by Dave Higgins
A white cloud erupted from the ball and instantly caught fire. The expanding sphere of flame washed over more balls, triggering more explosions.
The roiling mass of fire swallowed Daffodil from the knees up.
Edmond took a step forward. “Is she going to be all right?”
“She’s immune to fire while the shield is up,” Grew said. “But…”
“But what?”
“The air around her. Fire and air are inimical elements. The flames will—.”
Daffodil’s charge stuttered and wavered. Legs folding, she collapsed to the ground, her hands clawing at her throat. Bursts of white powder continued to feed the firestorm above her.
“The air should be okay near the ground,” Grew said. “But I only have one spell left.”
“Cast it on her. Protect her. I’ll keep the roots away.”
Edmond grabbed the long wooden pole from Grew’s back and sprinted forward. He needed to lead the roots away from Daffodil, to give her time to recover. Other than helping the fire burn the air, the white puffs didn’t seem to hurt her; but if the roots were near her when she couldn’t defend herself… They wouldn’t find enough money to resurrect her a second time; and he wasn’t about to let her die. He’d die before he’d let that happen.
The roots weren’t hovering near Daffodil any more. Whether they recognised fire or just movement, they must be somewhere underground, making for him. Edmond headed as far to the right as he dared, into the unknown darkness. There had to be a wall, or something he could put his back against to stop them surrounding him.
When the wall appeared out of the dark, he almost ran face first into it. He realised he should have danced the light spell before Daffodil charged. Instead, he was in the dark, unable to see anything. He tried to dance the spell from memory, cursing his low Wisdom as his feet refused to do more than trip over each other.
Racking his brain again, he thought he remembered the steps. After all, it hadn’t been as complicated as the spells Grew could do. He danced around the earth, hoping his shambling would be close enough to count.
The light that appeared over his head surprised him; surprise turning to panic as he noticed the two roots towering over him. Thorn-clad tips smashed down.
Legs still crossed, his dodge became a tumble. The breeze from the roots cut the air behind him. Scrambling back to his feet, Edmond ran into the darkness, still clutching the pole. Vague thoughts of holding the plants at bay had gone through his mind when he set off, but he realised it was pointless; a root would snap it in two in a moment.
Edmond pitched forward as the end of the pole went between his legs. He cursed and clambered up, almost hitting his head on the root that whistled through the air above him.
Crouched over, Edmond scrambled away. Ahead of him, a root broke the surface, tip lashing at chest level. Another root erupted from the soil on his left. He’d have to try going under.
Or at least he would if he didn’t have the long pole. Sticking it into the dirt, he vaulted over the chest-high root. He let go on his way over, tumbling to the ground and rolling.
When he glanced back, he saw the two roots had got tangled with each other in their haste to grab him. He wouldn’t have long until they untangled themselves, but he might have long enough.
He sprinted toward Daffodil. The flames had died, each of the white balls cracked in two and empty. As he got close, he knelt, picked her up, and lifted her against him. With her armour, she weighed more than he’d ever thought he could lift. He staggered away from the Green Heart.
His lungs felt like bursting and his side stabbed at him in pain, but he wasn’t about to let her go. He needed to get her where the roots wouldn’t follow. He didn’t dare to look, to see if they were still there. He just kept staring ahead, at the spot where the corridor met the room, where she’d be safe.
Knees failing, he collapsed into the mouth of the corridor. Pain jolting up his spine, he stayed in control long enough to place Daffodil on the ground before slumping over her.
Her eyes opened and looked up into his. Every fibre of his body fought for him to kiss her, but he couldn’t: she was his friend; she was too young; it wouldn’t be right. He struggled and kept it down.
“You saved me again,” Daffodil said.
“We saved each other. More often than I can count.”
Daffodil struggled up, coughing. When she caught her breath, she looked around. “Where’s Grew?”
Edmond clambered to his feet and peered along the corridor. Shoulders slumping further, he turned around.
Grew was barely visible in the distance, almost at the Green Heart.
