The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  “I-I’m not sure…” she frowned.

  “You said there was a deep hatch to the lower storage room—remember?”

  “Yes…”

  “So do you think it could be that the mirror is actually facing the open hatch, and making it appear like a stairway instead of an opened trapdoor? Instead of turning ugly to beauty, it’s turning high into low. A staircase reflected upon the trapdoor, and vice versa.”

  She paused, and looked from the mirror, to the stairway, to the hatch hidden underneath the table. “…Those clever bastards…” she said, “but that would mean that the whole room could be reversed. If we try to climb the stairs, we fall into a pit to our deaths. But if we try to enter the hatch-door instead, it could be the actual stairs. Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes, that is what I suspect,” He crouched low and opened the hatch underneath the table. Then he smiled. “Have a look for yourself,” he waved her over.

  Dorin and Nix crowded around to get a good view. It was so… wrong. Although the hatch opened and appeared to face downwards, a staircase was clearly visible. “But that would mean—our entire perspective of the room is wrong! This is upright and that is down!” She pointed from the two stairways.

  “Like you said—Sagger and Lareja, they’re clever bastards. Cleverer than I gave them credit for. This type of enchantment,” he pointed at the mirror. “To be able to reflect a room in such a twisted state means that it is a very powerful item. Might even be something made by Wagfrost, for all I can tell. It’s a wonder how the cruel bitch got her hands on it.”

  The Jack-Bot was still marveling as it stared down at an upwards staircase through the trapdoor. “Sir—imagine if we had simply tried the staircase!”

  “We would have fallen all the way down to the storage room,” he said. “That’s why we have to be careful. These traps laid are made to kill us before we even arrive to the top. Who knows how many more tricks they have up their sleeve?”

  Nandor crouched underneath the table, and climbed through the hatch up onto the stairs. Nix and Dorin couldn’t help but gasp as he appeared to vanish, but his head poked back out. “Come,” he whispered, “it’s safe. These are the actual stairs,” he assured them.

  The three entered the trapdoor, and found themselves standing on the real staircase. It was odd, and their stomachs lurched at the unfamiliar perspective. At first it felt like they were climbing downwards, but as they moved out of line of the mirror, it became apparent the actual state of both the stairway and the room below. It had been flipped, and contorted to suit the mirrors deception. Where there was once a stairway, now it was obvious that the mirror was facing, instead, the opened trapdoor, begging them to fall inside it.

  “That was a close one,” Nix blew out a sigh of relief. “If I had taken one more step back there—I would have fallen to my death.”

  “That was the point.” Nandor muttered. “Now stay behind me. If anything is to happen to anyone, it should be me.”

  They climbed upward along the curved stone steps, circling up to the second floor, and whatever trickery awaited.

  “Sir, I did not know the power of enchantments. The family I served was notoriously cruel, and they owned several factories where they made men slave away and toil endlessly for paltry wages, but this is a different sort of torment. That rug—I think it was more than just an enchantment. I think part of a soul was used to create it. It was almost like me, but, worse.” The bot moaned out its discomfort. “I do not like this.”

  Nandor shifted his gaze down on the little mechanical creature. Its flaming eyes were flickering sadly, and its daring smile had vanished completely. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought it was scared. He gave a reassuring wink. “It’ll be okay, Dorin. Twisted enchantments made by twisted people—truthfully, I’m not too familiar with enchantments either. Wagfrost never taught me exactly how he weaved spells into his creations. But even if that rug was created by using part of a human soul, it was best to end it. Better to end its suffering than to prolong it.”

  “I agree, sir.” it said. “Killing it was the right thing to do. I know I would not wish to be trapped in such an object.”

  The staircase led the three into the second level of the tower, and they approached the room cautiously. More moonstones lit up the room, basking their faces in bluish light. The staircase continued at the far side of the room, but between them there was a vast array of objects scattered on two long wooden tables. Mechanical trinkets ticked and chimed as they spun on the tables like little clockwork toys, and odd mystical wizzmos wompled along, tittering and tattering as if some force compelled them, and bobbled the baubles boundlessly back and forth.

