Chapter Five: The Hilt

he room opened up.  Blackjack stood there with a slight smirk on his face. He was the one who told the captain of the ship this place existed. That declaration was met with laughter by the crew. But the captain saw something in Blackjack and so, if he was so sure about it, then he could go find out. The ship would be waiting. And Blackjack would return a hero.

This room, the Gallery of Ice,  was almost exactly as Blackjack had expected it to be. Except….it was more beautiful than he had imaged, certainly more than the wood print he had seen. The walls were carved, like something or someone had painstaking scraped elaborate patterns and symbols. Yet the floor of the room wasn’t all there. Instead, an icy walkway starting in one corner of the room wrapped around until it got tighter and tighter, swirling into the very middle, like the pattern of a sea shell. That was where Blackjack would find what he came for. Resting on a raised column in the middle of the room was the hilt to one of the greatest swords known to man: the hilt of the Saro Jane sword.

Taking a deep breath, Blackjack began walking on the round-about path.  He was a bit cocky, sure, yet cautious, aware that there must be something more to all this.  Around and around Blackjack walked, one foot carefully placed in front of the other. The gaps in the spiral seemed bottomless as a cold mist swirled far below. Finally Blackjack was in the center, the hilt within his grasp. He reached out and touched it. Nothing happened, which was a good sign. Confident, Blackjack took out a small hammer and chisel and carefully chipped at the ice to free the prize. Once loose, Blackjack held it up. It was rather plain for such a treasure, grey without any markings. And it was warm.

That’s odd. How could it be warm in a place like this?

Blackjack shrugged off his thought, put the hilt securely inside his jacket, and turned to walk back around and around. But things changed. The mist from below rose. Water droplets fell from the ceiling. The spiral pathway started to melt.

Trying to stay calm, Blackjack quickened his pace. He started to sweat. The temperature was rising. Water flowed down the walls and the ground beneath Blackjack’s feet was getting smaller. Yet with precision and concentration, Blackjack made it out of the spiral, which was now completely shrouded by the rising fog.  He chuckled and left the room. The narrow passageway he had to squeeze through on his way in had opened up.

Not bad, thought Blackjack.

But then he stood at the edge of the chasm. The cylindrical bridge was melting and melting fast.