Keys to the Demon Prison

"That’s what I don’t like," Mara said.

"It just feels different because we’re going more carefully," Vincent said.

"I disagree," Mara replied.

Seth caressed the walls, searching for cracks, seams, anything unusual. He shuffled his feet to sort of feel the ground, even though Vincent was on his hands and knees examining the floor of the corridor much more carefully. There had to be something all of them were missing.

"Oh, no," Trask said.

"What?" Elise asked from the back.

"Impossible," Vincent complained.

"Another dead end," Trask answered.

Seth felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.

"What do you mean, another dead end?" Elise challenged.

"This is an unnatural place," Berrigan repeated, his voice unsteady. "We’ve left the real world behind. We should not be surprised. Is this any stranger than light coming from nowhere?"

Seth kept advancing until he had the same view as the others. Once again the corridor widened and then came to an abrupt, rounded conclusion.

While Vincent and Mara scoured the walls and ceiling, Trask stood surveying the area with one hand on his waist, the other holding his huge crossbow.

"Let’s not waste time here," Trask said. "Stay vigilant, but let’s pick up the pace. Mara, let me know if the way feels different again."

They proceeded with greater haste. Within a minute or two, Mara said that the way felt different. A few minutes after that, they arrived at another dead end, almost identical to the first two.

"I’m starting to have my first case of claustrophobia," Vincent declared, his face shiny with perspiration.

"Great place to start," Trask said.

"I think we’re making progress," Mara said, sniffing the air. "Just not the way we’re used to."

"Then on we go," Trask urged.

They came to several more dead ends. An occasional steep slope or odd sequence of turns made it clear to Seth that the passageway kept changing, even though they seemed to be traveling back and forth between the same endpoints.

At last, Trask let out a relieved laugh. "Look here, it seems we have found someplace else."

The passage widened again, allowing them to spread out once more, only this time it opened into an expansive chamber. They paused in the entryway, gazing at the huge room. As in the tunnels, a steady glow illuminated the room, still lacking an apparent source. The wall across from them was curved, the floor semicircular, the ceiling half a dome.

Directly across from them a large statue stood in an alcove, flanked by a pair of granite basins. Carved from a greenish stone, the figure had a long face with exaggerated features and wielded a flat, curved club. A smooth expanse of greenish clay dominated the near portion of the floor, bordered by blue and black patterned tiles. The rest of the floor was polished obsidian, unblemished except for a circular indentation near the center.

"No doors," Vincent said, "but the keyhole in the floor looks to be the right size."

Seth walked forward and used his finger to mark the greenish clay. "What’s with all the clay?" Seth wondered. "It’s wet."

"Could it be for drawing?" Kendra guessed. "A huge, prehistoric doodle pad? Like for mapmaking?"

Vincent shrugged. "Who knows? I don’t see any instruments for drawing."

"What do you suppose would happen if we backtracked from here?" Trask asked.

"More dead ends," Mara said. "I don’t believe this place allows us to go back. Can’t you feel it? Each dead end cuts off our retreat, luring us in deeper, as if we’re being swallowed."

"This isn’t helping my claustrophobia," Vincent mumbled.

"We could double back to check," Mara continued, "but I’m not sure we’ll get another chance to reach this room. The keyhole must be the way to proceed."

Tanu shouldered forward. "The rest of you wait here."

He walked around the bordered field of clay to the recess in the floor. Squatting, he studied the iron key, considered the round indentation, inserted the key, adjusted it, and turned it halfway around.

A faint tremor made the floor vibrate. A pair of spouts thrust from the wall near the statue and began pouring water into the basins. The statue raised the curved club high, as if preparing to strike. Tanu discarded an empty shell of the key and tucked a smaller iron egg under one arm.

Everyone watched the statue, waiting to see if it would attack, but it had stopped moving after raising the club. Seth glanced down at the clay on the floor and saw words inscribed in unfamiliar characters. "Look at the clay!" Seth shouted. "Writing!"

"Create a champion," Kendra read. "Time is short."

"You read Sanskrit?" Vincent asked. "Or Chinese?"

"I see English," Kendra said. "And some scribbles, too."

"Must be a fairy language," Trask said. "The message repeats in several languages. What does it mean?"

"The basins must be clepsydras," Elise said. "Water clocks."

"The clay," Vincent said. "It has to be the clay." He ran forward and plunged his hands into the moist clay up to his wrists, then started digging a hole, disturbing some of the writing in the process. "This is a pool of clay. A pit. I think we are to build a champion out of clay to contend with the statue."

"I was a failure in art class," Trask mumbled. "Who knows how to work with clay?"

"I have some experience," Elise said. "As do I," Mara offered.

"Mara and Elise will shape our warrior," Trask directed, voice tight. "The rest of us start digging out clay for them to work with and follow their instructions. How long do we have?"

Mara dashed across the room to look into the basins. Vincent was already vigorously scooping clay out of the pool and piling it nearby. Berrigan jumped onto the clay, sinking to his ankles. Dropping to his knees, he began heaving out armfuls. Mara considered the basins for a moment. "Ten minutes," she called. "Maybe eleven. Assuming the water keeps pouring in at the same rate."

Setting the iron egg aside, Tanu entered the clay pit, brown feet sinking deep. Seth waded into the clay along with Trask and Kendra. The top layer felt loose and slimy, but the clay got more solid about six inches down. He grabbed slurping handfuls of the mushy top layer and began hurling it toward Berrigan’s rapidly growing pile.

"What do we want him to look like?" Elise asked.

Nobody answered for a moment.