Moonlight Banishes Shadows

by J. T. Wright

  He felt upwards and found another lip. His mouth dried out when he lifted his foot and scraped it against the wall to discover a third. A person could pull himself up using these bumps. The knowledge came from his Climb Skill, and it came with a caution. Trent had clambered up trees before. He had not scaled a cliff. It would be stretching his Skill to ask for its support in this endeavor.

  Trent pulled himself up and stretched out to feel for the next handhold, all the while wondering if he had been wrong. The steam had felt like it was for him, but Climb wasn’t a rare Skill. There were probably a lot of people that had it. Scaling the cliff face was a slow process, different from climbing trees. When Trent levered himself into a small cave thirty feet above the water's surface, he felt that it wasn’t improbable that many of the students from Bellrise Academy could have accomplished this feat.

  Not Kerry. It was unfair to call the Warrior fat. He did, however, have a roundness, a certain amount of bulk, that would have made standing on the ledge below awkward. His fingers lacked the Dexterity needed for gripping the slight handholds. Trent chuckled, imagining Kerry’s feet scraping for footing, failing to find it, and splashing into the water for his troubles.

  Felicia was Agile enough to make the climb. At least part of it. Strength would be her problem. Trent remembered how hard a time she had pulling herself up when he hadn’t been able to throw her over that first ledge. Some of that had been the smooth nature of the stone, but her delicate fingers were as much to blame. She had hands meant for flipping pages and gesturing with a wand, not clutching stone.

  Others from their school had to be better balanced, though. Trent thought any Rogue would have laughed at the cliff. Laughed at the cliff and drooled over what had been left in the cave. The two Skill Stones, and a circlet of woven silver would excite any low-leveled Adventurer. They certainly made Trent’s eyes light up.

  Basic Flail, a Weapons Skill, was picked up first and stored away without much thought. It didn’t confirm or dismiss Trent’s suspicions about the Trial. From a monetary point of view, it was a good find, but considering they didn’t have an actual flail to accompany it, it wasn’t much use.

  The circlet had Trent catching his breath. It was the only headgear he had ever held that made him think about switching out his cowl. Although the circlet had no Defensive Rating or attached Skills, it did reduce the Mana cost of all Spells below tier-three by fifteen percent. Had Trent possessed a Spell greater than a Charm, he would have tried on the circlet immediately.

  Since he didn’t, Trent reluctantly put the circlet, with its gracefully woven silver frame, away and picked up the final Stone. Free Diving was a swimming Skill, and it was added to his Status the moment Appraisal revealed its secrets. Free Diving was to swimming what Military Fencing was to Basic Longsword. It had a strict requirement for Stamina, but other than that, it gave Trent all the knowledge he needed to explore the surface and plumb the depths of the lake below.

  Trent could swim back to the others! No need for hair-raising leaps. No wondering if he would be able to grasp the lip of a ledge before he sank to his death. Sinking was no longer an issue anyway. Free Diving would use his Stamina to offset the weight of his armor. He would not need to strip or disarm for the trip.

  All of that was enough to have Trent punching the air in victory while singing the Trial’s praises. So why did his chest feel tight? Why were his teeth and hands clenched? Why could he hear Dreq barking at him to look? The air was still and quiet, and the water below was smooth as the surface of a mirror. So why was he picturing ripples and imagining the roar of a thousand gallons of water beating against rock? Why could he see…

  … a box. The shadow of a box, deep under sheltering waves. A box Dreq had spotted that Trent had no way of reaching. Not before.

  He stood and looked over the edge. He could feel eyes drilling into the back of his skull. A drop of water fell from the ceiling. It struck the lake with a lonely plop, sending ripples in all directions. Trent could hear the laughter in that drip. The sound was practically inaudible, but the dare it represented clamored in his ears.

  How far had they climbed to escape the flood? A hundred feet? Two? Three hundred? Free Diving would replace his need to breathe to an extent. It would protect him from the cold and shield him from the worst of the pressure that would be exerted on him, as long as his Stamina held out. The deeper he went, the more energy the Skill would sap.

