No. What surprises him is the Tree. Laying on his back, looking up, he sees layer upon layer of enormous branches receding into an infinite sky. Turning his head, he sees the Tree’s trunk. This close to him, it looks more like a slightly curved wall.
With a grunt, he sits up and looks around. A meadow full of flowers surrounds him, the field sloping down to the shore of a lake which surrounds the Tree. Not far up the distant trunk, a living girl is crucified, her head hanging down as she stares into the water. She looks familiar to him, but is too far away to truly identify.
A cough draws his attention. Off to his right is an odd little building: built completely out of wine barrels, it has three sides, a tarp for a roof, and a pair of planks set across the ends of two barrels serving as a countertop closing off the space.
Behind the counter is the ugliest - individual - that the boy has ever seen in his life. Its green-tinted body is grossly obese, with short pillar-like legs and long arms covered in rolls of fat. Naked except for a dirty loincloth, the creature has six breasts stretching ponderously down toward its waist. The face is bulbous - bulbous cheeks, bulbous lips, and protuberant eyes. A pair of tusks push up from its lower jaw.
Without a word, it sets an empty mug on the counter before it.
“What will you have to drink?” asks a woman’s voice from behind him.
He whirls around and is treated to another strange sight. A bier on a grassy knoll a short distance away, covered in ivory silk and cradling a woman. Snow White?
He walks up to her, his eyes drinking in her beauty: olive skin, oval face, delicate features with thin soft pink lips, dark blue hair cascading down in curls all the way to the ground beside the bier. He scans lower to admire her full bust and wide hips which flow seamlessly into the long sinuous tail of a snake. Covered in an intricate pattern of blue scales and flowing off the end of the bier, it curls up in the dark space underneath. A lamia.
“So beautiful,” he blurts out unthinkingly.
“I know, right? You’ve got good taste. Will you help me?” The voice is soft and gentle, projected directly into his mind.
“Sorry, but no.”
“Um…but I’m a damsel in distress. All I need is a little kiss…”
“Not a Hero. Sorry.”
“But…you said I’m beautiful. And I guarantee it will be the best kiss you’ve ever had…” The voice now sounds a bit petulant and put out.
“Beautiful as you are, it’s not a relevant point. And I’ve kissed a lot of girls. ”
“That sounds like a challenge. How about I sweeten the pot? What if I were to give you a Hero Blessing?”
“Don’t want one.” The boy is sadly lacking in ambition vis a vis being a Hero.
The voice gives a huge sigh, then asks, “Well what do you want?”
The boy smirks. “I desire only two things. Knowledge and surcease from pain.”
“Surcease, huh? Aren’t you Mr. Fancy Vocabulary. Well I can give you both of those … at a price.”
The boy seems interested this time. “Name the price.”
“The first is easy. You are in the Chamber of Trials. Undergo the Trial of Knowledge and you will gain access to knowledge of the past, the present, and the future.”
“Gain access to? Sounds iffy.”
“It is magic. Magic always comes with a price but this time the price will be one you can easily pay. Just like any other mage. Though I warn you that Knowledge can drive one mad.”
“Very well. Sounds fun. What form does the Trial of Knowledge take?”
“Tell the bartender that you want the Blood Mead. Then drink it.”
“That’s all?”
“Pretty much. After that comes the excruciating pain. If you survive, you will gain the Knowledge you seek.”
“I can handle pain. Pain is my life.”
“Your life has been good practice but - pardon the cliche - the pain you have previously experienced doesn’t hold a candle to the pain you will experience this day.”
“And if I refuse the Trial?”
“Sorry to be a wet blanket - listen to me, I’m just full of cliche idioms today - but you can’t refuse. You can ask for a lesser drink but it won’t satisfy you and will still come with some amount of pain.”
“Why can’t I refuse? This is all starting to sound like you’re a sadist.”
“It’s not me! I’m more of a light masochist.” The lamia’s cheeks turned a light pink. “Rrrhhemm! What I mean to say is that I didn’t send you here or organize the trial. I’m just the messenger.”
“And the bait, apparently,” the boy sighed. “Very well. And my second desire?”
“That’s easy. After you drink the drink, come over here and kiss me.”
“Sounds too good to be true. And a bit too convenient for you.”
“Oooh! Aren’t you the cocky one? There are complications and, of course, a price.”
The boy sighs again. “Why does everything you say make me sigh? What are the complications? And the price?”
“The complication is that you must kiss me on the lips before the pain from the drink ends. Sounds easy, but the pain will be quite … intense? That’s probably close to the word I’m looking for. Or maybe debilitating? Painful? … Yes, the pain will be quite painful for sure.”
“And the price?” The boy is clearly getting impatient with the lack of focus of his interlocutor.
“The price is simple. You must kiss a girl. When you do, your pain will go away for a time.”
“For a time. Any girl? Can I kiss my sister on the cheek, for example?”
“Nope. You have a reputation to live up to horn-dog. The kiss must be passionate in nature. The greater the passion and the longer the kissing event, the longer the surcease - teehee, great word, sounds really dirty - from pain will be.”
“Kissing event?”
