This entire process was repeated again and again. Out of anxiety, I tried to distract myself by keeping track of the competitor's names however I found I had lost myself after only four.
“Jacob Ofpacis,” The elder eventually announced with sleepy boredom.
I looked around, quietly hoping he had simply gotten the wrong name.
“Yes, you. The one looking around. If you’re Jacob, get inside now,”he demanded sharply. “Haven’t got all day,” he added as I slowly picked myself off the floor.
Speeding up my movements, I tried not to tremble as I felt my legs glide me through the door. The Winston classroom could have been quite a bright and cheery place, had the area not been smothered in thick red velvet curtains. From the dimly lit area, I could just make out a massive metallic half dome in the middle of the room, along with three towering thrones pressed against the back wall. Each of these were cradling a frail looking elder, who were talking to themselves with conversational whispers.
They pointedly ignored me as I shuffled my way forward and bowed slightly. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could and the three turned to look at me. The tips of my fingertips went numb. “My name is Jacob Ofpacis, and I am a tier one pronounced trainee,” I stated boldly. A terrible silence passed where the only movement that took place was the elder in the middle twiddling his wrinkled fingers.
“Good to know,” he said, now resuming his conversation with the rest of the elders. Umber snickered and for the first time in my life, I found myself deeply angry with their disrespect.
“I am here to compete in the qualifying round and I would like to do so right now.”
“We will alert you when we are ready,” The elder on the largest throne declared loudly.
“If it makes any difference to you all, I would rather not wait.” These series of words were quickly drowned out by the forced whispers of the elders. “Excuse me?” I stammered while drawing a single step forward. This was ignored as well. I waited for what felt like a couple of minutes in embarrassed silence, before an alarming amount rage overtook my rational thoughts, contained and held ever so patiently after nearly five years of being ignored. I would be listened to, and I would be listened to right now.
“My name is Jacob Ofpacis!” I thundered suddenly. “I am a hero!”
I could have been content with all of the silence in the world. I could have gone my entire life without saying anything quite that stupid and I could have saved myself a lifetime of embarrassment. Somehow though, I just couldn’t keep my fat mouth shut.
The elders stared at me with their bug eyes born out at me. Their mouths had been hollowed out in perfect surprise. They began to laugh, and I felt my face flush beet red. They laughed and laughed, pointing fingers and jeering loudly.
Despite this I planted my head, my feet, and body. I was not about to leave any time soon.
“Barely even out of the Clog, and he thinks he’s king of the world!” The elder on the right chuckled, wiping fat tears out of his eyes.
The elder on the middle seat the middle abruptly stood up and began to read from a tattered scrap of paper in his left hand. “Jacob Ofpacis, First tier... hero.” All three of them howled with laughter, but eventually the elder in the middle held his hands up for silence. “-Will be required to retrieve a single key from the area in front of him.” He elder tapped a nearby hourglass with the bone of his knuckle. “He will have exactly five minutes to do so, and he’s allowed to use any means of which to do so.” Nodding over his shoulders, the other Grimlars raised their hands. Immediately the large dome in the center of the room split into two, uncovering a vast bowl of what looked like large amounts of fiery coal.
As I shielded my eyes from the sudden light and warmth flooding from the container, I couldn’t help but notice the disturbing way in which the glowing globules seemed to squirm in the impossible heat. These were no ordinary inanimate objects, I realized suddenly. These were magmots.
There must have been over three or four dozen of them, each writhing in a thick pool of magma. They were odd little things the size of small loaves of bread, each end indistinguishable from the other. The sight alone of these colossal larvae made me feel quite sick.
“Told you,” I thought silently to Umber. “I knew I didn’t have to study that entire book.” Umber sighed deeply.
“It was all precautionary. I may have saved our lives in the future for all you know,” he protested loudly. “That’s besides the point anyways. Just focus on getting that key.”
“Your time starts now,” the elder said, flipping over the hourglass. Concentrating the flow of my anti-magic and directing it towards the magmot pit, I recoiled when I felt an alarming amount of resistance push against me. “Umber, what’s going on? Why can’t I stretch this as easily as other things?”
“The metallic bowl is much more dense than the other things you’ve had to warp,” he warned quickly. “It’s going to take a good bit more effort to move it. Just take your time.” I scowled.
“Good thing we have so much of that,” I replied sarcastically. Taking a deep intake of air, I inverted a small part of the bowl, pushing all of the magmots all to one side. My elbows buckled as I slowly moved the distorted area around the bowl. “I don’t see the key anywhere!” I hissed through my teeth.
“Keep looking mortal! You’ve only been at this for a minute!” Umber coached in my ear. Thinking I had seen something, my lungs skipped a breath. As I tried in vain to regain my composure, my head began to spin and my crippling weariness pounded against my head like a drowning animal. One of the magmots began to rumble dangerously quickly. “Move!” Umber roared.
