Trapped in a dark and cryptic space
An evil taints a tranquil place.
The room resembled a kind of eerie but beautiful courtyard, surrounded on all six of its sides by stately, sombre stone arches. There were no windows, but a diffused grey light permeated the space, providing just enough illumination to see by. Strange bronze statues peered out of narrow, shadowy niches, providing unnerving glimpses of fantastical beings seemingly comprised of Human, Angel and animal parts in peculiar combinations. In the centre of the room, a modest fountain tinkled gently, fashioned from bronze in the shape of an open flower topped by an elegant amphora, from which a steady stream of water trickled into a shallow, hexagonal basin. Blue tiles lined the bottom of the basin in a complex patterned design. A similar motif of black and silver tiles spread across the floor and walls, resembling interlocking circles, petals and stars.
It was immediately apparent that this was no ordinary room, however; an exact replica of fountain, floor, statues and arches was situated directly overhead, upside-down, on what should have been the ceiling.
A chill of familiarity went down Mekka’s spine as he gazed upwards, struck by the resemblance to Grath Ardan.
He had no idea how he had come to be in this place. Beyond the archways were short hallways – more like deep recesses – all identical. At the end of each was… something terrible, that drew the eye like nothing else in the room.
They could have been holes or doorways or solid panels, it was impossible to tell; triangular in shape, and so intensely black that they triggered a vague sort of primal terror that clawed at the back of his brain. They were like fathomless voids of a nothing so profound it was physically present. They surrounded him like sentinels, or eyes; six of them, with another six inverted above his head. They had a watchful, abominable presence, and felt as though they were eating away at his soul.
Shuddering, he closed his eyes to avoid looking at them, waiting for a wave of disorientation and nausea to pass.
The last thing he remembered was being drawn along a pitch-dark, cavernous corridor. He had caught a final glimpse of Ferrian, silhouetted against a starry sky, before a door closed behind them. He had called out to his friend, several times, but received no response save his own echo.
That was not a good sign. It did not bode well at all.
Somehow, they had become separated, and Mekka had no doubt that it had been intentional.
Both of them were now trapped somewhere inside the Black Pyramid.
Mekka took a deep breath, fighting a rising tide of fear, confusion and panic.
If this Pyramid has killed Ferrian, he thought, anger igniting amid the chaos of his thoughts, I will rip this entire place apart with my bare hands!
He held on to the anger, let it flare inside him. It burned away the fear, gave him strength. Opening his eyes, he went over to the fountain and stared down at the water in the basin.
A rippled reflection stared back at him. The glowing blue headpiece was back.
Mekka clutched at his head with both hands, but felt nothing there at all.
It’s just an illusion! he thought furiously. This Pyramid is messing with my HEAD! He slashed a hand viciously at the water, then leaned on the basin, taking another deep breath.
The anger was useful, but it could also cause him to lose control, and he needed to think logically. He was inside a puzzle, and he needed to figure it out if he wanted any hope of getting out of here alive, or of finding Ferrian.
Scooping water up in his hands, the Angel gulped down several mouthfuls, and splashed some on his face. The thought passed through his mind that it might not be safe to consume, but at this point he didn’t care. This Pyramid had had ample opportunity to kill him before now; tricking him with tainted water seemed a strange way to do it.
The water tasted sweet and refreshing.
He drank a little more, and washed some more, scrubbing at his face, then stood leaning on the basin for awhile, letting the droplets trickle off his skin. Then he dried his face with his sleeves, turned and assessed himself.
His clothes were filthy from being dragged through the ash, and torn in a couple of places. Remarkably, he still had hold of all his weapons and his knapsack, though his bow was shattered. He removed it and tossed it onto the floor, along with his quiver of arrows. He pulled out both of his silvertine daggers and inspected them, then replaced them in their sheaths.
Removing his dagger belt and the rest of his possessions, he placed them all carefully at his feet, then took off his gloves, jacket and shirt as well and carefully inspected himself for any sign of wounds or trigonic infection. Satisfying himself that no damage had been done except for ordinary scrapes and bruises, he put his clothes back on, along with all his gear, save the broken bow. Spreading his black wings, he flapped them a couple of times to shake out the dust, then sat down on the edge of the fountain and tried to think what to do.
