“Erasmus!” Paedrin roared. What if the treasure was already stolen? What if they were risking their lives for no end? Why had Tyrus sent them into a death trap?
Think! His mind was trapped in a fog of pain. His shoulder throbbed, but he shoved the thought of his pain aside. He had experienced worse at the temple. The creature was no being of flesh. It was a guardian. It protected the treasure. But surely there had to be a way to stop it? Physical force was obviously not enough. Flame did not hinder it. What else might?
Paedrin saw Erasmus climbing down a fresh rope, hand over hand. He hung from the knotted cord, studying the chamber quickly, his eyes darting this way and that.
“Help Annon and Hettie!” Paedrin said. “Maybe three is what it takes to lift it!”
A rock fist glanced off his temple. He flipped backward, putting more distance between himself and the creature. He was tiring. The relentless pursuit muddled his thinking.
“That’s it!” Erasmus said triumphantly.
“Then get over there!” Paedrin roared.
“No, you have it wrong. The lights on the walls. The orbs. Touch them. Cover them with your hands or a cloak. Quickly, Bhikhu! Cover the one behind you!”
Paedrin thought the Preachán was daft. Cover the orb? But he remembered that the lights had illuminated the room as soon as he touched the ground. As fast as he could, he rushed to the nearest orb and smothered its light with his hands. He gritted his teeth, waiting for a crushing blow to come at him.
The room dimmed. The creature slowed and turned away from Paedrin, coming at Annon and Hettie.
“The other two!” Erasmus called. “Annon! Hettie! Cover the other two!”
Hettie rushed across the room and used her cloak to smother the second one. The creature had turned from her and started across the room, but its movements slowed as the light faded.
“The last one, Annon! Smother it!”
The Druidecht turned, watching the creature approach him ponderously. The chamber was nearly dark. “You do it, Erasmus. You cover it.”
“Why?”
“Because the treasure is under the trapdoor. I can sense it. It will take over your mind if you touch it. Let me find a way to collect it without touching it.”
Paedrin felt a hot surge of jealousy at Annon’s words.
“I will take it,” Hettie said. “The treasure belongs to me. You said you wanted no portion of it.”
“This is a moment you must all trust me, friends,” Annon said. “I can hear it fully right now. It is speaking to each of us. It wants us to fight each other to claim it. Although I can hear it, it does not control me. You must trust me. If we do not work together, this trap will kill us. Erasmus, the final orb.”
The Preachán came the rest of the way down. As soon as his boots touched the floor, the creature shifted and started at him with slow, shuddering movements. Erasmus covered the final orb, plunging the chamber in darkness.
The creature stopped.
Paedrin breathed out, releasing the pent-up frustration and panic. He felt strange, his emotions jumbled. He wanted to kiss Hettie. He wanted to kill Annon. He wanted to drown Erasmus in the waterfall. The feelings were violent and went against every aspect of Bhikhu precepts. He struggled with his feelings, trying to control his breathing.
“Annon?” Hettie whimpered. “I feel sick…”
Paedrin heard the grunt in the darkness, then a muffled voice muttering, “It is too heavy.”
“Quickly, Druidecht,” Erasmus said, his voice sounding pained.
Annon’s voice rang out sharply. “Goule. Obey me. Open the trap door.”
The creature shuddered again and slowly returned to the alcove. There was a grating, grinding noise as the lid was dragged away. A hiss emerged in the room. There was light in the alcove, and Paedrin saw Annon’s face bathed in the silvery light. He stared at the dark space, his eyes wide with surprise. Then he reached inside his belt pouch, uncinched the drawstrings, and withdrew a set of sturdy gloves. After tugging them on, he reached gingerly into the pit.
The feelings intensified within Paedrin. Thoughts and images rushed through his mind that shocked him with their intensity and depravity. He trembled against the rush of feelings the images produced.
Annon lifted a silver dagger from the depths of the pit. There was a white stone embedded in the blade guard, one that glowed with a ghostlike light. Annon stared at it in awe and fear, his eyes widening with horror. Then slowly, deliberately, he withdrew a sheath from the pit and slid the blade inside.
The three glass orbs cracked, leaking a glowing reddish mist that dissipated, stealing the light slowly as the mist began to disperse.
There was a release of the emotions as the blade snicked inside the sheath. Its control vanished. The images in Paedrin’s mind disappeared. He breathed a sigh of relief. Never before had thoughts such as those tormented him. He had not been able to control the surge of them.