“He’s going to get himself killed.” As Daffodil spoke, two roots broke the surface behind Grew, rising up to aim at him.
Before they could, Grew plunged both daggers into the middle of the pulsing glow. The roots lashed randomly as he stabbed again and again.
Fragments of verdant light spiralled through the darkness as Grew thrust his blades home.
The roots wavered, then fell to the ground, green light blasting around the young wizard.
“Grew!” Edmond sprinted forward. As he got closer, he saw a figure covered head to toe in green goo. “Grew?”
The figure wiped goo from its eyes. A line of grinning teeth broke through the muck. “I thought, since the roots were distracted, I could kill two birds with one stone.”
Daffodil staggered up, still out of breath and coughing. “Grew, I could hug you. If you weren’t covered in goo, that is.”
“I wish I knew some water spells.” Grew wiped at the goo. But, as it dried, it hardened. After a moment, his hair stuck solidly up in the air, a deep shade of green.
“You invented a style,” Edmond said. “Plant killer.”
“Where now?” Daffodil asked.
Edmond considered that for a moment. “Wouldn’t the stairs be behind the monster? Otherwise adventurers could just bypass it.”
They each did a light spell, then examined the wall behind the Green Heart. A passage lead out of the room, almost directly behind the shredded vegetation.
Edmond led the way to a set of plain wooden steps. “Level 8 next. We’re nearly there.”
He glanced down at his hourglass. Only a few hours remained until the dragon was hungry again. They needed to hurry or their quest would fail.
Chapter 21
Faceless
The steps became more intricate as they descended. The raw bannisters smoothed then gained the sheen of regular polishing. Edmond slowed as lines of gold inlay appeared in the wood. The dirtiest and most primitive levels had been the most dangerous, but something about the open display of riches felt wrong. Which, the part of his mind seeking for traps whispered, was what they wanted you to think.
The stairs ended in a long corridor. A burgundy carpet complimented the mahogany walls. Full-length picture frames alternated along the walls every few paces and ornate lanterns jutted out between.
Edmond’s feet sank as he stepped from the stairs. He froze, then tried lifting the left one.
The pile sprang back up as his foot rose, and nothing clicked. It was just good carpet, not a trap. He walked along to the first frame.
An armoured man with a thick beard and greying hair looked back. He wore the same dark chain-mail as Edmond and had the same sword, but slung on his other hip. Edmond’s eyebrows rose as he realised that—apart from the face—they were near mirror images.
“Who are you?” Daffodil asked from the mouth of the stairs.
Edmond turned. She was staring at him. “What are you talking about, Daffodil? It’s me, Edmond.”
“It’s the changeling.” Grew peered around Daffodil’s arm. “It’s taken Edmond somehow.”
Daffodil pulled out her sword and pointed it at Edmond. “Where’s our friend?”
Edmond glanced from her to the frame on the wall. Then staggered back. The man was no longer almost a mirror image; he looked like Edmond, down to the slightest smudge
and scuff on his equipment.
His reflection’s expression of shock changed to a grin. After giving a brief, yet florid, bow, the image strolled past the edge of the frame, disappearing from sight.
“It is the doppelgänger.” Edmond reached up and his fingers found a full beard. “It stole my face.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Daffodil waved her sword at him. “You’re not going to talk your way out of this. Where’s our friend? Where’s Edmond?”
Edmond stared at her. He didn’t look like himself. How could he convince her? “One time, when you were ten, you put rotten eggs under Fink and Peter’s beds. They took days to find them.”
Daffodil’s eyes widened.
“They kept blaming each other,” Edmond said. “Saying the other needed to wash.”
Daffodil grinned. “That was funny. Is that really you?”
“It’s me. When I looked in one of these frames, my face got swapped; but I’m still me inside.”
“Well swap back.” Daffodil wagged her sword at him. “You look like an old man.”
Edmond stared into the frame again, but it remained empty apart from a few threads of mist. “We need to check the other frames. Maybe my face is in one of them.”
