Chapter 46: Trial of Weights (Part 2)

  "We need a plan," I say, forcing my racing thoughts into order. "We need to cross all eight of these spheres. And we need to do it fast."

  Kor'ik is about to say something when Thrak'zul interrupts, gesturing at his shattered leg, then at Gorvash's splinted arms. "Must make trips. Multiple crossings."

  He's right. Even at full health, moving eight spheres of wildly varying weights would require careful planning. In our current state, it's going to demand everything we have left.

  I kneel beside the scattered spheres, organizing them by approximate weight. The lightest goes in one group and the heaviest in another. The six middle-weights arrayed between them.

  "We split them," I say, the strategy forming as I speak. "Four spheres per trip. Balance the weight distribution between both bridges so neither drops too far or rises too high."

  "And we must balance ourselves too," Kor'ik adds, catching on. "Our body weight affects the bridges as much as the spheres."

  I nod. "Exactly. So we need to think about who carries what, and which bridge they use. Gorvash, you're the heaviest of us. Thrak'zul next, then me, then Kor'ik."

  We spend precious minutes working out the distribution. The hourglass sand continues its steady fall, maybe a quarter gone already. The golems' eyes grow brighter with each passing moment.

  Finally, we develop a plan. Crude, imperfect, but workable.

  First crossing: I take the heaviest sphere on the right bridge and Thrak'zul carries the second-lightest on the same bridge with me. On the left, Gorvash and Kor'ik will transport the two middle-weight spheres together.

  "Ready?" I ask, though none of us are ready for anything.

  Gorvash nods. Thrak'zul grunts in affirmation. Even Kor'ik manages a shaky gesture of agreement.

  I try to lift the crystalline nightmare and it is almost too heavy. Both my arms and legs strain with the devastating weight. Beside me, Thrak'zul hoists a wooden one with ease, but we need to count for his injured leg.

  On the other bridge, Gorvash directly bites one sphere to secure it, while Kor'ik clutches another to his chest.

  "Together," I say. "Slow and steady. Watch the runes."

  We step onto the bridges simultaneously.

  The mechanism responds immediately. My bridge drops as the combined weight of Thrak'zul's bulk and my heavy sphere press down. The left bridge rises in counterpoint, Gorvash's considerable mass not quite enough to match our load. But we calculated well, and neither bridge moves dramatically. The motion is controlled, predictable.

  We advance carefully. Each step sends vibrations through the chains overhead, the pulley system groaning under the strain. I try very hard not to look down.

  Due to his shattered leg, the prince can't keep a good pace, but he keeps moving. One foot in front of the other. By the middle of the bridge my breathing becomes labored, each muscle protesting in agony.

  On the parallel bridge, Gorvash moves with surprising grace despite his broken arms. The warrior has learned to use his entire body for balance, his thick tail serving as a counterweight. Kor'ik shuffles beside him, eyes fixed on his feet rather than the yawning chasm below.

  Three-quarters across. The hourglass sand has maybe half its volume left. We're making good time, but we'll need to move faster on the return trip and the second crossing.

  The far platform is identical to our starting point, but with one crucial addition. Where our side had pedestals, this side has a statue. Massive, easily twelve feet tall, carved in the same style as everything else in these ruins. It depicts a figure with eight arms, each hand held at a different height, palms open and waiting.

  Most probably another puzzle lock.

  I set my sphere down carefully, my shoulder screaming relief at losing the weight. As I release it, my bridge lurches upward slightly, freed from my burden. Gorvash and Kor'ik reach the platform moments later, depositing their spheres with visible relief. Their bridge drops a fraction as they unload.

  "Back," Thrak'zul gasps, already turning toward the bridges. "Need... other four."

  And so we immediately start moving.

  The return trip is worse. We're weaker, more exhausted, and the bridges respond to our diminished weight differently than before. The right bridge rises higher than expected without the spheres to anchor it, forcing us to climb an incline as we hurry back. The left bridge drops correspondingly, giving Gorvash and Kor'ik a downward slope that makes their footing treacherous.

  By the time we reach our starting platform, the hourglass is far past the halfway point.

  "Four more," I say, grabbing the next sphere in our planned sequence. "Same formation. Move fast but be careful."

