"For without mastery of ourselves, we become monsters."
"Shameful and ashamed, hiding in the darkness."
"But we are the sons and daughters of Orholam."
"We are Orholam's gift, expressions of his love."
"His law."
"His mercy."
"His truth."
"Thus we stand unashamed, clothed in his righteousness."
The sub-red stepped forward, pulled off his mask, and stepped out of his robe. He was a young man, muscular, handsome, and naked. "Casting off wrath, I am patience," the sub-red said. He lifted his hands and, even without looking into the sub-red, it was clear that he was drafting. The air shimmered with heat around his whole body. "Orholam's will be done."
The red stepped forward, pulled off her mask, and stepped out of her robe. She was young, athletic, beautiful, and also naked. Kip's eyes widened. He tried to hold them to her face.
Somber ceremony, Kip. Orholam's watching, Kip. Straight to hell, Kip.
"Casting off gluttony, I am temperance," the red said. She lifted her hands and red luxin blossomed through her entire body, eyes, face, down her neck to her breasts, nipples, firm tight stomach, breasts, nipples-Kip! In an instant, she was like a statue, every bit of her skin dyed a perfect red. "Orholam's will be done," she said.
The orange stepped forward. A man, mercifully. "Casting off greed, I am charity," he said. Lifting his hands, he turned a gleaming orange. "Orholam's will be done."
Yellow said, "Casting off sloth, I am diligence. Orholam's will be done." Her body filled with sparkling yellow light.
The green was a disconcertingly if appropriately curvaceous woman who looked Kip hard in the eye. That helped as she disrobed. He thought she might slap his head off if he looked at her generous-oops. "Casting off lust, I am self-control," she said. "Orholam's will be done."
The blue disrobed. "Casting off envy, I am kindness," she said softly. "Orholam's will be done."
The superviolet was the last man, and he was enormously muscular. "Casting off pride, I am humility," he said in a booming voice. "Orholam's will be done."
As one, they brought their hands down and pointed them at Kip's feet. Sprays of pure color blasted the black circle he stood on. It began to rumble and rattle beneath his feet. Then, abruptly, the disk of rock began sinking into the floor-and Kip with it.
In moments, Kip was down to his butt. But the hole was too narrow. His fat caught on the sharp sides of the floor. He had to shimmy just to fit, and as the hole deepened, either his stomach or his butt was pressing against a wall.
"Raise your right hand," the superviolet said.
As Kip did, swallowing convulsively, he saw a rope dropping all the way from a ceiling so high above that he couldn't see past the glare of its brightness. The superviolet caught the rope and put the knotted end in Kip's upraised hand.
"Pull the rope, and it ends," the man said. He had something akin to kindness in his voice.
Then Kip was fully in the hole, and still going down. He stopped below the floor. The light high above in the testing chamber went out. Kip could see nothing.
He tried to take a deep breath, but the chamber was so tight he couldn't even draw a full breath.
There were whispered voices above him. "Dees, will you run this test for me?"
A man's voice replied, awkward, "I've never run one before, my lord. You know, I think we set the tube too narrow. He's fat. He could suffocate."
"He's the Prism's bastard."
"So? He's not here."
"So accidents happen. But I can't be here when they do. The Prism knows I hate him. He doesn't know you. So if an accident happens on your watch-"
Kip couldn't hear the rest because water started pouring over his head. Cold, first a dribble, then a steady stream. It ran down the back of his neck to where his back was pressed tight against the walls. The walls around him pulsed an intense blue. Dear Orholam, they were going to kill him to get back at his father. Just like Gavin had warned him.
The water pooled around his middle. He was too fat for it to drain down to his feet, he sealed the whole tube. Kip's heart was pounding. The intense light emanating through the walls burned from blue down into green, through the whole spectrum in order, even through heat, and then faded into nothing again as the water reached Kip's neck.
Up to his ear. He pushed his body hard against the side of the chamber, and a gap opened between his hip and the wall. The pooled water poured down to his feet. But it kept coming from above.
For a few moments, he was able to intermittently push against the wall and make it drain once more, but soon he was awash, nearly floating. He pushed against the wall again, and the water didn't drain at all. There was nowhere for it go.
The water rose once more to his left shoulder, which was trapped down even as his right was trapped up. Then up to his neck. His left ear.
He didn't notice when the walls pulsed superviolet, but then they passed through blue, to green as the water rose to his chin, to yellow as it touched his lips, orange as it covered his lips-was the water falling more slowly on his head now? He took deep breaths through his nose, wriggled to try to use his body's wedged-in position to climb higher in the tube, and found that there were straps above his shoulders, keeping him down.
This was insanity. Someone was trying to kill him. Kip had to ring the bell. His fingers were claws around the rope. He could try again when there wasn't a murderer around.
No. Quitting meant being put out. It meant failing.
There was barely time to take one last deep breath before the water covered Kip's nose.
The falling water pelting his head abruptly ceased. Kip could imagine it now: "He was so fat, he trapped the water. It wasn't supposed to be that high. We didn't put too much water in… he just panicked. You know, a child, trapped and afraid. He must not have even thought to pull the rope."
So that was it. He either quit and shamed his father more than his very existence already did, or his father's enemies did their best to kill him.
Holding his breath, his lungs just beginning to burn, there was a sudden, stark clarity to the world: pull the rope, go home.
But, there was no home. So, pull the rope, and go farm… somewhere. Or stay, and maybe die. Fail here, and he failed his father and his mother. Fail here, and he was a failure forever.
I'm not pulling the rope.
The chamber went black. The water got hot from the sub-red light, but then even that faded.
I don't like farming. Kip coughed out some of his air, laughing, the thought was so inane. But the pain rapidly squelched wry humor. He couldn't make his heart slow. He couldn't stop his throat from swallowing convulsively, his chest from pumping on nothing. I'm not pulling the rope, damn you. I'm not pulling the rope.
Something shifted. At first, Kip thought it was the water pouring out, but it wasn't. The ground below him was rising, but the stops above his shoulders stayed in place, crushing him in place. The water, far from draining, simply rose up his raised arm. In moments, he squatted down, pushed against his own knees. It squeezed him and he coughed, the last of his breath bubbling out.
He was trying to hold on to nothing. Breathing the water in would be worse than breathing nothing at all, he knew it. He knew it and yet his body overwhelmed him and he sucked a breath in. The water was hot, sharp, acrid in his lungs. He gagged, hunched even tighter against his own knees, his body ripping itself apart. He coughed and, miraculously, water shot out of his mouth into air, blessed, glorious, free, beautiful air!
Gasping, spitting, retching, and still compressed into a ball, Kip breathed. He could breathe! Mostly. His knees hurt from being squashed tighter than his not-so-flexible joints would allow. His back hurt. His ribs hurt. But Orholam, the air was good. If only he could get a full breath.
Nothing happened. It was still utterly black. Kip was sweating now. He was packed in here. It was getting hotter by the second and he was still dripping wet. The colors flashed past him, through the whole spectrum again.