“I am,” said Paul, unable to suppress a shudder.
From that moment on, Paul began to drift in and out of consciousness. He understood the questions, and replied to them, but his fear and inability to see had heightened his other senses so much so that they had taken over. He began to breathe faster.
He was climbing a flight of stairs. He tried to control his anxiety by counting the steps, but he quickly lost count.
“This is where the trial of air begins. Breath is the first thing we receive when we are born!” thundered Keller’s voice.
The suited man whispered in his ear: “You’re on a narrow gangway. Stop. Then take one more step, but make it a decisive one or you’ll break your neck!”
Paul obeyed. Beneath him, the surface of the floor seemed to have changed from marble to rough wood. Before taking the final step, he wiggled the toes of his bare foot and felt that they were at the edge of the gangway. He wondered how high he might be, and in his mind the number of steps he’d climbed seemed to multiply. He imagined finding himself at the pinnacle of the towers of the Frauenkirche, hearing the pigeons cooing beside him, with the bustle of Marienplatz an eternity below.
Do it.
Do it now.
He took a step and lost his balance, falling headfirst, for what couldn’t have been more than a second. His face hit a thick net, and the impact made his teeth clatter. He bit the inside of his cheeks and his mouth filled with the taste of his own blood.
When he recovered, he realized he was clinging to the net. He wanted to pull off the blindfold to be sure that this was so, that a net had indeed broken his fall. He needed to escape the darkness.
Paul barely had time to register his panic, because at once several pairs of hands dragged him from the net and straightened him up. He was back on his feet and walking as Keller’s voice announced the next challenge.
“The second trial is the trial of water. It is what we are, what we have come from.”
Paul obeyed when told to lift his feet, first the left, then the right. He started to shiver. He had stepped into a huge container of cold water, and the liquid reached up over his knees.
Again he heard his guide’s whisper in his ear.
“Crouch down. Fill your lungs. Then allow yourself to fall back and stay submerged. Don’t move or try to get out, or you will not pass the trial.”
The young man bent his knees, curling up as the water covered his scrotum and abdomen. Waves of pain ran up his spine. He breathed in deeply, then threw himself backward.
The water closed over him like a blanket.
At first the dominant sensation was the cold. He had never felt anything like it. His body seemed to solidify, turning to ice or stone.
Then his lungs began to complain.
It began with a rasping groan, then a dry croak and then an urgent, desperate appeal. He inadvertently moved his arm and had to summon all his willpower not to put his hands against the bottom of the container and push up toward the surface, which he knew was so close, like an open door through which he could escape. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it a second longer, there was a sharp tug and he found himself out of the water, gasping, filling his chest.
Again they were walking. He was still soaked through, his hair and clothes dripping. His right foot made a ridiculous sound as the shoe pressed against the floor.
Keller’s voice:
“The third trial is the trial of fire. It is the Creator’s spark, and what moves us.”
Then there were hands twisting his body and pushing it forward. Whoever was holding him drew very close, almost as though he wanted to embrace him.
“In front of you there is a circle of fire. Take three steps back to build up momentum. Stretch your arms out in front of you, then take a run and jump forward as far as you can.”
Paul could feel the hot air on his face, drying his skin and hair. He heard a sinister crackling, and in his imagination the burning circle assumed massive dimensions until it became the mouth of an immense dragon.
As he took three steps back he wondered how he would be able to jump through the flames without being burned alive, and trusted to the dampness of his clothes to protect him. It would be even worse if he miscalculated the jump and fell headfirst into the flames.
I simply have to mark an imaginary line on the floor and jump from there.
He tried to visualize the jump, to imagine hurtling through the air as though nothing could hurt him. He tensed his calves and flexed and stretched out his arms. Then he took three running strides forward
…
… and jumped.
30
He felt the heat against his hands and face while he was in midair, even the hiss of his shirt as the fire evaporated some of the water. He fell to the floor and started patting his face and chest, looking for signs of any burns. Apart from his bruised elbows and knees, no damage had been done.
This time they didn’t even allow him to get to his feet. He was already being lifted up, like a shivering sack, and dragged into a confined space.
“The final trial is the trial of earth, to which we must return.”
There were no words of advice from his guide. He simply heard the sound of a stone blocking the entrance.
He felt around him. He was in a tiny room, not even large enough to stand up in. From his crouching position he could touch three of the walls and, stretching his arm out a little, he could touch the fourth and the ceiling.
Relax, he told himself. This is the final trial. In a few minutes it’ll all be over.
He was trying to regulate his breathing when suddenly he heard the ceiling start to descend.
“No!”
No sooner had he uttered the word than Paul bit his lip. He wasn’t allowed to speak during any of the trials- that was the rule. He wondered fleetingly if they’d heard him.
He tried to push against the ceiling to halt its descent, but in his position he could gain no leverage against the enormous weight advancing toward him. He pushed with his whole being, but to no avail. The ceiling continued to lower, and soon he had to press his back against the floor.
I have to shout. Tell them to STOP!
Suddenly, as though time itself had stopped, a memory flashed through his mind: a fleeting image from his childhood, of coming home from school with the absolute certainty that he was going to receive a thrashing. Every step he took brought him closer to the thing he feared most. Not once had he turned around. There are choices that are simply not choices at all.
No.
He stopped pushing at the ceiling.
At that moment it began to rise.
“Let the voting begin.”
Paul was back on his feet, hanging on to the guide. The trials were over, but he did not know if he had passed them. He’d dropped like a stone in the trial of air, not taken a firm step as they’d told him to. He’d moved during the trial of water, even though that was forbidden. And he’d spoken during the trial of earth, which was the most serious fault of all.
He could hear a noise like a can containing a stone being shaken.
He knew from the book that all the current members of the lodge would be making their way to the center of the temple, where there was a wooden box. Into it they would drop a small ivory ball: white if they gave their assent, black if they wished to reject him. The verdict had to be unanimous. Just one black ball would be enough for