  The second crossing begins poorly.

  I'm carrying another heavy sphere, though not quite as massive as the first. Thrak'zul after some protest accepted the lightest one. On the left bridge, Kor’ik carries one of the medium-weighted spheres, while Gorvash struggles with another with higher weight.

  The distribution is wrong from the start.

  Our right bridge starts rising just as Thrak'zul and I step onto it, my sphere being unable to keep it down as we anticipated. The left bridge moves downward in response, the higher load unable to counterbalance us. Gorvash roars in alarm as his platform tilts at a sharp angle.

  "Keep moving!" I shout, though I'm not sure if it's good advice or terrible advice.

  We push forward. Each step is a gamble. The bridges swing wildly, overcorrecting with every shift in our positions. Behind me, Thrak'zul's breathing comes in ragged gasps. His injured leg is failing him, each stride more uneven than the last.

  On the left bridge, Kor'ik is having the worst of it. His webbed feet slip on the smooth stone, and I can see his arms trembling from the strain of holding his sphere.

  We're a quarter of the way across when I see we will clearly cross the blue runes.

  Our right bridge is rapidly approaching the upper set of glowing marks carved into the chasm walls. And the left bridge is falling too low, descending toward the lower ones.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "We need to shift weight!" I call out. "Gorvash, move faster! Loose some weight on your side!"

  But Gorvash can't move faster. With his broken arms, he's using his mouth to carry the sphere, which means he can't call out warnings or adjust his balance properly. He's already at his limit.

  Halfway across. The bridges continue their divergence with each passing second and the hourglass shows maybe a quarter of its sand remaining.

  "Drop your sphere!" I shout to Kor'ik. "Lighten the left side!"

  But the translator shakes his head, eyes wide with panic. "Can't! puzzle…"

  He's right. We need all eight spheres for whatever mechanism awaits on the far platform. Leaving one behind means failure.

  The blue runes loom closer on both sides. We're going to hit them. We're going to trigger the golems with dozens of feet still to cross.

  "FASTER!" Thrak'zul's roar cuts through my panic.

  I run. Or try to. My injured shoulder makes every movement agony, the sphere's weight threatening to topple me sideways into the chasm. Behind me, I hear Thrak'zul's ragged breathing, the scrape of his dragging leg against stone.

  On the parallel bridge, Gorvash has given up on careful placement. He simply charges forward, his considerable bulk making the bridge drop precipitously. Kor'ik scrambles after him, eyes wide with terror as the platform tilts beneath him.

  Twenty feet from the far platform. Fifteen.

  The left bridge is about to rise above the upper rune line.

  The golems' eyes flare brilliant white. Their stone bodies shift, ancient joints grinding as they prepare to move.

  Then, impossibly, our bridge surges downward.

  I'm thrown off balance by the sudden change in momentum, nearly pitching over the edge. Only Thrak'zul's weight behind me keeps me from falling, his bulk pressing me forward even as he staggers.

  Ten feet. Five.

  I don't see what causes the correction until I reach the platform and spin around.

  ____________________________________________________________________________

  Kor'ik is gone.

  His sphere rolls on the platform, safely delivered. But the Frogman himself has leaped from the ascending left bridge to the final platform, his powerful legs carrying him across the remaining gap in a desperate gamble. The loss of his considerable body weight caused the left bridge to plummet back down, away from the deadly runes.

  But now he's clinging to the edge of the platform, his webbed fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick stone.

  "KOR'IK!" Gorvash's bellow echoes through the chamber.

  Thrak'zul and I drop our spheres and dive for the translator. Our hands close around his arms just as his grip fails. Together, we haul him up onto the platform, all of us collapsing in a tangle of limbs and gasping breaths.

  The golems' eyes have dimmed again. We'd pulled back from the threshold. Barely.

  "I'm sorry," Kor'ik sobs into the stone. "I couldn't hold on. I was slipping. I thought if I jumped—"

  "You saved us," Thrak'zul interrupts firmly. "Your jump brought balance. We all live because of you."

  The prince's words seem to steady the translator somewhat. The sobbing slows to shaky breathing.

