SafeTeleportII was my friend at the bottom of the rope. I didn’t even bother trying to swing over again. Not dispelling Coat Hanger had been a stroke of foresight. And thanks to the ring, I could cast with both hands still firmly around the rope, though at the cost of feeling... everything.

I shut off my extra senses the moment I reappeared and returned my spellbook to my hands. Though I could reactivate the ring as quick as thinking, if not quicker, the time it would take to then find the correct spell inside my spellbook was too low. I needed to be in constant contact with my most important spells, but the price of using the ring was too high at the moment. I was still feeling nauseous as I re-entered the dead king’s chamber.

“Success, Darkswallower? And so soon?”

I placed the compass into the waiting palms of the corpse which had jittered its way into my personal space.

“Fortune smiles on me. As does your king. The stairs were to the south-west, you said?”

“He is king to us all. One day,” the vizier replied, which was not at all an answer to my question. I waited.

The corpse cracked a smile. One moment he was leaning on a staff he’d pulled from the beggar’s treasury, the next his hand pointed unwavering to the door I’d come through.

“South,” mummured the crowd. It gave the impression of an audience this time. Someone was laughing in the back rows, “And west.”

I bowed once more to the vizier and once more to the king, “Then I take my leave. Peaceful be your rest.”

The vizier’s head flowed into a bow of his own, “Wide be your vengeance.”

The orcneas had left sometime during our conversation. While I had no enmity with the orcneas, I found the pig-men disturbing on a physical and moral level. Something about them set me off. Perhaps they felt the same about me and was why they had left. Hopefully the king and his courtiers wouldn’t hold whatever rudeness leaving might entail against me.

Knowledge of the staircase back up wasn’t as useful as it had once been. I still needed to find Tom’s mother before continuing on down, which was why I’d bargained for access to those sections of the fourth floor not blocked off by an enormous slab of stone—i.e. all of it—but my ring had changed things. With its bubble of senses I could teleport straight through the walls of the dungeon, or through the slab itself if I wanted to see if the ogre was still waiting for me.

That said, I wasn’t eager to go burning recklessly through my spells. Especially give how unreliable they’d been the last few days. Given that the stairs both up and down were in the same direction, It wouldn’t hurt to attempt to find them first, rather than expending two teleports per expedition.

Unfortunately, the pile of ogre waste was still in my way, which would cost me a spell to cross and a second to ascend every time. I needed a spade.

Given that my spells were disappearing like the morning mist, I decided to head back through the slowstone wall and travel south from there. The forge room was east of the king’s chamber, but I could head west again at every opportunity, and hope paths rejoined later on.

I reactivated my ring’s touch, sight, taste, and sound as I approached the southern door of the forge room. Any excuse to avoid risking losing a spell, or having a spell turn my lungs to gold, was a welcome one, even if the cost was seeing said lungs out of the corner of my “eyes”.

It was only by fortune’s good graces that I then learned another detail about the dungeon.

It wasn’t just the doors which could be trapped.

The floor contained a series of decorative striations I’d thought nothing about, a simple alignment of the flagstones into a more aesthetic configuration. Nearly the instant I activated my ring senses I was brought up short by the fact that not all the striations were equal.

Some were slightly wider.

Some were slightly deeper.

Some contained sharp things.

My thumb ran along the edge of (what else?) a scythe’s blade, buried on a pivot several span beneath my feet. There was no obvious mechanism for the—wait.

Aha!

A crystal was embedded directly above the trap on the ceiling. Runes were carved into its base, no doubt to signal the trap below. It would work on frequencies. A disruption in the natural resonance of the room, tuned to a small area.

I doubted it was still functional after the earthquake I’d set off, but I wasn’t going to count on reason when caution would do. I gave the whole mechanism a wide berth which, given that it had been placed directly in the path of the door, meant an extra twenty or so feet to door while under the influence of supernatural senses, but I made it without pitching head first into any walls or emptying my already empty stomach.

