Chapter 45: • Fifth Trial
The portal swallowed him whole.
For a brief moment, there was nothing — which was expected as this was the vast, featureless void of white at the beginning of every Corridor creation.
No sound, no ground beneath his feet, no sensation at all except the weight in his arms. Elora.
She was still unconscious, thankfully, and also still breathing. Deremiah tightened his grip around her, feeling the slow, shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Then, reality shifted. Magic took over.
Deremiah immediately felt extremely lightheaded and also very weightless. Then, his body seemed to have moved at an incredible speed while at the same time staying at a single place.
Soft wind whipped at him as images spun in his left and right, and then there was a ripple. Or at least, it started as one. Like the surface of a disturbed pond.
The whiteness around him slowly fractured, curling at the edges, dark veins creeping through the light. The void shattered, and in its place, the world bled into existence.
First there were trees and mountains that rose high into the newly formed dark sky. These trees and mountains did not seem close by, in fact they appeared to be unreachable, at an extremely far away distance.
There were no trees and mountains nearby, all there was an endless land of water.
Below him. Silver water. Sparkly and ominous.
The water stretched endlessly in every direction, smooth and unbroken, reflecting the sky in a perfect mirror.
But apart from the dark sky itself, every other reflection seemed oddly wrong, especially Deremiah’s. When he looked down, he did not see himself, rather a figure — a hollow-eyed, twisted silhouette with an expression of silent agony.
Deremiah’s stomach clenched.
However, when he looked down again, the river was gone. His legs were now bent in a sitting position, resting on the wooden design of what was undeniably a boat.
It had materialized beneath him, rocking slightly as it settled itself onto the river. The wood was dark mahogany, warped from water rot, and had what appeared to be numbers inscribed both inside and outside.
Deremiah steadied himself, and realized that Elora was still in his arms. Her skin was cold, too cold, and damp like she had been submerged for hours.
His heartbeat quickened. He placed her on the boat carefully and touched her neck with his finger. She was still alive.
Deremiah let out a sigh of relief. He needed her to wake up as soon as possible, but she also needed to rest. Having her skull smashed against the earth would need days to recover, even for a Mancer.
Deremiah lifted his head and looked around the river. The air was thick with moisture, a sickly mix of stagnant water and something deeper — something like rot. Mist clung low to the surface of the river, swallowing the horizon. There was no wind. No birds. Just silence.
Then, the whispers began.
"You shouldn’t have come here..."
"She’s already gone..."
"The river takes what it wants..."
"This is your death..."
"Welcome... Goodbye... They are both the same in this place..."
Deremiah exhaled sharply, shaking his head to clear the voices. This place was trying to break him before the Trial had even begun.
Not that he had expected anything less, this was indeed the Fifth Trial, the River of Tears.
Deremiah had created the River of Tears as a Trial of blatant, visceral horror to test the courage, composure and mental resilience of the Mancers.
The whispers were just the beginning. The Sea ghosts, the Mammoth and other adversaries were all waiting inside this Trial. Deremiah knew all of them, and he also knew how to stop them.
But... He looked down at Elora... He was certainly going to need her help doing it.
His gaze looked ahead once again, and he saw that the mist had started to clear slightly. Beyond it, he could make out the statues.
Deremiah’s eyes widened. ’Hells! I almost forgot about the Statues!’
They were like imperials of the sea. Tall as a mountain, taking the shape of humans dressed in clothing of war and religion, made with glistening gray stones and looming over the water like its protectors.
They all lined the shore. Dozens of them. Most of them had completely expressionless faces, holding their stone made swords on the hilt with the tip embedded into the deep ends of the water underneath.
Some of them already had their faces frozen in expressions of terror.
Deremiah stared at them all with a pounding heart. His acrophobia kicked in at that moment, especially when his eyes locked with one of the statue’s.
Although it didn’t move, he felt like it was looking at him. Hell he was sure that it was! He knew that beyond those inanimate stone eyes was the urge to kill everyone who trespassed the River of Tears.
This sacred place where the tears of their god was being protected because of its magical abilities, and where the souls of other trespassers had perished.
He could not fall for how silent and still they were, like a normal innocent statue, no! These structures were beasts! He knew better.
Then, one moved.
A subtle shift. A grinding of stone against stone. Deremiah’s pulse spiked as a statue’s head turned — slowly, deliberately — following him as the boat moved slowly past on its own.
Deremiah could feel his heart thumping, chest swelling up and down, faster and faster. The statue tilted its head and its mouth gaped open.
Thud! Thud!
He couldn’t even think of what to do if the statue dared attack. Suddenly, a guttural moan rolled across the water, deep and resonant.
More statues stirred. Limbs cracking, bodies twitching. The river, once still, now rippled beneath them.
The boat jerked forward. Not by wind, not by current. It had been pulling itself on its own for a while now, but now the pull force became stronger.
Deremiah’s breath came sharp. His free hand dropped to his sword, fingers brushing the hilt. The Trial had begun. He knew the test, he knew the game, but he also knew that this Corridor was alive.
And knowledge could only do so much.
He looked down at Elora who stirred in on the boat, her body twitching slightly. A faint sound, almost a whimper, left her lips.
Deremiah swallowed. He needed her help.
’Wake up, Elora,’ he pleaded in his mind, looking at the statues as they all returned back to a silent state after watching them. ’Something’s coming.’
And it was getting closer.