"Chapter 6" by Michael J. Walker Esq.

After months of sailing, they had finally made it.

From the crow’s nest, he could see the Tower rising out of the sea like a pillar of pure ivory. It was within a week’s sailing distance at their current speed, he judged, even though he was by no means a nautical man.

“Thank you, Gino,” he said as he handed the spyglass back to the lookout. Gino bowed and muttered something like “’Twas a pleasure, my liege,” as the man turned around and began climbing down the rigging.

Upon reaching the main deck again, he found a young boy on his way to the captain’s cabin.

“You,” he said. “Tell the captain that our destination is in sight.” The boy nodded and continued on his way. In a few minutes the captain was up in the crow’s nest, and in a few more he was back down on the deck.

“Well, Prince Magnus, it looks like you’ll be findin’ out what those strange dreams a’ yours mean in a fortnight,” he said.

“Thank you, Captain,” Magnus said. He climbed back up to the crow’s nest and stared out at the horizon. Yes, the dreams. The dreams which had started five years ago and ultimately were responsible for this journey.

In the beginning, they were mild and calm. Magnus would hear his name whispered a few times amidst a cloudy darkness, and that was it. Slowly, the dreams would increase in intensity. The first actual vision he saw was of the Tower itself. It began as just a white speck on the horizon. Eventually it grew and grew until it was the unfathomable height that Magnus imagined it must be in reality. The next months, he ventured inside the tower. He saw little detail in his visions, but he imagined that it did not matter. He continued to climb the tower gradually over the years, constantly hearing his name. Occasionally, he would remember specifics, like a menacing gargoyle on the wall or an armor-clad skeleton slumped in a corner.

The last addition before Magnus embarked on this journey was a door, one which he imagined lead to the uppermost level of the Tower. The dreams stopped advancing from there. He would stand in front of the door for an entire night sometimes, unable to move, unable to act upon the insatiable curiosity that had formed, and always hearing his name whispered again and again. The mystery of what was on the roof began to eat into his soul and he could think of nothing else.

And so he hired a ship to find the mysterious tower that haunted his nights. The dreams were still with him, even on this ship thousands of miles from his home. They seemed to have grown even more vivid in the past few months, and the dreamy haze was replaced by crystal clarity. Now Magnus could see even the smallest crack between stones and feel the dank, suffocating air as he moved through the lower passages of the Tower.

And now more than ever, the door still eluded him. Magnus was tortured by the grain of the wood in the door, the coolness of the knob that he could feel in his hand, the dusting of cobweb in the upper-right corner. He was so close all the time and could not see what was beyond it.

But soon, very soon, he would know what was behind the door.

                                                .                       .                       .

Two weeks later, they had not reached the Tower. It still loomed on the horizon, larger than ever, but it was out of their reach. Two weeks after that it was closer still, but out of reach. In another two weeks, the tower was almost within their grasp. Finally, a full two months after it was originally spotted, the ship arrived at the base of the Tower.

It was enormous, far larger than any of the ship’s crew or even Magnus had imagined. It was estimated that a full day would be spent just sailing around to the other side. The top of the tower could not be seen from the base, not even with the aid of the best telescope on board the ship. The stones in the side of the Tower were pure white, even where the waves crashed against them there was no discoloring or erosion.

It had stood in the sea for a thousand years, and would stand a thousand more.

The day after they had arrived, Magnus assembled a team of the Royal Guard that his family had insisted on sending along with him and some of the sailors who were more able fighters. The group numbered around twenty in total, enough to fill two of the small boats they were going to use to enter the Tower through the archway at the base.

They left the ship early in the morning, as the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. Magnus was clad in mail and armor, with his father’s sword by his side. In his dream the previous night, he had the impression that he would need it.

As the boats drifted underneath the arch, they slowed, despite the fact that all were still rowing with the same fervor. A chill, damp breeze drifted out of the darkness, raising gooseflesh on Magnus, despite his thick clothing.

“Magnussss…..” it seemed to whisper. Magnus’s jaw dropped in astonishment. He closed his mouth and shook his head. He was imagining things, he convinced himself.  

The boats did not resume their former speed, and it was just as well, for inside the tower it was blacker than a moonless night. Magnus could see perhaps fifteen feet on all sides of him, and then everything vanished into the darkness. But he was not surprised. It was, after all, exactly how he had dreamed it.

They soon arrived at a large pillar in the center of the tower. There was one large, ornate set of double doors in one side, flanked by torches. Stairs led up to it, and there were posts on either end that looked suitable for mooring the boats at the bottom. One of the sailors did such, and the party began to move onto the steps.

Magnus approached the doors, perplexed. There was no visible way to open the huge barrier, and even if there was, they were too huge for a mere twenty men to move it much.

But suddenly the means to open the doors came to him, just as it had in his visions. He waved his hand over the crack in the center and muttered a few words of a long-dead language that had no real meaning to him under his breath. A huge lock appeared in front of him, a large bar of metal with a slot in the center. He drew his sword and kneeled, placing his forehead on the pommel and the point on the ground, and said a few more words. There was a brief sensation of heat where Magnus’s head came in contact with the metal.

