The Fool's Gift

Hope and Samuel have made it through the chain of realms to the domain of the Sage. But before they are allowed to meet the Sage, they must pass a gauntlet of trials.

“Welcome, travelers!” said the spindly, human-shaped figure covered head to toe in a full body suit, a bi-chromatic patchwork of crimson and indigo. Over his hidden face, he held a grinning theater mask, which moved as if it were speaking for him. “Welcome to the Trials of Truth, the domain of the Sage! Your journey is nearly at an end.”

What an interesting fellow, Hope thought. She and Samuel stood in an underground room, its ceiling supported by wooden beams. In the corner, a beacon blazed green, signifying it was activated, and they would return here if they left the Realms. Open flame lamps illuminated the figure in front of them, who stood before the mouth of a tunnel.

The figure removed its mask and replaced it with another, which had drooping eyes and a mouth hanging open in sorrow. Its tone was low and melancholy. “No more places to visit, no more sights to see.” The happy mask returned. “But that doesn’t mean you’re out of adventure, no siree!”

“And who are you?” Samuel said.

The figure switched to a third mask with a pouting lower lip. “They call me the Fool, though they’re the real fools. One day I’ll show them. Just you wait.”

“So, um,” Hope said, “what should we call you?”

“Fool is fine,” the Fool said through the happy mask, “I’ve gotten used to it.” He switched to a mask whose expression was serious, its eyes, though empty holes, seeming to give a piercing stare. “Here in the Trials of Truth, you will be tested to see if you are worthy of the Sage’s wisdom.” Happy face. “Do you have what it takes to see the truth through the mist of lies and illusions?” Serious face. “Several trials await you. Attempt them if you will, but know this: you will only have one chance. If you leave the realm before you have completed every challenge, you will be deemed unworthy, and will not be able to return for the duration of one year.”

“A year?” Samuel said sharply. “We don’t have time for that.”

“Then before you begin, you had better make sure you are ready.”

Hope did not want to wait that long either, but it was obvious to see Samuel couldn’t afford it. The black stain of Corruption had completely covered his hand and was crawling up his forearm. “We’ll do it on the first try,” she said, “no problem.”

Samuel looked at her and then nodded. He turned to the Fool. “How long will the Trials take.”

“It depends on the person,” the Fool said through the happy mask. “Some take a lot longer than others. Assuming they don’t chicken out.”

“Are we talking hours? Days?”

The Fool switched to its sad mask. “There is no way to know. You might do it quick, you might do it slow.”

Samuel sputtered in frustration, and Hope decided to step in. “I think he means if we’re prepared, we should be just fine.”

“Yeah, but,” Samuel said, “he could at least tell us the probabilities, so that we know if we have to rearrange our schedules.”

“We’ll go back to Reality, and ask Eli and the twins for advice,” Hope said. “Then, we can come back on a weekend to give us the most time.”

“Assuming it doesn’t take more than a few days,” Samuel muttered. He chewed his lower lip. Then he nodded and turned to the Fool. “We’ll be back.” He put the first two fingers of his left hand to his forehead, touching his invisible third eye, and vanished, leaving behind a momentary afterimage. Hope gave the Fool a quick smile, and followed suit.

She awoke on her cot in the delving room. Sitting up, she saw Professor Eli looking up from the desk he occupied whenever Samuel and Hope were delving. “Back early, aren’t you?” he said.

“We need to talk about something,” Samuel said.

Eli put his hands on the desk and leaned forward, as if to stand. “Should I go get Hattie and Skull?”

Samuel waved his hand. “Don’t bother.”

“I,” Hope said, giving Samuel a look, “think we should.”

Eli got up, and Samuel glanced back at Hope in a way that said, “why did you do that?” She knew he didn’t like Eli’s assistants, but meeting the Sage was significant enough to get the whole team in for the strategy meeting.

When Eli returned with the twins, Hope and Samuel related what they knew about the Trials. “To make sure we have enough time,” Samuel said, “we’ll have to come in on a Saturday. Though I hate to have to take off work. Maybe starting Friday evening would be better. I couldn’t get any sense out of the Fool of how long it would take. For all we know, the average time spent could be months.”

“It’ll definitely be more reasonable than that,” Hattie said. “The Unconscious Realms are shaped by the unconscious minds of people in the real world. With our busy society, I’ll bet it’ll take hours at most, if you know what you’re doing.”

Skull gave a thumbs up without taking his eyes from his laptop, which he had placed on Eli’s desk.

“That’s a relief,” Hope said.

“What about the Trials themselves?” Samuel asked. “Do you have any idea what we should expect?”

“Seeing as they’re tests to see if you’re ready to meet the Sage,” Hattie said, “I’d expect some puzzles and riddles designed to test if you’re open-minded, focused, able to pay attention to your surroundings, etcetera.”

“The final trial,” Skull said, his fingers tapping away at his keyboard, “will be to point out that the Fool is the Sage in disguise.”

“What, really?” Samuel said. Hope agreed. It was oddly specific.

“No doubt about it,” Skull replied. “That’s how it always goes. Think of Yoda in Empire Strikes Back. Master Roshi in Dragon Ball---wait no, he stays a fool even after the reveal.”

“Now that you mention it,” Hope said, “that does seem to be a common theme.” She pictured the Fool taking off his skin hood, revealing a wizened face with a white beard and blue eyes that saw through the surface to the essence of things. The Fool’s body seemed too lithe to belong to an old man, but she knew a few aged folk who were surprisingly spry.

“We’ll keep that in mind when we come to it,” Samuel said. “Is there anything else we should be looking out for?”

“Oh yes,” Hattie said eagerly. “Pay close attention to the object symbolism. The phenomena you find in the Realms help us learn about the mechanics of the human unconscious. Their sizes and shapes and colors and---”

“I meant anything else that would help us get through the Trials quicker,” Samuel interrupted.

“No but you don’t understand. The scientific value the Sage’s realm holds is enormous.”

“I’ll pay attention,” Hope said. “I’m officially a research assistant like you, after all.”

“Thank you,” Hattie said, still looking at Samuel in bewilderment. “But seriously, it baffles me that it’s possible for people to care so little about science.”

“Anyway,” Samuel said, pulling the conversation back on track, “shall we meet on Saturday at eight in the morning?”