  It made for a strange sort of dance along the two tables, the mechanical and mystic items swaying along as if attuned to an unheard song.

  “Nandor?” Nix asked uneasily.

  He only shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Through his aura detecting spectacle, he saw faint glimmers of waves irradiating from the magical items, but the precise purpose and power of them was unknown. They appeared more like nonsensical knick-knacks than anything else. They danced, and glowed, and shined, but other than to put on a show, they were pointless. Perhaps they formed as torches? Or moving candles? Or entertainment before a meal?

  After he was quiet sure that there was nothing dangerous about them, he walked into the room, the tables at his either side. “Stay back,” he told Nix and Dorin. “Until we know what game this room is playing, at least.”

  He took each step into the room slowly, examining the objects as he approached. They danced eagerly as he walked towards them, as if excited to finally have a guest. Some objects rolled around, the clockwork soldiers saluted him and marched in a line, and the candle-like wizzmos shifted their weight eagerly, wobbling with more enthusiasm. They gathered at the edges of the tables, practically crowding around him as he walked.

  “Sir…” Dorin mumbled from behind.

  “Not now!” he told the bot. “I think they might be trying to tell me something.”

  He watched them, transfixed in their movements. The nonsensical toys begun to hum, and then they glowed brighter and brighter. It was very pretty, almost… mesmerizing.

  “Sir!” the bot cried, this time louder. “They aren’t toys! Their something different!”

  The dozens of strange baubles gathered closer and closer to him, humming louder as he walked between them. He sniffed the air—something was wrong. He smelled a powder, one of fireworks and shows. And the glow surrounding the toys—it wasn’t just an enchantment, there were gear grinders along the edges of the table. A pipe ran along up through the ceiling into the room—but it wasn’t just any pipe, it was a pipe that looked similar to those connected to elemental conductors.

  Tick, tick, tick, tick…

  He glanced from the glowing toys to the gears, to the pipe that opened through a spigot hose.

  “Sir!” The bot took a step towards him. “I know something is wrong!”

  “Stay back!” he hissed.

  He was in the center of the room now, the tinker toys approaching him on all sides. Some had even begun to spill over the table, clustering around his feet. A hiss begun to rumble throughout the pipe in the center of the room.

  His heart stopped. It was all so obvious.

  What a fool I’ve been.

  He glanced from the surrounding toys, to the pipe, to his companions. There was no time to save himself, but perhaps they could remain unharmed.

  “Get down!” he roared, pointing to the lower stairs.

  A hiss of fire boomed from the pipe, and molten flame poured into the room, spitting over the toys on the table and the ground. Any second they would explode, and the flames would grow brighter, and the room would be consumed in unbearable heat.

  He had only one choice, and no time to prepare.

  He closed his eyes, and swiftly placed his hand around the flaming spigot.

  Then
, he cried out in pain.

  “AHHHH!”

  Flames poured into his body, and he projected it outwards. He used his body as both the flame conductor and the repellant, as he had done only a few times before. The tinker toys became consumed in fire spitting from his body, and they fizzed as their fuses were ignited.

  Hiszzzzz!

  The toys spat as they lit up brighter and brighter.

  The fire pulsed through his figure, cloaking his entire body from head to toe.

  Tick, Tick, Tick…

  He couldn’t contain it any longer. Neither could the toys.

  A second was all it took.

  BOOM!

  One explosion erupted from a toy, and it unleased a volley of additional explosions.

  BOOM, BOOM!

  Toy after toy shattered and erupted around him, but his body was still cloaked in flame, and it served to shield him from the brunt of the blast.

  Shards of metal were flung all around, and more than one broke past his burning wall. “AHHH!” One sharp pain pierced into his arm, another into his back, and the explosions continued erupting at all sides.

