The temperature and humidity increased by the second as I zipped further down the slide. It quickly became hard to breathe, like I was in a sauna that was inside a larger, hotter sauna.
As I continued falling, I thought I was nearing the center of the Earth. But then I remembered I wasn’t on Earth anymore; I was in some other world. I wondered if this world even had a center. But of course it did. Every world has a center, right? Or does it?
Before I could figure it all out, the slide ended, and I free-fell another several feet. I stumbled in mid-air, if such a thing is possible, and landed hard on my knees on the limestone floor.
Mag activated Spark. She must have upgraded the spell, as the light cast by the flame extended about a hundred feet. She walked to me and lit my staff, which had returned to its original wooden state. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even look at me.
Thanks to the upgraded spell, the torchlight gave us much better vision in here than it had in the Mother Araknor’s Lair. Still, we couldn’t see the whole interior of the pyramid. Not even close. This pyramid was many times larger than it had appeared on the outside. The aboveground portion of the pyramid had only been the very top of it. I wondered whether the expression “tip of the iceberg” was “tip of the pyramid” in this dimension. It probably wasn’t.
Mag and I were on a large platform in one of the bottom corners of the pyramid. On the wall to my right were warnings that previous adventurers had inscribed. “TURN BACK NOW,” the first one said, which was bad advice since it couldn’t be followed. Another message stated that we would be better off killing ourselves than going through the trial. Among these messages were crude images depicting people being stung in the face by hornets, babies being strangled, and the like. A corpse was pinned to the wall by two daggers that had been stabbed through its eyes.
I did not like this wall, so I turned away from it. What I saw in the other direction was even worse: the bruise on Mag’s forehead and the hollow look in her eyes as they stared past me, like I was invisible. She didn’t even hate me. She thought nothing of me, which somehow hurt a lot more.
“Mag, I’m really sorry I hit you. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Whatever. I don’t care,” she said, her voice devoid of all emotion. “The Dream Ring is at the top of the pyramid. So’s the only way out. Let’s just get out of here before one of us kills the other.”
Just then, behind us, my dad hit the ground with a clumsy, metallic crash. I don’t know why he followed us down here (“Yer not gettin’ away that easy!” was the closest he offered to an explanation).
The pyramid confronted us with a seemingly infinite number of intermingling routes that formed a brain-clogging labyrinth of walkways, rope swings, rock-climbing walls, rickety bridges, and all kinds of death traps. It reminded me of the outdoor adventure course my dad took me to some years ago. Except it was indoors. And the thrill of adventure had been replaced by the threat of death.
It was a good job we had the Knowledge Bracelet, as it indicated the difficulty level of the pyramid’s obstacles, allowing us to take the shortest and easiest route possible to the top.
Although overcoming the obstacles wasn’t terribly challenging, getting my dad to do them properly was quite the ordeal. For example, instead of running past the wall of spikes before it closed in on him, he wanted to stand there and punch it because he refused to run from any challenge. Or he would say, “Ziplines are for wimps. I’ll just jump across.” But it was fifty feet across; he wasn’t going to make it.
His stubbornness almost killed him six or seven times, but in the end, I always convinced him to do the obstacles as needed. I found I could coax him by challenging his manhood. “Don’t be a wuss,” I would say, or “Real men don’t saunter through rows of swinging axes,” and that would do the trick.
We eventually reached a staircase that led to the pyramid’s peak and the Dream Ring. As we climbed the stairs, I noticed more inscriptions on the walls. Unlike most of the nonsensical scribblings throughout the pyramid, these ones formed a full paragraph of logically connected, downright coherent sentences. A few steps later, there was another paragraph, and then another a few steps after that, and so on.
Here’s what they said:
I have attempted the trial several times and have come to the conclusion that it is unsolvable, that the Dream Ring is unattainable. It is like a fishing lure that attracts the greedy, the desperate, and the foolish so that the desert can gut and devour them.
The ring is protected by a monster we adventurers have named the Truth Skeleton, along with the skeletons of all those who have failed to escape this place with their lives. These skeletons cannot be physically harmed. The only thing that affects them is the truth. If you tell a sufficiently deep truth, they will fall apart.
To immobilize the Truth Skeleton itself, you must speak of an absolutely terrifying truth. You must speak of that which you are most afraid of people knowing about you. However, the darkness of such a truth, combined with the unbearable heat of this pyramid, is enough to make anyone go mad.
On my most recent attempt to obtain the Dream Ring, I brought with me my dear friend Higgins, who admitted to sleeping with my wife. The unbridled rage I felt upon hearing this truth temporarily bestowed upon me superhuman strength. I killed Higgins easily, but I did not kill him slowly. I took my time and made him suffer. I savored the deed. I relished in the pain in his eyes as he begged for mercy. It was almost orgasmic.
Although Higgins’s truth had been sufficiently disturbing to pacify the Truth Skeleton, it still refused to present me with the Dream Ring, which it keeps locked in its ribcage. Alas, even if it had offered me the ring, I would have used its power to wish to undo that day of my life, to have dear Higgins back, to not know what I was capable of.
