That dust has mangled me. I’ve gone over the cliff on gold-green pixie... moon dust farts! Vetra will have to seal me in like that bellowing beast and leave my mad arse for dead.
Vetra. That was all it took and my cocoon of thoughts, wrapped around me so tight I could hardly breathe, ruptured and I burst free.
Restless, my legs fidgeted, feet shifting. Grit and bits from the stone rolled, grinding together beneath me, like fine sand mixed with coarse terra, dry despite the clean dampness to the air, the sound loud in the small, quiet space, echoing off the walls as I moved. The harder lumps beneath me dug into my bum, poking at me with tiny jagged bits through my pants. Sand, or glass, I wondered, glancing down at the odd, sparkling bits surrounding me. Probably not the best idea I’d inhaled a few lungfuls.
Curious, contemplating setting one of the knives down to dip my fingers in the shimmering bits and crumbling clumps, a low hissing reached my ears.
“Pssst. Oi! Quit mucking about, woolgathering or whatever you’re doing! Riadne! Pssst! I don’t know what happened to you, is happening to you, but wake the hell up, eh!”
There was a swishing sound and something whizzed down the passageway. A thunk followed, then scoffing. Thess cursed, and the sound of something dragging had me hurtling back to the here and now.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my newly acquired blades sighed in disappointment as I dropped them like they’d grow snake heads and try to bite me any moment.
That strange euphoria on contact with them suddenly gone, I got down on my hands and knees, peering down inside the dark passage for clues. “I can’t see shite,” I grunted out, squinting as a spark shot off, sending me skittering back. “What the-”
“Make way.” That was all the warning I received and the whirring, whizzing was off again. The object Thess tossed made a tumbling, rumbling noise towards the left, skittering down the tunnelway.
Rolling to thump just by the mouth of the rectangular tunnel I had no clue how my hefty ass’d popped through, I bent down, leaning forward to reach inside.
“You got it? It make it through?” Thess called out. “Tied a rock to the end and chucked it as far as I could.”
With utmost reluctance, I forced myself to pick up the knives—my knives—yet again, to move them out of the way. When I would have set them back down, safely out of the impale-the-clumsy-idiot range, I couldn’t bring myself to let the blasted things go. It wouldn’t, couldn’t, be done.
Grunting, scooting until I was flat on my butt, I pulled my knees up in front of me, my gaze pausing on my boots. Hah! My lips quirked triumphantly as a thought struck.
Lifting my pant leg, I plucked one knife up and pressed it along the outside of my pants, carefully tucking it into my boot. Sighing in relief at the cool comfort pressing against me through the material, I did the same with the other. Much better.
“I can see you.” Thess sounded like he was scratching the old bean yet again at me. Then lower, “Barely.” Louder, “I threw it. Are you still there? What’s that? What have you?”
Obviously, I thought dryly, twisting to blink down into the black, rectangular abyss, and what have I? None of your business, because they’re MINE. Where else would I go without my pack, you dolt, I was ready to bark at him. “I’m here,” I said instead.
“You get it?”
“Lemme, erm, see, ugh, here.” My hand slid along grooved stone, divots, dips, and dust beneath my fingertips, until I couldn’t see it right there in front of me, lost to the dark of the tunnel. Pressing closer, until my cheek mushed the wall and I couldn’t reach in any farther, my hands slid across the gritty walls and grittier bottom.
Oh, for the love of- Ah-hah!
My knuckles finally bumped a fat lump, the coarse rope wrapped around it and tied in a decent knot pricking my skin. Grabbing at the bundle, I pulled it towards me carefully.
Slowly, I unearthed the dark grey rock, an orangey red tint to it under the strange light it cast along the walls, shadows dancing around the room. The tiny, flickering fairy looking lights, suspended in the air, erupted from tiny little holes, half shell looking shelves dispersed throughout the room at inconsistent points and angles. Illuminating the room, exacerbating the effect, they cast the room in a low, red glow, magnifying the deep rust coloring the walls.
The result was ethereal, otherworldly, like tiny little fairies trapped in faded crimson walls were trying to escape. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. How much blood was shed in this maze, staining these tunnels, marring the beauty of the wondrous lights? A million shades of splotchy, dark, black red smearing the walls, all around me, darkened beneath that glow, standing out in stark contrast to the wall’s natural coloring, I feared I already knew the answer.