His gaze wandered upwards again, to the twin fountain trickling above his head, the water falling inexplicably away from him, splashing and rippling outwards into its blue basin. He wondered if the rules here were the same as for Grath Ardan, though he suspected they were not. The tiles lining the room were not simple chequered squares, as they had been in the library; they were a much more sophisticated design, though were undoubtedly made of trigon and silvertine set together in an harmonious array which generated the incomprehensible magic that held this Pyramid together.
Mekka hadn’t the slightest clue what to expect. This wasn’t a library – it was something alien, intelligent, and with clearly hostile intentions. He didn’t know why the Pyramid had captured them, or what its purpose was, only that it was something constructed by ancient, black-winged Angels, or Seraphim, or whatever the hell they were.
And he really, really didn’t like the look of those black, triangle-shaped holes…
It was impossible to ignore them. They invaded his peripheral vision like a creeping pack of beasts, encircling him, waiting for him to make a wrong move…
His mind twisted with their presence; his stomach clenched in cold fear…
Before he could think better of it, Mekka was on his feet and striding towards the nearest archway, hands clenched, clinging to the last shreds of his rage.
Kill me! he defied the black triangle, glaring directly at it, though it took all his will to do so. I DARE you to!
He came to a stop right in front of it. Though mere inches away, he could not determine what it was made out of. No light reflected from it whatsoever; he could see no detail or depth or anything at all.
The horror was immense. He felt that the blackness was about to swallow him, to crush him out of existence…
With a rapid movement, Mekka pulled out a dagger, spun it, and plunged it flashing into the heart of the dark triangle.
Blackness exploded around him.
Shocked, the Angel fell into a crouch, covering his head with his arms and wings, quite sure that he was about to die.
An immense clattering sound surrounded him; a cacophony of sensation. He was pummelled by a rain of objects, hard as stones… and then, suddenly… it stopped.
Mekka remained where he was, hunched over and breathing heavily, his heart racing wildly. After a long moment, realising that he was still alive, he tentatively lifted his head.
He was crouched on the floor, and the huge, black, triangular thing was gone. Instead, lying scattered around him was a sea of much smaller, but identical black triangular pieces, as though the large triangle had been made up of a multitude of little tiles.
The silvertine dagger was still gripped in his hand. Reaching out with it, he touched one of the pieces.
It was solid. Nothing else happened.
Picking up one of the small triangles with his black-gloved hand, he examined it. The object was smaller than his palm and half an inch thick, as lightless and strange as its bigger counterpart. It felt very cold, like ice, but was not slippery. Something about its texture was… appalling...
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Dropping it hurriedly, he stood, wiping his hand on his jacket, as though he had touched something repulsive. Taking a deep breath, he let it out again and sheathed his dagger, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal.
That was… odd, he thought.
The space where the triangle had been continued for another ten yards or so along a black-and-silver-patterned corridor, ending at an arched intersection to another hallway. Gingerly, Mekka walked over the pile of black triangle tiles, unable to avoid stepping on them, but nothing else alarming happened. With a final look back at the fountain room, and noticing no other changes, he turned and ventured tentatively along the corridor, heading deeper into the Black Pyramid.
* * *
The girl played in the long, pale grass fronds, running and dancing through them. They were soft and delicate and wispy, like cat’s fur, and rippled like waves in the sea. The white field seemed to stretch out forever on every side, with nothing else to be seen on the horizon except the great old magnolia tree standing crooked but graceful on its hill, its huge, snow-white blossoms spectacular against a hazy blue sky.
After awhile, the girl stopped to catch her breath, turning to look back.
She really had come a long way from the tree. If she lifted up a hand, she could block it out entirely.
Giggling, she shaped her hand into a mouth and pretended to gobble up the tree, delicately plucking off its beautiful flowers one by one and swallowing them with relish. Her other hand arrived and started squabbling with the first hand, punching each other as they fought over the tree.
Eventually, growing bored with the game, she skipped back towards the hill, humming softly to herself. The wind picked up, blowing her yellow dress and tossing her red hair about her face, and making the white grass dance.
She wondered where the man had gone. What was his name again? Requar? That was a funny name. But it suited him, she thought.
