With a cry, he staggered to the side, and his left arm shredded before him, blood spraying forth to coat dozens of invisible sword blades.
Scorio blanched, mind reeling from the pain, tried to draw back behind the Nightmare Lady, but his ruined leg failed to comply. He lost his balance altogether and fell forward at last, off-center, and straight into a mass of other revolving blades.
His death was mercifully swift.
Chapter 35
As always, despite dying at different times, they both awoke upon their biers simultaneously. Scorio hissed, the agony growing familiar, muscles spasming as he clenched his jaw and screwed his eyes tightly shut. His left arm was aflame, his lower leg raw and throbbing, his chest where the final swarm of blades had pierced him a mess of cramps and fire.
But he’d been through this before, and the knowledge that the pain would pass helped him ride the waves, to breathe through it, and he labored to ignite his Heart until at long last it caught, and the spasms began to ease. Minutes later, he was able to sit up, the bitter taste of bile thick in his mouth, his pulse pounding still like the waves of an outraged sea.
Naomi was sitting cross-legged upon her bier, human once more, frowning with her eyes closed. The sound of his movement alerted her, and she raised her face to regard him, gaze solemn but unable to disguise the subtle flicker of excitement in their hazel depths.
“How far did you get?” asked Scorio, voice raw as if he’d been screaming.
“Two more chambers.” She was clearly trying to sound matter-of-fact. “The blades revolved quicker the closer I got to the end of the hall, and I was cut before reaching the end. Then came a room with a hidden pit trap that tried to suck me into it as I skirted its edge. Nearly got me.”
“And the last room?”
She frowned. “A monster. More rock than flesh, as large as…” She cast around, trying to find something to compare it to. “Six of these biers piled up together, say. My tail couldn’t get through its carapace. When I finally stabbed it in the gut, it seized my tail, drew me in, and crushed my head with one blow.”
“Damn,” whispered Scorio, trying to imagine something both that quick and strong. Just the thought made him feel dizzy.
“But I think I’ll get it next time,” smiled Naomi. “The trick is to dance around it, keep it changing directions. Wait for an opening and slash its side just below the armpit where it can’t grab at easily. It’s fast—amazingly fast—but I think I’m faster.”
Scorio attempted to return her smile. “You’re starting to see why I keep wanting to tackle the Gauntlet again and again.”
“I do. But if we attempt it once more, it won’t be as we did. You gained nothing from it.”
Scorio felt his face flush and wanted to argue, but had nothing to say.
“My shepherding you through your trials gains you an illusory sense of progress. No. Better next time that I kill one of the statues and then leave you to fight your own alone.”
He nodded reluctantly. His breathing was becoming ragged again, and sweat was running down the side of his face. With an effort, he kept his voice steady. “Fair. But how would I cross that room with the floating blocks? They were coming faster at me than I could follow.”
“That was my fault, I believe.” She sat up a little straighter. “My presence triggered the room to a higher level of lethality. A Cinder alone, or a group of Cinders, should face slower attacks.”
“That’s good to hear.” Scorio leaned against the bier for support as a wave of weakness passed through him. “Any advice on how to tackle that room, though?”
“It’s like being attacked by six people at once,” said Naomi. “You can’t keep track of them all. If you try to, you’ll just spin in circles, leaving you even more open and vulnerable.”
“So?”
“So, instead, you relax. You learn to trust your peripheral vision and your own danger senses. You move forward quickly and confidently, and trust that your instincts will guide you.”
“My instincts will sense blocks the size of my fist flying at me from the side?”
Her smile was almost cruel. “Not at first. But eventually. Do you really think I saw every block that flew at us and directed my tail consciously to intercept them all?”
“I… actually did.” He smiled with chagrin. “I guess not?”
“No. The higher you progress, the more you will rely on instinct, reflexes, and muscle memory. You will direct your actions, of course, but there comes a threshold when you have to trust your body to act without overt commands.”
He felt feverish, his pulse pounding erratically once more, but Scorio pushed aside those concerns. “And you’re there, already? As an Emberling?”
She grimaced. “I’ve set my foot upon the path. A Tomb Spark is as far ahead of me as I am from you.”
Scorio chewed on his lip for a moment as he considered. “Can’t quite imagine. But I’ll take your word for it. Want to go again?”
Naomi chuckled, her heavy drapes of hair swinging back and forth as she shook her head in amusement. “You do know that you’re paying a price for this?”
“Sure,” said Scorio, waving a hand as if pushing her concerns aside, then blinked as she fell out of focus. “The pain takes a toll on the body.”
“Not just the body. But beyond that, it’s not safe to just lie here for hours unguarded. We’re still in the ruins, Scorio. All it would take was one predator stumbling upon us when we reappeared, all wracked in agony and unable to defend ourselves, for this experiment to end.”
Scorio grimaced and looked around the dark mausoleum, dragging his patch of darkvision across the numerous biers and the distant, partially collapsed balconies that ringed the huge walls. “Fair. What are you proposing, then?”
“That we don’t remain here long enough to attract attention.” She gathered her thick hair in both hands, twisted it into a rough spiral, and dropped it behind one shoulder. “Or that I remain on watch while you go in.”
“You would wait?”
“For a while. I know you’re intent on running the Gauntlet again. Better you do it safely than die because I grew impatient.”
“Then let’s give it another go now.”
“No,” she said, her tone final.
Pressure immediately built up in his chest. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no.” Her gaze was stern, unyielding. “Look at you. You’re soaked in sweat. You can barely stand. Your gaze keeps going in and out of focus. How many times have you died today?”
“How many?” He blinked at her. “Six? Seven?”
“That’s enough. I’ve humored you and satisfied my curiosity both by coming here. Now we’re going back.”
Scorio snarled silently but was forced by a wave of vertigo to lean his brow down upon the bier, eyes closed, as he fought to keep his balance. “Just one more. I swear it. One more and we can go back.”
“One more and I’ll be forced to carry you back,” said Naomi. “No. We’re leaving now.”
Scorio hammered his fist down upon the bier and willed himself to get it together. For his breath to smooth out, for his heart to stop pounding, for his skin to stop prickling.
But it didn’t.
Finally, his shoulders slumped. “Fine.”
“Then let’s get going. It’s a long walk home.”
With an effort he straightened, wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and turned to follow her as Naomi weaved a path through the biers.
His feet were clumsy, and he seemed to kick and trip over every errant piece of rock or fragment in shadows. A headache began to pulse behind his eyes, and he couldn’t quite catch his breath, as if he’d continuously just finished sprinting to outdistance an enemy.
Naomi led them back through the Academy, her footsteps silent as before, pausing again and again to turn and wait for him to catch up. Each time he did, he wanted to mutter something bitter about her not needing to slow down for him, but he didn’t have the breath.