Without thinking, I dropped my concentration and flung myself to one side, narrowly avoiding a thin spray of molten rock. My eyelids drooped. My mouth hung slack. My hands flew up a second time and slowly, the distorted section of the bowl returned. A thick piercing silence wrapped around my head as I began to lose my hearing. The only thing I could perceive anymore were the demanding orders from Umber, who was further away now than he ever had been before.
“Not here,” I whimpered inaudibly. I gave a spluttering cough but continued to search. One of the elders said something, but I couldn’t make it out.
“Jacob, we have one minute left,” Umber urged. “You have to find it!”
“It’s not here, not here,” I protested quietly. The raging thoughts of Umber suddenly went silent. I could tell he was thinking, but thinking of what exactly? Not even I could have told you that.
“One of the magmots must have swallowed the key,” Umber gasped in realization. “Jacob, it’s going to be dangerous but you have to crush them.”
“What? No! I’ll get burned!”
“Irrelevant!” Umber boomed with all of his might. “Just do it!”
Distorting the metallic segment even further, and drawing one final breath, I began to thrash the metal around as if it were a warhammer. My heart leapt through my stomach and up my throat. My knees crippled, however I was kept standing by some empty determination. Boiling red liquid spluttered everywhere but fortunately I was far enough away that it didn’t touch me. A large clump of something hot and fiery landed by my feet. I was about to kick it away, when Umber suddenly stopped me. “It’s the key it’s the key!” He screamed over my tepid weariness. Even through my thick leather gloves, I could feel it’s amazing heat as I tentatively picked it up. With a last remaining effort, I held the key up just as the hourglass ran empty.
The elders stared at me with nothing shy of angered amazement. The one in the middle looked particularly as if he wanted to throw the key in my hand very far away. Despite any nasty inclinations he may have had, he begrudgingly scribbled something on his sheet of paper. “Congratulations. You have qualified for the semi-finals.” He coughed, somewhat regaining his composure. “Keep the key, you’ll need it for the next round.”
And with that final statement, they quickly turned away from me and continued to jabber away. Limping out into
the bright light of the outside corridor, my mouth opened up into a goofy grin. I held up the key and just as my hearing fully came back into effect, I was swamped by the applause of the trainees. People I never knew, even those much larger than me were cheering. Perhaps it was entirely possible that I had given them hope. Preston took me by the shoulder and led me off quietly. I could tell by his movements that he was both pleased I had passed, and irritated I was now in that much further danger.
“I need to speak with Wenchenberg,” I said, nearly choking over my own words. Preston rattled his head in a definite ‘no.’
“You need to recover,” He declared as he sent me flying around another corner. “Come on, we’re going to the sanitorium.” I tried to stop him, but I was much too weak to do so.
“Preston I’m fine,” I lied, trying half-heartedly to tear my arm away from his grip. Preston raised a single eyebrow.
“You’re having trouble breathing. Even I can see it, and I’m no expert.”
“So just fix me with your anti-magic! I really need to see the professor!” I whined lamely. He discounted this with a flick of his wrist. As Preston lead me up a gentle hill outside, we eventually came to quite possibly the ugliest building I had ever seen in my life.
The hideous splotches of white thrown hastily onto the structure made it look as if a pot of paint had exploded nearby and nobody had bothered to clean it up for a few hundred years. Large sections of the carpentry were worn away by mold and decay and those rare sections that weren't completely ravaged by time were being stung by a thick tangle of dead or otherwise browned vines. As if trying to mask it’s hideous appearance, the building displayed a large amount of faded stained glass windows.
“This used to be the old chapel,” Preston explained as if noticing my disgusted face. “The concentration camp underwent several large expansions throughout history and apparently this was the first building constructed here.”
I glanced at the structure again with an even greater amount of revolt this time. The shack itself hardly looked like it could hardly fit thirty people, much less the entire legion of the most threatening warriors ever.
“Today, it’s used as the main medical center,” Preston concluded, throwing me in through the doors.
The inside, I was pleased to see was considerably nicer than the exterior suggested. Well worn cobblestone floors made up the entire area and was held under a fine set of rafters. Clustered on the far side of the room were a few shelves filled with various odds and ends, as well as a heavy looking cabinet. A door from the right side of the room flung open with a crash. A tired looking elder with a great number of pockets and an exceptionally large hat strode out. He glanced at me briefly before pushing me onto a nearby bed.
“Name?” He asked while stifling a yawn.
His eyes unfocused slightly as I responded.
“And the reason you’re here?”
“Difficulty breathing sir,” I responded truthfully. The elder considered this.
“Cough, and then spit into your hand.”
As I did so, I was shocked to see that it came out a very vivid red colour. The elder seemed anything but startled.
“Internal bleeding from over-exertion,” he concluded lazily. He produced a bottle from his third pocket on the right and gave it to me. “Stay on this bed for an hour, prop your feet up and take a sip from that every five minutes. Don’t bother me again unless you begin frothing at the mouth or you literally cannot breath.” Giving a loud ‘harumph,’ the elder stormed back into his room, ducking slightly so as not to knock the hat against the top of the door.