He was quite pretty, she mused, and had seemed kind. She decided that he could stay in her dream, if he wanted to.
She stopped skipping and frowned, regretting that she had been rude to him, earlier. What if he didn't come back? What if he hated her?
The thought made her feel lonely. She hoped that the man would be waiting, back at the tree. Maybe he could tell her stories!
Cheered by the thought, she started running towards the tree.
The wind blew more forcefully now, snapping at her dress, and buffeted the girl so strongly that she tripped and fell over. When she got to her feet, she saw dark grey clouds massing in the distance, rolling towards her across the sky, like a heavy blanket unfurling.
Something fluttered in her stomach; a familiar, uncomfortable warning.
She ran harder.
The tree was an awfully long way off…
The clouds overtook her, and the grass was no longer dancing, but thrashing wildly in agitation. The long stalks caught her legs up, and she went down again, this time hard, smashing her chin and drawing blood from her lip.
Fear flooded through her like a broken dam, a sense of wrongness sweeping over the land with the shadow of the clouds overhead. Wiping at her lip, she looked up.
The sky was the colour of an angry bruise, all trace of blue gone, the light diminished to a murky twilight. The underside of the clouds were turning a dullish red.
The girl stood up, bracing herself against the wind.
There was a crack of thunder so loud that it made her jump, and in the same instant, a figure appeared right in front of her.
It was a woman, clad in something black and shiny that was moulded to her skin, gleaming with dark colours like the sheen on oil. The remains of a charred and tattered long coat hung about her, tossed like rags in the wind. Her hair was burned short; what remained of it was bright red, like the girl’s own. Her face was horribly pale, like that of a dead person, with black veins crawling up the sides.
Her eyes were like the winter sky, and her bloodless lips were smiling.
Where are you going, little Child of the Magnolia Tree?
Her voice was awful; though feminine, there was something like an insect hiss behind the words.
The girl said nothing, but could only stare in shock, her own grey eyes wide, standing rooted to the spot.
The demon-like woman stared back, still smiling. Who is waiting for you, Magnolia? she said, her words seeming to swarm around her, cutting through the wind. Who is waiting for you at the tree?
The girl set her jaw, still saying nothing, her small hands balled into fists.
The woman took a step forward. Could it be your father? She took another step. Could it be your mother? Taking a final step closer, she offered a sleek black hand for the girl to take. Or could it... be YOU?
GO AWAY! the girl screamed.
The wind howled like a hurricane, torn white grass fronds flying around them.
The demon-woman paused where she was, her hand still extended. Her smile faded, replaced with a look of perplexed sorrow. But the world belongs to us, Magnolia, she said. This world; all worlds. Everything belongs to us. Why won’t you come and take it with me?
YOU’RE A NIGHTMARE! the girl cried furiously. LEAVE ME ALONE!!
Slowly, the woman withdrew her arm, her expression changing back into a seductive smile. Oh, Magnolia, she sighed. Sweet little Magnolia.
Fire burst from her eyes, igniting her hair, tearing along the remains of her clothing. I AM NOT A NIGHTMARE. I AM--
A wall burst out of the ground between them; an immense, solid stone fortress wall of alabaster blocks, thrusting itself high into the stormy sky, separating girl from demon, cutting off the woman’s words.
The girl stumbled backwards, falling to the ground, cowering.
The touch of a hand on her shoulder made her jump and cry out.
Come with me! a man’s voice said. Quickly!
It was Requar. Letting out a sob of relief, the girl took his hand and he pulled her up. They turned and fled through the storm.
As they ran, white walls built up around them, materialising block by block from out of the air. The field of grass disappeared, flagstones formed into place beneath their feet; the torrid sky shut away by a lofty, vaulted ceiling.
Somewhere behind them, muffled by the distance and the stone, came a world-shattering scream of rage. They felt the tremor of it through their feet.
Requar ran hard down the newly-created corridor, dragging the girl with him. Abruptly he stopped, whirled and slammed a hand palm first against a wall.
An archway appeared there, and they threw themselves through it. Requar slashed a hand and the opening vanished behind them.
They ran on.
