Stepping Up, Draft 1, CH 48 (Patreon)

Tibs rested his head back against the stone and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. There had been the climb up the stalagmites, the walk in the dark, the hammering through a series of blocks blocking his path. He’d wanted to break those down the way he had the first door, but the dungeon had made sure there were no essences he could manipulate in them.

He could hear the dungeon, which gave him an advantage, but she knew the elements he had, and that efficiently countered it.

The next challenge had felt aimed at rogues more than anyone else. A large pit with light shining on some things sharp at the bottom and columns ending at floor height spaced too far to jump and at various distances. On the side of the entrance platforms. A stack of beams of various lengths.

A puzzle, because there weren’t enough of the longest beams to cover the entire length, and he needed to carry the beams across the one he’d set down so it would go from that new platform to the next one. If he didn’t estimate the distance correctly, he had to bring it back and carry another one. None of the beams were too heavy to be carried, but they were all a strain, from the longest to the shortest.

Tibs wondered if this was something Val had set in place specifically for him, or if every Runner looking to have an audience with Purity needed to complete their version of it.

He had one advantage in that he could take the earth essence from the floor and used it to hold each beam in place, keeping them from wobbling as he walked across them. That hadn’t saved him from losing two of the beams, and he’d worried that he had made it impossible to cross, but while he’d blocked off the path he had planned on making, there were others, longer, that took him to the other side.

That had left him barely conscious, and he’d slept, if barely. Val and Craren kept talking. It would be one thing if they talked about him, their plans to keep him from gaining his audience, their guesses why he was after another element, other than greed. But they talked about nothing meaningful to him.

Hadn’t it been funny when that supplicant had run out crying after breaking a hand trying to get through the crystal blocks? What about that fighter? Who thought that just because she was strong, climbing the wall would be easy? Hadn’t it been sad that cleric died because he thought his devotion to Purity would protect him from the monsters on the deeper floors?

On and on it went. One of them waking as they excitedly talked about something that had happened and then went on reminiscing in more details Tibs needed about the event.

The next day, Tibs was guessing since he had no way to tell if a full day had passed, how long he’d slept, how long it took for him to get through the obstacles. Had been more obstacles. None of them particularly difficult, but each requiring a lot of work. From the other room of blocks, but this one without a hammer to break them. Tibs had resorted to hammering at one corner with his fist covered in ice and earth until it broke off, then using that to break a larger piece, and so on until he had something resembling a hammerhead that fit in his hand comfortably.

There had been a wall he needed to traverse along the side of and because he was already tired, he nearly fell when one of the handholds had blades in it. A reminder not to let his focus falter. The disappointment in Craren’s voice when he didn’t fall made him feel better.

The cuts from the stalagmites healed nicely, until he added more to them. He didn’t know if it resulted from the wrap he places over them or something about how concentrated his essence was. Having the clerics heal everyone when they left the dungeon made it impossible to figure out how much healing he cause or if the wraps and splints only acted as stopgaps until the actual healing.

He’d fallen asleep somewhere along that chain of thoughts and was woken when Val exclaimed how the first to have an audience was back from it.

Tibs knew that he only heard the dungeon if their focus was close enough to him. Sto and Ganny could be silent for entire runs as they worked on something else, in another part. So why couldn’t those two just go away to do their talking?

Halfway through the next room, another puzzle. This one, tiles on the floor he needed to slide around until they were in the right pattern. When his stomach gave him the first reminder he hadn’t eaten anything in a while.

“I guess it’s time to feed him,” Val had said, and Tibs barely stopped himself from sighing in relief.

“You can’t do that,” Craren replied. “It’s going to keep him from having his…” she’d trailed off. “Oh, sneaky.” The joy in the assistant’s voice put him on guard. Would Val poison him? Then he realized it was easier. Maybe Tibs could reach the point through exhaustion where he’d have an audience, but how long would that take? Thirst and hunger were the quicker route, and if she fed him, she made his goal that much harder to attain.

So he’d put them out of his mind and went back to working on the puzzle. He’d figure out that the simple drawing on them only mattered because of how many items were depicted in each scene. This was about arranging the one and five tiles in an order based on the numbers. The progression wasn’t by one, or by two, or three.

He was down to moving them randomly when he noticed that the characters on the right were always depicted pointed toward the center of the tile, and those on the left looked at the edge. Adding and removing numbers weren’t easy. He needed his fingers, but the first few tiles, with the smaller numbers worked; so he continued. When the numbers grew beyond his fingers, he made lines on the ground with earth essence. He thought that being tired made this more difficult, but he still promised himself that once he was done here. He was leaving numbers to Carina, Mez, and Khumdar. He didn’t care how nice and gentle about it, she and Darran were about teaching him more of them. He was done.