For once the door itself seemed free of traps, though that didn’t mean I could find everything. The resonance crystal was a sign that the trap makers hadn’t been messing around. A moment of inattention and a cleverly hidden enough rune, and I’d be able to cover twice as much ground on account of being in two places at once.

It was looking like I’d have to use my spells.

Sword Storm II

I kept my ring active all the same as I crouched behind a pillar. It was a wonder I’d survived this long without it. Either room traps were rare, or I had been exceptionally lucky. Or the warlocks had more frequently trapped those places they were less likely to visit and were more likely to entertain wanderers from the caverns far below. Namely, the deeper levels of the dungeon.

I couldn’t “see” see my swords, nor taste them, but my sense of touch traced along their edges as they flew to the edge of my sphere. It was strange being able to focus on more than just a vague impression of where they were. Useful too, in the right circumstance.

Here it didn’t truly help, for they slipped out of my range just before they began battering down the door.

It was only when the splinters of the door were flying through the air did I realize my mistake. I could have crouched by the door to peek at what might lay beyond. If it was another sacred chamber the orcneas were going to be grumpy.

I peered around the ruined doorway (it hadn’t been trapped). An altar waited on the other side. A beam of natural sunlight shone down on the sphere at the top of the altar, at once illuminated by and depicting the sun.

Waves of calming energy rolled off the altar. The promise of spring, and warm summer days, and healing, rest after all long day’s work. It felt as though it was calling to me. Inviting the weary traveller (me) to sit at its base and be welcomed there. Above it, high in the clouds, flew an albatross.

This was a holy place.

Damn it.

If it weren’t for my still active sense I might have indeed rushed to the altar. As it was, however, I very clearly felt the sharp point of every iron spike in the pit directly proceeding the shattered doorway.

The trap was a little incongruous with the shrine, which was my cue to start distrusting it. Perhaps the warlocks had been unable to destroy the shrine, and had placed the spikes out of spite. Or perhaps they had built both spikes and shrine with the sole purpose of leading people to plunge into the pit.

Or maybe the warlocks thought spikes brought a room together. They did seem to love their sloping spiked floors.

This pit was only three or so feet on the deepest side (my side) which meant a moment’s tensed lowering later and I was walking up the far side of the slope and standing in front of the shrine unharmed.

The sky directly above appeared completely natural, which did not mesh with how it slowly blended into the stone ceiling on either side of it. It was like a painter hadn’t been able to decide where one ended the other began, so they just muddled the paint in the middle and hoped no one noticed.

I took the teleportal button from my pouch and chucked it at the ceiling, straight up. The angle was a little awkward, but my altar infused strength more than made up for it.

My stone bounced off the sky.

That would have been fine, if a little weird, if it had bounced off the sky at the height of the ceiling. Then I’d know I was dealing with an illusion. Instead, it bounced off the sky fifty feet up, and with no sound of impact whatsoever.

The altar shone bright and the clouds danced with colour—pink, orange, and red—as the sun rose.

I caught my stone as it tumbled straight back down the way it had come. It looked no worse for wear. I stared at the altar with a furrowed brow. Had I...?

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I chucked the stone at the ceiling again.

Once more it bounced off the sky fifty feet up. This time the sun didn’t rise. Coincidence then. Unless...

I chucked the stone at the sky.

***

Ten attempts later and the sun hadn’t risen again. The sky, however, had revealed some strange properties. While my stone most often bounce off at roughly the same spot, on occasion it bounced of the sky much lower down, though never as low as the natural stone ceiling. I had even seen it bounce off a section of sky it had previously passed through. It was safe to say the blue sky and clouds were a property of the altar and its god, and not a natural phenomena or escape to the world above.

I returned the teleportal stone to my pouch and retrieved my crayon. I was going to back up North Star before I lost the irreplaceable spell. I’d been hemorrhaging them since I met the ogres.

The room was defensible enough. The altar, the spikes, an iron door below me, and no more signs of life than that which grew in the puddle near the far corner. Two entrances wasn’t ideal, but the spike made it safe enough to start writing my next spell. It was well overdue at this poin—

Stop

My neck spun about like like an owl watching a horse race. Then I checked over both my shoulders for good measure.

