60: Looking on the Not-So-Bright Side

  "Fear not, dear companions," the pit said, "for surely your illustrious tale will be sung across the realm. Its title will be: 'For Those About To Fail We Salute You!' Get it?"

  And this time Kim felt a sharp squishing pain in her stomach. She knew by both from the pain and from the wiggling sensation that it was a barb fish. A large one. Another whizzed by her head. She did not want to experience what it would be like to have one of them hit her in the skull.

  "Or would it be Living Off A Prayer? or We're Not Gonna Make it?"

  She knew these were references to songs. Dangerous references because a school of fish was shooting through the darkness. The trio cried out in pain and anger as one sarcastic comment after another was cast out by the pit.

  "Oh, what a wonderful pit party we've got going on here. Or is it a pity party?" Whoosh! Thunk. Uncle Gord grunted in pain.

  "Those are coming at you fast as a shark. They say you should always look on the bright side of life, but here there is no bright side." Whoosh. Thunk and Fiora cried out.

  "Oh, wondrous Frizzlehead, thy hair billows like a stormy wail. Did it billow over your eyes so you stumbled into this trio in a pail?" That idiotic barb struck Kim in the leg. "That's right, it's no more Mr. Nice Guy from me."

  Fiora let out flames, which did nothing to stop the fish, but lit the area and showed exactly how horribly wiggling, gross, and bloody the scene was. The tails flapped in their legs, their arms, and one was sticking out of Fiora's skull. It was as if all the aquariums in the world were getting their revenge. Kim felt another blow to her arm.

  A fish hit Fiora in the gut, and her flame went out. Which meant that now they wouldn't see the pain coming.

  "We are having joy and fun now, aren't we?" the pit shouted with whiskey-soaked glee, making his voice echo in the darkness. "Joy and fun and joy and fun without even a bit of sun." The words, for reasons she couldn't place, stuck in Kim's head, reminding her of something else. There was no ducking the fish projectiles now, but she continued to wave her arms, hoping to knock them off course.

  Fiora let out another bellow, and judging by the sound, she was swinging her claws around to gut the fish before they struck her. Of course, with it being pitch black and chaotic, there was a good chance she would gut Kim too.

  "Careful with those claws," Uncle Gord grunted. "You nearly took off my head."

  "Apologies!" Fiora shouted. "I just cannot stand another moment of his second-rate sarcasm. What an ignoble way to die, at the hands, well, fish, of a useless jester."

  "Useless," the pit shouted. "I'll show you useless! Take this barb: What a noble quest thou hast embarked upon… dying with your boots on. Oh, wait, you don't wear boots, do you, Fiora? Well, soon your toenails will be admired… in an open casket."

  Fiora let out an angry scream as another barb struck her.

  "We are having even more joy and fun," the pit said. "A whole pit full of joy and fun and lack of sun."

  He liked that almost rhyme, Kim thought. Well, first she waited for the pain to subside from another fish hitting her leg. And the words joy and fun stuck in her head but this time it brought up a memory: of her being in her uncle's truck, on a drive to the cabin, and a song came up on the radio that he immediately declared was the worst song ever written. Even worse than every country song, which for her uncle meant he really was bothered by it.

  "Why joy! What fun!" she shouted.

  A fish flew past her head at full speed. But this time, she chuckled in a manner that could only be described as half-mad. And half confident.

  "'Seasons in the Sun'!" she shouted.

  "Is a fish stuck in your brainpan?" Fiora shouted.

  Kim stopped laughing long enough to say: "You said he could only fight him with something that you couldn't be sarcastic about. That something is: 'Seasons in the Sun'."

  "It's torturous," Uncle Gord said. "I curse Terry Jacks every time that song gets stuck in my head. 'Seasons in the Sun' was made to be made fun of. It is so mopy, maudlin and stupid. And sugary and…" He paused until something struck him. Not a fish. A thought. "Saccharine, I mean. And… and—"

  "It is perfect," Kim said. The plan bubbled in her head. "It's so impossibly easy to be sarcastic about."

  "What does the frizzy-haired strumpet bespeak about?" the pit asked. "It is not joy and fun if the torment is driving her mad so early."

  But Kim recalled when she and Uncle Gord had been listening to that song and the need to make fun of it had possessed them. They had nearly broken the truck windows singing a loud, mocking version.

  She had learned it as a joke for her uncle's 50th birthday, and it had been a hit at the party. But now, as she started into the lyrics then she felt something in her grow more powerful. Stronger. Her voice. She was a diva after all, with an inner power she hadn't truly explored yet. And somewhat delicately, she sang the start of 'Seasons in the Sun'.

  "This is a stupid song," the pit said when she was partway through the first stanza. "I mean, how can someone skin their heart? That's impossible. Unless you're a hunter. Hunters can skin hearts. But hearts don't have skin." Kim kept singing, despite his questions. "And why does the singer keep saying goodbye to everyone? This song is made of syrup."

  Fish had stopped flying out of the darkness. Instead, someone new joined her just as she arrived at the first chorus: Uncle Gord, his deep voice adding bass.

