The Cursed Tower Read online

  “Of course there are,” Ethan remarked. “Tower of the Seven Stars, seven houses, what’s next, seven privies?”

  Alivia ignored his snark and looked instead to Richard. “You must select one house.”

  Richard chewed his cheek as he thought. He remained seated in the chair. “House Arreat.”

  Alivia nodded. “It is decided. You may pursue study of the Longclaw discipline after a year, but you will forever remain a member of House Arreat.”

  Richard stood. “You gonna go next, Ethan, so I can see you cry?”

  Ethan folded his arms. “I’m a gentleman. Ladies first.”

  Emma rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to punch him in the shoulder. “Fine, I’ll go.”

  “No, I should,” Kylie interrupted, stepping in front of Emma and turning to face her. “You’ve done so much for me, it’s only right that I...”

  “It’s not a life and death matter,” Emma argued. “The order doesn’t matter.” She lowered her voice and offered a smile. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

  Kylie nodded slowly and stepped aside.

  Emma approached the chair and sat. Like before, Alivia restrained her wrists and moved to lower the helmet down. “Do not be afraid,” she said.

  “I won’t,” Emma said, surprising herself that she meant it. She’d faced far more dangerous things than a chair. What was the worst that could happen?

  The helmet descended and darkness with it. A low hum began from behind and an instant later her vision was filled with a blinding white light.

  Chapter 2

  Emma raced through the forest. She winced as she brushed a thorn bush, causing a cut on her forearm. Her chest heaved as she ignored the pain and leapt over a log. A vicious roar from behind shook the surrounding leaves. She had to keep going, though she didn’t know why. It will kill me, she thought, though she couldn’t remember what “it” was. Still she ran. Run was the sole thought in her mind, an overriding thought disallowing any other thoughts to intrude for long.

  The forest ended abruptly, as if the land were sliced by a knife. Before her lay an arena. Without thought she ran onto the gritty sand, then turned around. The forest was gone, replaced by a brick wall. What forest? She held a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, though she couldn’t remember how they came to be there. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was like trying to hold a fish, a lesson she’d learned the one time her father took she and Ethan fishing near Ironforge. The memory of that day when she’d caught a fish and tried snatching it disappeared as quick as it came, replaced with fear once more as the thing approached from behind a large wooden door on the other side of the arena. The door shattered, sending splinters flying across the arena. Emma raised her shield and both felt and heard the impact of shards against it.

  She lowered the shield and beheld a monster. The creature with red skin, standing twice as tall as her brother, stood on two hoofed feet, had the torso and arms of a man and the head of a bull, with horns arcing out and pointed skyward. It held a double-bladed axe in its massive hands. It threw back its head and bellowed, causing the arena to shake. Emma quivered in fear, her hands threatening to drop the sword and shield. How could she stand against such a thing?

  Use magic, a voice in her head said. Magic? She didn’t possess magic. No, all she had were mundane weapons. She was going to die. It would all be for nothing. Her family would... did she have a family? She couldn’t remember.

  The bull-man interrupted her ruminations by pawing at the ground, lowering its head and charging. Dust streamed behind him and he raised his axe as he ran.

  Emma raised her shield, preparing for a strike. Wait, she, a sixteen-year-old girl, couldn’t stand against a blow from such a beast. What was she thinking? She tossed the shield aside and ran toward the monster. Something inside told her the best chance for survival was to be faster than the beast. When she was a few feet away her opponent swung his axe. She changed her speed and dodged the strike, coming up behind it. She slashed at his calf and the sword hit home, slicing through flesh and hitting bone.

  The creature roared in anger and limped, turning toward her. It took a step and stumbled before catching itself. But its axe slipped from its grip and slid to the ground. It struggled to take another step but roared in pain and collapsed under its weight.

  Emma stepped forward cautiously and kicked the axe behind her. Then she crept further toward the man-bull and raised her sword. Now was the moment. No, a voice said in the back of her mind. A mage is merciful.

  I'm not a mage! She shouted back in her mind. Here she was, arguing with herself about morality. Where had she gotten such a delusion from?

  Still, she didn't lower the sword. It shook in her hands as her mind said thrust and her body refused. She blinked and studied her opponent.

  The creature moaned in pain, its ferocity gone. But it would have had no qualms about murdering her. Wait, what was that? She leaned closer, holding the sword to the side. A collar around its neck. Was it a slave? Perhaps it was attacking her at its master’s command. She bit her lip and raised the sword again. She slammed it down. Clang, the iron shattered, and the collar fell in pieces to the ground.

  Shocked expression on its face, the creature looked up at her. It groaned in a different tone, one reminiscent of a question. “Why?” The tone seemed to ask.

  “Because you are not my enemy,” she said, casting the sword aside and feeling braver than she ever recalled being, which wasn't saying much.

  She turned around, intending to walk away.

  The landscape changed. She stood before a golden door. She turned again but the sand and the monster were gone. Had they ever really been there?

  “Ah, a visitor,” a voice came from behind.