  What did Trent have besides Stamina? Great reserves of Stamina and Health had been the only tangible benefit of the Survivalist Class. Compared to Kerry or Felicia or any of their fellow students, compared to the Guard Recruits or even some of the trained Guardsmen, Trent had Stamina for days. Many of the Adventurers who delved this Trial could have made the climb to find the Skill Stone. How many of them could use it to reach a box hundreds of feet underwater? How many of them would risk it for unknown rewards?

  Trent’s hands removed his belt with its pouches, weapons, and tools. He kept a simple belt knife out, tucking it into the waist of his pants, and put the rest in Storage. He removed his boots, socks, and chainmail shoulder-guard, and they joined his belt. He left his armor, gloves, and cowl on. There was no telling what waited for him, and Free Diving would counter their weight. He might need the protection.

  He stepped forward, his toes hanging over the lip of the cliff. Trent took a deep breath in and exhaled it slowly as he raised his hands over his head. A second breath inhaled quickly, expelled forcefully, and then Trent was plunging downwards.

  His fingers hit the water and his body followed. He began to kick and pull himself with fluid strokes. The water closed around him, pressing in, and he felt a moment of panic that he shoved down. His mask normally allowed him to see regardless of lighting conditions, but as he sank deeper, Trent found his vision restricted to his immediate surroundings. A black emptiness confined him. The lack of any details, of scenery, stirred the unease in his stomach.

  He was in the mouth of a Beast. No, the throat. Wet muscles were working to crush and push him towards the creature’s belly and death. Instead of fighting the Beast, Trent helped it, gliding forward, using as little movement as possible.

  His Stamina trickled away as it battled his instinct to draw in air. Trent had to fight not to check his Status, to see how much of his energy was draining away. The was no need. He would not stop until he reached the bottom. It was stupid and reckless, but he was committed.

  Stupid, Jerkface! Why are you always so stupid!

  It was Tersa’s voice, Tersa’s words. The words she always shouted at him when he did something she disagreed with, something that scared her. They were usually followed by a screamed obscenity as she passed by him, charging ineffectually.

  Do not do unnecessary things, Runt!

  These were Cullen’s words, bouncing around Trent’s head. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t hear the Sergeant’s voice. It was Trent’s voice shouting the words because this was not a situation that Cullen would object to.

  Cullen always told his Recruits to go slow, work in teams, and don’t be a hero. Recruits were soldiers. Their lives weren’t theirs to squander. Recruits and Guardsmen belonged to Cullen, and they had damn well better not die without permission.

  Adventurers were different. Adventurers had to take risks. That was what the Sergeant would say. Otherwise they were just Farmers, collecting the things a society needed without truly reaping the benefits of the Trials, without ever seeing the wonders of the Wilds.

  Cullen would understand and approve of what he was doing. He would never say it, he might even yell at Trent for being a milk-sucking fool, too foolish to be alone around sharp objects, but his sneer would be half-smile when he did so.

  Trent’s panic disappeared at the thought, and a lump formed in his throat that had nothing to do with the lack of oxygen. Why did he always think of Cullen at moments like these? Why did the Sergeant’s approval even matter? Why would any sane person ever want to stand in front of t
hat absurd man and hope to see the glint in cold black eyes that meant, whatever he said, he was proud?

  Trent distracted himself by running through the story he would tell Cullen to make that glint appear. He wouldn’t lie. You should never lie to the Sergeant. He would need to gloss over a few details, though. Working with a Reme and entering a Trial with a stranger would have to be worded carefully. Maybe Martin Vane and the Dire Bear could be left out of his report altogether.

  Trent’s fingers struck a hard surface while he was still trimming unflattering details from a story he didn’t believe he would have to tell. His eyes focused on the black that was all around him to confirm that it was the floor and not the wall he had come in contact with. He was unsure. It was disorienting to be this deep.

  It had to be the floor. If not, he was in trouble. He was in trouble either way as his fingers had hit stone. It had not occurred to Trent that he had no way of determining his target’s exact location when he dove off the cliff. He could be within ten feet of the box he assumed was waiting for him, or forty feet away.