“Can we move it to ten?” Hope asked. “I’m not much of a morning person.”

Samuel gave her a sharp look, and she winced. “Nine?” he offered.

“Okay.” Hope would have to set her alarm

“All right,” Samuel said, “see you then.” He walked out of the room.

Hope looked at each of the twins, and then at Eli. “By the way,” she said, “I’ve been wondering, what’s the difference between the Sage and the Wise Old Man?”

“I think they’re just two names for the same thing,” Hattie said.

Eli adjusted his glasses. “Technically, the Wise Old Man is a sub-category of Sage. In literature, sages come as old men, old women, animals, and even mysteriously wise children. In theory, there is just one of each archetype in the Realms, and because the one you are about to meet is called the Sage, I suspect there is no Wise Old Man or Wise Old Woman.”

“I see,” Hope said. “So when the Deceiver was disguised as the Wise Old man, it was just a made-up persona.”

“Most likely.”

As the conversation lulled, the pattering of Skull’s fingers on his laptop keyboard filled the room. Hope stepped over to him. “What are you doing on there all the time?”

“Usually writing and running code, or searching through academic journals,” he responded. “Right now, Boggle, online.”

“Boggle? Like the word game?”

“I can’t stand keeping my hands still.” Skull’s fingers suddenly flurried over the keyboard, and Hope took a peek at the screen to see a cascade of green numbers get absorbed into his score. “Did you know,” he said, “they don’t accept ‘brane,’ b-r-a-n-e? You would think after sixty years String Theory terminology would have made it into the dictionary.”

“Uh, yeah,” Hope said, and thought it was best to leave it at that.

For the rest of the week, Hope had trouble staying focused while doing her homework or hanging out with friends. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the Sage’s realm. This was it, the moment they had been waiting for. What would the sage tell or show them? When she had found the guidebook in the library at Rome, it had given her the feeling of being sent on a quest as some kind of chosen heroes. Would the Sage give them some grand duty, like journeying to the heart of the Realms to restore balance, or charting out new realms that had never been explored? Hopefully he would at least be able to heal Samuel’s infection. The guidebook seemed to imply that much at least, but it was vague.

When Saturday finally came and Hope lay down on her delving bed, it took longer than usual to get into the proper meditative state. She kept wanting to fidget. When she calmed her fingers, the itch appeared in her legs. When she pushed that away, it appeared in her shoulders. After a few minutes without success, she got up and drank a glass of water before trying again. Eventually she found the place where her consciousness separated from the perception of her body, and satisfaction washed over her as she opened her eyes, sitting against the beacon in the cave, the guidebook in her hand as usual. Samuel stood nearby, and the Fool, in the doorway.

“What kept you?” Samuel said.

“I couldn’t lie still,” Hope replied, standing. “I guess I need more practice.”

The Fool held the happy mask to his not-face. “Welcome back! Are you ready to attempt the Trials of Truth? Remember, if you cannot complete the Trials, you will be unable to try---”

“A year,” Samuel interrupted. “Yeah, we know. We’re prepared. Give us your worst.”

The Fool bowed and stepped out of the doorway, sweeping his arm behind him. With his other hand, he switched the happy mask for the serious one, using impressive finger motions to flip between them. “As you wish. The first trial is the maze of mirrors. Be warned: these mirrors are different from the kind you know, for they reflect not your image, but your self.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Samuel asked.

When the Fool said nothing, Hope suggested, “Maybe they reflect us as we really are? Our true selves?”

They looked at the Fool, but the Fool remained silent. Samuel started into the hallway. “I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Around a bend, they found another room, split into four quadrants by two floor-to-ceiling glass panes crossing in its center. There was a door with a green light above it directly across from them, and an opening in the wall next to it leading to the right.

“He did say mirrors, right?” Samuel said, reaching toward the glass wall in front of them with his uncorrupted left hand. “But these are clearly---”

As his fingers met the glass, he suddenly teleported to the other side, facing the opposite direction as he had just been. The hand he held forward was his right, but it was perfectly healthy. At his left side, the hand blackened with Corruption hung. His left and right sides had been switched.

“not . . .” Samuel trailed off, swaying to one side before crumpling to the ground.

“Samuel!” Hope said, stepping toward him. She stopped before she ran into the glass, and, following her instincts, took a few steps to the side. She reached out with her left hand to touch the glass. If she was right, she should . . .

In an instant, her field of vision changed, and her right hand was against the pane. She tried to pull it back, but nothing happened. Then the world started to tilt, and though she tried to regain her footing, she couldn’t keep from falling down in a heap.

She lay there, feeling the most confusing sensation. Her vision told her she was on her left side, but she felt as if she were on her right. Her brain spun, trying to figure out how to make sense of these perceptions. Out of the chaos, an idea arose. Her right hand was trapped, so she moved her left hand in front of her face. It entered her vision from the right side, thumb to the right of her palm, as if it were her right hand instead of her left.

“I’ve got it!” she blurted. She closed her eyes and felt her way to a sitting position before opening them again. “We’ve been reflected. That’s what the Fool meant. These mirrors don’t reflect our image, they reflect us.”

Samuel had propped himself up on his elbows, and looked like he was having trouble getting any further.

“Close your eyes and use your sense of touch,” Hope said. “No, don’t stand up, you’ll just fall over again.”

On his knees, Samuel opened his eyes. He turned his head, swayed, groaned, and then closed them again.

“Don’t push yourself too hard if it’s making you nauseous,” Hope said. “I’ll take care of this puzzle.”

“I’m fine,” Samuel said, breathing deeply and keeping his eyes closed.

Hope picked up the guidebook, which had fallen to the ground, and slowly rose to her feet, focusing intently on her body’s perception of balance. She managed to stand, and take the four small steps to the door. The light above it was now red, and when she tried the handle, it would not move. She described these observations out loud.

“The light was green while we were on the other side of the mirror,” Samuel said, his voice still near the floor. He grunted as if in effort. Hope turned to find him looking at the two quadrants of the room they had not been to yet. “Maybe it’s telling us we have to get here with our correct orientation. Right to right, and left to left.”