The last tile went in place and the door opened and the smells assaulted him. Spicy stews, sweet cakes, freshly baked bread, roasted vegetables of a variety Tibs had never seen before. If Sto ever managed to make food like this, instead of basic uncooked meats and vegetables, he would put the inn out of business.

He cursed the dungeon under his breath when he walked by the ale and his thirst constricted his throat. His finger was around the handle before he could stop himself.

This, this was cruelty to put nobles to shame.

How could the dungeon claim to be pure and do this to him?

He forced himself forward and onto the next challenge. This one lifting beams to various heights so he could move under them and over the uneven floor.

Every hall after this offered him food. Ever better-smelling foods. From simple plates of breads, sweet, savory, spicy. To complicated affairs, he would expect to see on the table of a noble looking to impress. Even the ales smelled better, some fruitier, some spicier. Curiosity became the more difficult thing to fight as he didn’t know ales to more than what his town served.

Now, he’d lost track of how many times he slept, since sometimes he couldn’t be sure if he’d woken or dreamed the next set of obstacles.

The constant yammering about from the dungeon couldn’t be to keep him from sleeping well, since they didn’t know he heard them. But whatever the reason; it made every new day ever harder. He closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the smell of the food surrounding him. He couldn’t tell if it grew cold, but the smells never stopped being appetizing.

“Then you remember what she did?” Craren said excitedly.

“She threw herself off the ledge!” Val replied, as if it was a new discovery.

“Yes! She was almost there. I could tell. If she’d just hung on and made her way across, Purity would have been waiting.”

“Purity was still waiting,” Val said, her tone somber. “But there is no returning from that embrace.”

“Then there was that sorcerer!”

And on they went, as if each new story was unheard of before, even if they were repeating events that had happened in the dungeon. All the while keeping him from sleeping.

He banged his head against the wall, hoping the pain would cover up their voice. He did it again and again, stopping only when he felt liquid down the back of his neck. Paying attention, he sensed the break in the skin and cursed as he wrapped essence over it. He snorted as the two voices didn’t even comment on how he’d injured himself.

They were talking about another sorcerer. One who’d made it to the seventh floor and opened a book, moving through the room according to what it said, instead of what each room contained. He died in the third one. When Val absorbed the book and studied it, it was all something she called mathematical equations. No information about the rooms themselves.

The two laughed, concluding that sorcerers were crazy.

“Will you two shut up!” Tibs yelled at the ceiling.

Silence fell, and Tibs sighed in relief.

Finally.

He closed his eyes.

“He can’t have said that,” Craren said fearfully.

Tibs groaned.

“Maybe he’s insane and imagining voices,” Val offered doubtfully.

“I wish,” Tibs grumbled.

He enjoyed the ensuing silence, but prepared for it to break. Those two just couldn’t stop yammering.

“Hello?” Val said tentatively.

“Isn’t it late for that?” Tibs growled. “I’ve been here for a while now. Hello is what you say when someone arrives, and other than gawking at me and my essences, you said nothing when I got here. Now shut up and let me sleep.”

“Aren’t you bossy for a human trapped in a dungeon?” Craren said haughtily.

“I’m fucking tired. You two never shut up. What is it with the recounting of what happened here before? Go watch the other people trying to get through your traps. Leave me alone.”

“You can’t hear us,” Val said with determination.

“You have no idea how much I wished that was true right now. Sto never yammers about like you two do.”

“Who’s Sto?” Craren asked.

“Don’t encourage him,” Val chastised her.

“He’s my dungeon.”

“Your dungeon?” Val demanded. “No one owns us.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tibs replied, waving a hand to get her to quiet down. “He’s my friend. And he happens to be a dungeon, like you. I saved his life.”

Craren snorted. “Oh right. A human saving a dungeon. Like that ever happened.”

Tibs shrugged. “Look, is it too much to ask for some silence? I just want to sleep, get through whatever else you have planned, and be done.”

“Why are you here?” Val asked.

“You know why. You two worked it out quickly. You see the elements I have, the one I’m missing.”

“Why do you want an audience with Purity? What are you after? You greedy rogue,” she added, and Tibs snickered. “You think it’s funny? How about I send a bunch of creatures after you in the next room and see how funny you find that?”

Tibs looked at the ceiling. “Can you take creatures from lower floors and move them up?”

“Why do you want to know?” Val asked.

“Don’t you have a dungeon you can ask?” Craren demanded mockingly.

“Sto’s working on his third floor right now. And it never came up. Unlike you, he’s never threatened to change the floor I was on to kill me.” He chuckled. “Then again, his first floor is tougher than yours, if not as large.”

“My first floor isn’t about killing supplicant,” Val replied, offended.
“It’s about testing them. Making sure they have what it takes to be worthy of an audience with Purity.”