He rose and slid the blade (the metal had taken on a light purple tint) into the slot. As he pulled it out, there was a clicking sound, and the lock split straight down the middle. The doors opened inward very slowly, and Magnus began to enter.

The rest of the men stayed behind him.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked impatiently.

“Sire,” one of the Guard ventured after an uncomfortable pause, “we know not where you learned that sort of…sorcery.”

Magnus laughed. “Come, it matters not.” He turned again and took another step, and when he heard none behind him, he looked back once more.

“Sire…” said the same Guardsman who had spoken before, “we fear you may be possessed!”

“Follow me,” Magnus said, glowering at them venomously. “That is an order.”

Fearfully, they all began following Magnus into the pillar. All that was contained within was a spiral staircase, and with Magnus at the lead, the group began climbing. They came to a landing after about twenty minutes. At the top was a simple wooden door. They went through and found themselves in the center of a gigantic round room, even darker than the room below had been. The light shed by the torches flanking the doorway penetrated little more than ten feet in any direction, and while Magnus could see windows high above the ground, the daylight they let in never made it to the floor.

He pulled a torch from next to the door and began walking away from the pillar, towards what he assumed was the wall. The party reached it before too long, and Magnus turned right and followed the gentle curvature. Soon they came to another staircase, broad enough for two to walk abreast. It followed the wall and sloped upwards at a shallow angle. They started up, and climbed for a rather long time before going straight through the ceiling and on to the next floor.

The staircase simply continued up, so they continued climbing. Magnus could have sworn that it was even darker up here, but the more logical portion of his mind convinced him that it was impossible.

On the next floor, the stairs stopped. Magnus followed the wall around the room, as he had done before. Now he knew it was darker, there was no denying it. The torchlight penetrated even less, and the windows looked a bit like the moon on a lightly clouded night. The darkness seemed to behave like a thick fog. Any light cast into it just made it more opaque.

After walking to the opposite side of the room, they came upon another staircase, exactly like the first. As the group came up onto the next floor (the stairs kept going up, as the first flight did) Magnus sensed another odd change in the darkness. Now it seemed that it was moving aside to let them pass through, and closing up the gap as soon as they were out of it. He began to get the feeling that something in the tower did not want them there, and the darkness was its way of warning them.

This challenge just made him hungrier for the knowledge of what was behind that door. He pressed on.

When they reached the top of this flight, which ended the same way as the last had, Magnus shivered. After the cold lightning had stopped traveling along his spine, he was left with a distinct sense of foreboding. He knew now for certain that the tower did not want him or his men inside it. And in the back of his mind, he knew that something would be done about it very soon.

Magnus led his bodyguard along the wall with an uneasiness that grew with each step he took. About a quarter of the way to where he knew the next staircase would be, he nearly turned back. But his doubts were pushed out of the way by his unearthly curiosity to find what was at the top of this Tower.

When the group had traversed nearly half of the distance to the next staircase, Magnus stopped.

“What’s the matter, m’lord?” inquired one of the sailors.

“Look,” Magnus said, and pointed forward.

Sprawled on the ground in front of him was a skeleton. It must have lain there for generations and was clad in full chain mail under a tabard bearing a device that Magnus was completely unfamiliar with. As a member of a royal family, he had been made to memorize all insignias of other kingdoms and realms, so this greatly troubled him.

In fact, this was the last factor that made him far too uncomfortable to continue.

“We must turn back,” he said. “We should not have come this far.”

But no sooner had the words left his lips than a curious purple flame began to rise in the skull of the ancient body in from of him. The skull drifted up to the height of Magnus’s own head and stayed there, staring into his striking blue eyes with sockets filled with purple fire.

The rest of the skeleton rose to join it, a fire burning inside the ribcage. The full skeleton stood in front of Magnus, looking him over. The Prince was frozen with fear.

The resurrected warrior nodded. It raised its right arm, in which it carried an ancient sword, and a purple spark shot along its arm, igniting the old metal. Its jaw dropped open in a silent battle cry and all around him Magnus could see purple flames through the darkness, rising to assemble soldiers in the same manner the one before him had been raised.

“Run!” the Prince cried as he turned and did exactly that. His bodyguard followed suit, and they fled back to the staircase as the undead followed with a rattling of ancient bones.

But as they reached the stairs, there was a terrible grinding sound of stone against stone. Magnus looked down and saw that the stairs beneath him had vanished. He swore loudly.

“Ready yourselves for battle!” he yelled, unsheathing his own blade. Steel rang about him as his bodyguard did the same. They waited for the skeleton warriors to come to them.

In a flash of purple fire, Magnus and his guard were under attack. Sparks flew and modern steel crashed against ancient metals as the mortals did battle with the ghouls. Magnus’s blade severed a glowing skull from its body, but the warrior persisted. The Prince severed a leg, and though the skeleton was on the ground, it still slashed at his ankles. The nightmarish opponent was brought to an end when Magnus stomped down on its ribcage. The old, brittle bones shattered and tongues of flame scattered everywhere.