  He kept his hand grasped firmly on the flaming spigot, and concentrated on building the fire up around him. He couldn’t afford to let any ounce of the flame go—it had to surround him. To protect him.

  Vaguely, he was aware of Nix and Dorin screaming from below, but he pushed them from his mind. Either they would survive on their own, or he would deal with whatever awaited later. Right now, he had to focus.

  The series of explosions continued until each toy had erupted. Shards of metal and bursts of flames scorched through the room, flinging debris into the walls and bursting gaps into the stone tower. The window erupted, the tables burst into thousands of pieces, and still Nandor stood in the middle, both hands now tightened around the pipe.

  After several terrible seconds, every toy was destroyed, and the flames finally stopped.

  Nandor fell to his knees, and held his breath. A cloud of smoke surrounded him, and he knew he would choke if he tried to inhale. From below, he heard Nix crying.

  “Nandor! Nandor—no!”

  Damned girl, he thought, I’m fine—I just need a little help.

  His legs were weary, his mind addled, and he was losing small amounts of blood from where stray shards of metal shrapnel had managed to squeeze through his flaming barrier.

  He succeeded in opening his eyes, but they stung in the smoke, and he could see nothing. The moonstones had been ruined, and there was no light save for where the moon poured in through the damaged tower walls. Just how big of an explosion did those little toys cause?

  He fell further to the floor, and felt shards of wood and metal and stone on his hands and knees. There were scorch marks everywhere. His hands were pink and slightly raw, but he had managed to channel almost all of the flame without harm. I think I’m getting better at this…

  There was an ambiguous sound of huffing and metal clanking. At first, he clenched up tight, afraid that it was another tinker-toy about to explode. There was no more fire coming from the pipe—he had nothing to protect himself with. If even one more toy exploded, it could very well be his death.

  But it wasn’t a toy. He heard a gasp, and then a mechanical sigh. “Nandor! Are you alive?”

  A vice-like grip grasped his leg. “Alive, Dorin,” he confirmed.

  “Heavens! How injured are you?”

  “Mostly unharmed,” he grunted. “Only a shard or two got through to me.”

  He risked opening his eyes again. The smoke had mostly cleared, easing through the cracks in the now broken room. A much welcome cold breeze blew in with the storm where the window had shattered, and he managed to crawl to an upright position.

  “Nix! He’s alive! Come!”

  The girl coughed as she charged up the stairs and smoke entered her lungs.

  “Breathe slowly,” Nandor cautioned.

  She ignored him, and rushed down to his side. Her wide eyes soaked in the destruction around the room. Charred walls, exploded glass, broken tables, tiny twisted metal gears from shattered tinker-toys.

  “How are you alive?” she gasped.

  “That,” he grunted, “is a lot to explain. For the moment, would you just help me with my back?” He turned over. It felt as if at least two shards had pierced him.

  He pulled off his coat, and curled up his undershirt. Nix tenderly felt around, unsure of what to do. “S-should I pull them?” she hesitated.

  “By Jove! Get out of my way and leave it to me!” Dorin grumbled, and pushed her aside. There was the sound of whirling as the bot disconnected its saw-arm in favor of its tinkering setting, and then, a sharp, painful pull as one object came out, and then another.

  Nandor managed to contain his first two gasps, but then another came that he hadn’t expected, and to his shame, he whimpered slightly. “Ah!”

  “It’ll be fine,” The bot declared, and flung the bloodied shards of metal aside. “They barely broke into you. Shallow wounds.” The bot tore some wool from Nandor’s pack, and wrapped it around him. After the creature had finished its work, it spun him around and the three figures faced each other on the sizzled ground. “Now tell us—what in the cold hells happened? How did you survive?”

  He looked to Nix. “You remember what I did in my duel against Benjfrost? After everyone thought that I had lost?”