“Well, yeah. Sometimes a couple shares a single deep longing kiss, or perhaps a selection of lighter playful kisses, or sometimes a man will kiss a woman in such a way as to …”
“Okay, I get it!” the boy interrupts her.
“And as an added bonus, if you kiss me - on the lips, mind you - before the pain from the drink would normally end, it will be canceled immediately. A win-win, as they say.”
“And once I kiss you? What happens? You wake up and … what?” This boy is obviously no stranger to the hidden pitfalls of fairy tale endings.
“Oooohhh! You want more? It’s just our first date, playboy!”
The boy sighs again. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Nope. Ask for the Blood Mead. Drink it. Feel the pain. Fight your way over to this beautiful sexy damsel in distress. Kiss me. Lose the pain, feel the pleasure. Trial complete.”
The boy does as she says, walking over to order the Blood Mead from the creature. A mug is dipped into an open barrel behind the counter and placed on the bar. Placing its ham-like hand over the mug, the bartender speaks in a deep gravelly voice, “State your name for the trial.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Ilarion Partidon.”
“What is it you desire?”
“I already told her …” Rio ducks down quickly stuffs his fingers in his ears as the creature opens its tusked maw wide and
After a moment, the bartender closes its mouth and gives a faint smile. “What is it you desire?”
“I desire … I desire … the option to forget. Sometimes and some things.”
With a grunt, the bartender removes its hand and Rio picks up the mug, then hesitates. Turning to face the lamia’s body, he raises a sardonic eyebrow and queries, “Light masochist?”
“Shut up and drink, cowboy.”
And he downs the mug in one long gulp. It sizzles as it slides down his throat.
He immediately drops to his knees, the mug falling to the ground beside him. His eyes fill with tears of blood, streaming down his face and making it hard for him to see. He starts crawling.
The pain would be called excruciating if excruciating were doubled then squared then taken as a limit to some sort of infinite power. In a long lifetime of continuous debilitating pain, he has never imagined the sort of pain which he is feeling now.
He falls to his face and picks himself up, crawling another step. He grows dizzy and almost passes out. He throws up, crawls through the vomit. Realizing he is losing control of his will, he attempts to focus on something else. First he tries to escape to his mind palace but all he finds there are memories of pain. He tries counting by threes, computing the Fibonacci Sequence, calculating orbital triads, anything he can think of. None of it works to drown out the pain.
But he keeps moving. Slowly, not steadily, taking what seems to him like an infinite amount of time, but eventually he reaches the bier and pulls himself up, falls over the lamia’s body, and slowly crawls across her figure until they are face to face.
He closes his eyes and presses his lips to hers.
The pain goes away. Instantly. Stunning him with its absence.
For a moment. Then strong arms wrap around his back and a snake tail wraps around his legs, constricting him painfully with brutal passion as the lamia goes for the longest, deepest, most passionate kiss that can be imagined.
The world goes white and his consciousness drifts away. His last thought is, “She’s right. This is the best kiss I’ve ever had…”
The girl stands in a tunnel at the bottom of a set of stairs. Flickering torches line the walls of the stairwell, rising into the distance. She looks at the stairs, then she looks at her legs. Then curses.
A snicker is heard coming from behind her, though neither nothing nor no one can be seen there. “Are you not up to the challenge, little one?” asks a deep male voice.
She ignores him.
“Very well. This is your Trial. At the top of the stairs is a room. On the far side of the room is a door. Make it through the door alive and you have completed the Trial.”
“Mmmm,” the girl says and steps up to the first stair.
“Wait!” the voice calls and the girl pauses. “State your full name for the record.”
“Karina Saraiva! Small but ferocious! Remember that name for you’ll hear it again! And again! And ag…”
“Yes, yes. I get it!” the voice interrupts. “You’re a veritable giant in miniature. What is it you desire most of all?”
“Hmmmm. Nothing. I got it all. I’m the biggest badass this world will ever know. All I gotta do is show ‘em.”
“Are you sure? In this world wishes are sometimes granted.”
“Ha!” she cries, then holds her arms out wide and gestures inward. “Have you even looked at who you’re talkin’ too? How can you improve on perfection?”
With a sigh, the voice surrenders the point. “Very well. Then go.”
With a smirk, the girl reaches out to the first stair. Rising up to her waist, the stairs seem to truly be made for giants. At least compared to her. With a push and a grunt, she vaults up the stair and then reaches for the next. After the tenth stair she begins bounding up them like a tigger high on energy drinks.
The stairs seem endless. She stops to rest every hundredth one. After her seventeenth break, she begins to see a brightly lit arch at the top. After two more breaks, she approaches the arch and stops just before entering.
Through this doorway is a scene of wonder. A sea of treasure. Piles of gold coins like mountains. Lakes of gems and precious stones like rivers winding through the valleys between them. Glittering treasures of all kinds: weapons, armor, mysterious chests that are themselves works of art - full of who-knows-what sort of unimaginable collectibles. She stands gaping for a moment and then laughs, for there is one treasure laying across the very top - spanning the room from edge to edge and snoring gently - that she knew just had to be there.