He moved on to another opponent. All found a way to deal with the dead warriors eventually and before too long all of the skeletons had met an end. None of the humans were hurt.

Magnus looked down. The stairs were still closed. He sighed.

“I suppose we should make for the stairs leading higher,” he said. They had not taken five steps when the ground around them glimmered with purple sparks. Skulls began rising again. Magnus cursed once more. “Run!” he yelled.

They dashed across the floor, with a bit of a head start on the undead. But the ghoulish warriors of old were faster than the mortals by some unearthly power, and soon were upon them.  Magnus and his soldiers stopped to fight only long enough to disarm, and then kept running. Someone had the brilliant idea to steal their opponent’s mace, and so was smashing skulls and shattering bones much faster. Soon others followed suit, and with the stolen weapons it only took a moment to deal with an assailant.

They reached the stairs and continued up. The skeletons kept up with them. Some appeared in front of the group, and Magnus simply batted them off the stairs with a single swipe. But the ghouls also had this idea, and before Magnus and the bodyguard had reached the top of the stairs, three men had been tossed to depths below. The Prince had been afraid that they, too, would be resurrected by purple flame, but luckily it did not happen.  In fact, when they arrived at the next floor, Magnus saw that it was really unnecessary, as the Tower had enough

As soon as they were all off the staircase on the next floor, it closed the way the previous one had. Magnus could see more purple flames rising across the room. He guessed that there were about fifty.    

“Do not fight them! Just run!” he called back. As they sprinted across the room, Magnus heard several screams and other sounds that were coming from dying men. Obviously, this strategy was not working.

“Try to get two shields!” Magnus yelled. He drew his sword and smacked a skeleton across the face with the flat of the blade, then quickly severed its arms while it was stumbling backwards. He sheathed his sword and without wasting any time picked up the skeleton’s mace and shield. The Prince smashed another’s nose with the stolen weapon, completely disintegrating its face. He kicked the ghoul’s legs out from under him with a quick swipe of his own, and after shoving the mace into his belt, grabbed the second shield.

With a quick look behind him, Magnus saw that all had followed his orders. “Now run! Defend yourself only!” He was much more satisfied with these results. The only sounds he heard were steel crashing against shields. No more were slain.

As they were climbing the next set of stairs, a few more men were thrown off the staircase to their death. And on the next floor, the way down closed up and there were still more of the undead.

And so it continued. Magnus and his remaining bodyguard would flee across the floors to the next flight of stairs, and some were slain along the way, and some killed on their way up the stairs. And always, the way back would close.

After seven more flights of stairs, Magnus’s entire bodyguard had been killed, either by the blades of the dead or by falling. In fact, his last two remaining men had given up two floors back due to sheer exhaustion. And now, Magnus was about to do the same thing.

He abandoned the wall as a guideline and just walked straight into the center of the room. As this floor’s battalion of undead finished rising and began walking towards him, Magnus threw down his shields and fell to his knees.

“Kill me!” he screamed to the wall of bone converging on all sides.

But the ghouls stopped, forming a circle about ten feet away from him. One advanced further, a rather large beast who must have been a captain is his living days. He drew his ancient two-handed sword and raised it above his head. The blade was brought down in a slash to cleave Magnus in two. He braced himself for the impact.

But the only sound to be heard was steel striking stone. The Prince opened his eyes. Yes, the sword had indeed been brought down right through his center. When he looked down to where it should have cut him, he saw a glowing line of purple-white light. His clothes were torn, but the flesh untouched.

Magnus laughed. It was a low, sinister sound, the likes of which had not been heard in the Tower for millennia.

“You cannot harm me,” he said.

The ghoul pulled his sword back and kneeled, forehead to pommel, as Magnus had done at the base of the tower. The other skeletons (Hundreds? Thousands? There were too many to count.) followed suit, and soon the Prince was standing in the center of the tower, surrounded by a legion of undead.

He found that the darkness presented no obstacle to his vision any more. He was still aware of it, yes, but it seemed that it made no difference. He could see as clearly here as he could in broad daylight.

Magnus located the stairs and walked to them, the up them, laughing all the while. The skeletons never moved.

At the top of this final flight of stairs, there was a short hallway. As Magnus walked down this hallway, he realized what it was he saw at the end of it: the door. The one door that had haunted his dreams for so long was finally within his reach. It was exactly as he had pictured it, down to the way the wood grain curved around the knob and the cobwebs in the doorframe.

He reached for the doorknob, laughing louder than ever. The Prince opened the door and came upon a spiral staircase, which he climbed. At the top of this staircase there was a wooden trap door. With a small push, Magnus opened it and climbed up, at long last, onto the roof of the Tower that he had seen for so long in dreams.

And although there was nothing remarkable at the top, he continued laughing, still louder. Six pillars, all equidistant from each other, surrounded the round upper floor of the tower. Magnus closed the trap door and stood in the exact center, still laughing.

He continued laughing, even as bolts of purple lightning shot from the tops of the pillars through his body, robbing him of his humanity. But by then his laugh had transformed into a scream of terror.

It echoed through all lands for a split second, then the lightning ceased and all was silent once more.

Magnus lay lifeless on the rooftop.