  Emma spun to find a giant golden cat of some sort sitting in front of her. Its green eyes studied Emma. “What are you?” She asked, tensing and wishing she possessed a weapon. Hadn't she had one? She put a hand to her head. It was so difficult to remember.

  “I am the Sphinx,” it replied.

  “Why are you here?”

  “To test you, child. Answer my riddle correctly and you may choose a door. Answer it incorrectly and you shall face death.”

  “Death from what?” Emma asked. She didn't see anything around.

  “Why, from me, my dear.” The Sphinx stretched and opened its mouth wide, revealing two rows of jagged, sharp teeth. “Are you ready?”

  Emma swallowed. She didn't have a choice. “Yes.”

  “This thing of all things destroys, implacable. Creatures of sea and sky, of land and star. Chews iron, shreds steel. Pummels hard stone to dust. Kills kings, buries towns, and grinds mountains down. What is it?”

  “How many tries do I get?”

  “Three.”

  Emma thought hard. “Water.” A flood could kill many things. The Bible told of a worldwide flood.

  “Wrong,” the Sphinx said, rising to its feet. “Water cannot affect the stars or creatures of the sea.”

  Emma took a step back. “Magic.” She didn't believe in magic, but the thought just came to her.

  “Wrong again.” The Sphinx took steps toward her until its maw was inches away from Emma's face. “One more and you become my supper.”

  Think, Emma, think. Wind, earth, fire? No. A monster? Man?

  Fear settled in her heart. She didn't want to die, didn't want to leave her family. What family? Did she have a family?

  No, this won't be the end, she told herself. An image drifted into her mind’s eye. A clock, with its arms spinning around, ticking as it told time. That was it! “Time!” She blurted out.

  The Sphinx bared its teeth...in a smile. “Correct. You may enter.” He stepped to the side.

  Emma, casting a sideways glance at the Sphinx as she passed, placed her hand on the door knob and opened the door. She stepped through and stood on a black metal platform. She spun but the golden door was gone. And so was...whatever had been behind it. She closed her eyes, trying to hold onto the fragments of memories but they slid away.

  “Emma,” her father’s voice called. She turned to find him tied to a stake, a pyre of wood surrounding him. Opposite him, her mother stood tied to an identical stake. A figure in a black hood stood between them, torch in hand.

  “What is this?” Emma asked. “How did you get here?” she asked her parents.

  “You must choose which of us to save, Emma,” her mother said. Panic laced her voice, like when Emma and her brother...wait, what brother? She didn’t have a brother. Like when she’d come face to face with a snake and her mother had come out to tell her to back away slowly and make no sudden movements.

  Tears welled up in Emma’s eyes. She couldn’t choose between her parents. That was an impossible choice. There is always a choice, a voice echoed in her head. A memory, of her father, telling her there was always a choice, no matter how difficult. More than that, there was always a right choice. She blinked away the tears, refusing to show weakness by wiping them. Instead she puffed up her chest and approached the hooded figure. She could not tell whether the person was male or female as the flames growing out from the torch licked the air, hungry for something to consume.

  Do the unexpected, the voice in her mind said. Do what your opponent will least expect. “I volunteer to take both their places.”

  “No!” her mother screamed.

  “You can’t do that!” her father shouted.

  “Yes, I can.” She kept her eyes locked on the darkness hiding the figure’s face. “Can’t I?”

  The hooded figure stood still, not moving their head.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She walked past the figure and a third pyre materialized beyond her parents’ pyres. The wind stood still
, a silent witness to her sacrifice. She climbed over the pyre and stood with her back pressed against the solid wood of the stake.

  The executioner turned slowly and walked toward her pyre. It stopped at the foot of it, holding the torch ready.

  “May I see your face, first?” Emma asked.

  With one hand, the mystery person pushed back their hood. Revealing...her face.

  Emma gasped. “No.”

  “Your sacrifice is noble,” her twin said in her voice. “But it is for naught.” The false Emma turned abruptly toward her father’s pyre, took three steps and thrust the torch toward the wood. It caught.

  “No!” the real Emma shouted. She struggled but found her hands restrained by rope. Where had the rope come from?

  The copy of her did not listen. It took several steps toward her mother’s pyre and repeated the action.

  Emma screamed, trying to fall to her knees but being forbidden by the tight binding of the rope. “Mother! Father!”

  “You killed us both,” her father condemned her. “All you had to do was choose.”

  “I thought I was being noble,” Emma sobbed.

  “You were being a foolish, naive child,” her mother scolded loudly over the crackling of the flames.

  Her mother’s words hit her like a punch to the gut and a slap in the face at once. Her heart raced, her palms began to sweat, and her throat constricted.

  I am detecting elevated heart rate. Are you in mortal peril?

  The voice would have made her jump had she not been tied up. “Who’s there?” she asked aloud. The voice sounded familiar...

  Do you require assistance to control the symptoms of your panic attack? The voice asked.

  “Panic attack? Who are you and where are you?”

  I am Shadow, your Neurological Interface Assistant. Have you received brain damage? I am receiving no optical stimulation through your eyes and can detect no external source for your anguish.

  “My parents are burning before my eyes!” Emma shouted to the unknown voice. “Can’t you see that?”