She mumbles to herself, “Of course there’s a dragon. And me without a magic ring…”
The dragon has scales of ruby limned with gold. Its claws are of onyx and jade - sharp as scythes and as long as the girl is tall. Every breath it breathes in stokes a great fire deep in its chest.
Ignoring the treasure for the moment the girl strides forward, wading through the coins and gems until she stands right in front of its regal nose. Reaching down, she grabs a great golden tray and hefts it once or twice in her hands to get a feel for its weight.
Then setting her feet as firmly as she can on the golden terrain, she twirls rapidly twice round and launches the plate like a discus at the bony ridge between the dragon’s eyes. It bounces off with a satisfying clang and the dragon’s eyes snap open as it draws in a great breath for a fiery roar.
Which is cut off before it begins as the girl draws back her tiny but bony fist and punches the dragon right on the sensitive tip of its nose.
“Owwwww!” the dragon rears up and roars as tears spring into its eyes. “You bunched by node!”
The girl cocks her fist back again and the dragon finds itself involuntarily shuffling back a step. “Shut up! Listen closely! I’m giving you one chance and one chance only. Give me your best piece of treasure and get away from the door.”
“My treasure! No one takes … Owwwww!” it cries again, as the girl grabs a fist-sized arkenstone off the pile and yeets it right into his eye before he can so much as blink. “Stop that!”
The girl reaches down and picks up a sharp pointy weapon. “I can javelin if you want. Treasure. Now!”
“Are you crazy?” With a grunt it opens its mouth and bites off her head.
Or tries to anyway. What really happens is that the pointy weapon gets jabbed into his gums while she punches him in the nose again. This time with a solid fistful of coins adding weight to the blow.
“Owww. By node,” says the dragon again, sniffling and retreating, covering its nose with both enormous front paws. “You can’t do this. I’m a dragon!”
“Yeah, and?”
“I’m a dragon. You’re a human. My role is to bite your head off and your role is to have your head bitten… Owwww! You kicked me!”
“And you’ll get kicked again if you keep saying dumb stuff. Treasure. Now. Then move.”
“You’re a girl.”
“Why does such a tiny girl have such big… Owwww!”
“I warned you. And they’re Big Brass Ones. Treasure! Now!”
“All right, all right. Just calm down.” The dragon ponderously shuffles to the side and points with one enormous claw. “My greatest treasures are on that shelf over there. Next to the exit. Only one can be taken. Choose well.”
Even over such a great distance, the girl can see a shelf filled with rows of books. With a polite nod to the dragon, she marches past him and approaches the books. Looking them over carefully, she notices one that seems to have a special glow. Without hesitation she reaches out and pulls it off the shelf.
Stepping up to the door, she hears the dragon call out one last time, “What’s your name?”
“My name?” She thinks for a moment, remembering what the voice had said at the start of the trial. “Just call me the Tiny Giant.”
And she’s gone.
The boy lives in the dark, yet he is afraid of the dark.
Those who live in the light don’t understand. They would fear the dark if they only knew.
Knew what it’s like to live in the dark.
“State your name for the trial,” says a voice.
“What trial? What’s going on?” the boy asks.
“You must complete the trial. Please state your name.”
The boy doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to resist this flow of events. He refuses to cry, though. Decides just to give in, “Nix”.
“Your full name,” demands the voice.
“N-Nixon Sordes.”
“What do you most desire in life, Nixon Sordes?”
The boy doesn’t answer for a long time. Finally, he says, “I want to stop being a burden on my friends and family. I want … I want …” He stops speaking again for a long time. “I want to be able to take care of myself. And … and be able to take care of others. Like others have taken care of me.”
“Very well. Your …”
“And a cat,” the boy interrupts. “One that doesn’t pee on the furniture. Or even two.”
“Okay. Your …”
“Oh! And a girlfriend. I’ve always wanted a girlfriend. Or two.”
Sigh. “That’s e- …”
“Oooooo! I know. A catgirl-friend! That would cover a couple bases at once. And a …”
“ENOUGH!!!!” shouts the voice. “Your trial begins now.”
“Wait! What am I supposed to do? What’s this trial abou-”
“Live! Trust yourself! Get to the end of the labyrinth. Transcend the darkness.” Interrupts the voice.
“What do you mea-”
The boy is interrupted again, this time by a push. He stumbles forward, falling to his hands and knees.
He is alone once again. Alone in the dark. The terrifying dark.
Slowly he climbs back to his feet. Feels around himself with his hands. Finds a wall and leans up against it in confusion.
After a while he begins to sense something. All around him is life. Not like he had begun sensing the previous day. Not the big auras of people. Just a … something.
He steps away from the wall and looks at it with his newfound senses. There is something there. Like a sheen of sweat coating the wall. Something he can’t really feel or smell as such but which he knows is there. He reaches out and touches the wall again. Nothing. Nothing he can pin down.
He turns and starts moving. Slowly. Feeling in front of himself with his hands. Almost immediately he falls into a waist-deep trench, banging his shins and elbows on the hard rock. He cries out. Maybe he cries, but no one can see.
He continues moving. Straining his senses. Learning from pain.
It takes time, but he learns.