“Uh huh.” Hope surveyed the crossing mirrors, trying to calculate if going through them all would bring her back correctly or not. She was not terrible at spatial reasoning, but it was not her strong suit either. After doing the mental exercise twice and getting different answers, she decided to just test it out. With her hands against the wall for support, she moved to the mirror between her and one of the empty corners of the room, and passed through it, her vision and body re-synchronizing on the other side.

“That won’t work,” Samuel said, his voice muted from the other side of the glass. “It takes two more flips for you to get back to the entrance, and then you will be normally oriented. There are an even number of mirrors in this room, which means no matter which way or how many times we go around, it will always be the same.”

From where she was, Hope could see he was right. It was either go straight back to him and be flipped, or go the long way and go flipped, normal, flipped.

Suddenly curious, she stepped toward the corner where the two mirrors met. “I wonder what happens if I touch two mirrors at once?” She started to move both hands forward, and then drew them back quickly. “I’m scared to try it.”

Luckily, there was another option. Behind Samuel was a short hall, with more mirrors at the end. “I bet we have to go that way,” she said, pointing. Without thinking, she let her finger touch the glass, and found herself once again on the same side as Samuel, her right and left sides mixed up. She cried out in surprise and almost fell again, but somehow managed to keep her balance.

She turned around just in time to see Samuel rising to his feet. “Come over to the wall,” she told him. “That way you can use your hands for extra support.”

Samuel turned the wrong way, and nearly fell again. He closed his eyes and pointed his left hand, so strange to see with Corruption on it. “That way?”

“A little to your left---uh, it might be to your right. Move your arm straight in front of you, and then keep going a little. Yeah, that’s it.”

Hope led the way down the hall, feeling her way along the wall. She had also closed her eyes, finding blindness much easier to move around in than backward vision. When the wall turned a forty-five degree angle outward, she opened her eyes to find they had come to another room just like the first, split into four sections by crossing reflectionless mirrors. That couldn’t be right. They needed an odd number of mirrors, not an even number.

Then she noticed that the portions of the ceiling above the the right and left quadrants were made of glass. So that was where they had to go. She touched the pane in front of her and reversed back to normal.

“Just a little farther, Samuel,” she said, as he took the last few steps and joined her on her side of the mirror. When he opened his eyes, she grinned, and then jumped with all her strength, just barely tapping the ceiling with the tips of her fingers.

The view that met her was the strangest yet. Instead of being reflected left-to-right, her sight was now upside-down. She tried to look down, and found her gaze pointed upward, at her feet standing on the ceiling. She lifted her head up and her vision pitched downward to see Samuel reach up and touch the glass, appearing beside her, making her feel a little jealous that he did not have to jump.

“This view isn’t so bad,” Hope said, leaning to one side and then the other. It was much easier to keep her balance while upside-down than right-side-left.

Samuel made a disgusted sound. “Let’s just get on with it.”

“You’re not having a good time, are you?” Hope said.

“Man was given his senses as they were meant to be, and they shouldn’t be messed with.”

There was only one vertical mirror here in the ceiling cavity. Hope flipped through it, and was surprised when her disorientation completely disappeared. Apparently, her brain found a view that was flipped in two directions almost as natural as if it had not been flipped at all.

Leaping up once more, she touched the mirror on the ceiling, landing with her vision swapped only left-right again, and tumbled to the ground. This orientation was the hardest. Beside her, Samuel landed on his feet. His eyes were closed, and she wished she had thought of doing that.

One flip later, they were back to normal. A glance down the hall showed that the light above the door was green, as they had expected. She looked at Samuel. “I think we did it.”

“Let’s not celebrate until we know for sure,” Samuel said.

When they arrived at the door, Samuel reached for the knob. Hope crossed her fingers as he turned it. With a click, the door opened.

“All right!” Hope cried, facing Samuel and holding up her hands. With a tired smile, he completed the high fives.

On the other side of the door was a hall with a high ceiling. Flaming braziers mounted on the sides of square pillars filled the room with the smell of burning wood, yet, mysteriously, there was no smoke. At the far side stood the fool.

“Congratulations on passing the first trial!” he said through the happy mask. “For the second, you must---whoa!”

He dropped the mask and started running toward them, flailing his arms. Hope was about to ask what was the matter, when she felt a tug, and the guidebook was torn from her grasp.

“Now what do we have here?” an unfamiliar male voice said.

Hope looked up to find a black-haired, clean-shaven man perched on top of one of the pillars with one leg swinging off it. His grin exposed sharp canine teeth, and his eyes flickered yellow and orange in the firelight. A name came to her, bringing with it a cold blanket of dread. Deceiver. She had never met him, but she had heard Samuel’s description, and it matched what she saw.

“You!” Samuel shouted. “Haven’t you given us enough trouble?”

“Give that back,” Hope cried, though she knew the words were in vain.

“What, this?” The Deceiver raised the book by its corner and it flopped open, the pages dangling dangerously above the brazier. He grinned. “It looks important. Let’s see how well you can do without it.”

Hope took a step forward. “Don’t!”

The Deceiver cackled as ribbons of otherworldly light crawled up the wall behind him. With an upward thrust of his wrist, he let go of the book, making Hope’s heart leap. But the covers came together in the air, and the Deceiver deftly caught it, before propelling himself backward with the foot on top of the pillar into the portal that coalesced from the light.

A moment later, it faded away, leaving Hope staring at the empty spot. Why had the Deceiver taken the guidebook? Did it hold some vital clue they would need during the Trials?

“I hate that b*****d,” Samuel said.

The Fool had reached them, and was waving his arms and stamping his feet. Then, apparently realizing he had no mask to speak through, scurried back to the end of the hall where he had left them.

“I don’t blame you,” Hope said, looking at the blackness on his hand that made him suffer, day and night, delving or awake. She brushed his arm with her fingertips.

When they reached the other end of the room, they found the Fool standing between two tunnels. “Oh woe,” he said through his sorrowful mask. “The one who must not be named has come.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Samuel said, “his name is the Deceiver.”

At this, the Fool cried out, his arms vibrating involuntarily. He lost his grip on the mask, which clattered to the ground. As he bent over to pick it up, Hope said, “All he did was take the guidebook. Do we need it to complete the Trials?”

