Chapter Three: The Finding of the Sword
There were two directions within the passage that William could go. Left and right. Torches were burning on the walls, but on closer examination, there was now fuel. Flames were simply burning atop metal bars. By the light, William could perceive above him the faint light of the cell. But there was no way to scale back up that he could see.
And he was unarmed.
"Well, here we are," said William, looking at his hands. Then he looked right and saw a broken set of stairs. Someone had, evidently, taken a sledgehammer to them. Where the top had once been, there was a door, but it was shut tight by a portcullis. "The door over there is closed tight, so that leaves only one way forward."
So William turned and made his way left. As he did, he felt the cold on his bare arms bitterly. This outfit he wore seemed like something worn for weddings. Rather than practical acrobatics, though it was reasonably loose.
Then, as he walked, he halted and saw something.
Before William was a corpse, clad in a white outfit, much like he was. The man looked about four years William's age, perhaps twenty, and his blood was soaking the floor. He had short blonde hair, and his eyes were wide. Yet even before William's eyes, his flesh was going pale.
Then William looked into the dark and saw the guard.
He wore brown garb and held a curved blade before him. Even now, he was advancing, eyes narrowed. William stepped back as the guard jabbed at him. "Turn back, hero. You are not worthy to enter the domain above. Come further forward, and you shall be destroyed."
"You would be the threshold guardian, then," said William. He noted the guard had stopped advancing.
"I am." said the guard.
"Who was that man?" asked William.
"He was a man from Antioch, and he sought to save the Princess." said the guard. "Captured and cast into your cell, he escaped and ran headlong into my blade. Now he is a corpse, awaiting his judgment for eternity.
"Come forward, and you will join him."
"I think I'd rather not," said William. "Is uh, is there a guide to this palace by chance?"
"No," said the guard.
William nodded. "I thought not. Farewell."
And he quickly raced off. As he did, he thought to himself. "Well, that man was awfully friendly for an undead abomination. I suppose I ought to check the gate. Perhaps I can lift-"
Even as he came near the broken stair, he accidentally stepped on what must have been a pressure plate. The floor slid down and the gate slid open slowly. William nodded. "Convenient.
"Very convenient. No matter."
Moving up to the base of the gate, he took hold of the top and began to scramble up. It had been some time since the days when he and Felix scaled the castle walls together. Still, he had kept those muscles in place, and now he pulled himself over the top. Even so, his foot hurt him as he did so.
Yet as he came up, he moved along the floor, only to nearly fall into a vast pit. Looking down, he saw a vast bed of spikes below. And on them were many corpses impaled on them, with expressions of agony. A chill went over William. Every single one of them wore white garments, as if for a wedding, now stained with blood.
Still, no time to mull over things.
Backing up a bit, William got a running start and leaped over the pit. The landing hurt his foot, but he moved on anyway. He'd have to walk the pain off. But there was another gate before him. A grinding noise suddenly reached his ears. William looked back to see the gate he'd come through closing.
Perhaps there was another pressure plate here.
Moving back along the floor, he noticed a tile sticking up just a bit. Stepping on it, he pressed it down. Sure enough, the portcullis began to rise behind him, and he made for it, ducking under it as it did.
"The mouse made it seem as if my presence was special, somehow." murmured William. "But the clothes on those corpses had not rotted away at all. Yet they themselves were skeletal.
"Though the one I saw before, he became as those guards very quickly."
Coming to the edge, he found another drop. This time, however, there was a floor not far below he was able to lower himself onto. Over a large gap, he could see another portcullis. And in the gap, he saw even more white-clad corpses. Some of them were actual skeletons, having rotted to nothingness.
How many people had stood in this very part, made the jump, and then failed? Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands? This place... it was a place beyond time wasn't it?
What had motivated them?
What had driven so many young men, his age and older, to cast aside their lives? Had they a choice? Of course, they'd probably been drawn here by the Princess. Yet William wondered if she did not play more the role of a siren, luring men to their doom.
No matter.
Turning, he walked under the platform he'd been standing other and found another tile. Pressing it down, he heard the grinding of gears. Whirling around, William made another sprint and leaped over the gap. For a moment, he was flying through the air over the corpses and spikes and then...
He would miss it! He'd jumped too early!
Reaching out, William grasped the edge of the tile and caught himself. Pulling himself up, he saw the door slowly closing. Sprinting forward, he rolled under it and came to a halt. For a moment, he stood beyond the door, breathing hard at a crouch. Looking down, he saw a tile to open.