  One moment, please. Seconds later the voice returned in her head. I have located the source of the intrusion. Attempting to block access now.

  The scene before Emma flickered and her parents and their pyres disappeared. She blinked and found herself on the ground, facing her twin, who turned to stare at her in shock.

  “This is impossible,” the voice of not-Emma said. “You must make a choice.” The last word came out deeper in tone.

  Memories flooded Emma’s mind. The forest, the arena, the man-bull, the Sphinx, the golden door. All of it. She fell to her knees and clutched her head as minutes’ worth of moments flashed before her at once.

  Neural overload detected. Deploying dampeners. The torrent of memories shattered and were just...there, but no longer assailing her. She remembered. All of it. Her parents, her brother, the journey to Tar Ebon, the Tower of the Seven Stars...and the Sorting Chair. “I’m in the Sorting Chair.”

  I apologize for not detecting the intrusion sooner, m’lady. I have blocked manipulation of your memories, though I cannot physically break the connection yet. This is an advanced simulation device I have yet to encounter.

  Do what you can, Emma thought back. I don’t think it means to hurt me - it’s supposed to test me. If I pass its tests it may release me. “And you’re not real.” She pointed to the double of herself.

  “I am the avatar of the device called the Sorting Chair. You are being tested for selection of your house.”

  “It feels more like torture,” Emma shot back.

  “That is why memories are typically suppressed.” The avatar cocked its head to one side. “I do not understand how you are conscious of your current state.”

  “Now that the cat is out of the bag, why don’t you release me?”

  “I cannot end the simulation until you complete the final stage.”

  “Is this the final stage?”

  “This is the second-to-last stage.”

  “Fine. End this stage and let’s get on with it.”

  “This stage is not finished. You must choose a sacrifice to test your emotional strength.”

  Emma gritted her teeth, remembering the face of her father and mother as they burned. It’s not real, though. She looked the avatar in the eyes. “Bring them out again. Shadow, allow that. I will watch them both burn – will that satisfy you?” She spat on the ground.

  The avatar nodded, and the pyres returned, on fire like before. Her parents were bound to the stakes as they were before, only this time screaming.

  Emma stared straight ahead, at a point above the avatar’s head. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real, she repeated over and over. How could any normal person go through this and not be traumatized?

  The program is designed to wipe the memory of the student being tested after each test. You would not remember the trauma once the stage has ended.

  So, it’s okay to do this if the person doesn’t remember it? That doesn’t sound very ethical. She tried to put as much sarcasm into her tone as possible, though she suspected it was lost on Shadow. “You will not break me,” she said to the avatar. “I know this is not real.”

  “I am not here to judge you,” the avatar of the Sorting Chair said. “I am here to determine what houses best suit you.”

  “And don’t you have to judge me to do that?”

  “I make assessments of your character and capabilities based upon your reactions to stimuli. I do not judge your reactions.”

  “So, you’re making an assessment of me right now, based on how I act to my parents burning in front of my eyes?”

  “And your resourcefulness in using another artificial intelligence to circumvent my programming.”

  He gives me too much credit, there, she thought. She hadn’t asked for Shadow and didn’t even fully understand what he was. “So what houses will you suggest for me?”

  “You have not yet completed your trials. It is premature for me to render my determination at this moment.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. This avatar reminded her of Shadow. Very by-the-book and rule-oriented. “Fine. Can you speed up the flames?”

  “The burn rate is calculated to match that of reality. It was determined by my programmer that a realistic burning scenario would elicit the most visceral, truthful responses from the student.”

  “Gee, I wish I could meet your programmer,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. What sort of sick person would create such tests?

  “You may indeed meet him one day. My records indicate he is still alive.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Would you like to know his name?”

  “No.” Because then I might be tempted to seek him out and kill him. Anger, visceral rage, bubbled up in her. Whose brilliant idea was it to imprison students in a dream-like state where they were tortured four times and left with no memory of the trauma? The anger washed away any sadness at watching her parents die and she watched dispassionately as the flesh melted from their bones and their charred remains crumbled to the ground.

  When the last flame vanished, an indeterminable amount of time later, for time worked differently here, even with her memory restored, the avatar spoke. “The third trial is complete.” The pyres disappeared, along with the remains of her parents. A glowing circle appeared on the ground behind her captor. “Please step into the circle to proceed to the fourth trial.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice,” Emma grumbled. She brushed past the body that looked like hers and intentionally hit the avatar with her shoulder. Or intended to, for her shoulder passed through the avatar as if it weren’t there. Great. A ghost is my captor.

  It is not a ghost. It is a holographic representation of the Sorting Chair’s central processing unit, Shadow replied.

  You can go back to being quiet now, Emma replied as she stepped into the center of the ring of light. Just keep me from forgetting all this, will you?

  I shall remain vigilant and silent.

  The world flashed around Emma and morphed into an indoor location. Stone walls, pillars, a high vaulted ceiling. Orbs of light floated high above her, spinning around one another in a metallic dance. What is this place? She wondered, hoping Shadow would not reply.