“Wow,” I said numbly.
“Yeah.” Preston agreed quietly. “Professor Grunge is known for his amazingly quick diagnoses’. Aside from being the chief medic, he’s also the master of blood anti-magic in the camp and teaches me what I know today.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why on earth does he wear that hat?” Preston laughed.
“Don’t ask. It’s a old joke in the blood dormitories that his hat is actually a parasite that he hasn’t learned how to remove yet.” I laughed loudly and took a small swig from the bottle the elder gave me. It was as bitter as lime juice, yet ihad the consistency of watery cement. I was just about to comment on this when someone suddenly opened the door and walked in, tapping their feet softly as they did so. Much to my amazement, the visitor was Professor Wenchenberg, who was leaning on a thick copper handled cane and looking far less ill than before.
As if on cue, the other elder, Professor Grunge stormed out of his office and looked slightly surprised to see Wenchenberg as his visitor.
“Why are you here?” he asked suspiciously.
“Good afternoon to you too Professor Grunge!” the professor said brightly. “I am here because I requested a small handful of dilladum leaves nearly two weeks ago. I’ve come here to pick them up.”
“Ah yes. Dilladum leaves. My mistake,” Professor Grunge said darkly. “They happen to be quite rare these days, so might I ask what you intend to do with them?” He asked, removing a small glass jar from a pocket near his leg. Inside were five or six indigo coloured waxy leaves with bright violet spots on their undersides.
“Well as you’re no doubt aware, dilladum leaves are good for sore backs and achy stomachs. I happen to have both.”
“Very well,” Professor Grunge said before sighing and handing Wenchenberg the bottle. Rounding on the spot for the second time, he left for the other room and quickly shut the door behind him.
“You must be Preston,” Professor Wenchenberg stated while holding out a hand in greeting. Preston timidly took it with three fingers and shook slightly. “Jacob’s had nothing but good things to say about you, don’t worry,” The professor assured him cheerily. Wenchenberg turned his attention to me.
“Well done Jacob, very well done indeed. I’d like to see you tomorrow at around about five in the evening for a cup of tea in my office.” Before I had time to respond, the professor had paced over to a nearby bookshelf and began to mumble to himself as he looked through the various titles. Taking a single bright green book from the top of the case, he began to deliberately thumb through each page. The professor dabbed his finger to his tongue, and folded a page back, making a sharp crease about a third of the way through. He quickly shut the book and winked at me as he carefully put the book in in the spot it once was before leaving rather suddenly.
“What in the world was that?” Preston wondered, standing up to retreive the very same book. I glanced at the vivid green cover and grimaced. “Creature identification by Talia Tallkins,” was the title emblazoned with bright flamboyant lettering on every inch of the cover.
“I think I have an idea...” I said, hesitantly reaching out to open it. Preston snatched it out of my hands and flipped it open to the page folded. He paled slightly and let the text fall from his fingers and into my lap. Illustrated directly on the page was a strange looking humanoid creature, with a face like a fish. The thing was wearing something that resembled a poorly made bard’s outfit, grossly colourful to the extent where spots began to dance in my vision. I counted four arms, protruding from its torso yet instead of legs, it seemed to be floating on a cloud of fine golden mist.
“The Penelopis:
The Penelopis is a particularly territorial member of the Imp family and easily the most dangerous. Most penelopi have an intense fascination with human culture and because of this, they will often times try to make clothes out of the scraps of their prey, fashion odd instruments, or on rare occasion, try to mimic speech. Surprisingly enough, they dislike the company of the other members of their species, and will gladly migrate in solitude, usually traveling within proximity to major city settlements.
The Penelopis' lower body secretes a dense yellow fog, which the entire being floats on. Depending on the size and age of the penelopis, the mist can spread anywhere from one to thirty four meters in diameter. When one breathes in the mist, it is reported strong hallucinations follow with
possible mental harm following if overexposed. The most famous penelopis story to date, is from the treasure hunter, Dakker Thurman, who reported his experience as follows.”
‘This here weird mist came over the wood, as me and my companions were hunting. Before I had time to ask what in the world happened, all five of them suddenly turned into my mother-in-law, who all started screaming at me. I was about ready to cut them to pieces, when I saw this funny looking creature thing off in the distance with a knife. Maneuvering real quick, I dodged my mother-in-laws, and sliced that other thing clean in half, My friends resumed their original form, and I saw all of them with theirs swords out pointing at one another. If it weren't for me killing that thing, we would’ve killed each other.’
As described by Dakker, we learn that the mist itself is not in any way lethal, but it could in fact, trick one into believing what they think is real. It is also widely rumored that Dakkok could see past the gas mainly because of his general stupidity. When fighting Penelopis one must adopt a similar strategy, and simply try not to think. With any luck, the gas of the Penelopis will rhetorically be unable to affect the fighter’s mindset. This is all however hypothetical, as Dakker remains the only known person to have actually killed a penelopis.
Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) Page 19