  Seeming to comprehend you, the child thinks for a moment, then nods with force. She smiles again.

  Titania mouths the words, “Thank you…”

  You sneak out of the area as quickly as your tired legs will take you. Although you can’t make it to town for genuine shelter anytime soon, you find a small pond several dunes away, at which you camp in your own right.

  Then, to your dismay, the morning sun reveals the full nature of what you thought you’d found. Made of cheap iron, covered with shoddy cloth and decorated with a pair of red buttons substituting for eyes, this ‘idol piece’ appears to be nothing more than an imitative toy. Further disproving any chance that it’s the real thing, you observe that it has no grooves in its edge by which it would attach to the supposed other half.

  Despite overwhelming fatigue and a creeping thirst, you return to where you thought the gnoll encampment was later that morning, only to find that they have, like the nomads you expected to find, packed up and left for someplace else. You attempt to find them once again, but all tracking attempts fail when you note that any possible footprints in the soft sand have blown away.

  “This is a ridiculous goose chase,” you assert.

  And for all the effort, you’ve clearly lost track of where you are. The city no longer looms on the horizon. Marching ever forward, Titania points ominously as buzzards circle overhead. You wonder whether anyone nearly as friendly as the gnoll child will eventually stumble across you, and if so, will it be too late?

  Go back to the previous choice, or start again.

  With a confirming glance at Titania, and a quick clutch of your chest as your heart lurches, you close the distance between you and the gnolls. They turn and--seemingly out of reflex--raise their staves, but upon your miming that you come in peace, soon relax.

  One of the creatures puts his hand by his mouth, then flexes his paw several times, as if to mimic a hand motion using an opposable thumb, and points at you.

  “What does that mean?” you ask out loud. Titania scratches her head.

  Upon your speech, the gnoll points at his head, then repeats the flex motion.

  “You can understand the common language?”

  It nods with fervor, then points toward its own mouth and waves its paws back and forth in a negatory gesture.

  “But you can’t speak it?”

  It nods again. Its companion mimes something else about foreign parties, one of whom carried some sort of wand or magical item. Over time, you get the idea that enemies came to their encampment not long ago, and upon refusal to hand over something important, polymorphed them into their current state.

  Titania realizes, “So you’re actually the nomads we’ve been looking for. How cruel of these brutes to turn you into gnolls!”

  “They obviously didn’t change you completely,” you state. “Since you retained a lot of knowledge.” Other man-gnolls overhear your conversation and gather around until your group numbers about ten. “I wonder if we could do something to help you…”

  The first dog-man shrugs his shoulders, but then slowly approaches Titania. It scans her face with an intrigued air, then opens its mouth with as much of a smile as dogs can muster, as if happily panting. Upon your confused reactions, the nomads clarify that they recognize your love as the former leader of Sungaze.

  She snaps her fingers. “Of course,” she exclaims, “while it took a moment to come back to me, I recall that I had resolved a grudge a large contingent of Sungaze merchants had held against these people many years ago. If not for swift action and direct negotiation, the nomads could have been forced to relinquish every one of their possessions, or worse, possibly wiped off the face of the planet.”

  A moment of silence passes. The air hangs eerily still.

  “Perhaps, then,” you concede, “you should do the talking.”

  She nods and turns to the dog-man. “Please, listen carefully. We’re looking for half of a golden idol that, if it were to fall into the wrong hands, could cause forces of immense evil to reach these lands. Our plan is to destroy it. If you are willing to share anything about its whereabouts, we pledge to you that we shall return soon with a way to change you back into your natural human state.”

  You add, “I know of a powerful transmogrification specialist in Whitetail. It’s the least we can do.”

  The gnoll smiles again, its fangs glistening in the midday sun. It leads you to a small tent and opens the flap, where a mother suckling a youth hastily covers up and growls an objection. When the ‘pack’ leader pantomimes what’s going on, her eyes become large. She stands, gently sets the babe down on a cot, then turns toward a small potted plant. Holding her hands outward in a mystical pose, she closes her eyes, and concentrates. Suddenly, the plant loosens; its fronds fall off and spread across the burlap floor. In front of you, where the pot once stood, a golden item in the shape of the bottom half of a monkey barely contains a mess of soil and seed.

  “The idol piece,” Titania remarks.

  “Well,” you say, impressed, “It seems you folks know a bit of magic. No wonder the invaders didn’t get a hold of this.”

  The woman slowly hands the idol half to you. Despite her lack of ability to communicate ac
tual words, her gaze alone imparts a sense of deep trust. With a reverent nod, you take the item and stash it in your pack.

  Titania turns toward the leader, gently takes its paws in her hands and states, “Our thanks. May the gods of the desert watch over you all.”

  You turn and head back the way you came.

  As you tromp back up, through and around the first few dunes, something occurs to you. “My love,” you say.

  “What is it?”

  “If these people are nomads, they’re used to moving around a lot. If they had been assaulted, wouldn’t you think they’d try to go someplace where they wouldn’t be found again?”

  As you discuss this incongruity, you put more and more distance between you and the nomad encampment. Soon, however, as if in premonition, your fears come true: you turn as you hear screams and growls, to see several gnolls fighting off a band of women and bearded men in robes. At first, your conscience compels you to help, but over time it appears that the nomads hold their own. Lives are at stake, you tell yourself. If you go back, however, you could put the idol piece itself at risk of being lost.

  What do you do?

  We join in the fight!

  We flee toward the core of civilization.

  “Might as well start where there seems to be the least danger,” Darylane offers, “and work forward from there.”

  Who will enter the chamber with the statue?

  Titania.

  Darlayne.

  Myself.

  “We don’t know whether these goblins could scamper off,” you state.

  Who will enter the tunnel with the goblins?

  Titania.

  Darlayne.

  Myself.