The Red Chamber

The Red Chamber





“Wait,” Arndenon stabbed out with a hand, called out to stop the warrior Dollos from grasping either of the two precious, cut stones positioned on top of the ornate, red stone podium in a cavernous chamber of red. He stood near the half-sorceress, Asareus, a friend of sorts from the land of Urlriddea, and looked across the short distance at Dollos, who had pulled back his hand, a half-step and stared with a bit of uncertainty in his eyes and the silent words of question in his partially opened mouth.

Ardenon, Asareus and Dollos stood surrounded by statues of translucent red crystal, men and women of different race and professions—Goladen knights, Sadril paladins, Eldinite mages, Tilandii priests, Wollan fighters and other impoverished adventurers who all came for the treasure of Turritmar at the end and bottom of the dungeon at Shovenlarn.

The room reeked of the color red. Red stone walls, tiled floor, ceiling, altar, and a dilapidated fountain offset from the center of the chamber with nothing more than a layer of fetid powder in its basin. An ethereal, crimson radiance came from the Iterites, magic infused metals, mounted in the ceiling to provide light and reveal the carvings in the walls of ceremonial sacrifices and mass killings under the watchful eyes of the war-gods Dorvgren and Mishworl.

“It’s too obvious,” Arndenon continued, after a brief breath of silence. “This place is a trap.”

“I know what I am doing,” Dollos winked. “Like I always have….”

“Like at the fortress of Longenwood,” Asareus asked. “Where you nearly got us all killed.”

“That wasn’t my fault.”

Arndenon stepped forward as Dollos rejected the accusation. Across from the girl, he glanced at Asareus, who had folded her arms across her chest and stared at Dollos with a heavy expression of contempt. “How about Mildenfar or what you did in the pits of Onnator?”

“Those were just moments of bad judgment and I have learned since then. Trust me. Now,” Dollos extended his hand over the red jewel on the podium, nearly touched, but did not take it. “Now, watch this,” as quick, he seized the yellow, palm-sized gem, pulled it from its mount then spun a fair distance from the podium. “See,” he said, facing forward—a smile to his face, the yellow jewel held in view. “I told you everything would be fine.”

The words had barely ended when the smile on Dollos’ face faded and his expression mixed with concern and puzzlement. Eyes went to the jewel he held, that brightened with an iridescent glow.

“Get rid of it,” Asareus stepped towards the warrior in panic. “Now…!”

With the quickness of the command, Dollos threw the jewel down. It clattered on the stone floor then stopped not far from where he stood. “That was close,” he said, pushed out a weak smile—feigned the confidence he was well known for having.

“Dollos,” Arndenon called, pointed. “It’s your hand.”

“My,” the word ended as Dollos looked at his hand aglow in the same shimmering light the yellow jewel had radiated with. The light continued up his arm having left his fingers and hand changed into translucent red crystal like the other statues in the room. “What’s happening,” he panicked. “Tell me. What do I do?”

“Shur-kur!” yelled Asareus; threw her magic at the warrior, but the light continued to transform Dollos into crystal. “Shur-kur,” she called again—and a third time.

“Stop!” ordered Arndenon. He grabbed the sorceress’ arm and pulled it down. “You can’t save him.”

“I can. I will.”

“No,” Arndenon refused her.

“Help me,” Dollos gasped. “Help….”

As the light consumed the warrior, turned him into a statue of red crystal, Arndenon turned down his gaze, sickened by the sight and death of the warrior. It took only a moment for Dollos to be freed of his life and only a memory to the men and women who knew him.

“You beast!” cursed Asareus, swung out with a hand. “Why did you stop me? I could have saved Dollos.”

“If you could, he would still be alive now,” Arndenon glanced over his shoulder then came back to the girl. “But he’s dead and there is nothing we can do for him. Come on. We need to go before anything else happens.”

“What of Dollos? We can’t leave him here.”

“He’s too heavy to carry and you don’t know the magic to give him back his life.”

“I can learn the magic and if not, I will see him to the High Council of Wizards. They will know what to do.”

Arndenon pulled Asareus to a stop, held onto her arm that he had yet to let go of. He sniffed the air and knew he looked funny to the girl, but he did not care for how he felt towards the room. “Something is not right here.”

“What could be wrong? Everything appears the same as before, except for….”

Asareus shrunk from her anger as a show of grief came with a tear down the side of her face. Any other time, Arndenon might have felt compassionate to someone like her, but he felt out of place in the room and it was a feeling he could not ignore.

“Come on,” he ordered, pointed at the podium—the red gem still upon it. “Dollos has shown us the way.” With the words, he released Asareus then walked over to the podium and reached for the red jewel.