  Picking a direction at random, Trent pulled with his hands and pushed with his feet, skimming along the ground, his head swiveling. He pushed off in another direction when he came to a wall, desperation building in his chest. He fought and lost the battle to check his Stamina when he hit a third wall.

  256 out of 630. Less than half. He should start back immediately. He had failed. His fingers dragged on the stone as he threw himself forward. One more wall. He hadn’t come all this way for nothing. A second trip was out of the question. The first had been made in ignorance. He might not be able to find the courage now that he knew what to expect.

  A shadow rushing at him from the black had Trent scrambling for the belt knife he had stuck in his pants. The knife was half drawn before Trent realized the shadow was stationary and not a threat. It was the box, the chest that he had been looking for. He fumbled the knife and nearly dropped it in his relief.

  Kicking and pulling, Trent arrived at his destination. His hands ran over weathered-looking wood as he searched for a clasp or handle. A rusty chain was bolted to the lid of the chest, and Trent’s hand closed around it. He tugged on it and frowned when the lid didn’t move. Was the chest locked?

  There was no sign of a keyhole. Using the knife in his hand, Trent found the seam of the lid and dug into it. Bracing his feet, pulling on the chain, and prying with his knife, Trent tried to open the chest again. A crack appeared and air pockets began to bubble out. Trent pulled harder, knowing he was wasting Stamina and precious time but unwilling to leave now that the lid had started to yield.

  The box sprang open quicker than he anticipated. His feet shot him upward, until his clenched fist dragged him around and jerked him to a halt. Trent explored the interior of the box with his hands and found four items inside. Three small ones and a larger one, they all went into Storage the second his fingers drifted across them. He made several sweeps with his hands across the bottom of the box before he was convinced that he had everything. Kicking off the ground, Trent began a hurried ascent.

  100 out of 630. His Stamina was worryingly low as he clawed at the water and kicked for all he was worth. He left his Status open, morbid curiosity compelling him to observe how much longer he had to live. Free Dive had been helping him drop as he went down, and on his return, it increased his buoyancy. If anything, he went faster going up.

  It wasn’t enough, however. His Stamina bottomed out. Was he even halfway back to the surface? A weakness that could not be denied caused his arms to stop their pulling. His feet kicked feebly a few times before he lost sensation in his legs. He expected to feel a burning sensation from his lungs any second.

  The need for oxygen remained suppressed. Trent felt a pulse of pain ripple through him. Once, twice, again and again, at two to three second intervals. Trent was helpless to fight them. He curled over, shaking as he continued to float upwards. His Status was open, and he soon found the source of the pain that twisted his body.

  Stamina: 0 out of 630. Health: 600 out of 630

  Deprived of its primary energy, Free Diving had quickly started draining his HP. Trent watched it fall below 600 and continue to fall. How long had it taken him to reach the bottom? There was no saying, but it would take him longer to resurface. He drifted, unable to swim, his limbs lurching and stomach twisting. His vision, already hindered, began to blur.

  The gasp of air he took when his head bobbed into the open was involuntary. The sweet oxygen that filled his lungs halted the racking spasms. The pain diminished, but the ache of cramping muscles remained. Before his head sank below the surface, Trent drew in a deep breath and held it. He made his muscles relax and leaned back. Water pressed over his face again.

  The single drop of water that splashed off his mask as he floated on his back was insulting. Trent tried to breathe evenly; it was the only thing he could do. He didn’t have the strength or will to move. Floating was the limit of his abilities.

  Health: 117 out of 630

  Four more drops of water bounced off his mask before he had enough Stamina to begin pushing with his hands in the direction he hoped lay a rock ledge. His Stamina, normally so quick to recover, was filling slower than his Mana usually did. He thought it might be because Free Diving was still acting to keep him afloat despite the weight of his armor.

  When his head bounced against stone, Trent stretched out an arm. His hand grabbed hold of stone after the third try and he flipped over in the water. Flopping an arm onto the ledge, he hung there unable to pull himself up. He retrieved a Stamina potion from his Storage and dropped it twice before he was able to get the cork between his teeth. He spilled more than half of the precious liquid as he drank from the vial.