Therefore, I believe the trial is not merely a test of one’s honesty. The Dream Ring is safeguarded such that only a person of measureless virtue might obtain it, and raw honesty, without the harmony of humility, is not a virtue.
Never again will I attempt to obtain the Dream Ring. I have returned to this pyramid one last time only to implore you, whomever is reading this, to avoid the trial. Do not tell your truths, for they will destroy you. Simply pass by the skeletons and leave the pyramid through the exit at the other end of the Truth Skeleton’s chamber, and never return.
These paragraphs led us right up to the door to the Truth Skeleton’s chamber. We opened it and went inside.
The chamber was the size of a basketball court, in the center of which stood the Truth Skeleton. It was twelve feet tall, and its bones were made of tarnished bronze. It held a large ax, and the Dream Ring rested in its ribcage, glowing with a faint yellow light.
Heaps of bones covered the floor and started to rattle. They levitated and snapped together, forming an army of a hundred and fifty skeletons. They stood on the opposite side of the chamber from us, blocking the exit. We couldn’t heed the warning we had been given.
That was fine with me, as I had no intention of aborting the trial. Either I was leaving this pyramid with the Dream Ring, or I wasn’t leaving at all.
The skeletons marched toward us, their pace so leaden it would have been laughable if they weren’t intent on harming us. Some of them tore bones from their ribcages and held them up like spears.
Mag observed them for weaknesses. “Whoever wrote that message was right. All it says is ‘Extremely vulnerable to the truth. Invulnerable to everything else. EXP awarded: 0.’”
Since no magic skills were mentioned, I decided to cast Barrier on us to protect against the skeletons’ physical attacks. However, I had enough MP for only two Barriers. I cast the first one on my dad and the second one on Mag.
After a moment, Mag asked, “Aren’t you going to Barrier yourself?”
“I can’t. I don’t have enough MP.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Oh,” Mag said, confused. “Then why did you Barrier me?”
“Because I feel bad for hitting you. And I want to show you—and myself—that I’m not a bad friend. Or if I am a bad friend, then I at least want to know that I can be a better one.
“When I look back and think about all the times you’ve looked out for me, I realize that I haven't done anything for you. I don't think I even ever said thank you for the times you've saved me. Yet you're still always there to protect me. You even came here with me while we’re fighting. Because you can’t let me die. And I know part of that is because of Archie, but it still means a lot to me.
“And how did I repay you? I bashed you on the head. So I know a simple Barrier spell isn’t the grandest gesture ever, but I want to protect you back in whatever small way I can. I want you to know that I care about you, too, and that I can't let you die.
“And besides that, it makes more sense to protect you than myself. You’ve got people back on Earth who will care if you don’t make it home. But nobody will miss me.”
“I will,” Mag said, her voice sounding more like her hero voice than it had for quite some time.
“But I bashed you in the head, and now you want nothing to do with me.”
“Yeah, I’m mad at you, but I’d still miss you if you weren’t around. And so would my moms. Come on, you know that.”
“No, I don’t know that. Part of me wonders if you would actually miss me or if you’d just miss Archie twice.”
“Is that honestly how you feel?”
“A little.”
“Well, it’s not true. You’re more to me than a replacement for Archie. A lot more. And if I said or did anything to make you feel otherwise, I’m sorry.”
The skeletons were halfway across the chamber now. It was time to act. Mag said she could Blaze past them and get to the exit. If my dad and I held onto her, she could get all three of us out of here.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m not leaving without the Dream Ring. It’s my only chance of saving my dad. But I wouldn’t hold it against you if you saved yourself.”
“Absolutely not. I would never forgive myself if you died.”
Poor Mag really had to work on her guilt-deflection skills. It’s not healthy to take responsibility for the things that other people choose to do.
But this wasn’t the time to help her with that. The skeletons were inching ever closer to us. It was time to reveal some truths. However, my mind went blank. Mag already knew about my dark thoughts, and I couldn’t think of any other deep truths about myself.
Several truthless moments passed, and Mag eventually said, “I’m sorry, Emerson, but I have to save us. I promise we’ll find another way to save your dad, okay?”
I didn’t know if she finally believed Sir was my dad or if she just called him that to get me to agree. Either way, it was nice to hear.
Mag cast Blaze and took my dad and me by the wrist so she could tow us along as she dashed through the chamber. However, when she attempted to charge through the wall of skeletons, she ricocheted off them. She tried repeatedly to break through but was unsuccessful. We were now surrounded.
As the circle of skeletons closed in on us, I tried again to think of a deep truth, but I was panicking and could think only of clocks.
The fastest of the skeletons now clawed at us. I tried pushing them away with my foot, but one of them grabbed it and gnawed on my kneecap. Mag tried to pry it off me but was smothered by several other skeletons.
I had to tell a truth. Any truth would do at this point.
“I hate mustard!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. But nothing happened
“No! the truth has to be deeper than that,” Mag said.
“Well, my mustard thing was more than you’ve said!” I argued. “What’s your deepest secret, then?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Mag said. “I can’t think!”
