Page 49 of The Ordeals
She walks through the doorway and disappears. I stutter to a halt, just before crossing the threshold.
‘Tessa?’ I call out, peering around the doorway. Silence. Like she walked through the door and entered a room elsewhere. The room must be under some kind of illusion, meaning this is clearly the start of the second Ordeal. But does that mean it’s also a portal to somewhere else, like Hess set up for the first, or are all the hopefuls really in this hall, milling about in some kind of odd illusion? I bite my lip, thinking through what I have in my pockets. Am I prepared? I shuffle through them, finding my switchblade, a folded piece of paper and a pen. Nothing else.
The one thing I’ve read in my research about these kinds of all-encompassing illusions is that I need something that only I know I have, something to keep me grounded in reality, to know when I’m in an illusion. I brush my fingers again over the folded paper and the pen and pull them both out. Then I write a single name, one only I would know, one that could not be altered and manipulated by another’s illusion.
Dolly Love.
Then I sniff, pocket the notepaper and the pen, and face the threshold once more. I need to find Alden, and keep an eye out for Tessa and Greg as well. We promised to look out for each other, and I always keep my promises.
‘Bona fortuna,’ I murmur.
Then I step over the threshold into the second Ordeal.
Chapter 16
Of Gargoyles and Illusions
Istumble straight into a hedge. There’s a gaunt, sickly kind of light here, filtering down from between miserable clouds over the tall hedge, a wall of greens and darkness. Spinning around, I find the sea at my back. Endless grey sea, mirroring the clouds above. Taking a step towards the water, I find the ground slopes down and away … into sharp, jagged rocks.
‘So not that way then,’ I mutter, turning back to the hedge, unsure yet if this is all an illusion, or just some parts.
There’s nothing and no one in either direction, just a wall of hedge bordered by churning sea and I am standing on a narrow path between them both. I brush my fingers over the switchblade in my pocket, then over the folded piece of paper. Drawing it out, I check the name written on it, before quickly secreting it back in my pocket. The pen is still there too, all present and correct. I’m still in my own body; this is not someone else’s illusion.
This is real.
The hedge twists in both directions, with no discernible path I must take. I choose to walk left. As I brush my hand along the hedge, the twigs and small green leaves rasp against my palm and a sea breeze kicks up, ruffling along it. I hear a sound, a low keening. It seems to be coming from the other side of the hedge. Would all the hopefuls have emerged at this point? Surely Tessa wasn’t so farahead of me. But maybe … maybe she is on the other side of this hedge. Maybe I have to find a way to get through.
I quicken my pace, rounding a curve cut into this towering wall of leaf and twig and almost stumble as it simply stops. An opening. I take a step back, finding the opening is flanked by stone pillars and sitting atop them …
‘Hello, beauties,’ I say softly, taking a half-step away from their stony facades.
Gargoyles.
Squat, winged creatures with gnarled teeth and clawed paws, pot-bellied and supposedly quite vicious. They were used to guard some of the finer homes across the territory a generation or so back, but when one attacked and killed a child, they were swiftly outlawed in Kellend. Dolly told me about one once, how Banks pulled up to a house with a mark inside and she had to do some very quick thinking for them to allow her inside.
Now all you will find are replicas, imitations of the gargoyles that used to stand sentry. But these creatures don’t appear to be mere carvings made of stone. A pulse throbs at the throat of the one on the right, and as I eye the one on the left, I notice the scrape marks on the pillar where it’s pawed at it with its claws. There are no glints, no glimmers, not a single thread of magic woven through them.
These gargoyles are very much real.
I swallow, trying to appear calm as my gaze flits between them. They will only let me through if I am allowed to enter, if their master or mistress (whoeverthatmay be) has deemed me a guest. I press my lips together, wondering how I can judge this situation, and what information I might glean. You can ask a gargoyle three questions, and they must answer honestly. Butonlythree. And if you try to enter their guarded domain without being invited, well … those vicious little claws can shred you to ribbons.
‘Is this the entrance to the second Ordeal?’ I ask.
The gargoyle on the left blinks. My breath catches in my throat as it turns its head towards me, the scraping sound of stone on stone, making me wince. ‘It is.’
‘And am I …’ I hesitate for a moment, but I’m sure this is the right second question to ask ‘… welcome to enter?’
The gargoyle to the right stretches one paw, its sharp claws clicking on the pillar as it regards me. ‘You are, Sophia DeWinter.’
I release a charged breath. ‘Good. Now, I have a third question. What lies beyond this entrance?’
‘A maze,’ the gargoyle on the left says. ‘A maze of green with a heart at the middle that you must reach. Many false ends and twisting turns. Creatures that may or may not be real.’
Interesting.
‘Thank you for your time, and for allowing me through,’ I say, bowing my head and moving to step past them.
‘Beware the cold ones,’ the gargoyle on the right suddenly says. I look swiftly up, finding its gaze boring into mine. ‘We did not let them through.’
