I walked the halls alone, still smarting both in my mouth and my heart. The Elders may have gone along with my unorthodoxy, but they weren’t happy about it, and even after they’d made their decision, the Warrior, Beast Kin, and Summoner elders had given me a sermon – a tongue lashing, more like – about the essential qualities of humility and obedience for any Neophyte that wished to avoid constant, humiliating deaths. They’d dismissed me from the hall of the Scrying Pool like a servant being sent to clean the stables, and no one had bothered to tell me where to go. I’d spent the last hour wandering aimlessly, trying to get the feel of the place.

I’d have gladly asked someone for directions, but I hadn’t seen a soul. I knew better than most that servants roamed the Tower freely and kept the place running, so I could only imagine that I was being isolated on purpose as some kind of punishment or test. Apparently those never stopped around here.

The Tower itself was incredible, an endless wonder of stone, marble, glass, and polished metal. My home – I’ll never see my house again. How had that never occurred to me until now? – had been far richer and cleaner than most in Misfell, but still, I was accustomed to seeing the mess and disarray of human inhabitants: dirty boots in the doorway, a spilled bit of soup under the table, and the general sense that people lived in the place, even though it was only Father, myself, and a handful of helpers. Here, though, every surface glistened and every drape hung straight. Dust was, by all evidence, not allowed. Luminant glass globes held in silver sconces bathed the place in a warm glow, so torch soot was entirely absent. Given the frequency and horror of the deaths I’d seen so far, there must have been some places in the Tower where things got messy, but looking at the vaulted alabaster walls I was walking past, I’d have never guessed it.

At random, I opened a solid oak door polished with scented beeswax and adorned with bronze studs, just as I’d done half a dozen times already. The room beyond held a lectern and several dozen chairs that could have been there untouched since the beginning of time or had students file out mere moments before. There was no telling. The last one I’d peeked into had the look of an arena, with stone benches ringing a pit of sand below, but it had likewise been pristine and silent.

“Demon balls,” I yelled into the empty classroom, feeling a petty, juvenile rebellion stirring in me. “Shit in an Apostle’s beard.” No one appeared to reprimand me, and I felt vaguely foolish. I might as well have scrawled dirty drawings on the floor like a child. Another hour of this silent treatment, and I likely would. Come on, you’re smarter than this. What do they want you to learn? How do you progress? Wandering wouldn’t get me anywhere if they didn’t want it to, and if I were going to bump into someone, I would have done so already. Time to get proactive.

Only one thing occurred to me, and I acted on it before I could start to feel silly. Closing the door and kneeling on the floor of the hallway, I prayed as Father had taught me as a boy. I spoke clearly and confidently, as if I were not embarrassed to show my piety, even if I wasn’t at all sure that’s how I felt inside. “O Sacred Aspects, ye who were from the beginning and formed all that is, I beg your aid. I seek the path of ascension that I may use my strength and my soul in the War Above. I am but a sleeper who wishes to wake. Grant me this boon and guide my steps.” I bowed my head, and wetting my fingertip with my tongue, drew the seven-pointed star of Sharell on the granite flagstone before me. “As above, so below. As in life, so in death. As I strive, so may I serve. Benedat.”

There. It was as proper a prayer as the gormek priest might have given in weekly worship out in the Misfell chapel, if perhaps shorter than most. The Tower was the core of our worship, and now that I was here, I’d better get used to making the right noises. I hadn’t heard Father pray in five years or more, but I doubted that most of the other leaders here shared his bent for secularism.

I opened my eyes and knelt there for a long moment, waiting for… something. It wasn’t that I disbelieved in the Seven Aspects, exactly, but I doubted that I’d get a divine message telling me where my bunk was. No, I was hoping that those damned Elders were watching and that they’d be impressed by my piety and throw me a bone. I was tired, I’d already died once today, and my mouth felt like it had gotten intimate with a frying pan. The Tower wasn’t the quick path to power and domination that I’d secretly hoped for, and I needed a few minutes to sit and think about it. Come on, I know you’re watching. I’ll take anything.