  A Stamina potion and two Health potions later, Trent was finally able to exit the water. He pushed up his mask and lay his cheek against the cool stone, eager to feel solid ground beneath him and needing the skin to rock contact to know it was real.

  **********

  “I thought you couldn’t swim,” Kerry said, crouching down. He looked at the hand Trent extended but didn’t take it. “That’s a strange thing to lie about.”

  “I couldn’t swim.” Trent swatted the air, begging Kerry to realize what he wanted. “I can now. Please help me out.”

  “Doesn’t make sense.” Kerry scratched his ear. “Why do you look so weak?”

  “Because I am!” Trent slapped his hand next to Kerry’s foot. Enhanced Jump took precise timing. Timing that Trent’s punished muscles were unable to manage. He had been forced to swim back to where the rest of his party waited with short paddling strokes, resting often when Free Diving drained his Stamina.

  “Weird.” Dreq came forward and grabbed Trent’s sleeve in his teeth, tugging for all he was worth and accomplishing nothing. Kerry’s hand fell to give the Dog a friendly pat. “This one went crazy while you were gone. Pacing and howling. I think he missed you.”

  Trent summoned the last of his energy. Kicking hard, he surged up a few inches, his fingers latching onto Kerry’s wrist. “Pull me out of here. Or when I can get out myself, I’ll toss you in!”

  “Hey, no need to get rough!” Kerry winced and pried at Trent’s fingers. For a man who claimed to be at the brink of exhaustion, Trent didn’t seem weak. Kerry thought he could hear the bones of his wrist grinding under Trent’s fingers. “Just wanted to get the facts straight!”

  Trent kept hold of Kerry until the Warrior pulled him from the water. He gave one last squeeze, which made Kerry yelp, before releasing him.

  “Are you alright?” Felicia knelt down beside Trent and, pushing her hat back, began searching him for wounds. “Are you injured?”

  Trent shook his head as he checked his Status. His Stamina began to recover at its usual rate and his Health started to tick up. “I'll be fine. Give me a minute… or ten.”

  “So, what happened?” Kerry rubbed at his wrist and kept carefully out of arms reach. “Was it worth it? Find any
thing good?”

  “I found some things. I don’t know if it was worth it, though.” Once Trent had hated the Mana cost of Storing things with his Ability. That cost had decreased with time, and now he had a profound appreciation for any Skill or Ability that didn’t run on Stamina. “See for yourself.”

  Felicia sorted and Evaluated the items as Trent made them appear. Her sighs and awestruck mutters, which may have been slightly exaggerated, drove Kerry to distraction as she kept the results of her Spell to herself.

  “Gonna share what you found out, Felly?” Kerry asked, sitting beside her.

  “That reminds me, Trent.” Felicia turned the circlet over wistfully before setting it back down. “I perfected the Spells while you were gone. Firebolt, Weak Fireball, and Burning Touch. I'll demonstrate them for you. On Kerry. If he ever calls me Felly again!”

  “No nicknames, got it,” Kerry agreed amiably. “So what have we got here?”

  “Does it matter?” Felicia slapped Kerry’s hand away as he started to pick up what appeared to be an oddly shaped mace. “From the look of things, Trent almost died getting them, with no help from us. They’re his.”

  “Not how it works.” Trent groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position. “Equal shares.”

  He began to sort the large pile into three smaller ones, frowning as he finished. The last item remained in his hand as he considered where it should go. Night Sight could be for any of them. He and Felicia didn’t need it, but then Kerry didn’t really either. The Warrior had no business going off to areas Felicia’s Spells did not reach.

  A circlet and wand for Felicia, a weapon and Skill for Kerry, a ring and Free Dive for himself, the distribution didn’t take a lot of thought. So who should get Night Sight? A snuffling nose pushed against the back of Trent’s hand as Dreq crawled into his lap. The Dog’s eyes were wide and somber as he lifted a paw to claw at the Stone.

  “You want this?” Trent started to move the Stone away. Dreq could be astonishingly quick when he wanted something. Dreq whined to see the treasure escaping his reach, and Trent stopped. Dreq had contributed more to the delve than the human Warrior of half-elven Mage. Why shouldn’t he get a reward?