Glowing oranges, blues, and reds cast strange shadows along the edges of the ceiling, distorting, reimagining, everything around it. Ghouls, ghosts, creepers, demons hungry to paint those walls anew.
Blinking, I glanced away, gripping the rock in my fingers tighter instead of reaching for my knives, which was my first instinct.
Swallowing past the lump forming in my throat at my childish fit of fancy, allowing myself to fall under the labyrinth’s spell, snorting at the make-believe, the dragons and banshees hot at my heels, my left hand wrapped around the rope and tugged.
The scrape of my bag sounded off and I yanked faster.
“Not too fast,” Thess, cautioned, “don’t want it to get stuck.”
But two more yanks and the top of the bag and the knot in the straps was already poking out to say hello.
Scooting back, just out of Thess’ sight, I grabbed my bag and stood. Undoing the knots carefully, my eyes kept darting back towards that tunnel. “Thess?”
Once the rope was free, I opened the rough canvas material of my sack turned bag to dig through. At the very bottom was what I wanted, well-hidden. I had to give it a good shake to wiggle it free, more so to resist the urge to tear the blasted thing in half as it slipped free than have to put it on.
Unbuttoning my shirt to slip it off, then my under shirt and breast wrapping, folding it all up haphazardly to shove it into my pack, I stood there, breasts exposed, eyeing my new outfit.
Breeze notwithstanding, I’d almost rather traipse around like so. It would certainly scare off a few. Lips quirking as I shook my head and the movement sent my breasts in motions, I snorted. My fingers itched to grab one of my knives and slice this beastly contraption I was about to shimmy into up.
The gauzy material of my new garb was horrendous. Who would want to be caught dead in the blasted, useless thing, I’d no clue.
“Here goes nothing.” Grimacing like I had shit on my lips, I slid the material over my head. It was a bit of a tight fit—understatement of the season—but it would work. The ties took a bit to figure out, but I soon had the right of it. That’s what happens when you have to rush the job and your sewing skills aren’t on par with Mother’s. Or Vet’s, I thought sourly.
The inner sniping at myself helped cool my suddenly thundering heart. Glancing down at my pants and booted feet, I shook my head. I’d always hated dresses, the up draft, despite my underthings.
Thinking of having to part with my knives if I took off my pants gave me pause, but then my gaze slid to the hem of my hastily put together gown.
Hmm.
I could- really- I mean, who would see it? My gaze unerringly slid to the tunnel mouth to slip away. What did it matter now?
My boots came off, leaving me in my dress and my pants. Careful to hold the amber crystal blade in my handkerchief covered hand, I made quick work of the bottom of my outfit. It snagged, naturally, forcing me to try and finish tearing the hem by hand. With a great rending sound it ripped up as well as down, leaving a slit clear up my side, exposing my thigh.
Naked as the day I was born beneath the flimsy white material, I was surprised I didn’t find it much breezier.
Huh. My eyes strayed about the room, the lumps and bumps, dips and div
ots along the tops of the walls, but briefly. Must be the cave air, a natural source of warmth coming from somewhere in here.
Ah, what does it matter? I’m not cold, I’m one step closer to Vetra, and don’t plan on hanging around this place long enough to investigate.
Measuring the material I’d just torn off, I folded it neatly in half once, then cut it right up the middle. One piece for each knife, I wrapped them, slipping out of my pants, folding them up to shove them in my pack and put my boots right back on, placing my knives in their rightful positions. The effect was odd, my paper thin stockings rumpled atop my boots, one higher than the other and fast slinking towards my ankle, but it would just have to do.
Examining my handiwork, I shrugged. This was, well, this was downright indecent. If my parents could see me now they’d have a conniption. Lips slowly tipping up, I grinned at the thought and danced a little jig in place. Indecent, but it would work.
“Riadne?!” Thess was calling after me. “Have you left yet? What are you doing? What are those noises? Are you... are you laughing? Dancing?” Thess’ scandalized tone at the idea could not be contained. “This isn’t the time for that!”