The Fool froze midway through the act of standing up and returning the sad mask to his face. Then he switched hands and donned the happy mask instead. “No,” he said. “Indeed, all that is needed to pass the Trials must be found within oneself.” He assumed a more confident posture. “Ahem. Congratulations on passing the first trial! To attempt the second, you must each take one of these tunnels.” He gestured to the openings on either side of him, and then brought the serious mask to his face. “This trial must be undertaken alone. Be warned, there is a chance you may not return.”

“You mean we could die,” Samuel said. Hope shivered.

“Oh, no, there’s nothing to fear,” the Fool said with a laugh through the happy mask. “Although,” he chuckled and looked to the side as if thoughtful, “that might actually be the problem.”

“It’s not helping that you’re acting so creepy,” Hope said, looking anxiously at one of the tunnels, which at this moment looked a little too much like a gaping maw.

“I’ll do the rest on my own, then,” Samuel said. “Hope, tell Berkeley I’m fine.”

Hope rounded on him. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m the one who needs to meet the Sage,” Samuel said. “I know you want to help, but since it’s dangerous, I assumed you wouldn’t want to keep going.”

“You assumed what?” Hope wanted to slap him. How could he possibly think she would forgo the chance to meet the Sage, which would most certainly be one of the best experiences that could be found in the Realms? She glared at him, and then stalked off into the nearest of the tunnels.

It was dark and cold. Once out of the light of the room behind her, she could barely see the passage in front of her. When she put up her hand to feel her way forward, the wall was damp. She shivered as the cold seeped through her skin and deeper into her body.

Ahead, a hint of light peeked around a corner. The air might have gotten a little warmer as she approached, but it was hard to tell. She rounded the corner to find enough light that she could see another corner a few meters away, which turned in the opposite direction. With every step, the temperature increased just a little, building a long, slow sense of relief. The next turn revealed the tunnel’s end, bright with summer morning sunshine.

She emerged into a great garden. A cobblestone path wound between beds of every-color flowers, crossing a stream at a small white bridge before going up the hill on the other side. The air was a perfect seventy-six degrees, and a sweet breeze tangoed with the sunshine on her skin. As she walked along the path, she noticed it was the slightest bit uneven beneath her feet, which felt very satisfying. She paused to close her eyes and breathe in the floral scent permeating the air.

When she reached the bridge, she found its railing was carved in patterns of white tulips. She ran her thumb over the painted metal, marveling at its craftsmanship, and listening to the babbling of the stream. Somewhere, a bird twittered a song.

On the other side of the bridge, her eyes were drawn to the shiny red bulbs scattered about the deep green bushes. “Strawberries!” she exclaimed. Row upon row of strawberry plants covered the hillside, so full of the fruits that they bowed beneath the weight. She wanted more than anything to pluck one off the vine and bite into it, her mouth exploding with the sweetness. But these probably belonged to someone, so she reluctantly passed them by.

An open-topped stone pavilion stood at the crest of the hill, surrounded by locust trees. Their leaves rustled in the breeze, which swooped down and tickled her skin. She shivered with the sensation of recovering something lost and forgotten that could sometimes be glimpsed in dreams, but faded soon after waking. The pavilion’s frame of arches glowed yellow in the morning sun, contrasting pleasantly with the solid blue of the sky beyond.

Inside the pavilion, she found a man and a woman swaying together in a slow dance. They both wore silk robes with gold trim, the man’s a deep crimson, and the woman’s a stunning violet. The man had a full head of neatly trimmed red hair and a beard to match. His smile was of a kind Hope rarely saw outside of Hollywood movies. The woman’s smooth, slightly wavy brown hair spilled over her shoulders and most of the way down her back, and her bright blue eyes were locked blissfully on the man’s brown ones. She was at least six feet tall, and the man even taller. When the two noticed her, they turned, extending their closest hands toward her.

“Come, child,” the man said, his voice reminding her of toast and coffee.

“Come join us,” the woman said, as smooth as cream. “Come home.”

The warmth in their eyes and smiles made Hope want nothing more than to run forward and nuzzle herself between the man’s strong chest and the woman’s soft breasts. It would be like the times when she was a child and would leap into her parents’ laps, the memories coming back clearly in this moment after so long a time forgotten.

That was it. These two angelic figures must be the archetypes of the Mother and the Father, the embodiment of parental essence. This place, this perfect garden covered in warm golden sunlight, was childhood returned, the paradise poets and musicians spent their lives trying to rediscover. Hope suddenly understood the Fool’s warning about this trial. The thought of having to return to her crummy old life and leave this behind was like biting into a rotten fruit.

“Um,” she said, finding it hard to say anything beneath their gaze. “Excuse me,” She felt like a fool. “Could you tell me where the exit is?” As she said these words, she noticed the tunnel directly behind the man and the woman, in the pavilion’s only wall.

“Oh hon,” the Mother said, “you only just got here, after so long away. You must stay at least for a little while.”

“What do you mean, ‘after so long’?” Hope asked. “I haven’t been here before, have I?” The sense of remembering something lost was so strong that, despite knowing she had only found out about the Realms a few months ago, she wondered if, in some time buried beneath her life’s memories, she really had been here before.

“This is your home, daughter,” the Father said. “It is where you belong. Stay with us. Please.”

“I can’t,” Hope said, stepping sideways to get around them.

“Please,” the Mother said, “at least have some strawberries. The bushes here are always full, and they are always ripe and ready to be picked.”

Looking at the dark, dripping tunnel, Hope found the offer tempting. She didn’t look forward to the step that would take her from this beautiful, warm place into the dark and cold. Come to think of it, nothing in the rules of the trial said she had to finish it quickly, and she doubted she would ever find such a wonderful place again. What was the harm in enjoying herself for a little while? “Thanks,” she said, “if it’s not a problem.”

As if floating on wings, she drifted back to the hillside field, and bent down to pick a berry. She held it, taking a moment to admire its shine and savor the anticipation of the flavor to come. Then she closed her eyes and lifted it to her mouth.

The moment her teeth bit into the flesh, the Greek myth of Persephone flashed into her mind. Persephone had been taken captive by Hades, the god of the underworld. Before leaving, she had eaten the seeds of an underworld pomegranate, and because of that, she was forced to remain there as Hades’ bride. Before Hope could react, her teeth had bitten and chewed, and as the warning of the myth made it fully into her consciousness, she swallowed, the dissonance making her choke as it went down. She hadn’t tasted a thing.