“Beg pardon?” I called to the empty room. For it was empty. To both my ring and my natural eyes. Swordferno rested at the ready beneath my fingertips.

I said stop

The voice replied reasonably, in an altogether unreasonably cheery tone for the dungeon. A tortured soul’s wails echoed by me a moment later, demonstrating the proper sort of mindset one should have down here.

“Right. Yes, and why would that be?” I asked politely. I wasn’t about to offend a hob or dwarf or whatever powerful entity lay claim to that sun-orb. I was still casting about for a source, but other than “jovial” and perhaps “grandfatherly” I couldn’t pin the voice down, leaving said orb as my best bet.

Corruption runs in your veins

Spells once lost may never be regained

I swallowed. That didn’t sound good.

“As in, if I lose a spell I might never be able to record it again?”

Yes

Right,” I tried to keep the shaking out of my voice, “And who are you?

I am

“You am... who?”

I am that I am

I frowned, “Your name is ‘That I Am?’”

I suppose I should say I am I am that I am

If we’re being precise

I sidled closer to the orb, letting my ring give it a once over. It felt like glass, slightly warm. It contained no hollows nor flaws which allowed me to feel it from the inside, but I could look out from it as easily as in.

“Do you have a simpler name?”

Death

Life

The Sun in the Underworld

The Corpse in the Sky

The Cycle

Beginning

End

Take your pick

Despite the warm sun coming in through the sky, my bones turned to ice. That was a list of names fitting a god. And since I doubted any god would be interested in talking to me, that meant either a creature adjacent to the gods, or one pretending to be one. Neither was desirable.

I forced a cheer into my voice, “Okay, I’ll go with Life, if that’s alright.”

It is

“Right. Life. You mentioned corruption? Corruption how?”

You drank of death and decay

You drank the heart of chaos and twisted magics

When had I done all that? It seemed like something I would remember.

“Do you mean the ogre’s blood? It tasted like moldy fruit. Or that slime on carrots when they go off after a long winter.”

I don’t know

I wasn’t there

The voice continued.

There is a time for life and a time for death

Corruption is the incestuous ingrowth

The life too long

The death too soon

The branch which pierces the tree

the gangrenous limb

The refusal to die

The denial of that which has already died

My hand burns the cancerous flesh and lets the rest flourish

My hand stops the rotten heart and lets the old bones rest

Your spells risk corruption

Let me cleanse them

I wasn’t entirely sure what he was on about to be honest. ‘Permanently losing my spells’ had caught my attention, but “cleanse”-ing my spells sounded like something a warlock might offer.

“I appreciate it, but the risks are my ow-”

The jovial voice turned hard

You do not have a choice

The orb flashed, bright as the sun which illuminated it. Light swept past me. Wrapped around me. Bound me.

Burned me.

My head was on fire. So was my heart. My fingertips burned where they clutched my spellbook. My ring was useless. All senses had left me but the light which burned through my soul.

I collapsed to my hands and knees. My eyes were squeezed shut, but they couldn’t block out the light. It was inside me. It ran in my veins. I could feel myself dying. Not all at once. Just pieces of me, here and there. The runes in my mind caught fire and burned away. The mycellium on my brain crumbled like cobwebs in the heat of their flames. The green lines stitching my mind together vanished, yet I did not die. For though the fire scoured and killed, it also healed.

I was filled with energy. Everything dead no longer drew from me. My strength went only to those parts of me which withstood the onslaught. My mind felt clear, my body strong. The sense of unfamiliarity, the rune which sought revenge and those runes which twisted away from my pen were sterilized in that light. The sickness burned, the page redeemed. The runes remained in full, but now they were mine, spirit, mind and body. The dark whispers screamed as the fire illuminated them, screamed as they were torn to shreds by its might. And yet, though weakened, they survived.

For though they’d come upon me uninvited, I’d let them in regardless. I’d been the one to draw on their dark magics again and again. That which had been unfairly burdened on me was scoured away, but that which I’d taken on for myself remained, and it was the majority.

