The man named Elder, for that was all that his father and village chieftain had ever called him, sat at the end of a long table. The benches at this table were crowded with men in a disordered array of different garments, no two sets of protective armor the same. Some, like Elder, wore no armor at all. The waiting room was directly adjacent to the main throne room, but he could not exactly remember when he had been on the other side of the human-sized door, not ten paces away. It had been a lifetime, that much was clear. In moments of deepest despair, he knew with stark clarity that it had been several. Five, no six, of his place settings had worn out and needed replacement.
Directly across from Elder’s view, in this corner of the room, priests in gray robes stirred a stew cauldron that never emptied, filled roughly carved wooden mugs with ale from a cask that never emptied, or served patrons like him, never truly sated. Elder was long past any visceral response to their orange striped fur and feline faces. After all this time, he wondered briefly what questions the cat folk must be working on themselves, to be trapped here with the lost patrons of their god. Elder drew little comfort from the fact that their other duties here were rarely required.
Elder looked down at his empty bowl and sighed. He drained his mug and stood up, reaching above and behind his head to stretch his back. He turned and gazed out across a sea of tables, extending farther than he remembered. Women appeared in the ranks a few rows back, then joined their brothers in almost the same proportion, a bittersweet sign of increasing egalitarianism back in the outside world. Thousands ate in silence, their bizarre kinship only this shared curse.
It had been a while since there was any commotion to witness. A man stood and yelled, “Is this it, damn you? One hand clapping?” He began slapping his own face with a pleasing staccato rhythm.
“No,” intoned a familiar voice, from everywhere and nowhere. The man screamed as he crumbled to ash. His failure blew away on an unseen and unfelt wind.
Elder shook his head. The brave and foolish both entered this temple, seeking audience or confrontation with the ancient Master of Riddles. Few understood what that actually entailed. Once asked, each person received three chances to reach a correct answer. While this game played out, time stood still for that answer, and those with two wrong guesses were given a choice. Try again in the Master’s presence, or wait to contemplate their final answer. Time was more than willing to catch up with those who got it wrong.
Elder grabbed his bowl and approached the buffet line, confused over how long it had been since the door had last opened. A rather large woman in dark metal armor hunched forward in front of him. The line moved, and she staggered. After a stumble, she steadied herself with one hand on the serving table.
“Are you okay?” ventured Elder, surprising himself. Conversation was generally forbidden. Asking questions was suicidal.
The woman dropped her wooden bowl and threw her spoon across the room. She whispered, “Fook meh.” She raised a gauntleted hand and counted to four with her fingers, then two. Then, three. From Elder’s perspective, this was clearly a long practiced hand gesture.
“Um, pardon?” he asked.
The woman in dark armor stood tall and bellowed, “Fook meh! Is man, innit? Ya giant kitteh bahstahd!”
Above and below, the voice answered, “Yes.”
A rare cheer rose from the assembled host. “Fook yass it is!” She pulled off her helm, revealing long black curls. Elder realized he still had the capacity to long for another in the carnal sense. Before he could say any more, she disappeared through the door, closing as swiftly as it had silently opened. Elder dreamed of the riches and renown that must surely reward a correct answer, before he was again consumed with his own problems. A priest silently retrieved the broken bowl from the floor.
The line moved slowly. Four servings later, Elder turned at the distraction of the door opening again. A new visitor, the strangest he had bothered to notice in his entire tenure here, lumbered inside and joined Elder at the end of the line. The man, for it was a man behind the clear helm that covered his head, was wearing a suit of shiny fabric, puffy or somehow inflated from within. Seemingly to noone, he stated aloud, “Command, third try confirmed. Do you read me? I may have passed through a Class VII threshold, copy.”
Elder whispered, “New one, mind your use of questions, lest they be interpreted as answers posed to our Master.” A priest hissed in their direction, and Elder turned back forward, dropping his head in a semblance of self-reflection.
To his rear, the man spoke again. “Confirmed vocal contact.” Elder glanced over his shoulder. The man said, “Starting video transmission.” Elder flinched as a cylinder on the man’s shoulder suddenly began beaming light ahead, above a dark circular crystal.
“What are you doing?” asked Elder, in spite of himself.
“Sir, you understand the words I am speaking. Nod once for yes.”
Elder faced forward again and shuffled ahead a few steps. He nodded his head.
“Repeat, contact achieved. Sir, do you know where you are?”
Elder pleaded as best as he could in a whisper. “Sir! We should not speak. Answer your own question, in your own time.”
The man rolled his eyes. “I have trained for this my entire life, you poor lost soul. What has words but never speaks? Please. I am here to save you from this wretched exis– huh?”
Five priests howled in unison. Elder and the six people in line in front of him ran out of the way. Tearing fabric, human screams, and other growls were all mercifully brief. Everyone standing filed back into their place in line. Moments passed again.
Elder sat down with a full bowl but an empty heart. How was he supposed to succeed? What could possibly be red and also white and black at the same time? Preposterous.
He sat up straight and stood up slowly, as a realization slowly dominated his attention.
Elder had forgotten to refill his mug.
Reddit [r/WritingPrompts] hitting the right notes with In the great labyrinth, you have one guess remaining for the sphinx’s riddle, but you have all the time in the universe.