She dropped the half of the strawberry left in her hand, feeling sick. Had she just made a terrible mistake? She turned and walked shakily up the hill to the pavilion, not knowing whether to expect the exit tunnel to still be there. To her relief, it was.

“What is it, daughter?” the Father asked.

Caught in his kind gaze, Hope suddenly felt tongue-tied. Everything was good here, and if she told them she was going to leave, she would be the blemish in paradise that spoiled its perfection.

But this was a trial, she remembered. One of the Trials of Truth. And although this paradise felt more real right now than any of her memories, she knew it was not so. The truth she was supposed to see in this trial was the truth of duty. Samuel was waiting for her, and beyond that, she had a real life to live. Summoning up her courage, she said, “I have to go.”

“Oh honey,” the Mother said, coming toward her with arms outstretched, as if to envelop her in a hug. Hope stepped back, and the Mother stopped and let her arms fall. “Stay here. Everything will be okay.”

“I can’t,” Hope said. “Someone’s waiting for me.”

“Let it go,” the Father said, as she walked toward the tunnel entrance. “Everything is as it should be.”

Upon reaching the tunnel, she paused, unable to step across the threshold. The myth of Persephone returned to her mind like a cockroach. This was as far as she could go. She had eaten the fruit of the afterlife, and was unable to leave. Almost like a marionette, she turned once again toward the Mother and Father, who stood looking at her with tears in their eyes. She couldn’t leave them. A magic spell had taken over her, making it impossible. There was no choice but to stay.

She shook her head. Magic might prevent her from leaving, but it couldn’t prevent her from trying. Turning to face the tunnel entrance once more, she stepped purposefully forward. Nothing stopped her. There was no force pulling her back, no electric zap, no invisible wall. She felt a fool. The whole time, all she had needed to do to pass the trial was enter the tunnel, and her imagination had made such a big deal out of it.

The tunnel was not so bad, once she was inside it. Like hopping into a cold swimming pool, or stepping outside on a winter day, thinking about it had been a lot worse than actually doing it. Before she knew it, she arrived at the underground room where Samuel and the Fool waited. She had passed the second trial.”

“Took you long enough,” Samuel said, his weight on one foot and his left hand in his pocket. “At least twenty minutes, if I make my guess.”

“Twenty?” Hope said, warmth creeping unbidden into her face. “No way. Five max. And I bet you only just got here yourself.”

Samuel smirked. “It only takes thirty seconds to walk through it.”

“Well I question your sense of time. When you’re standing around doing nothing for two minutes, it can feel like twenty.”

“Oh, so it’s two now?”

Even through her embarrassment, the banter was a refreshing breath of reality. And just like that, the paradise she had just been tempted to stay behind in seemed completely fake. There was nothing for her there. This was her real life.

They were interrupted by the Fool’s happy voice. “Marvelous! Two trials in the can. You may indeed have what it takes to make it to the end.”

“How many are left?” Samuel asked.

The Fool switched to his pouting face. “You think I’m going to tell you, idiot?”

“I would like to---”

“Idiot.”

“B---”

“Idiot.”

Samuel glowered at the Fool, who stared back, his mask’s lower lip sticking out. Hope found herself giggling, and stifled it with a hand over her mouth.

The Fool switched to his serious mask. “If you are quite finished, I shall go on. Unlike the trials you have faced thus far, this next one will take more than persistence. You must navigate a maze. However, there will be many false exits, and if you pick the wrong one . . .” He dramatically pulled the sad mask to his face. “You will leave the trials completely. You remember what that means, don’t you?” He switched to the happy mask. “And don’t think you can send one person ahead to check if an exit is real. It won’t work.”

“We’ll make sure we get it right,” Samuel said. “How do we know which exit is the right one?”

The Fool looked at him, saying nothing.

“Can’t you give us a hint?” Hope asked. “Anything at all?”

The mask’s downward-pointing crescent moon eyes seemed to mock them.

“It would seem that figuring out which of the exits is correct is part of the trial,” Samuel said, walking to the tunnel beyond the Fool.

“Makes sense,” Hope mused, following.

Before long, they came to an intersection. Samuel paused, looking down each of the three paths.

“Left,” Hope said, “and we keep going left. When we come to a dead end, we turn around. If we commit to always turning left, then we’ll end up taking every possible path until we find the exit.”

“Will that work?” Samuel said, his head and eyes making small, quick movements as if he were looking over something invisible in front of him.

“You don’t have much experiences with mazes, I take it,” Hope said, unable to keep the smugness from her voice at being able to get back at him for their earlier conversation.

Samuel ignored her, lost in his mental exercise. After a few seconds, he said, “that won’t help us if the exit is on the inside of a loop.”

“Or the entrance.” She had hoped they could get through the maze without having to think about the loop problem, but she should have known Samuel would think things through. In hindsight, it probably would have been wiser to have brought it up from the beginning.

They took the left passageway, and Hope said, “if only we had some bread crumbs or something to leave behind and mark our trail.”

“Well,” Samuel said, “we do have our shoes. And then, if it is absolutely necessary, our clothes.”

“Nuh-uh,” Hope said, leaning away from him reflexively. “Not gonna happen.”

“I’m just saying,” Samuel said, “we have options. Hopefully, we’ll find the exit without any problem. But if we don’t, we’re not totally stuck. If it comes down to it and you’re not comfortable, I’ll go first.”

“That wouldn’t help,” Hope muttered.

After a few more left turns and a little backtracking, they found themselves before a stone door with a light green luminescent torch symbol taking up a good fraction of its surface area. It was like the ones they had been following through the realms, except its flames were slanted to the right.

“This must be the wrong exit,” Samuel said, giving voice to Hope’s own thoughts. “I’ll bet the correct door has the true symbol on it.”

“And all of the false exits’ symbols have something wrong with them,” Hope said.

Samuel kept looking at the symbol on the door, his eyebrows drawn together. “What is he planning?” he said.

“Who?” Hope asked.

“The Deceiver, who else? He stole our book. And what was in the book?”

