The Elder's Curse by Andrew Walbrown (ereader for textbooks TXT) 📕

Time felt as though it had slowed to a complete stop as Ulam rushed towards the other side. Not only did everything move in slow motion, but the world grew eerily silent as well. In those few moments, he could identify the individual hairs on Mazargo’s face, the gray and white fibers swaying as the Mwai moved to beat out the fire on his arm. All around he was aware of the dust particles hanging in the air, fated to remain in flux until the world recaptured its normal speed.

Shadows began to lurk into the corners of his vision as the great mass of black marble drew closer to crushing him. He was not discouraged, though, because he was only a few paces away from Mazargo, and by extension, safety. Though the slab was not touching him yet, with every passing moment Ulam could feel it inching closer to his skull. He knew with time running out there was no way he was going to make it to the end by standing upright, and crawling was not an option either. He knew he had to slide, and hope that he had enough momentum to carry him to freedom.

Ulam closed his eyes, leaned back as he fell to the ground, and accepted his fate was no longer in his hands. He was not aware of much as he slid across the floor, only the stale air in his face and the heat caused by the friction beneath him. There was a large boom as he came to a complete stop, his whole body feeling numb and lifeless. For a moment he feared opening his eyes, afraid he may be surrounded by a pile of his own eviscerated organs. But then the smell of smoke tingled his nostrils, the scraping of black marble against the walls filled his ears, and he realized he was still alive.

“Stupid torches,” Mazargo complained as he smothered the last of the flames on his sleeve. “Stupid, stupid, stupid torches!”

Ulam climbed to his feet and slung his backpack over his shoulder, the excitement of narrowly escaping death forcing an untamable smile on his face. I was wrong to doubt him. Clearly, he wished to help, though he set himself on fire in the process. “Thank you for not leaving me behind.”

Mazargo turned his head sideways, a confused look on his face. “Why would Mazargo leave you behind? Are you not his partner in these trials?”

Ulam grunted and patted the mage on the back. “Yes, yes I am.”

They climbed a stairwell at the end of the hallway, going up a few floors until they came to a large, oval door. Like every other surface in Kuruk’s Tower the door had intricate writing engraved into it, with the same shades of green, red, and blue light found elsewhere. Mazargo approached first and held out a hand, using one of his fur-covered fingers to trace the letters. He mumbled to himself as he did so, the words so quiet Ulam hardly heard him. When he had finished Mazargo stepped back, a concerned look on his face.

“Mazargo does not know these letters,” he began, “they are foreign to him; it is a different language. But Mazargo knows there is a great force behind this door, much stronger than the enchantments on the falling stones.”

Mazargo’s warning rung in Ulam’s ears like a brass bell. His curiosity made him wonder what was on the other side of the door, what emitted such a strong magical presence that Mazargo could sense its power through a slab of black marble. But at the same time, he was uncertain whether he wanted to see, the fear of the unknown burrowing a little hole in his resolve.

“Are you ready?” Mazargo asked as he placed both of his hands on the door.

Ulam grunted. Do I really have a choice?

Together they pushed open the enchanted door, revealing a room so tall Ulam could not see the ceiling, and so wide he could not see the walls. Black marble sentinels stood like mute guardians throughout the room, all of which held spears and shields adorned with the same leaf-green lettering found throughout Kuruk’s Tower. Large pillars with burning torches set in sconces were evenly spaced throughout the room, the white marble floor beneath shining with their orange and yellow reflections. Up close the visibility was high, but further away Ulam could see very little, and hear even less. Unlike the previous room with the constant slamming of enchanted blocks, this chamber was silent, so much so the Ulam swore he could hear his own heartbeat.

“How is such a place possible?” His whisper was amplified by the absence of any other sound. “How does a room this large exist in a tower so slender?”

“That is the power of magic,” Mazargo replied, his eyes searching the far side. “In theory, a single mage could fit the entire universe into a room if they were skilled enough. But Mazargo feels this is not the work of any common mage; even the most powerful mages at the Academy would struggle to achieve this.”

Though Ulam was fascinated by Mazargo’s commentary, deep inside he never wanted the mage to speak again. Every time he asked Mazargo a question, the answer made him less enthusiastic about continuing. If the rooms had been filled with physical feats, such as lifting heavy stones or carrying large buckets of water, Ulam would have felt far more confident about reaching the top of Kuruk’s Tower. But since the rooms were saturated with a mysterious power that Ulam could not control and did not understand, he truly doubted his chances of survival. He did not know how powerful the magic within this tower was, or what its true potential could be. It seemed to be limitless, and that was absolutely terrifying to him.

“Mazargo does not like this,” Mazargo continued as they walked across the room. “Something is off. Do you feel it too?”

Instinctively Ulam reached for