Why can't it just be water in the pitcher? Why can't things just obey the rules of reality sometimes? In Alim's mind, this shouldn't be happening. In Alim's mind, the pitchers should've went down ever so slightly, triggering some complicated but logical contraption to open another hidden door, or a reasonably sized chamber of gold coins or (more boringly and realistically) archaic dusty documents that his adventuring companions will no doubt pore over like they were gold. That kind of mechanism - though unimaginative and boring - made sense to him, given his experience spelunking in ruins that didn't welcome him, and in homes that no longer welcomed him. His brain, shaped by his life full of mundane evil and pragmatic manipulation, could not conceive any other way.
Imagine his surprise when water came up
through the tiles and soaked his boots.
"Habbas! Habbas, what is going on?" The question came out of his mouth freely, flowing like the water beneath his feet, as he looked around to the only other person in this room who might know what's going on.
"What's going on is we were wrong," Habbas grimaced. Because by Allah, of course they were. When did anything ever go right with that madman Ananias?
Right. The puzzle – they still had a chance to solve it. The water flowed freely from the floor and the walls, yes, but at the rate of its flow, there was ample time before they had to worry about being submerged. Araia was giving them another chance.
He stayed, rooted as a tree, and water, sand, and gold coins alike washed over his feet first, and then his ankles. He stared intently at the puzzle. They had tried gold, they had tried blood…now what? What could Araia possibly want?
While Habbas held intelligent thoughts, and went down a list of things they tried, Alim's brain was going through a less intelligent list. He wondered if the way back was shut, and lo it was. He wondered if he could punch through it - though not wishing to break both his hands, he thought not. He wondered if he'd shat himself at the thought of him dying to a water room - and wondered if Habbas would mind him pooping himself, if he was also to join Alim in death. His mind eventually snapped out of the 'death' route, favoring more practical things.
Not paying heed to the surroundings, Alim looked down. There had to be some mechanism down there, perhaps a plate to trigger to stop the water, or some sort of central grate the water's coming from that they could block. Something. He looked down, but found naught. It didn't help that water was still coming up, soaking his shoes and making Alim's footsteps squeak.
"Quick, Habbas! Help me look! There's gotta be… be something we could block!"
Truly, Habbas was as immovable as the statues around them. Indeed, that's where his focus was now geared; he stared, almost mesmerized, at the glyphs in their poses on the walls, his eyes boring holes into their carved heads.
For Araia a measured pay…
Measured pay…measured
pay…
It came to him in the lap of water against his knee.
"Alim! Come over here!" Habbas ordered with urgency. He began to kneel in the water, shivering at the frigid temperature.
"The glyphs on the walls. We need to mimic the worship poses!"
Alim's brain once again failed to understand this.
"What??" He stared back at Habbas, voice raised higher than usual.
"Kneel beside me! It's alright," He assured the other man, his hand stretching out to beckon towards him.
Alim glanced at the water flowing up to his thighs, and trudged over with great effort, swinging his hips and upper torso to reach his legs further with every step. He may not understand the mechanisms of this trap, but Habbas is the one with knowledge here, not him. And if Habbas is wrong, at least the fault lies not in Alim, and that is good enough.
On the way, he steps on a sizeable block of coins that easily give way under the buoyancy of water, and he trips. Re-emerging from the water with a soaked turban and a less dignified scowl on his face, he got to Habbas' side. Getting into the prostrating pose - shivering when his nethers went below the water - Alim looked over to the wiser of the two foolish adventurers.
"What now?"
"Hold that pose."
Habbas looked only into the water. Was there a chance he could be wrong? Possibly. But was it better to try it this way rather than to look for an impossible escape? Yes…maybe. Probably. Only time would render his doubts as a fatal mistake or not.
Coincidentally, Araia was quick to review their penance.
The water that had so far been merely a petering stream now burst forth from every fissure and crack in the walls and ceilings with tremendous force. It surged at their backs, napes, and chests; breaking the pose instantly, Habbas lurched to the side, startled to find the water having risen to their armpits. He blinked the onslaught of water from out of his eyes.