I didn’t question how I knew this. It was obvious. Everything was obvious under the light’s illumination.

My skin burned. Green shone like fired clay, like freshly caught fish cooked to perfection, like crackling leaves drying before winter sets in, and turned gold. It was like burning while bathing in a hotspring. I couldn’t tell if I was experiencing pleasure or pain. Whether I should scream or sigh or moan or cry.

Easy now

All hardness had left Life’s voice. He spoke like a concerned grandfather, at once gentle and proud.

Corruption ran deep

All is well

You are whole

The burning faded, as did the light. The orb was once more simply made of glass. A fact I could confirm from all angles with my ring. The strength remained, and the clarity. The whispers had weakened, but so too had I lost the spells from my mind. Fireball II I wouldn’t miss, that thing had been a liability, but my Teleport had been what empowered me to keep exploring. It had been my guarantor against the deprivations of the warlocks and their dungeon. But I could carve it anew.

All in all, I welcomed the change. Even the change to my skin. Gold was closer to my natural hue, even if it glowed abnormally warm in the sunlit circle about the altar.

But that didn’t mean I welcomed that it had been forced upon me. Anger filled me, drove away my fear. The new energy within me only emboldened me further, despite its source.

“You had no right,” I spat, glaring at the orb.

Magic Swords III

The swords appeared next to it, ready to strike.

There is no rights granted to me

I am the cycle

The rain has no right to fall

It falls

I have no right to remove corruption and purge decay

I simply do

My nature cannot be denied

Nature cannot be denied

That took the wind out of my sails. I knew well what he talked about. Even the Magi could not deny gravity and thirst and hunger. We could circumnavigate, take shortcuts, but we still worked within the natural laws. It was only the warlocks and those like them who denied it.

But my anger still denied recompense lest my heart feel hollow. To deny my anger would be to deny myself.

“Even so. It is in the wolf’s nature to hunt me, but I will still slay the wolf, for that is my nature.”

Still, my swords did not strike. Death would be disproportionate to the wrong done to me, especially a wrong which had set so many things right.

“I demand rectification. Or I will figure my own way to extract it.”

I do not begrudge you this

I can offer only knowledge of three things

Knowledge could be more valuable than gold. Especially down here, “Very well. Go on.”

First

Dark magic comes from below

Your spells will wander from your sight the further you descend

Second

The blood of those from the depths is empowered with dark magic

Clean yourself of all trace to avoid its taint

“Can you clean me? Like you did before?”

Life responded with a flash of light which caused blue dots to swim in my vision, not unlike my lost runes. I looked down at my spellbook and clothes. A traces of stains and blood had been removed from them. A weight lifted from my shoulders, completely disproportionate to the weight of the stains. Suddenly my breaths felt free and strong. There had been a pressure coming from the ogre’s blood, pressing down on me without me realizing it.

“Thank yo—”

Third

My redress is also protection

You may protect your spells rather than cast them anew

And would be better served for doing so

“How do I protect them?”

Trace again their form

Your spirit will know the rest

I was in a bit of a bind. I didn’t dare take one step further in the dungeon without a teleport spell burned into my brain—not even the scar on my arm reassured me. Arms could be lost, scars could be marred—At the same time, I didn’t trust the orb enough dedicate myself to spell writing in its prese—

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. It wasn’t a lack of trust I was feeling. Not exactly. The orb had revealed to me its nature. I doubted it would assault me again. The feel was the feeling of betrayal. The orb had torn from me my spells, altered my appearance without my permission. That both were potentially beneficial changes made them harder to accept, not easier.

In what dead marsh was I supposed to abandon a just betrayal? If Life had harmed me I could have killed him. Or at least tried. I doubted my swords would win against a god impersonator. But it would have been simple, either way.

“Do you swear, on your life, to not act on me again?”

Until such time as you grant me permission you have my vow

My swords were still in position to strike. The assault didn’t merit such a violent response, but breaking a vow would. That was how vows were kept. And that was what you called establishing a justifiable cause. Another hint of that light burning me and I’d crush the orb to powder.

Or die trying.