William pressed down the tile, and the door slid open behind him.
So, there was a way out. Good.
Rising up, William straightened his tunic and moved forward. As he did, his foot hurt more and more. If he waited, he'd never get out of here. But if he went on like this, he'd tear a muscle. All paths were terrible for him at this rate.
Why had he dragged Felix out here? Had he thought he'd fare any better.
No, no, William would succeed where others had failed. He was a Christian for one thing, where they had, for the most part, been pagans. Yes, God would be his strength.
And then he felt the floor beneath him lurch. William sprinted on instinct, and the floor fell away. Making a leap, he ended up near the edge of a drop. With a glance back, William saw that the floor of the hall had given way. So he fell to one knee. His foot was hurting all the worse now.
Then he felt something, a pull that drew him down. Scaling down to the floor, he turned and saw that the base of the pit was within climbing distance. Lowering himself down, William heard a shuddering as he did. Looking up, he saw an alcove in the wall. Moving toward it, he saw a loose tile. It was cracked and weak. Bringing down one foot, he smashed it, before lowering himself down.
Then he smelled the aroma.
It was truly beautiful to the senses, and he was drawn forward into a passage. There was a drop, and he saw beyond many corpses. But looking down, he saw a gourd. It lay on the ground, with red steam coming off it. Raising it, the smell of it eased his aches and pains.
Upon the yellowish surface, he saw many designs. It showed a woman with the lower body of a serpent giving potions to soldiers who were wounded. They drank of these potions and around to full life, before marching to battle her enemies again. Something told William that this potion would heal his injuries.
He had half a mind to regard it as lies.
Then again, at this rate, he'd die no matter what happened without healing. A calculated risk was necessary. "This could be a trap, but then, I doubt any man could be expected to fight through legions of undead.
"Not without some way to heal their wounds.
"With this injury, I'll never make it to the surface, let alone all the way up. I'll chance it."
And so William drank of the potion. As he did, the red liquid poured into his throat. His muscles tensed for a moment as he swallowed. Then the aches and pains disappeared, even pains that he'd never known he'd had. Looking at himself, William felt new strength enter him.
"Supernatural aid indeed," said William.
Then, thanking God for the victory, William scaled out and continued on his way.
He'd not gone far along the passageway when he came to an area with another gate. This time the pressure plate was in clear sight. So, naturally, he did not like it. Moving forward, William pressed down the plate and sprinted over the hall. Even as he did, however, one of his feet pressed onto another plate.
As it did, the gate slammed shut.
Typical, really. William should have known nothing would be so easy. Turning back, he walked toward the way back. He supposed he'd have to open the gate and then leap over the-
Oh damn, part of the floor had fallen away while he was running. And it was right next to the switch that shut the door. So William would have leap over yet another bottomless pit and do it in such a way that he cleared the switch as well.
Backing up a bit, William sprinted forward and leaped over the gulf. Landing on the switch in what he assumed was divine providence, he turned and sprinted back. Waiting for the last possible moment, William leaped from the edge. He cleared the switch where others failed, landing in a roll. As the gate opened, he grabbed ahold of the ledge and hauled himself up.
Triumphant, he rose and found himself looking at...
Another bottomless pit.
"What madman designed this place?" asked William, having half a mind to quit.
A reassuring presence, however, drove him to continue. It wasn't as if he could just walk out at this point anyway, short of jumping to his death. Pacing back a bit, William sprinted forward and made another leap. This time he made it. Checking down, he saw that there were still more corpses, though not as many as last time.
Apparently, most people who got this far did better afterward.
Rather like getting to the age of nine.
Walking forward-
The floor fell out from under him. Twisting in midair, William was able to land on all fours, but his hand was nicked on the rubble. Still, there seemed to be a passage leading, and a presence drew him on, assuring him this way was better. William wondered if this presence was mere madness on his part.
Still, if it was madness, it was frighteningly accurate.
It turned out that had he gone the high way, he'd have had to scale down by hand and foot.
And there is lay.
The sword he had been promised. Scaling down, William moved forward and saw it, held in the grip of a skeleton. This one was not clad in white, but in rusted armor, and the sword he held was magnificent. No, that did not even begin to describe it.
Gently drawing the hand of the skeleton away, William took up the sword. Its sheath was unadorned and simplistic. But as he drew forth the blade, it took his breath away. It did not just reflect the light of torches but seemed to emanate a light of its own.
Only one name could fit so great a weapon. "Excalibur," said William. "How did this blade come here? It was returned to the Lady in the Lake! I suppose our Lord, Jesus, might have given it to another." Then he remembered his mission. "It is of no consequence, at present."