A high-pitched, evil chuckle sounded nearby, making me flinch and look around wildly, my heart hammering. The hall was empty. It sounded like the miniature brother of the imp we’d fought in our sorting test, and I was in no shape for a rematch even if it was smaller than its kin. Where is it?

Again came that filthy giggle, and then I felt something plop into my hair. Clapping a hand to my head, I felt something warm and soft spread on my palm. Pulling it away, I saw a soft clump of black as big as an acorn staining my skin. It smelled like a garbage pit – rotten meat, decaying fruit, and night soil all rolled into one. Looking up, I saw a crescent-headed, eyeless demon with pale purple skin no bigger than my head capering in midair, its tiny razored mouth spread wide in glee.

A tiny imp had just taken a shit on my head.

I backed away, eyeing it warily. It might be small, but it could still do plenty of damage. Gagging at the smell, I plucked the foulness from my hair and wiped it on the floor, getting as much off as I could. Pristine perfection be damned; somebody worked here and they could take care of it. I was not going to the Summoner’s Hall looking like a used chamber pot.

“Go crap on somebody else,” I told the little demon, who had perched on the nearest sconce holding a glowing globe. “Leave me alone.”

It grimaced and strained, and a steaming black turd spattered onto the top of the light fixture like an obscene hat. I bared my teeth and growled. Seeing this filth-goblin desecrating the Tower brought forth a surge of offended reverence that I didn’t know I had in me. I reached into the pocket of my good blue cloak – the one I’d put on this morning, in another lifetime – drew forth one of the brass pennies I’d brought just in case, and hurled it at the beast. It caught it effortlessly, gnawing on the metal like candy.

“Go away!” I yelled, throwing my arms wide and rushing forward. “You don’t belong here.”

It scrambled back on all fours, hand-walking through the air as though on solid ground, staying just out of reach. It took another bite of the coin and shat again, leaving another black nugget on the floor a few meters in front of me.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The thing was disgusting and offensive, and it was eating my money. I’d only brought six pennies, and I highly doubted Father would give me more once he found out where I was. I ran forward, jumped as high as I could, and swung a fist at it. The imp danced aside, snickering. It dropped to the floor and squatted, rubbing its featureless crotch against the stone, making lewd noises and grinning eyelessly at me. I tried to punt it into the wall and missed. It might as well have been made of air for all I could catch it. It dropped another pellet of dung and scampered down the hallway. Annoyed by my failures and enraged by its mocking, I ran after it.

It led me on a merry chase, shitting as it went. A child could have tracked its progress by following the black droplets – they were all in a straight line. I was being baited by something that wanted to humiliate and demoralize me, and even as I recognized the fact, I couldn’t stop chasing it. The Elders had heard me pray and decided to reward my indecision in the Scrying Pool hall with some good old-fashioned humbling. Fine. Do your worst. If they think this will cow or embarrass me, I’m dealing with simpletons.

The nasty little demon might have been small of stature, but it unloaded enough feces over the next ten minutes to put an aurochs to shame as it pointed the way to my destination in the smelliest way possible. It was a devious little bastard, switching up the interval, amount, and timing of its dung bombs, sometimes waiting until I was right on top of it to drop a new load just to see if I’d step in it. Twice more I had to wipe off shit – from my shoes instead of my head, thankfully – but I never laid a finger on the thing, no matter how I tried. I must have looked like a drunken fool to whoever was guiding this imp as I stumbled, swung, and cursed my way through halls, atriums, and open chambers.

Finally I reached an empty stretch of hallway adorned with a massive mirror on one wall, and the demonling cavorted and sniggered right in front of it. I collected my thoughts and calmed myself. I’d learned the Word for holding. I could have pinned it down and stomped it into jelly at any time if I had just controlled myself. My lips and tongue still throbbed from the last attempt, but I was angry enough that the cost felt worth it. Just as I dredged the right sounds up and opened my mouth, though, the tiny bastard waved merrily and made a long, drawn-out raspberry noise that faded into nothing as it too dimmed out of existence. I waited for a tense, angry minute for the imp to return and defecate on me again, not trusting that this was anything more than another tactic in its arsenal, but I heard nothing. It was gone, and this was where its Summoner had wanted me to go.