“We’ll check.”
“No!” Edmond held up a hand. “Don’t look in them, or you’ll lose your face too. You and Grew stare at the ground while I search.”
Edmond advanced along the corridor in fits and starts, checking each frame as he passed. Men and women of all ages and skin tones stared back. Some of them looked familiar, as if Edmond had seen them before. Thinking hard, he realised they were heroes who’d visited the shop or one nearby. “The faces are all adventurers.”
“If their faces are stuck in frames, their quests can’t have gone well,” Daffodil said.
Grew shuffled forward, one hand shielding his eyes. “You keep changing: one moment you’re a woman, the next a man; one moment old, the next young.”
“If you can’t find your own face,” Daffodil said. “See if you can find that warrior from a few months back. The one with the scar on his cheek.”
Edmond shot Daffodil a pointed glance, then went back to searching. There were so many frames, he despaired of ever finding his own face again. They didn’t have time to search forever.
Then, at the end of the corridor, he saw his face staring back in surprise. He sprinted closer, arriving in time to see his reflection racing into the distance at right angles to the corridor.
“Was it you?” Grew asked.
“Yes. But he ran off again. Not into another frame this time; back into the depths of this one.”
“Can we follow?” Daffodil asked. “Get your face back?”
Edmond pressed his fingers against the surface of the image. Cold glass pressed back.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Yanking out his sword, he smashed the glass with the hilt. Cracks spread across the surface and glittering shards cascaded to the ground.
However, the swirling mists within the frame stayed the same. The glass was a window.
“That was risky.” Grew peered around Edmond. “How did you know that wouldn’t destroy the world behind the glass?”
Edmond shrugged. He hadn’t known, or even considered it. “Let’s get my face back.”
He stepped through the frame. His balance lurched sideways, and he stumbled. Before he could recover, he tripped over his own feet and sprawled onto the ground.
For a moment, he thought his Luck had avoided a trap for him, but when he tried to stand he couldn’t. Bending his right leg caused his left leg to kick while his right remained still. And twitching the left caused his right to lift. His limbs were reversed.
Edmond growled with irritation. To make matters worse, his beard itched. However, when he tried to scratch it, he poked himself in the opposite cheek. Lying still, he took a deep breath.
At least that still worked as expected. Itch after itch springing up the longer he refused to try scratching, he puzzled out the reversed limbs in his head. Moving his left leg, then his right, he struggled to his feet.
When he managed to turn around, Daffodil and Grew were peering at him from the other side of the frame in silence.
“Everything is reversed,” Edmond said. “Come in and try it.”
Daffodil strode through, tripped over her own feet, then flopped face down.
A step behind her, Grew attempted to avoid her prone body and turned the wrong way into a wall. Clutching the wrong cheek, he fell on his back. “This is the most annoying thing ever. Who reversed fine motor control?”
“Someone who doesn’t want you to fight well,” Edmond said. “Who cheats to make it more difficult.”
Lurching and stumbling, Daffodil and Grew clambered to their feet and walked into each other.
Edmond saw himself reappear from the mist, sword and shield ready.
He readied his own sword and shield, trying not to stab himself. With everything reversed, it took a few attempts even to do that. He didn’t know how he’d be able to fight. Daffodil fumbled her sword out as Grew tried to dance.
After a single step, Grew tangled his legs together and fell over.
“Spread out, so we don’t hurt each other by accident.” Edmond shuffled to the left.
The changeling shifted its advance to meet him. It seem to have no problem with the reversed directions. Raising its sword as it closed, it slashed down at Edmond.
Edmond didn’t trust just one hand to obey him. Breath held from concentration, he brought his own shield and sword up to deflect the blow.
As he did, the changeling swung its shield in low, slamming the edge into Edmond’s gut.
Edmond staggered back, the wind knocked out of him. Lungs aching, he bunny hopped back from another attack. As long as both sides matched, he was as fast as ever; but that wouldn’t help for long, even if he didn’t dodge the wrong way on instinct. Abandoning any thought of finesse, he swiped his arms back and forth.