Some part of him wanted to head back at once. But another part drew him onward, not to the rise, but downward. There was another passage, leading down and he followed it down. William wasn't entirely sure why, but as he scaled down a small drop, he found that he had come to a lower level. In the distance, he could see many of the corpses and spikes that he'd seen from above.
And then he saw them.
Dozens upon dozens of bodies lying in neat rows. Every one of them was dressed as the threshold guardian and holding a curved sword upon their breast. Many of them had wounds that were now dry.
They must have been killed in battle.
Perhaps the threshold guardian was only the last remnant of an entire force. One that had been wiped out by other heroes. It occurred then, to William, that this was almost a war. Obviously, someone else had been dealing with grievous casualties to the guards. Was this a funeral?
It so, then it meant that Jaffar might lose by simple virtue of attrition. That must have been why he had so many traps. Even now, this ruin was crumbling around him. And he was using the wreckage of his ambitions to prolong his inevitable defeat.
Jaffar and the devil were in good company, it seemed.
And so, William began his return journey.
It was largely far easier, and he felt newfound confidence as he did. At least until he nearly missed a jump and had to catch himself on a ledge. Dangling over a bed of spikes, he struggled to haul himself up, his sheath banging against him. "Damn it!" he hissed. "Never pretend as if death-defying leaps are a simple matter, you fool! Pride cometh before the fall!"
And he went on.
Then something occurred to the Prince. Where had that potion come from? Clearly, it had been magical in nature. And it was laid out as if waiting for him. But by whom? The mice? He'd seen none of them.
And hadn't Alexander the Great fought Jaffar in single combat? He'd have had to get past a large portion of the guards to do that. If so, how had Jaffar filled out his ranks?
Then again, this place had not always been dead. Once people had lived here.
Alexander must have scaled to the very heights and killed the guards. And if he'd come that far, he'd likely taken his army with him. So, Alexander must have destroyed Babylon long ago but been slain in his own turn. Or, perhaps, he ventured in along, and the city fell apart by some other means.
The point, if there was one, was that these undead guards must be a recent addition.
Once Jaffar had used live warriors and ruled over a city, a kingdom in his own right. But all of them were now gone. Or were they? Perhaps on the higher levels, William would see some other inhabitant. It might be that the Princess had attendants.
And, at last, William stood in the same hall where he'd begun. Setting a hand to the sword at his side, William made his way into the hall and drew the blade. It illuminated the darkness as the threshold guardian sat, meditating.
Dead eyes flared to life. "So, you have the sword."
"That I do," said William, feeling a new sense of confidence. "Are you prepared to meet your fate, creature?"
"Fate is a fickle mistress. But I assure you, you shall meet yours." said the guardian, voice taking on a new tone. And then he howled and rushed at William.
Their blades clashed, and William was forced back, parrying thrusts. Slashing with his own blade, he caught his enemy across the eye. He'd expected him to flinch, but the monster jabbed forward. William gasped as the curved blade was driven into his stomach. As it was driven out, he flinched backward. He ignored the pain as he parried, setting a hand to the wound to control blood loss.
Falling to one knee, William raked his sword again his enemy's leg. As they fell, he rose and brought down his sword. The blade cleaved deep into the skull of his enemy. As it did, the corpse fell down, limp, and power was drained away from it. The darkness was purified, and William gasped.
He was victorious, but with a wound in the stomach...
William would be dead soon enough, anyway. What a waste.
Drawing up his hand, however, he found that it was not bloody. Nor was the cloth. Had his wound healed?
No, it was there. But not a drop of blood was spilling forth.
"How is..." began William as he walked. Then he laughed, much to his pain. "Of course! The sheathe! King Arthur's scabbard ensured that the one who bore it never shed a single drop of blood!"
Still, it hurt a great deal.
Sheathing Excalibur, William walked onwards and came to a great door of greenstone. Its frame was inlaid with ivory. "I suppose this is the threshold. But it stands closed.
"So, what now." Glancing back, he saw that over the frame of the door he'd come, there was a small ledge. On it was a slightly raised tile. Leaping upward, he caught himself and howled as the pain in his wound. Even so, the tile depressed, and the door began to open.
Dropping down quickly, William fell to one knee, gasping.
Then, turning to the door, he scaled his way up.
The first level of this miserable palace had been completed. And William had no intention of letting this be the last he cleared. And that presence within his mind welcomed and encouraged it...