“Think you not good enough to be chosen? Dost thou protest too much? Methinks so. And mayhap that’s why, little one, hmm?”
“Because I’m incapable and unsure of myself, a skeptic, and it makes me a better choice? As opposed to..?” I replied to the voice. Yeah, no, wasn’t buying it.
And, shit, now I’m talking to the voice, one I wasn’t even sure was actually here, or alive and belonging to anything, for that matter!
It’s a trick. It’s a trick. I chanted the words, trying to remind myself not fall for it and answer yet again. My chant fell on deaf ears.
“As opposed to those old fools and even more foolish younglings? Boys playing men, barely out of their nappies? Yes and no. This job requires a… feminine touch, methinks.”
Tiny puffs of purple dusted with green sparked the air. Dust, but it was forming shapes. Very... phallic shapes. My eyes widened but I couldn’t look away. Squash and berries, eggplant and mushrooms, dancing about in genital mocking patterns. Very familiar, erm, flower shapes joined the dancing penises, petals open and quivering, and I gasped. The purple penis puffs sought out the flowers and-
Oh my, not flowers. “N-n-n-not flowers.” My horrified whisper had the spirit being cackling.
“Gah.” Coughing violently, choking on my own spit and nearly swallowing my tongue, I wheezed out his words. “Feminine… touch?” Oh boy, were the gods, fates, the Queen and the ghost of- of- of glittery vegetable ding-a-lings and flower vaginas copulating, in for a surprise.
Ready to put that strangeness behind me, my hands crept along the wall as if to guide me, though I could clearly see. The strange fairy lights, as I was wont to call them, lit the branching passageway looming before me.
This felt right, like my navigator’s instincts were coming into play. Go straight. Don’t look back. Keep going until the fluttering in my stomach says otherwise. A cockiness on my part? A true gift? Or gut instinct? Whatever the catalyst, I trusted it, taking one, two, three steps forward.
I kept going until I came to the inevitable, a huge fork in the road. No small paths that lent off the original path but three wide passages, lit and ready for the choosing.
And… now I actually have to make a decision here.
Nothing from the gut, my still-stinging-slightly-palm with the bull head marking, or navigate-y map-palm-ness, all was silent. “Now the hell what?” I grumbled, shrugging the heavy folds of my cloak back over my shoulders to grip the edges closed around me protectively. What good are fancy titles and burned markings if they’re of no use?
A tinkling, strangely child-like yet masculine laugh bounced around the cave room. “Choose wisely, little one. Choose right, and may all the rewards you could possibly wish be bestowed upon you.”
Not this again. “And the right way to choose?”
“Follow me and I’ll show you,” that voice taunted.
“Where?” I murmured curiously.
“A secret place, a different path, free the Queen’s cursed, give to you, I shall, all you ask.”
Ah... we’re rhyming now. A play of sorts? Am I to be this act’s fool? All I needed now was a prancing unicorn and a kraken in its Sunday finest writhing on its back, and my nosedive into madness would be complete. “Uh... huh.”
“Don’t believe me, little chosen one? Come, I’ll show you.”
The fairy lights trapped in the walls flickered, sparks shooting off down past the room and to the left, lighting the way. Lighting the way with purple, I noted, down the tunnel with the least light. Was the Trickster moon come to life to torture me, in here of all places? Purple moon dust fit for faeries twinkled all about.
“Definitely a trap.” Crossing my arms over my chest, fingers exposed to the rapidly cooling air, I rested easy in the knowledge I had my knives in my boots and my head on more than straight—too straight to follow some silly voice and pretty lights.
And my gut, it was telling me he was nothing but trouble.
The gut never lied.
Well, if I had to face something, and since I wasn’t going to follow Sir Gabby Rhymes I’d be going alone, at least I wouldn’t be going into it with the small, piddly knife I’d left back with my pack. Or worse, emptyhanded. “Silly beast spouting nonsense… ridiculous maze. Rules, traps… trickery afoot.”
Lifting my palm to study it, I frowned at the tiny blue dot on my map hand, lit up like one of the free standing, floating fairy lights. A purple light appeared just behind the blue dot, a green one similar to the gold and green dust this place emitted showing from far off towards what appeared to be the center of the labyrinth. There were also tiny, nondescript, pepper-sized flecks of black I assumed meant regular ol’ humans.