No. Not laughing. I was giggling. Very inappropriate considering the circumstances, I agreed. Shame on me and my whore’s garb. Shame on the Counsel for forcing Vetra into a longer but equally as ridiculous ensemble. Shaking my head, picking up my pack, I snorted, muffling a few more giggles.
Closing up my pack, sobering up, I walked over to the stone block, wedging my bag in beside it, positioning it so my provisions would be hidden from view, should someone else somehow stumble upon this chamber.
Shifting in this uncomfortable contraption one might dare to call clothing as I kneeled, my breasts squished until they looked like I was trying to strangle them, I was already sweating in nervous anticipation. I could add rashes up easily to my list of attractive qualities.
“And off I am,” I mumbled on a gusty sigh, then louder to Thess. “Leaving now.”
One step closer.
Shifting, I was just about to stand, kneeling beside the thick stone and my pack, when I paused, glancing down at my injured hand. It was still bleeding quite steadily, if slowly—an oddity, as it didn’t appear very deep and I wasn’t feeling much pain other than the sting of it. Best look at it now. Before.
Would blood incite the creature? Not the way Nan made them out to be, but even at that her information was secondhand at best, prone to be faulty somewhere down the line. It was then the beast’s unintelligible, monstrous bellows echoed throughout the Queen’s maze. I hated to question things so, but I still very much had my doubts. Best to be safe than sorry.
Wind picked up down the tunnel, a sudden gust right as I exposed my palm to the open air, sending green dust swirling about the room. It was like a storm of sand, whirling about me in one of those great funnels of wind.
Devil’s fits, they called them. I’d heard a traveler passing through once talk about them. So many travelers, too many tales to tell from stories. And everything was always centered around the devil! Great gusts of wind that picked houses clean off the ground, tossing them about, he’d said. The devil’s work. The devil’s about. More stories. This world was steeped in them. Fact, fiction, a combination of the two, how were the less traveled to tell? It was just this side of maddening.
Anything unexplainable was always the gods’ wrath or the devil’s. But what if it was neither? The weather was ever-changing—could it not then play a hand in things?
Or this magick Thess appeared to firmly believe in.
My gown rippled, the tie securing my hair slipping, tendrils of soft brown pulling free from my loose braid to slap about my face. A great gust rushed me, sending me stumbling forward.
Reaching out for balance, my palms slapped the stone. It was then I noticed the golden glow the massive hunk of rock had adopted. Like a shimmering, golden brick, it lit up, until it was too bright, bits of sunshine, star bright, bursting forth. The flats of my hands burned, searing pain skewering the tender flesh.
Hissing between gritted teeth, I tugged with all my might, desperate to escape the pain, the heat, until finally something gave and I yanked my hands back.
Too late, I lifted my smoking appendages to my face, squinting past the blinding light of the stone, gaping at the bubbling gold sizzling my blistering skin in horror.
I was too stunned to make sounds. My breath was short, puffing out of me in quiet, shocked pants.
The bubbling continued, like molten metal mixing with flesh, though that initial burn quickly faded.
As fast as it came on, the sunlight imbued golden brick shifted back to normal, drab stone once again.
More glittering dust floated around me. It painted my skin, the walls, a million bits of gold.
I didn’t understand. Blinking a few times, wiggling my fingers, making a fist slowly, the smooth edges of lifted skin more sensitive than I could ever recall yet... the markings left behind, one very similar to the map I’d filched from Nan’s chest gracing the palm of my right, the outline of a bull’s head—the mark of the beast—the sign of the Chosen, the Watchmen, the Queen’s famed labyrinthian guard, on the other.
I now held the mark of the... “Bloody hell,” I mumbled. I’d- “I’ve been chosen.” This was some kind of strange fever dream, had to be. My voice cracked and I had to blink rapidly to stave off the wave of emotions. “I’ve- It’s happened.”
This was what I was waiting for. It was a sign if ever I was to be given one.
Gripping the skin on the underside of my arm between my forefinger and thumb, I gave the fat a good pinch, yelping at the immediate pain. Not a dream, Riadne.
I mean, it’s finally fucking happened. A female in our line has finally- But what did that mean, exactly? Especially in this situation? This was a boon, surely, but...
