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 him to be led to the exit, his eyes still blindfolded.
The sound of the voting stopped and was replaced by a loud patter, which ceased almost at once. Paul guessed that someone had tipped the votes out onto a plate or a tray. The results were there for everyone but him to see. Perhaps there would be a solitary black ball that would render all the trials he’d been through meaningless.
“Paul Reiner, the result of the vote is definitive and cannot be appealed,” thundered Keller’s voice.
There was a moment of silence.
“You have been admitted into the mysteries of Masonry. Remove his blindfold!”
Paul blinked as his eyes returned to the light. He was struck by a wave of emotions, a wild euphoria. He tried to take the scene in all at once:
The enormous room in which he was standing, with a marble chessboard floor, an altar, and two rows of benches lining the walls.
The members of the lodge, almost a hundred formally dressed men wearing elaborate aprons and medals, all standing to applaud him with white-gloved hands.
The equipment from the trials, ridiculously inoffensive once his sight had been restored: a wooden staircase over a net, a bathtub, a couple of men holding torches, a large box with a lid.
Sebastian Keller, standing in the center beside an altar adorned with a square and a compass, holding a closed book for him to swear upon.
Then Paul Reiner placed his left hand on the book, raised his right, and swore never to reveal the secrets of Masonry.
“… on pain of having my tongue torn out, my throat cut, and my body buried in the sands of the sea,” Paul concluded.
He surveyed the hundred anonymous faces around him and wondered how many of them had known his father.
And if somewhere in their midst was the man who had betrayed him.