His shield deflected the next blow, but it had been more luck that skill.
The changeling attacked on the right and met Edmond’s sword, then on the left and met his shield again.
“Hang on, Edmond, I’m coming.” Daffodil strode forward, but dropped her sword.
Grew, meanwhile, had fallen over again.
Another attack bounced off Edmond’s sword. If his friends didn’t get more control soon, Edmond’s Luck would run out. He needed to make a big play and hope his Luck would support him. Yelling at the top of his lungs, he threw his sword and shield away and jumped on the changeling.
Eyes widening, the changeling tried to bring its sword to bear, but was too slow. Edmond grabbed its waist, knocking it to the ground with him on top. Before it could recover, he hopped up to kneel on its arms. Hands wrapped around the changeling’s throat, he squeezed with all his might.
His Strength wasn’t much, but it was sufficient for the scrawny neck the changeling had stolen. He watched his own face go red, veins bulging from his forehead. His own eyes glared at him before becoming glassy. He gave one last squeeze, then tumbled off.
The changeling twitched once as he rolled away, but its chest didn’t move.
Edmond turned back in time to see Grew shoot a fireball at the ceiling. “Thanks for your help.”
Daffodil staggered over. “It’s dead?”
Edmond nodded. “How’s my face?”
“The same. You look like a young woman.”
Edmond sagged. He couldn’t be a woman for the rest of his life. He was a man inside, the outside needed to reflect that.
“The frames.” Grew pointed into the mist behind him. Beyond the broken remnants of the frame where they’d come in, a line of people stood motionless, each behind a frame. “If the frames swap faces, could we replace that person with the changeling?”
“We can try. Edmond, you go back outside.”
Edmond obliged gladly, if slowly and incoherently. Finding his sword
and shield, he staggered back through the broken frame.
And breathed a sigh of relief when his limbs responded the way he expected them to. At least, they hadn’t been stuck in reverse. He jogged to the next frame.
Daffodil’s hand extended from one side, holding up his dead body by the neck. He glanced away.
When he looked back, a woman’s face had replaced his own. He hurried to the smashed frame and beckoned Daffodil and Grew out. “Is it back? Am I normal?”
Grew’s face screwed up in disgust. “It’s hideous. The ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Don’t mind him,” Daffodil said. “You’re normal. You have the same face you’ve always had.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” Edmond said. “And no one look at any more frames.”
He led the way along the corridor, taking turns at random and keeping his eyes mostly on the carpet. They had to backtrack a few times, but after an hour he reached a corridor with stairs at the far end. A single frame hung halfway along, the carvings along the edges broader and more ornate. Despite his best efforts, Edmond couldn’t help glancing at it as he passed.
Unlike the others, it held a painting. A great dragon was biting someone in two, legs dangling from its jaws. With a start, Edmond recognised Daffodil’s boots and armour. And in the talons of the dragon, held against the floor, eyes staring in fear, was Grew. “Don’t look at the last frame. Keep going to the stairs.”
The others mumbled assent, their eyes on the carpet.
As they descended the stairs, Edmond breathed a sigh of relief. Level 8 had held something more horrible than monsters: a chance he’d lost himself.
He looked at his hourglass. Less than an hour remained. If the ninth level delayed them at all, they wouldn’t make it in time to rescue Melinda.
Chapter 22
On a Bed of Feathers
The stairs ended in a large, well-lit cavern. Stone columns stretched into the distance, supporting the soaring roof. A single smudge of black lay a few paces in. Edmond stumbled to a halt as he realised what it was.
The girl had one arm extended toward the steps, as if trying to reach them even in death. And she was definitely dead, her skin burnt to a blackened crisp. Most of her face was scorched away, but the dress hanging around her body was the same colour and pattern as Melinda’s second-favourite dress; the same dress she’d been wearing when the dragon took her.