“You’re thinking he stole it so we wouldn’t have a copy of the torch symbol for reference?”

Samuel didn’t answer.

“That’s got to be it, right?”

“I don’t know.” Samuel turned around, and they walked back into the maze. “We’ve both seen that symbol so much we have it memorized, and it doesn’t seem like it should be that easy to outwit the archetypal Deceiver.”

They found several more false exits, each marked by a symbol that was not quite right. Then, from around one modest corner out of a hundred, a torch symbol appeared that matched perfectly with Hope’s memory. She smiled and hurried toward it.

“Wait,” Samuel said from behind her. He stepped up to the door, the pale green light illuminating the front of his body contrasting eerily with the void-like shadow covering his back. Raising his hands, he felt along the glowing lines. When he reached the part where the flame and torch met, his expression changed to triumph. “Aha!” he cried.

“What is it?”

“Feel this spot,” Samuel said excitedly.

Hope touched the stone. It was mostly smooth, except for one segment about ten centimeters long, which gripped at her fingers. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Paint,” Samuel said.

“Paint?”

“Yes.” Samuel was full of energy now, gesturing as he spoke. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the Deceiver’s scheme. He’s supposed to be the trickster, right? He had to know we would have memorized every pen stroke of that symbol by now. So then why would he have stopped after taking our book, when it obviously wouldn’t work? Hell, why take our book at all?” He pointed at the symbol. “This is why. He wanted us to think we had him all figured out, so that we would let down our guard and get caught up by the real trick.”

Hope felt her eyes widening. “That’s genius.” Whether she meant the Deceiver’s duplicity or Samuel’s cleverness at figuring it out, she couldn’t say.

“The real one has probably been painted over too,” Samuel continued. “We’ll have to revisit all of the exits we’ve passed, just in case.”

“I think we should keep going first,” Hope said.

“Of course,” Samuel replied. “I just meant it’s possible we missed it.”

As they continued through the maze, Hope began to feel more like an observer than a team player. Samuel took the lead with purposeful strides, and she followed, feeling each symbol they came across after him. Before long, the tiredness of tedium began to set in, and she found herself thinking about paradise, and wishing she could have gotten stuck there instead of here.

When they arrived back at the entrance, tendrils of nervousness crept up within her. There were only a few exits left, and they had already been to each of them once. Maybe none of these would be right either, and the true exit would be on the inside of a loop. She shivered, remembering their conversation about marking their path with articles of clothing, and she was made even more uncomfortable by the tingles that went through her body at the thought.

However, as Samuel’s hand brushed over the gap between the flames at the third exit, he gave a whoop of triumph. He moved out of the way to let Hope feel the change in texture that meant it was painted over. If that spot were lit up, the torch symbol would be perfect.

Hope smiled in relief. “We’ve finally found it.”

“Wait,” Samuel said. “It’s possible this one is a red herring. The Deceiver might have guessed we would figure this much out, and painted over a blank spot. We should finish checking all the rest of the exits, just in case.”

“Oh come on,” Hope said. With all of the back and forth in the endless hallways of the maze, she was more than a little tired and frustrated. “We’ve found the right exit, let’s just go.”

“Believe me, I’m as ready as you,” Samuel replied, “but I can’t take the risk, no matter how small.”

“Well what if the Deceiver predicted we would get this far, and only made it look like he was switching the exits?” Hope said sarcastically. “How do we know the glowing paint isn’t covering a glowing line, and the dark paint isn’t covering a dark patch?”

Samuel raised one eyebrow. “That wouldn’t be very smart. If we had just gone through the exit without noticing the paint, his overly elaborate trap would have been for nothing.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get moving. There aren’t many left.”

None of the remaining symbols were painted over, so they returned, now without the shadow of a doubt that they knew the correct exit. Hope ran the last few meters to reach it, feeling like she would crack if she were stuck in this maze any longer. As she put her hand on the knob, Samuel appeared beside her. Had he run too? She pushed the door open, revealing a vestibule with another door on the other side, this one unadorned. Hope tried it. It didn’t budge.

“Hang on,” Samuel said, “Remember how the Fool said we couldn’t check whether an exit was correct without committing to it?” He closed the door they had come through. “Try it now.”

The knob turned, and Hope sighed, ready to get out of these dark halls and on to the next trial. But instead of being greeted by the stale air of another underground room when she opened the door, a sweet, warm breeze blew in. When she stepped out, a twilight scene met her eyes, of fir trees spreading long shadows over a grassy slope that led down to a pond. A path led around a steep slant and up the hill to a beautiful log house.

“Are we finished?” She said.

“Let’s find out,” Samuel replied.

As they approached the cabin, the blue and red figure of the Fool stood up sharply on its porch. Putting the happy mask on, he waved and called out to them. “Hey! You made it through the maze, I see!”

“You’ll have to fix it,” Samuel called back. He told the Fool about the paint over the exit symbols. The Fool apologized profusely through the sad mask, insisting it was not part of the trial, and it was merely supposed to test how well they knew the torch symbol.

“Well,” Hope said, “at least we made it through.”

“Yes, very much indeed,” the Fool said through the happy mask. “And now there is one final trial remaining before you can meet the Sage.”

“Let me guess,” Hope said. “We’re going to have to figure out that you are the Sage in disguise.”

The Fool froze, his mask’s mouth hanging open. Then, he slowly lowered the mask and placed it on a bench next to the other three, and for the first time since they had met him, he spoke without one. “I should have expected as much from the ones who passed a trial distorted by the Deceiver. You are wise indeed.”

“Not really,” Hope said. “That’s just how it is in every story ever.”

The Fool snapped his fingers, and there was a blinding flash of light. When Hope’s vision faded back in, an old woman stood before her, stooped with age. Across her face was a white blindfold, which had the symbol of an eye dyed into it in black. Hope had seen that symbol before, in the guidebook.

“So the Fool was the great and wise Sage all along,” Samuel said, startling Hope with the mockery in his tone. “Which means you knew about this,” he leaned forward, thrusting his Corrupted hand close to the Sage’s face, “the whole time, and still made us play your silly games?” Why was he upset now, after they had suspected the Fool’s identity the whole time?

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” The Sage calmly replied.