  "This is sappier than a sap tree," the pit said. "Will the singer just die! Just die! Stop talking about all the seasons. This is not joy. This is not fun!"

  And even Fiora, though she didn't use her voice, added a thumping to it.

  "Ugh, the dragonspawn has joined this catastrophe," the pit said. "If I had ears, I would plug them. There are so many things wrong with this song. What is a 'season in the sun'? Why is it joyful and fun? Birds! Children! This song even believes that there is such a thing as too much wine. Impossible!"

  They were coming to the last chorus. Their singing filled the pit. Kim's voice was clear and as unsarcastic as she could make it. She wanted to touch the pure heart of the song. The original singer had truly meant the emotions. And Uncle Gord again added to that purity with a bass line and, for some reason, was thumping on his leg in time. Maybe the song wasn't as bad as she'd thought. There was a powerful truth within it. And she felt sadness at the center of the song: the sadness of leaving loved ones behind when you die. She thought of her father. A tear ran down her cheek.

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  Then they reached the last note and held it. The song had filled the pit. It echoed around them, in her own head and in whatever consciousness the pit had. It was right there. Right there. All around them. The perfect version of 'Seasons in the Sun'.

  "Too much sap! Too much sap! Too much sap!" the pit shouted. "And you're crying at this! Weeping at something so sappy."

  The solidity beneath Kim's feet was shaking. The fish had fallen out of her body. She held her breath, still caught in the bliss of having sung such a perfect version.

  "Ah, why do I see so many flowers?" the pit cried. "All fled. All lost. Take me away."

  And, as quickly as the darkness had enveloped them, there was a shuddering, the pit in which they were contained, contracted around them and made a PTHOOEY noise. Suddenly they were flying, blinking out of the darkness and landing in light.

  The flat object she hit was hard, and it hurt her shoulder. She put down a hand on a stone floor of a torch-lit hallway. Uncle Gord and Fiora were beside her, pushing themselves up. The pit had spat them out.

  Kim shook her head and looked ahead of her. There on the floor was an obsidian marble that emanated anger and sarcasm.

  The Pit Of Never Ending Sarcasm had been reduced to almost nothing by the song.

  "Well, that was something," Fiora said. "I don't know what it was, but it was something. You're quite the spawner, Kim."

  Kim wondered briefly if that was the first compliment Fiora had ever given her. Then Kim, without thinking too long about it, grabbed the marble. It was hard and a little sticky, and she thought she heard a voice say, "The horror," then nothing. She placed the pit in the leather purse on her belt.

  "I'll never ever think of that song the same way," Uncle Gord said.

  61: A Better Way To Go

  A volley of Notes of Power struck Kim. This time she was aware of how the music and knowledge and strength ran through her veins, up her nerves and into her brainpan, even out into her hair. She knew, even without Damon's clever vision, that she had gone up a level. Her wounds closed. She had grown back to her Metalorian induced size.

  "Well, that was a rip-roaring epic amount of Notes of Power," Fiora said. "Good work, Kimmy."

  Fiora punched her in the shoulder, and Kim shrugged it off. This got a look of respect from the dragonspawn.

  "You still have a fish stuck in your head," Kim said. Fiora looked up, yanked it out and threw it. It dissipated into nothing before it reached the wall.

  "Yes, good work," Uncle Gord said. He'd had his share of Notes of Power, but nothing like the shower that had hit Kim. His bald head glowed healthily. And he also no longer bled from the many barbs that had struck him. "There are many impressive aspects to this world of Metaloria." He drew in a breath. "But we need to find your friend. And Lita, too. I hope she ended up nearer to Damon than we did."

  They took a moment to look down the very long, stone-cut hallway with rows and rows of doors.

  "Any idea where we are in the palace?" Uncle Gord asked.

  The dragonspawn shrugged. "It is a palace designed from the drawings found in the diary of a madman, literally. Blayre thought it was hilarious that some of his staff would get lost and starve to death. Clearly we're below ground, but other than that, I don't know."

  "The floors and walls don't have any spiderwebs," Kim said. "So that suggests they have been cleaned and are traversed often. I mean, people walk down the hall. I'm not sure why I used 'traversed.'"

  "Now you're talking like a metalorian," Fiora said.

  "Let's go this way," Uncle Gord said, pointing to their left.

  "Why?" Kim asked.

  "We don't have any way of knowing which way is best. We just have to pick one. Fiora, do you want to lead?"

  "Strongest first," Fiora said. "Makes sense."

  "And smartest, too," Uncle Gord said.

  "Since you are a simple man," Fiora said. "I will assume you're not teasing me."

  They walked along under the lit torches lined up every few yards on the wall. "How is it possible that these torches are all burning at the same rate?" Kim asked.

  "Magic," Fiora said. "They won't ever burn out. Until Blayre is dead, that is. I look forward to this hall being in darkness. And the light in his eyes."

  "Oh," Kim said.