“Lost, little one? I’ll guide you,” a voice whispered.
Jumping, I jerked, hopping to my feet. “Who said that?”
“It matters not. You wish aid, sweet lady, do you not? And, clearly, you hear me.” That silky smooth, velvety voice came from everywhere, all around me, surrounding me, and yet nowhere, as my arse was obviously standing here alone, not another soul in this cavern to be seen.
Did I wish aid? Of course I did. I wanted nothing more than to run and hide and send someone else to do the job for me.
“Like hell it doesn’t,” I shot back at this... mist, this wraith, ghost, remnant, this disembodied voice, whatever the being might be. It very much mattered! I knew of the labyrinth’s tricksters, to be wary of false promises.
Voices calling out, now that I hadn’t expected. I’d been thinking more along the lines of golems or physical beings of some sort.
“What manner of being are ye, creature?” My voice was a growling hiss, low enough so as not to alert Thess.
A shadow crossed the wall, two large, elongated, pointed things—horns, ears?—a shadow along the wall, a long snouted face, the distorted shadow of a head rushing past. Another creature being? Were there two now?
“What be you, beast?” I demanded. “Demon? Devil? Apparition? Show yourself!”
“Riadne?” I could hear Thess calling after me, his voice faint.
“Riadne, then, is it?” the phantom voice cooed.
Shit.
I chose to ignore it—both of them. If I was indeed going mad, I’d prefer it happened without witnesses. Thinking better of leaving in this simple slip of a dress, I retrieved my threadbare cloak from my satchel, shaking it out to drape it about my shoulders.
The voice made a tsking sound, as if he missed the unsightly bulges my thicker frame showcased in this silly thing. Too bad.
“May the devil have you,” I told the foolish creature with a snicker. Nasty beastie thing.
Nasty beastie thing snickered back but otherwise quieted.
Much better.
Naturally, Nan had warned of tricks and traps, walls shifting, twisting paths that led
you ‘round and ‘round in circles, but Watchmen were supposed to be immune, I’d thought. Would that not include strange voices calling out to you? So many years had passed, so many tales told, who knew anymore.
Uncurling my fingers from my gown, where they tightly clenched the silky fabric, I lifted my hand, staring at the strange markings on my palms.
I didn’t know what the map looking one represented, other than exactly that, a damn map. I’d gotten the Watchmen gig and the map holder, no instructions to follow. No the map. It sounded familiar, vaguely, hearing something of a… younger male being appointed, a minor position, the Watchmen’s guide through the tunnels or some such, but that was all I could recall.
“They’d meant an actual, literal map.” Right on my freaking palm. And I’d been deemed suitable for both jobs?
‘The labyrinth chooses, as well. Congratulations, little human.’ Another whispered thought. The labyrinth was like a living, breathing thing, and it had, whether out of desperation or lack of decent pickings, handed these tasks over to me? Why?!
How wildly convenient. That thought ending on a snort, I mentally said a silent prayer, sending it up to whomever might be responsible for this happy miracle.
“Or maybe this was the trick,” I mumbled aloud, reaching up to pick at my lip. With a shrug my hand fell but my scowl remained. If it got me to Vetra, I’d take the consequences. All’s well that ends well.
Flexing my fingers, hands outstretched, wriggling my arms, I couldn’t say I felt any different, not that I expected I necessarily should, but... shouldn’t I? Watchmen were renowned, picked from the best of the best, the strongest, the wisest, the bravest of the brave, and then there’s goofy little old me. My brow lifted briefly to collapse once again, furrowing until my eyebrows touched, two tiny brown caterpillars snuggling muzzles on my face. Strong, brave, wise? Laughable. I was none of those things.
So, then, why, I wondered for the umpteenth time in such a short span, me?
“What the bloody hell was this magical rattrap thinking putting this on me?” I croaked out hoarsely, blinking, dumbfounded. “Cursed. It’s a bloody curse,” I told myself, “just you wait and see. No way nothing nice, this nice, has just fallen right into my lap,” I snapped my fingers, “like that.” There was a catch, to be sure. There was always a catch. And I’d signed my name in crimson bodily fluid.
By the Horns Page 4