The anger slowly drained from Samuel’s face, and his hand started to tremble. He stared at it as if it were not a part of his body, his face draining of color. Hope wondered what was going on inside his head to make him act this way.

“Come inside,” the old woman said. She opened the door and slowly shuffled in.

Hope and Samuel followed her into a homely parlor, which, to Hope’s surprise, was lit by incandescent light bulbs. It felt strange to see technology in a place created by the human unconscious. The twins would be interested in this back in Reality.

“This is a nice place you have,” Hope said.

“Thank you, child,” the Sage replied, hobbling to a small table covered with cloths embroidered with swirling patterns of indigo and crimson, which hung down to the floor. It reminded Hope of a fortune teller’s booth. The Sage took her place on the far side. “Come, sit.” Samuel took a step forward, but the old woman pointed at Hope. “Her first.”

Hope looked at Samuel, who met her gaze for a moment, before looking away, biting his lip. She had expected him to object, but not a sound escaped him. Something was bothering him, and she would have to ask him about it later.

“Place your hands beneath the table,” the Sage said once Hope had sat down. Hope looked down at the folds of cloth by her knees, momentarily wondering what the old woman meant. She fumbled with the material, and found two holes she could put her arms through. When she did, she felt the Sage’s calloused palms on the backs of her hands.

“By the power invested in me,” the Sage said, “I grant to you the Mark of Truth.” Her finger traced a curve on Hope’s left hand. “The Sigil of Knowledge, marking you as one who is observant, and sees the connections between things.” Another finger touched Hope’s right hand. “The Sigil of Wisdom, marking you as one who makes sacrifices in the present to serve the future.” The Sage put both her palms over the backs of Hope’s hands, bathing them in warmth. “These two sigils together make the Mark of Truth. With it, new paths are opened to you.” The Sage brought her hands up on top of the table. “It is done, child.”

When Hope pulled her hands out from the hanging cloths, she was surprised to find two curved teardrops printed on the backs of her hands, one white, the other black, like a yang and a yin. “What does this mean?” she asked.

“Some things once invisible to you have become visible,” the Sage said, walking toward the door. “You will be able to travel to new realms, and use doorways you could not before.”

“Neat.”

Hope stood and let Samuel take her place. With their hands under the table, the Sage repeated the words she had said with Hope. Samuel withdrew his hands, placing them on the table. The white yang of knowledge showed clearly on his left hand, but the black yin of wisdom was obscured by the Corruption on his right.

“Is this normal?” Samuel asked, after describing it to the blindfolded Sage.

“I suppose so,” the Sage said, “but if you look closely you should still be able to see the sigil.”

Samuel brought his hand up to eye level and tilted it this way and that. Hope leaned in for a better view as well, lifting her own right hand for comparison. Her yin was a lighter shade than the blackness on Samuel’s hand. “I don’t see it either,” she said.

“Could there have been some mistake?” Samuel asked.

“No,” the Sage replied. “The mark was granted. I would have felt it if it were not.”

Samuel nodded slowly and the both of them stood up. “Thank you,” he said, “But I came here for a different reason.” He lifted his Corrupted hand, “I assumed---I mean, I was hoping you would help me with this.”

“That is beyond my power,” the Sage said, walking across the room, “but fear not, for your quest has not been in vain.” The Sage opened the front door, and gestured through it. “Now that you have the Mark of Truth, Fate’s Doorway is available to you. Trust that it will take you where you need to be.”

Hope followed Samuel out the door, and saw a tall, white frame in the yard. The inside of the frame shimmered and rippled as if made of liquid light, causing the air around it to glow. Above it hovered a yin-yang.

“Your journey may be nearing its end,” the Sage said, “or it may have just begun. Only Fate knows.”

“Fate?” Hope asked. “Is she---he---an archetype like you?”

“An archetype, yes, but not like me, for she knows no bodily form. Fate is the will of the Great Unconscious that gives form to these Realms.”

“You mean the Collective Unconscious?”

“If that is what you call it, yes.”

“Thanks for what you have done for us,” Samuel said. “We’ll be going now.”

“What?” Hope said. “But we only just got here!” She wanted to stay and speak to the Sage for hours, asking about the Realms, about the archetypes, about the Collective Unconscious, and a thousand other things.

“It is time for you to go now, child,” the Sage said, “but do not worry. Now that you have the Mark of Truth, you may find it much easier to visit me again. May the blessing of the Great Unconscious be upon you.” She bowed and retreated inside, closing the door behind her.

Hope and Samuel went down the porch stairs and started walking toward the glowing doorway. But before Hope had taken three steps, something thudded into the grass beside her feet. It was the guidebook, its covers spread open, its pages crumpled beneath it. Suddenly feeling cold, Hope looked up to find the Deceiver standing six meters away, grinning, his arms crossed.

“I’m done with that,” he said, “so I thought I’d return it.”

“You!” Samuel cried, startling Hope and charging toward him.

Quick as lightning, the Deceiver side-stepped, jamming a knee into Samuel’s stomach before flipping him onto his back. Looking down and shaking his head, the Deceiver said, “Don’t do that.”

“We got through all of the trials,” Hope said. “We beat you.”

The Deceiver smiled at her and shrugged, turning his palms upward. “Guess you did.” Samuel was struggling to his feet, and the Deceiver grabbed him by the back of his collar and shoved him toward Hope. “You win some, you lose some.”

Samuel regained his footing and turned and stared at the Deceiver, but he did not rush at him again. Hope could almost see the tension in the air around him like a mirage above a hot road.

“Well we’re going to win the next one too,” Hope said. “We’ve got the Mark of Truth, and we’re going to find another cure for Samuel, so you have nothing left on him.”

The Deceiver looked up thoughtfully and pushed the fingers of his left hand against his chin. “Mark of Truth, Mark of Truth . . . Oh, you mean this!” He lifted his right hand, and there, on its back, was the black candle flame shape of the Sigil of Wisdom. “I’m glad you reminded me. I meant to thank Sammy-Boy for helping me to get it.”

“Thank?” Images flashed through Hope’s memory. Samuel removing his hands from the table cloths. Hope comparing her yin to his blackened hand. The Sage confirming that the sigil had been granted. “No . . .”

“That’s impossible,” Samuel said. “You couldn’t have.” Was he thinking the same thing as she?