A skeleton chomped on Mag’s shoulder while two spear-wielders jabbed at my chest.
I yelped in pain and begged Mag to think of something.
“Yeah, come on!” my dad said. “There’s gotta be a brain somewhere in that head. Think, Magoo!”
That nickname reminded me of the first secret Mag had ever kept from me. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try. “What’s Mag short for?” I asked.
“Magdalena!” she cried. “It’s short for Magdalena!”
The skeletons that were mauling us froze and collapsed into harmless piles of bones. But plenty more bone soldiers continued marching toward us.
So, Mag went on. “I’ve hated my name ever since I was little. It’s such a weak, frilly name. For as long as I can remember, I’ve made my moms call me Mag. They even made sure my teachers never called me Magdalena so none of the kids at school would know.
“Archie knew how much I hated my name, and he would call me by it whenever he wanted to get under my skin. It annoyed me so much, but now I’d give anything to hear him call me Magdalena one more time. To be honest, I don’t even hate the name itself anymore. Now I just don’t want anyone using it because that was Archie’s name for me, and no one else can have it.”
Mag’s words had turned more skeletons into bone heaps. But many more remained standing. We needed her to elaborate, so I asked how it would make her feel if someone ever called her by her full name.
“It would make me miss Archie. Like, a lot. Every time I’d hear my name, it would remind me how it’s my fault he’s gone and how I’ll never get over the guilt of that. Hearing someone else call me by my full name might even make me cry.
“Fuck, that probably sounds so stupid. But that’s how much it hurts. And then people would know how weak I am. And that scares me. That’s actually my biggest fear—being exposed as a weak, emotional little girl who can’t look out for herself or anyone else.”
Even some of the more imposing skeletons toppled as Mag continued. “That’s also why I’ve been acting so bitter lately. Deep down, I believed you right away when you said Sir was your dad. But if I acknowledged that your dad had found a way to visit you from the afterlife, then I’d have to ask myself why Archie isn’t here, too. And then I’d have to face the fact that he blames me for his death and never wants to see me again, not in this dimension or any other.
“But if I could convince myself that Sir wasn’t your dad, then I wouldn’t have to admit that Archie will never forgive me for letting him die. And instead of telling you how I felt, I put up a wall. Because it was easier to be mad at you than to be sad and show weakness in front of you.”
She lifted her gaze from the ground and directed it at me. “I’m so sorry, Emerson. You needed me, and I wasn’t there for you.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I said. “Not just for hitting you with my staff, but for not being a better friend in general. You were right: I don’t think about your feelings nearly enough. I’m not a good friend, and I’m not a good person.
“The dark thoughts I have about everyone being bad and deserving to be hurt because of it… I think those thoughts are actually about me. I think I choose to see the worst parts of myself in other people, and then I decide I hate them for it. That way, I don’t have to admit that I hate myself. But I do. I hate that I can’t be whatever a human is supposed to be. I’m a waste of life.”
“Well, I don’t hate you,” Mag said. “And I don’t think you’re a bad person.”
“I am, though. For one thing, when I killed the Mother Araknor, I was actually trying to throw the torch toward you to draw the araknor away from me. And then when I realized Sir was my dad, I should’ve known it would have made you think of Archie not being back in your life. Literally every time you get upset, it’s about Archie. I should have known that you weren’t angry this whole time but sad. But I was only thinking of how I felt. I was being selfish.”
“You were worried about your dad. That’s not selfish. I would’ve reached for the same club if Sir had turned out to be Archie and I learned his soul might be tortured for all eternity.”
I was so absorbed in the conversation that I didn’t notice until now that the entire army of skeletons had fallen.
But then my dad started coughing violently. He was trying desperately to say something, but every time he opened his mouth, the coughing stopped him. The coughing was soon accompanied by a lot of vomiting. It wasn’t regular vomit, either. The substance he spewed was thick and oily and black and smelled of cigarette ashes and rotten fruit.
My dad struggled to lift an arm and point behind us. We turned to see the Truth Skeleton towering above us, its ax raised above its head. Our truths had been deep enough to vanquish the skeleton army but not disturbing enough to make their general crumble.
The Truth Skeleton swung its ax at us, but my dad dove in front of us and accepted the blow. If not for his armor, he would have been sliced in half. Instead, he was sent twenty feet across the room.
Mag and I ran, but the Truth Skeleton tripped Mag with one of its long arms, sending her tumbling to the ground. It grabbed me with its other arm, forced me down, and pinned me to the floor with its monstrous foot. It aimed its ax at my neck and raised it.
And that’s when my dad said it. Not in the deep, manly voice he had been using so far. He now spoke in his soft serve voice, just as I remembered it. His revelation resounded throughout the chamber and in the darkest part of my heart: “I murdered Archie!”
I shut my eyes and awaited my beheading, as my dad’s words had to be a lie. I waited for what felt like an eternity, but my decapitation never came. I opened my eyes. The Truth Skeleton was frozen in place, its ax mere inches from my neck.
My dad’s words were true. He was a murderer.