"Do you see anything?" He yelled over the rushing water.
Alim was too busy choking on water to reply. He too had broken his pose, but being of smaller stature than Habbas meant the water actually managed to push him forward, dipping his head below the water for a second time. Emerging upright and coughing profusely, Alim could barely hack out a reply.
"It's still rising! We're doomed!"
Habbas looked at him in alarm.
"Can you swim?"
Alim's head going underwater a third time answered that. Habbas seized the young man at once, hoisting him by the arms up out of the water as his feet kicked furiously for the both of them.
"It's alright, just kick your feet and keep your head up–look there!"
Ahead of them, where the poem was written on the wall, the water gushing forth had managed to pry a few bricks loose into the growing indoor pool; a bright light emerged from the space beyond. Grimacing, Habbas paddled them forward, bringing them up against the crumbling wall.
"Let's pull this loose. Grab onto the bricks and just pull."
Alim was still coughing up water, more focused on not sinking than on listening for specific words. Never in his days had he been in this much water; he knew of the sea, of course, but he never went into its blue depths. Man was not meant for the roiling waters, or the turbulent skies. Man was not meant for much, other than crushing dreams and destroying life. Or maybe that was just Alim.
Alim held onto the loose bricks that Habbas guided him toward, legs kicking wildly and incorrectly; any sailor or seaman looking down from heaven - or more likely up from hell, where seafarers belong - would die laughing at his non-existent form and technique. His arms held onto the bricks, more focused on tethering him to the surface than to yanking them like calm Habbas. Falling prey to gravity and a lapse in his kicks, Alim's body went under the water, and brought a brick with it. He went up for another brick, to hold him afloat while he took deep heaves. And so, brick by brick, Alim aided Habbas.
The last brick Alim grabbed was the key to the foundation of the wall. The rest of the bricks collapsed under the monstrous pressure, and at last their way was made clear. Too soon, they came into the next room. There was barely enough time to register the set of stairs before the pressure of the water slammed them forward against the steps, crashing in one great wave into the sunlight space. Habbas, still instinctively holding onto Alim against the pull of the water, dragged the man with him as he crawled up the stairs, not stepping until they reached the top.
Curse that puzzle.
Habbas laid on the dusty floor awhile, catching his breath.
"Are you alright?" He finally managed. Alim, coughing and inhaling at the same time - which led to more coughing - could only raise a defeated thumbs-up in response. The hand soon fell back down to the ground, as the sopping wet Alim tries and fails to get directly onto his feet. He instead settles for getting up onto his knees, which he barely manages.
"Where are we?" Alim managed to weakly cough that out, not really looking with his eyes.
"Well we're-" Habbas grimaced as he twisted to look behind them. A sunlit corridor stretched beyond, coming to a stop to what looked like a courtyard.
Back outside?
His hand went to his right ankle.
"We've come full circle. I think our prize is just ahead," He went on. Brows furrowing, he grimaced as he rolled his foot about in search of a sprain. There was pain, yes–but no sprain or broken bones. That was fine. He could live with a bruise.
He rose tentatively, grimacing still. Yes, there were plenty more bruises to be had. Wordlessly, he extended a hand to Alim.
Alim's hands were preoccupied, his coughs having subsided with the lack of water going into them. He was in the middle of wringing out his turban to at least have one item of clothing not clinging to his skin with moisture. But alas, the adventure was not over, and the half-wet turban went back on his scalp, as he took Habbas' hand and stood up. The corridor was touched by the light, but Alim's eyes first scoured the darkness. A high-contrast environment like this was a prime candidate for ambushes, like Headmen with bows at the ready. Though given the… situation he just escaped, Alim thought he'd rather look out for magical mechanisms throwing lightning at him or some other crazy notion.
Satisfied that they were in the clear, his posture straightened, though it went back down to a hunched ready stance the moment he heard faint, distant noises. He raised a hand to shush Habbas–
No, that is just Razin. So they survived as well. Unfortunately.
"I can hear the others. We should see if they are unharmed. I'll go first." Alim's squeaky footsteps echoed down the corridor, leading Habbas towards the rest of the adventuring party.