“Oh come on,” the Deceiver said with a vigorous shake of his left hand. When it stopped moving, it was bony and wrinkly, like an old person’s hand. “Not possible, you say?” He dropped to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, holding his hands above him, beside each other, palms downward, fingers pointed in opposite directions. “You offend me.”

The way he was curled on the ground, and the position his hands were in, it fit too perfectly. “Don’t tell us,” Hope said breathlessly, “you were under the table?”

The Deceiver grinned broadly, his sharp canine teeth looking like fangs. “In the perfect position to imitate both Samuel’s and the fool Sage’s hands.” He stood up. “Yes, Samuel. I stole your blessing.”

“No.” Samuel said. “That’s still impossible. We would have found you with our knees and our feet, and our hands would have had to be out of place in just the right way.”

The Deceiver shrugged. “I’m just that good.”

Samuel looked back and forth between the Deceiver and the Sage’s house, a near state of panic evident on his face. Then he turned and dashed to the house. “Sage!” he cried, rattling the locked door. “There’s been a mistake. Open up.”

Hope caught up to him, missing the words the Sage spoke through the door in return.

“No, you don’t understand,” Samuel said. “The Deceiver got one of my symbols.”

“I am sorry,” came the Sage’s muffled voice, “but your Mark has been bestowed. It cannot be given again.”

Samuel swore. “We were tricked somehow. You made a mistake. Surely you can fix it!”

“There is nothing I can do now,” the Sage said. “You are in the hands of Fate.”

“It’s not Fate, it’s the Deceiver!”

The Sage gave no reply.

“Look, if you don’t open the door, I’ll . . .” Samuel looked around. “I’ll break in through the window.”

“Samuel, don’t!” Hope cried, grabbing his arm. She could imagine how desperate he was, but this was taking it too far.

Samuel wrenched free, glaring at her, and Hope took a step back instinctively. Was there nothing she could do? She watched as he hefted a chair, taking a moment to set himself, then thrust it, legs forward. There was a terrible screeching sound as it met the glass, and Hope cowered, pressing her hands over her ears. When she looked up again, Samuel was panting, the chair on the ground, and the window had not a single crack.

A string of slow claps sounded from behind them. “Bravo,” the Deceiver said loudly. “I love a good slapstick routine.”

Samuel whirled around. “Why are you still here?”

“I couldn’t leave you stranded,” the Deceiver said, tapping the symbol on his hand. “We need each other. If either of us wants to use this mark, we have to do it together.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Samuel said. He turned back to the door. “I’m going to get in there no matter what.”

While Samuel tried all the doors and windows, Hope’s curiosity drew her attention to the Deceiver. He returned her look and smiled, looking like he planned to eat her. She swallowed, summoning up the courage to ask her question. “Why did you steal the guidebook earlier?” she said. “I mean, if we had fallen for your trick with the painted symbols, we wouldn’t have made it here, and you wouldn’t have gotten your half of the Mark.”

“Because it was fun,” the Deceiver said. “Why else?”

“Fun?” Hope’s apprehension was quickly replaced by anger. “You think playing with someone’s mind and seeing them suffer in pain is fun?”

“Life is boring without stakes,” the Deceiver said. “Besides, it was a win-win or lose-lose situation. If he had fallen for it, I’d have had to find another pawn.”

“That’s just wrong,” Hope said.

Sometime later, Samuel sat down against a tree and closed his eyes. The Deceiver walked over to him. “Are you ready to give up?” he said.

“No.” Samuel replied. Then, “yes.” He gathered his feet and stood. “You win this time.”

“Wonderful!” the Deceiver said. “I was about to start dancing on my hands from boredom.” That would have been something to see, Hope thought. “Now let us begone.” The Deceiver marched toward the path leading from the front of the house.

Hope waited until Samuel caught up with her so she could walk beside him. She had accompanied him on this journey for the adventure, but his reason for coming was that his health was on the line. And now his goal had been snatched from him, before his very eyes.

They stepped up to the radiant doorway. Hope almost thought she could make out shapes in the shifting shades of white light on the other side, but she couldn’t say for sure. The Deceiver held his right hand forward, and motioned Samuel to do the same with his left. When their marks came near each other, wisps of colored mist swirled around their hands, orange around Samuel’s, mixing with a grungy black from the Deceiver’s, like centipedes darting over his flesh.

The Deceiver looked at Samuel and said, “I will see you at the Gate of the Serpent, seven days from now.” Then he stepped into the whiteness, Samuel stumbling as he was pulled along after.

Hope tried to follow, but a force like an invisible wall kept her from passing through. After a moment of confusion, she brought her hands side by side, like she had just seen the others do. Bright green wisps danced around them, the color of an activated beacon. She smiled, thinking of the Magician performing the spell that made the horizon appear to rise into the sky. Now, Hope used magic for the first time.

In two steps, she was surrounded by warmth and brightness. Then it faded, and she found herself standing on brick pavement, in an open area with trees and benches placed in organized patterns. Rome’s Central Plaza.

She walked toward Samuel, who stood leaning against the plaza’s centerpiece, a tall beacon. She touched it, hearing the familiar whoosh of air as the white flame turned green. Something felt odd this time, though. Her other hand was empty. “Oh darn it,” she said. “I left the guidebook on the Sage’s lawn.”

Samuel made a frustrated noise. “Today just keeps getting better, doesn’t it.”

“I’m sorry.” Hope looked around. “Where is the Deceiver?”

“Disappeared. My guess is that however that door works, it put him somewhere else.”

“Speaking of which,” Hope said, “why do you suppose we were sent here?”

Samuel was silent for a moment, and then said, “It was probably just because the Sage wanted to get rid of us.”

She could tell he didn’t believe it. Which meant he must have been thinking the same thing as she. If the Deceiver trusted Fate enough to walk through the Doorway alongside Samuel and her, then Fate’s plan must be for them to confront him at the appointed time. And she wondered, what grand plan had she and Samuel stumbled into? What narrative, where Fate and the archetypes pulled their strings? And were the two of them main characters, or extras, to be killed off at the beginning of act two? Like uninvited guests, these questions settled into her mind. And, at a deeper, truer level than she had yet felt in the Realms, Hope was afraid.