The only interesting feature of this spot was the huge, ornate mirror hanging to my left, so I turned to inspect it. It stretched from the floor to well above head height, a good two and a half meters tall and maybe four across. The frame was gilded and worked with carved scrollwork, vines, and flowers. An inscription on the bottom of the frame read The Covenant Welcomes Her Own.

I nodded to myself, trying to cast off my lingering annoyance. The Covenant was the Aspect that governed contracts, petitions, and persuasion. She was the matron of the Summoners, the exemplar of mastery through words and will. This was the entrance to the Summoner Hall. I just had to figure out how to get in.

“Your hair still has shit in it,” my reflection told me.

I twitched in surprise, but the reflection didn’t. Magic all around. This is going to take some getting used to. “Hello,” I said cautiously.

My mirror self rolled its eyes. “Don’t greet yourself. You sound like a fool.”

I tried to lick my lips and was immediately reminded of my burnt tongue and lips. My reflection gave me a knowing smirk, and I wanted to slap myself just to see if he’d wince.

“I need to go in,” I told it.

“Do you?” it replied, picking at its fingernails idly. “How nice.”

It wanted me to get mad – they wanted me to get mad – so I wouldn’t. “This is my Hall.”

It was strange to see my own face scowling at me when I was trying so hard to control my temper. “Your Hall? This is the Hall for those who have devoted themselves to the Order of Summoners. Have you done that?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But the Elder in charge of the House –”

“The Hierophant,” my reflection corrected me.

“– said I could stay here until I made my choice. I’ve been granted entry.”

My mirror self folded its arms. “Convince me.”

It made sense, as much as I just wanted to get past and climb into a bed. According to my father, the Summoners worked their magics through persuasion and carefully-worded contracts, whether with demons, the elements, or in some cases themselves. Anyone wanting entrance to their sanctuary would need to prove that they had the traits the Order existed to cultivate. So… I had to convince myself to let me in. My mind boggled a bit at the circularity of it, but I clamped down and thought it through.

“Are you really me, or just a magic that looks like me?” I asked.

“Don’t you recognize me?” it asked archly.

“I’ve seen three demons and died once today,” I said. “I’m not taking anything for granted.”

“You wouldn’t understand even if I explained it,” the reflection said, smug. If that’s really what I looked like when I was being snooty, I was never going to do it again. “Go ahead and operate under the assumption that I am you.”

“If you are me, then I am already convinced,” I said. “I want in, therefore you want to let me in.”

It waggled a finger. “Nice try, but no. Your conclusion relies on an assumption that is incomplete and unprovable.”

I gritted my teeth. “You said you were me.”

“I said you were too stupid to understand the actual answer to that question, and for simplicity’s sake you could take the easy out. Not quite the same thing.”

“All right,” I said, mustering my flagging mental energy. “I have yet to commit to an Order. The Hierophant of this Hall seems to think I will choose the Summoners and has granted me access. I can’t learn whether I belong unless I enter, speak with the others, and get a glimpse of the path. Doesn’t matter whether you’re me, some other student, or a magic that can think, I’m pretty sure you don’t outrank the Elder that leads the Order. Am I right?”

Reflection-Me stroked its chin and delayed its answer for a long moment. “You are,” it said grudgingly.

“Then open the damned door and let me in,” I growled.

“It appears I must,” it said, bowing. “Well argued.”

The glass of the mirror rippled and opened in the middle like shimmering curtains being drawn, revealing a short hallway leading to a dimly lit room beyond. I’d gained entrance to the Summoners’ Hall. Now I’d just have to see if it was where I wanted to stay. I stepped through, suddenly eager find out what came next.