“Hard work,” Tibs said, “determination, resisting temptation. How do I rate?”

“Too well,” Val reluctantly answered, and Tibs smiled.

“Look. I’m not asking that you make it easier on me. I understand what you’re about. Ganny explained it to me. Dungeons push us to be better. Like you said, they test us. If we fail, we can die.”

“Except you’re cheating,” Craren said.

“I was. You’ve made sure I don’t have much to work with.”

“I can’t let you have the audience,” Val stated. “Not without knowing what you are after. Do you think you’re the first to come here and try to lie your way into an audience?”

“I’m not lying.”

“You’re a rogue. All you do is lie.”

“I’m a roof runner more than a liar, that a picking pockets. I did lie to get in, but everything else I did according to the rules.”

“The rules say you can’t use essence,” Craren replied.

“I don’t think so,” Tibs said, smiling. “Sto never complained when I used essence on the first floor. A lot of us got our element before his second floor was ready. It didn’t ensure we all survived.” He wiped at his cheek, surprised his finger came away wet. “I lost a lot of people to him.”

“And you still claim to be his friend?” Craren asked, demanded. She really didn’t like the idea he and Sto were friends.

“I was angry at him when I thought all he wanted was to eat us. That was before I hear him.”

“So you couldn’t always hear us?”

Tibs smiled. “I didn’t know I could hear another dungeon until I came here. You’re just the second dungeon I’ve been into… that I’ve met.”

“What happened to make you hear him?”

Sto considered it. Dismissed not saying anything as being too tired, lying as being too hard in his current state, and decided that it wasn’t like Val and Craren could tell anyone. “When I got my first four audiences. Water, Earth, Fire, and Air. That’s when I got my element, and the next time I went into the dungeon, I could hear them talk. I had before, but I was burned and probably dying, so I wasn’t certain it had been real.”

“And you decided that if four could let you hear us what, more would let you control us?”

Tibs shook his head. “Water said I needed to get the next four.”

“Water told you to get more audience?” Craren snorted.

“The second time I had an audience with her. I wanted to know how to get rid of the corruption that had seeped into my essence as a result of protecting Sto. She said to speak to corruption on the way to getting his element and the four others. Light, Darkness, Corruption and Purity.”

“And you went to Corruption before us?” Craren demanded.

“I can’t travel unless Sto is closed for graduating. There’s a pool of corruption in my town, so it made that audience easy to have. Light and darkness took more work, but I could arrange it. Purity can only be reached here. So I had to wait.”

“So you aren’t looking to control us?” Val asked.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Power, what else? You’re corrupt, so that’s what you’re after.”

Tibs shook his head. “Wouldn’t you two know better? The elements aren’t what we make them out to be. Corruption is needed. I don’t know why, not really, but if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be one of the elements, right?”

They didn’t say anything, and Tibs closed his eyes. Maybe—

“Fine,” Val said. “So you know more than the usual supplicant.”

“Thank you. Does that mean you’ll let me sleep?”

“No. I don’t trust you, rogue. So turn around. I’m going to let you leave. If you push ahead, I will do what I can to make sure you fail.”

Tibs sighed. Would keeping him exhausted speed the process along or just cause him to make a fatal mistake? At least Carina wouldn’t wait for him indefinitely. She’d returned to Kragle Rock when her bracelet changed. By then, he’d probably be dead. He had to hope it wouldn’t come to that.

“Alright. We all have to do what we feel is right.”

“No more using your essences,” Val said.

Tibs shook his head. “That isn’t how this works. I’m going to use every tool I have to survive. You’re going to do what you can to ensure I don’t. Enemies don’t make deals.”

“Is that what we are?”

“I’m too tired to think of a better word. But I don’t want you dead. I just don’t plan on letting you kill me.”

“You can’t stop us,” Craren said.

“I don’t aim to kill anyone,” Val said. “That isn’t what I’m about. That doesn’t mean my challenges can’t kill you.”

“I know.” Tibs yawned. “No, if you don’t mind, go back to talking among yourselves while I try to sleep.” He closed his eyes and thought the few seconds of silence that followed had an offended feel to it.

Then Craren and Val started talking.

Loudly.

* * * * *

Tibs stared at the column blocking his way.

“I think we finally broke him,” Craren said.

It was in the doorway. Fit it tightly, and it was divided into twelve slices. Each circular except for a part that was taken out, like some stone-eating creature, had taken a large bite out of each one and put it back, but without lining up the bites.

He continued to stare at it.

“I’m thinking you’re right,” Val replied.

There was something he should do to it, but he couldn’t think of what; so he stared. His hunger had become a pit he didn’t even want to fill a few sleeps ago. His thirst had decided that if he wasn’t going to drink anything, he didn’t need his throat and had closed that to the point trying to talk was painful.