Eyeing the black specks steadily moving closer to the green centered dot that appeared to be pacing, I had my answers. Nondescript specks are people, green is for the man of Minos, this Tauran, I assumed I was blue, I surmised, taking a step forward to test my theory, and the purple light was… well, “Hell if I know. A wicked beast?”
“A beast, you say? Oh, and you think to play with him, when you could seek me?” The disembodied voice let out a dramatic moan, a quick wisp of air slipping over my shoulder as if he’d willed it, trying to mimic a lover’s whisper into his heart’s ear, that had my face pinching instantly. “How you wound me, sweet!”
Great. So… maybe not a beastly creature hanging about me but a spirit? A… manifestation of the labyrinth, of which is apparently a wild flirt and a skirt chaser. And a poor one at that.
Lucky me, I thought glibly, though my lips quirked in a half smile. He was rather entertaining, in a way.
“I could help you, you know. We could,” a lascivious sounding chuckle, his voice smooth and deep, seductive, “help each other?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I made to leave the room, pausing at the last moment as the cave’s fork loomed before me. It was a very bad idea. I needed to do this on my own. How would I know he wouldn’t just lead me back towards the start of it anyway? No shortcuts. No ghostly help.
A sharp gasp. “No?”
Did I detect a pout in that huffily puffed word?
“No, thank you,” I muttered. “Now go away.” Left… center… or right…? No left. He’d said left. So, forward or right?
“Come now, surely we can-”
“No.”
“But I haven’t even-” The smile in his voice was starting to sound frowny, mixed with a bit of shock at my quick rebuff. I didn’t know why—there was nothing he could offer that I’d want. And yet he continued to cajole, a hint of something lacing his tone that made me wish I could physically tune him out. In an effort to do just that, I started humming.
I couldn’t say I knew many tunes, or that I could carry one as well as the next person, but the Sea Witch’s Lover, a lullaby used by many living along the vast water’s edge, came to mind. Pa’d loved it. He liked to sing it to Ma through the window when he was working close to the house. She’d smile and listen while she got things done inside, humming along as she finished up to join him. Until he started drinking and she stopped enjoying the sound of his voice altogether, that is. The slight smile tilting my lips faltered as the memory soured.
“I said no,” I muttered on a rumbling grumble. Thoughts going to things better left forgotten, my voice came out harder than I’d anticipated.
If it fazed the creature, I couldn’t tell. He just kept, well, talking.
Mumbling nonsense to no one in particular at times, like he was thinking and talking, as if a real actual living creature and not some trick of the maze, another being yet trapped in the depths of the labyrinth—and maybe that’s what this spirit being, thing, apparition was—muttering, an almost pleading note entering his words, I wouldn’t be swayed.
Already his incessant nattering was getting on my nerves.
A fork in the road. I made a show of clucking my tongue. Nope, nothing bothering me, no mumbling nonsense buzzing around me.
Now, which way to go...?
Center, I decided, based on the straight path to the black dots the map offered, as those dots moved ever closer to that pacing green fairy light.
Hurry up, Ri!
I am, I snapped back at myself, and rushed down the middle path.
“Wouldn’t go that way if I was you,” the voice murmured on a gusty sigh. “Know a better one…”
“But it’ll cost me?” I guessed. No. Shaking my head, I put one booted foot in front of the other. Not worth it. And if he said no it was probably yes. I knew a troublemaker when I’d heard one, and this one reeked of it.
“Such a small price, and you’ll like it. Dare I say, enjoy it.” That faceless voice turned sweet softness, smoother than silk, crooning to me sweetly, a small, dark chuckle renting the air that had me shivering for all the wrong reasons.
Ugh. I’d bet, from the sounds of it he’d be finding a way to enjoy himself as well.
“Oh?” Stopping momentarily, I cocked my head as if to listen.
“Oh yes,” the masculine voice practically purred.
This circled things ‘round to that feminine touch bullshit, which made me just want to cringe. Not the words I’d be using, not when it came to anything to do with this. And if my continued existence hinged on a feminine touch, which I interpreted to mean feminine wiles, I was a goner.