They fled down a maze-like series of hallways, illuminated at intervals with peculiar lanterns emanating cool blue light. The sound of the storm and the demon-wraith’s fury quickly faded into silence, marked only by their frantic footsteps and heavy breathing. Requar led them through more arched openings and up stairways, blocking off the passages as he went.
Finally, they raced up a narrow spiral staircase and emerged into a long corridor lined with blue and gold silk hangings, and tall windows streaming with sunshine. Requar helped Magnolia out of the stairwell and they went quickly to the end of the corridor and down another set of spiral stairs, and came out onto the mezzanine of a magnificent, opulent, white stone foyer.
Requar went to the balustrade and slumped against it, panting and closing his eyes in relief.
The girl looked around in awe. Where are we?
Hmmm? Opening his eyes, Requar straightened. Oh. Ah... this is… my castle.
The girl went to the balcony and looked down. Sunlight spilled through a huge, round, stained glass window onto a marble floor, painting it blue and yellow in the image of a rising sun. A crystal chandelier glinted in the light, and elegant, finely crafted furniture stood around the walls. A large, white-painted grandfather clock ticked away the sudden, incongruent silence.
It’s… beautiful.
Requar gazed down with her. Yes, he agreed quietly, his features clouded. It… it was. He took a deep breath. Why don’t we go and make a fire in the hearth? A smile returned to his face.
Magnolia looked up at him uncertainly, glancing back the way they had come.
We will be safe here, Requar assured her. Do not worry. Turning, he started down the sweeping staircase.
The girl followed after his swishing blue cloak, taking everything in. Are you a king? she asked, as they crossed the foyer.
Unexpectedly, Requar laughed. No, he replied. No, I am certainly not. He led the way into the dining room.
They walked by a long, polished table with ornate wooden chairs, passing through shafts of sunlight streaming from long windows to one side. On the opposite wall was a large painting of a noble family. The carpet underfoot was soft, deep blue and luxurious. At the end of the room was a large hearth. Requar went over to it and knelt on the floor to arrange some kindling.
Magnolia stood by, looking around. There were a couple of comfortable armchairs before the fireplace. She sat down carefully in one of them.
The castle was hushed. There were no sounds to be heard outside except for some birds. Beyond the windows, there seemed to be a small garden, and more castle.
Requar finished getting the fire started, and flames danced brightly against the pale stone. He stood. Just a moment, he told her, then left through another door on the opposite side of the room. A minute later he returned, holding a small porcelain plate decorated with blue flowers. Arranged on it were several delicious-looking golden-brown biscuits, topped with walnuts.
An old lady used to bake these for me, a long time ago, he said. Try one! They are very good.
Obediently, the girl took one of the biscuits. It looked like the most wonderful biscuit she had ever seen, but she did not eat it. Instead, she just held it in her hand, staring at it.
The demon lady is going to kill us, isn’t she? the girl said suddenly, in a small voice.
Requar placed the biscuits down carefully on a side table, then came and knelt before the girl’s chair. I will not allow that to happen, he told her, his face sincere. I promise you.
Tears welled unbidden in the girl’s eyes and she blinked them away quickly. I want to fight her! she said with sudden ferocity.
Requar blinked in surprise.
How did she get into my dream? I want her out of it!!
Requar looked at her seriously. She is a demon-wraith, he explained quietly. She is very dangerous. She must be removed from this place, or… much will be lost, including us. But for now, we must hide from her, and be quiet. We must be patient.
He gave her a smile, and patted her hand. Now, eat your biscuit. You will feel better afterwards.
The girl brushed at her nose with the hand holding her biscuit. Do you have any milk?
Requar’s eyes glittered. Of course! He went away to fetch it.
But, what about my tree? she said anxiously, when he returned. Will it be safe?
In response, he gestured at the dining room windows. The girl craned in her chair to see.
There, shadowing the little garden courtyard with its crooked boughs, golden shafts of sunlight spearing amongst its overblown white blossoms, protected by the high, white stone walls of the castle, was the magnolia tree.
The girl turned back, and gave Requar a smile for the first time.
He returned it.
They sat, with the hearth crackling cosily, quietly nibbling the biscuits and sipping milk, and Magnolia thought that she did, indeed, feel better.