“Wait,” Asareus ordered. “Look.”

The single words of command pulled Aendenon back towards the girl. A hand went to the sword at his belt as he turned and stopped, prepared to fight the Crimadin warriors or Jolbrin horic beasts in the room that had filled the room to kill and die. Only the shadows ebbed into the chamber, through the soft translucence of red, around the crystalline statues of the men and women who had lived and breathed long before.

“There,” Asareus pointed. “Do you see?”

A pinprick of yellow light came from the jewel that remained on the floor—that had crystallized Dollos into a statue.

“Why does it glow?” she asked.

Arndenon shook his head. “I only know that we need to leave.” He reached for the podium.

As sudden, a shaft of light burst from the yellow jewel near Dollos. The radiance shot over the entire floor and covered it like a blanket then slowly moved upwards towards the ceiling in an ascending arc.

“I feel strange,” Asareus touched the side of her head, looked down. “Oh. My feet, they’ve changed to stone.”

“Crystal,” Arndenon corrected her, but did not understand why he had. He eyed the statue of Dollos then turned to Asareus. We need to go.” The effort to leave came, but his legs did not respond. Below his knees, they had metamorphosed into crystal.

Clinging to life, his strength—unyielding, Arndenon turned towards the podium, but Asareus took his hand and pulled him back.

“It is too late. We are already dead.”

“No,” Arndenon objected. “We need to…. The words ended as Asareus leaned over, embraced and kissed him. Though he tried to break free of her passion, the desire to realize love before death, Arndenon quickly succumbed to her, the warmth and softness of her lips and body. He wrapped his arms around her and for a moment, forgot that they would be frozen as statues in a lovers’ embrace for all eternity. Yet, as his lost feeling in his legs and they stiffened like stone, Arndenon reached back to the nearby podium with a hand—clawed for the red gem upon it.

Though he fumbled for the jewel, the kiss Asareus gave absorbed his thoughts for heartbeats of time, longer even to the light that brightened then faded to darkness and the chamber deadened to silence.

Arndenon opened his eyes, looked first at Asareus then left and right, into the room as far as he could see around the girl to realize they still lived. Asareus’ kiss that mesmerized him beyond thought had soured to where it no longer held interest to him. He pulled back even as she continued into the embrace.

“Asareus,” he said. “We are still alive,” with a pulse of strength, Arndenon separated and held her from him. “Did you hear me?” the blank expression on Asareus’ face, the dazed look in her eyes seemed to convey her lack of hearing, if not understanding.

“What? We are alive?”

It was a surprise that Asareus threw herself into an embrace like before, but Arnednon did not reciprocate the passion hold. The joy of the moment was gone and he knew they still had to escape the room and dungeon.

“We need to go,” Arndenon said, before the sound of stone against stone grinded into the air, brought a white, natural light with it. Look,” he announced to force the girl’s attention from him. The effort moved his thoughts towards the wall at the back of the room, behind the podium they stood near—at the door opened to the day and world beyond. The opening tore away the nightmare of the wizard’s magic having retuned to take them. He grinned weakly, unsure whether to believe his good fortune.

“A flower? That is the treasure we fought and died for.”

Arndenon shook his head for an answer we could not give. “It makes sense now,” he spoke after a moment’s time, took a step further from Asareus. “The flower is the treasure. Life is what Turritmar wanted us to find.”

“You are wrong. Love is what kept us alive when the wizard’s spell enveloped us. It is the greatest treasure of the world.”

“Love and perhaps this,” Arndenon raised the red jewel so it could be seen. “I held this as we kissed. It must have negated Turritmar’s spell of stoning.”

“You believe what you want, but I say it was love that kept us alive.”

Nodding, Arndenon agreed with Asareus only because he did not want to argue with her. He tugged on the hand she had embraced his with and started towards the exit. “Come on.”

“What about me?”

“Dollos…!”

Before he had the chance to voice his own joy, Arndenon felt Asareus leave his grip then watched as she crossed the room and embraced Dollos. The warrior, like the other men and women turned into statues, had come back to life—their bodies freed of Turritmar’s poisonous spell upon them.

Arndenon smiled, but remained silent to let Dollos and Asareus have their moment together. He cleared his throat after he saw how the other men and women became more aware of the room and the memories brought with them. The half-sorceress and warrior separated, but it was Dollos who spoke first.

“So there’s the way out. You see, I knew what I was doing.”

Shaking his head to Dollos’ pronouncement, the air of confidence that had returned to the warrior’s face, Arndenon turned and moved to the exit. He left the chamber of red, knowing the others would follow him out for the life they were lucky to have found. Even with the warrior’s help.



1862 words