  I push myself to my feet, every muscle screaming in protest. The hourglass shows only few slivers of sand remaining. We don't have time for rest.

  "The statue," I say, forcing myself to focus. "Eight hands at different heights. Eight spheres of different weights."

  I approach the massive carved figure, studying the placement of its outstretched arms. The lowest hand is barely two feet off the ground. The highest is well above my head. The others are spaced between them at irregular intervals.

  "It's a matching puzzle," Kor'ik says, pulling himself together. "Weight should correspond to height. The heaviest sphere goes in the lowest hand. The lightest in the highest."

  “But what if it is the other way around?” I ask, considering the possibility.

  "Not think much," Thrak'zul states simply.

  I nod. Ok, let's go for the more basic proposition.

  Still, the execution will be tricky, we need to place them in the correct order, and some of the higher positions are almost out of reach.

  "We need to match each sphere to its proper hand," I say, scanning our collection. "By weight and elevation."

  I grab the heaviest sphere, my crystalline burden from the first crossing and examine the hands. The lowest one seems obvious, but I need to be certain. I heft another heavy sphere, comparing. Yes, the crystalline one is definitely the heaviest.

  "Start with the extremes," Kor’ik suggests. "Heaviest to lowest. Lightest to highest. Then work inward."

  The middle weights will be harder to distinguish, but if we establish the bookends first, we can compare the remaining spheres more easily.

  I test each sphere quickly, building a mental ranking. The crystalline one is heaviest. Then comes a dense metallic sphere that feels like solid iron. A stone one follows. The wooden spheres vary, some appear hollow, some solid. The lightest is made of some kind of lightweight mineral that barely weighs more than air.

  The hourglass is almost empty.

  We work in frantic coordination despite our injuries.

  "Start placing!" I call out. "Heaviest at the bottom!"

  I hoist the crystal sphere, staggering under its weight as I lift it toward the statue's lowest hand. The sphere settles into the carved palm with a satisfying click, and immediately the palm closes around it like stone fingers accepting an offering.

  One down.

  Gorvash brings the second-heaviest, grunting with effort as he lifts it into the next hand up. Another click as the palm accepts it.

  Two down.

  We work our way up the statue's arms, each sphere placed triggering the same response. Click. Stone fingers closing. Each time I hold my breath, waiting to see if we've chosen correctly. Each time the statue accepts the offering. The pattern holds. Weight and height fitting together in the puzzle's perfect logic.

  Six spheres placed. Seven. The hourglass has only a sliver of sand remaining, glowing grains rushing through the narrow passage like time bleeding away.

  "Last one!" Thrak'zul tosses the lightest sphere and I catch it awkwardly, my injured shoulder protesting as I stretch toward the statue's highest hand. The position is just out of my reach, even on tiptoes.

  "Lift me!" I shout.

  The prince doesn't hesitate. Despite his shattered leg and battered body, he bends and cups his webbed hands to create a foothold.

  I step into his grip, and he hoists me up with a strength that defies his injuries. My reaching fingers extend the final sphere toward the waiting palm.

  Click.

  The last grain of sand falls in the hourglass just as the stone fingers close around the lightest sphere.

  For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

  The Ancient Guardians stare at us with their glowing eyes. The statue remains frozen. The silence is absolute.

  Then the stone hands begin to pulse with inner light, each sphere illuminating in sequence from bottom to top. The light travels up the statue's arms like electricity through a circuit, growing brighter with each passing moment.

  The golems' eyes dim. Their stone bodies settle into dormant poses, threat neutralized.

  The bridges lock into place with a grinding clang, no longer suspended but secured, creating a permanent walkway across the chasm.

  We collapse. All of us. The relief is so profound it's almost painful.

  Gorvash laughs, a sound bordering on hysteria. "We did it. By the ancestors, we actually did it."

  Kor'ik is crying again, but this time from release rather than grief. "I thought we were all dead."

  "We should be dead," I say honestly, staring up at the impossible ceiling. "By any reasonable calculation, we should have failed."

  "Alive," Thrak'zul says simply.

  The main statue begins to move. The spheres begin to float and glow with dim light.

  Then the entire construct slides aside on hidden rails, revealing a passage beyond.