  She nodded, “You conducted fire with your bare hands placed in the fireplace. A feat that I didn’t even know was possible.”

  “Well,” he pointed to the pipe, “I did the same thing again.”

  His companions looked confused, and he sighed, “You see, this was all a very intricate trap, from the tinker-toys, to the powder they were stuffed with, to the pipe. The toys were enchanted to follow any movement in the room, so that they could surround whoever entered, they were both the bait and the hook. Too shiny to look away from, and seemingly too harmless to be afraid of. But on the contrary: They were stuffed with firework powder, which is known to cause explosions, when packed correctly, and the pipe, I suspect, is connected to a fire conductor—which simply had to light them into ignition. Someone towards the top of the tower must have powered it once the toys gave the signal.

  “Anyone else would have surely died in the fire and explosions—firework powder isn’t very potent, by itself, out in the open, but when packed tightly with many others, explosion after explosion ignited by flame will certainly cause some damage.” He gestured around the room, “As you can see. It would have killed you if you had stayed beside me. If I didn’t know how to channel flame directly, it would have killed me too. So what I did was place my hand over the pipe as soon as the flame begun to pour out, in order to cloak myself in a shield of fire. Channel the fire around me rather than outwards—a risk, but it worked,” he felt the stings in his back and leg, and rectified, “mostly.”

  “Marvelous work sir!” Dorin congratulated him.

  He shook his head, “It was foolish of me. I should have noticed what the trap was earlier.”

  “Still, we’re alive,” Nix offered, holding his hand.

  “Indeed. And we still have magicians to slay.” He grunted as he stood to his feet.

  “Do you think your fit to fight, sir?”

  “I’m fine. The shards are shallow wounds, as you said.”

  Nix grimaced, “Looks painful to me.”

  “It’s not bad,” he said, though he would have said the same if it were true or not. “In truth, conducting the flame took more out of me than these little cuts.” He stretched upwards—he had never conducted flame as a shield before, and he had woven the fire so tightly around his body that it had turned to a lava-like barrier. He frowned—he should have felt terrible after such a feat, but he didn’t. The straighter he stood the better he felt, as if there was a surge of energy just waiting to replace his empty reserves. “Actually, I feel great.” He twisted from side to side, and then cracked his knuckles. “It’ll take more than a few e
xploding tinker-toys to stop us.”

  Gingerly, Nix and Dorin looked at the flight of stairs ahead of them. “What else do you think awaits us?”

  “Ha! As if I could say. That’s the mystery.” He pulled Lady Mikja’s sword from his side, and held it strong in a two-handed grip. “Come, my friends!” He brushed off a piece of smoking debris from his shoulder, and marched to the stairway. “We’ll bring the whole damned tower down on their heads if that’s what it takes!” He roared in bearish laughter, and the barrels of his half-delirious hoots heartily warmed his companions, and then he climbed upwards to cut into the ice-cold threat of death itself.

  Chapter 23: Flames of Vengeance

  He made me look like a fool, and I hated him. I hated him with the power of a thousand clanking gears, grinding endlessly to the very core of my being. Nandor Kir—the nomadic dog-worshiping follower of Marr.

  Foul-smelling, wretched, unshaved, unsanitary, and obnoxious—he deserved everything he got and more. With the other nobles, men of importance and high-born men, I watched from the benches as it happened—the duel that changed everything. The duel that turned the world back to my favor. Once more the god of warmth smiled upon me, and I felt it to the very core of my being.

  When I saw Lord Viken’s blade cut him all the way to his spine I cried out in joy. No more will people point at him and say “there’s the man that brought you to your knees!”

  Fools. I won the duel. I bested Nandor first. He was at my mercy. Then, like the arrogant coward he is, he cheated by using unknown magic with my back turned. Yet he continued to walk free and proud as if he had done some noble deed by assaulting me and mine with our backs turned! It is shameful to the very city of Froj that he was not found and punished for that crime alone!