He knew he could do something about that with one of his elements. But he couldn’t think of which one, or how it would help.

There was a column in his way, and he needed to remove it.

It finally came to him, the how to accomplish it, and he stepped forward. His steps were slow, a mix of care and exhaustion. Like the hunger and thirst, exhaustion was a constant companion. No matter how many times he sat to close his eyes, how many times he thought he slept, when he stood, he was just as exhausted as when he sat. Even his two constant companion’s voices barely registered as they kept talking.

He reached the column and put his shoulder against it. All he needed to do was push it out of the way and he could cross the doorway and find out what was on the other side.

“Is he…” Craren began, then seemed unable to continue. Maybe she was impressed Tibs had figured it you so quickly.

He was careful as he pushed; it was round and it would be easy to slip and hurt himself on the bitten parts. He pushed, and pushed harder, but the column wouldn’t move. Maybe he was too weak. He should have eaten something.

The thought of food made what was left of his stomach turn. No, he was beyond food now.

What he needed to do was remain determined. He should push through this. He smiled at his joke and his lips cracked. He pushed again. Shifted to adjust his foot and then he was slipping along the side of the column, his hand catching in one of the bites for support, but it moved with a click and he landed on the ground, his hand bleeding.

Again.

How often had he cut his hand in one fashion or another? It had happened so much he hardly bled anymore.

He looked at the bite. It had moved. If it hadn’t, he could have stayed standing, and not bled.

But it had moved.

He got to his feet and stared at it. He pushed on the bite. It didn’t move. He pulled, and it moved with a click.

That was interesting.

He tried the one above, but it wouldn’t move.

“You think—”

Val shushed Craren. “He can hear you, remember?”

Tibs ignored them. He tried another bite, and he could move it forward two clicks. Were the clicks important? Something about the slices and how some of the moves felt familiar, but it was too far to work out why. Another one moved a click, and he noticed it was on the close to the side of the doorway. He could almost get his arm through.

Maybe if he got it to move a few more clicks, he could slip through?

He pushed on it, but it didn’t move. He could pull, but that took it out and closed the gap.

He wanted to scream in frustration, but this throat hurt before a sound make it out. He knew he had it. He just had to make the slice move more. Expect how it moved depended on the other slices.

It what?

Where had the idea come from? Was it right? He found another slice that moved, then tried the one he wanted. It didn’t move. Annoyed, he searched for a new one and found that one which hadn’t moved before now did. So the idea was right. What he needed to do was figure out which slice unlocked this one.

He found another one, then another and after the next, the slice moved enough its center was lined up with the opening’s edge, maximizing the space. He pushed his arm through, then his elbow got stuck, and no matter how hard he pushed, it couldn’t fit.

He needed to get a second slice to line up.

He worked on the one below, and encountered a crisis when the only move he could make was pulling the slice already in place back. If he did that, the other would move one click closer, but then the slice he’d pull wouldn’t push back into place.

He hit his head against the column. Why did this have to be so hard?

Because he was looking too closely.

He stopped.

Maybe he should hit his head more often.

There had been something in the how he’d gotten the pieces to move. Something familiar. A rhythm to it, no that wasn’t right, it was almost that, but it was the wrong word. What was it?

Because it had worked before, he hit his head against the column again.

A pattern.

This was a neat trick.

A pattern. There had been a series of moves that had repeated. He didn’t remember what it was, but it had been there. And if it had been there. He could figure it out again.

He took his time, had to restart as his focus slipped. But each time he found the pattern, it was easier to remember it.

And then he had two slices in place.

He tried to fit his shoulder, but now his head was in the way. So he needed another slice.

It took two more before he could fit his head, but now his second shoulder was in the way.

He broke down. Why was it so damned hard? He pounded the floor until the pain made him stop.

He’d done four slices. A few more and he would fit.

He moved the slices. Forward and back, and the whole thing became disorderly, but he didn’t let that stop him. It had done it before, but so long as he stuck with the pattern, it would all come back into order.

It did, but five slices still weren’t enough for his shoulders. So he went back to it.

Exhaustion clawed at him, but this time he didn’t listen. Anytime he did, he forgot stuff, and he didn’t want to forget the pattern. He didn’t think he could survive losing it now that he had found it.

Click the slices went as he pushed and pull. The sound covering that of his two companions until, as the slices fell into places, he realized they were actually silent.

He pulled himself into the space and froze when Craren spoke.

“Is he really going to do it that way?”

Was he doing it wrong? The point was to get through, wasn’t it? He decided he was too tired to care and pulled himself all the way through, then let out a croak of a scream when he fell off the side of the opening for far longer than he felt he should have before the impact occurred.