  "I truly don't know the lower quarters," Fiora said. "When I wasn't in that ever-changing dungeon, I spent far too much time in the upper chambers. I would prefer not to be reminded of that. It's best not to look in a wizard's dungeon. You never know where they keep their past."

  "Oh, like gifts or letters from their old girlfriends?" Kim asked.

  "No," Fiora said. "He likely kept his previous lovers there. Perhaps transformed into llamas, tentacled jersey cows, or ex-girlfriend-enemy-murdering golems."

  "That seems like information you might want to know," Uncle Gord said. "In order to make a proper decision about any romantic endeavors."

  "Not when the red rock moon of romance has flooded your soul," Fiora said. The line floated for a moment, and Kim expected Fiora to say something sarcastic, but she had meant it. "There is a magnificent view of Bruce Bay from the Room of God-like Metal Coolness. Yes, I know how stupid that name is. If we are lucky and we go far enough, we will find a major collection of stairs there leading to all the varied levels. If I know Blayre, and I do, he is up there right now, in front of a mirror practicing his many speeches while waiting for Damon, the muscled guy, and Fidds's head to appear."

  "Do we know how much time we have before Damon and Jam arrive?" Kim asked.

  "Only Lita could tell us." She held up her hand as the hall came to an intersection that went left and right. She peeked around the corner. "No enemies," she said and motioned for them to go ahead.

  "Do you have any guesses where Lita might have ended up?" Uncle Gord asked.

  "Do you miss holding her hand?" Fiora asked.

  "No!" Uncle Gord said. "I mean, she has a nice hand. Both of them, in fact." The magic torchlight showed that the top of his skull was red. Kim didn't think her uncle could blush. "She is a druid witch, and she seemed powerful to me, considering she was one of the king's closest companions. So, we would be a better fighting unit if we had her beside us. Would she be in one of these rooms?" He gestured, but there were about a hundred doors visible.

  "If we had a lifetime to look through each door, and fight every lurking creature," Fiora said, "then we could look. She might be in a wall somewhere, embedded in a tomb, or… or, one of the bumps stuck in the harp tree. You all felt the pull." They both nodded.

  "It was tempting," he said. "But I can't see her staying there."

  "Since we can't find her," Fiora said, "and if she is here, she is likely looking for us and much more capable of finding us, then I suggest we carry on down the hall and on our own surprise Blayre before he gets the head of the most powerful king in all of Metaloria, which I assume will only somehow make Blayre more powerful. If we wait, or take the time to find her, we lose." She drew in a quick breath. "We also have to avoid his many guards, Blayre's magical traps, and sentient demon dogs. If you think the Pit of Never Ending Sarcasm was a challenge, well, things will only get worse as we go along. That was another thing my mother used to say, usually as she was giving birth."

  They walked for some time until Kim began to doubt Fiora's plan.

  "Why aren't there any guards?" Uncle Gord said. "Shouldn't a man with such power have a cohort of guards and a series of defensive systems?"

  "Oh, there are guards," Fiora answered as they followed her down the hall. "We have passed several of them."

  "I didn't see any," Kim said.

  "They are invisible, but I felt the chill of their eyes. Sentinel golems. They could have easily torn us to pieces."

  "Oh," Gord said. "We passed guards without my noticing? And why did they leave us alone?"

  "Well, maybe they still see me as a friend. Blayre forgot to manipulate the spell that controls them to see me as an enemy. Or…"

  "It seems like that's a rather dramatic 'or' in that sentence," Kim said. She didn't like where this was going.

  "Or he knows we're coming. And we have horrible deaths waiting for us. Mine most horrible of all, since I will have to see his face again."

  "Oh," Kim said.

  "There's a stairway up this way," Fiora said. "And judging by the garishness, were are close."

  They had come to a set of ivory stairs inlaid with gold. She led them quietly up them. The stairs inside were ivory and smooth as glass. It was as if they went from being in a dungeon to a fancy suite in a hotel. The railing was a gold railing looped along the tower.

  The stairs were a little slippery, with such smoothness. But even through her boots, they were warm.

  "He has heated stairs," Uncle Gord said.

  "He loves his comforts," Fiora whispered. She put a clawed finger to her mouth. "Now, I would like you to be quiet. We are almost in the Room of God-like Metal Coolness."

  They had reached a golden door, as bejeweled as any princess. It was almost too much for Kim's eyes to take in. "So bright," she whispered.

  "It gets worse," Fiora said. "Now, prepare to go all painkiller. That's the plan."

  "Uh, do we have any other plans?" Gord said.

  "He is an all-powerful wizard," Fiora said. "His only weakness is his ego. We are going to have to wing it. That's a dragonspawn joke, just to let you know."

  She didn't wait for them to chuckle. Fiora gently pushed open the door. Kim, who was a few steps behind, her sword in her hand, was waiting for Fiora to be punched in the face. It seemed to happen every time Fiora opened a door. But nothing punched her. Instead, Fiora smiled.

  It showed a plethora of very sharp teeth.

  "We are in luck," she whispered. "And now I have the greatest of all plans."