Sighing gustily, letting out a long, drawn out breath for dramatic effect, my expression lifted and I looked for all the world a woman about to concede. “Well, in that case…” Peeking at my hand to spy the location of the purple dot before whirling around to face it, invisible as it might be, I lifted my lips in a nasty smile. “In that case, I think most definitely not.”
“Vixen,” the voice hissed menacingly, yet there was no bite to his words. If I didn’t know any better I’d think he found my churlish stubbornness amusing, adding his own theatrics to complement.
With a snort, I spun on my heel and continued on, creeping quietly down the hall. I’m coming, Vetra.
I wasn’t but fifteen paces down when my foot slipped a little, skidding along the loose dirt lining the cave floor. Chunks of lumpy rocks that had formed along the top and broken off to crumble, nothing more than dried out red clumps of dirt among rock lumps protruding from the ground, sent me skittering towards the wall.
My knee smacked the wall first, catching my weight before my hands could, then the side of my leg, the knife in my boot pressing closer to my skin, cool yet warm despite the material it was wrapped up in, as if to remind me.
The wall crumpled when I thought I’d be kissing hard, rusted red cave wall, a thick layer of soft, sand like dirt crumpling to expose a darker, more stone-like and less terra grey than red peeking out. Grey like the stones lining the mountainous labyrinth’s shell.
Pressing the tips of my fingers into the wall to watch more loose, mud-like paste/plaster fall, I almost wished I hadn’t. Old, dried blood, smeared along the wall, hand prints and long streaks, preserved in its red clay casing. Should it not have turned to dust and crumbled off by now? It appeared as if these walls had embraced it, soaking it up for its own lifeblood, a warning and a resource to fuel the maze.
“So many others come and gone, tromping around hoping to best the Abandoned, or simply try to catch one of Puck’s children, before it kills them, that is.”
“Abandoned? Puck’s children?” Pulling back, righting myself, I dusted my hands off, eager to wipe the memory of the long dried blood hidden beneath, cleanse myself somehow of deep, crimson spattering on those dingy grey walls. It couldn’t possibly be described as anything but a gruesome display.
“Beast of my breast, shard in my heart.” The voice with no face sounded wistful yet resentful. “Bane of my existence.” Those last words were spat, whispered spitefully. This just further confused me.
Yet, knowing it must be a trick to muddle my mind, distract me, I sloughed it off, forcing myself to ignore it.
My eyes drifted back to the wall again and again, as if I simply couldn’t help myself. Brushing my hands together, I thought of all the men, the blood they must’ve shed along these paths, the lives lost.
‘They weren’t worthy… like those who’d taken the girl. They think to take what’s not theirs.’ This new voice, lower than that of the talking, floating purple fairy light, but no less strident, hardened. ‘They deserve to die.’ It was the whisperer that came to me softly back at the small cave room, only louder than before, stronger. This new phantom voice had grown wings.
I agreed, wholeheartedly, nodding along woodenly like a marionette, and yet…
Warmth seeped into the flesh of my ankle—the knife, I knew. Calm washed over me, renewing my sense of determination, yet now for an entirely different reason.
‘We will do this together, Chosen. The Hands of the Heart will guide you.’
Shuddering at the sharp yet cool, feminine voice, clipped but encouraging, I blinked. My left foot shifted then, bringing to light the fact the knife in that boot had slipped from its covering and was now pressing against my sticky flesh. A dull ache in the area started up, small tingles following after, making its presence known.
I liked it—craved the strange sense of happiness the idea of doing exactly as the woman in my head softly instructed, the reassurance the blade pressing against my flesh offered. I needed to. She was power and strength, empowering, lending enough to me I almost felt invincible.
This is crazy, that small sliver of sanity left in my subconscious pointed out. Voices in my head? Not normal, Ri.
It’s the labyrinth. Maybe something in these walls? All this dust is getting to me.
My gut said it was the knife, somehow, though there was no inherent sense of danger. I felt no inclination to move it unless if to hold it, which struck me as odd, and yet I didn’t question it.
Knives can’t talk, I told myself, though my gaze drifted from one booted foot to the other, toes wiggling. More warmth suffused me.
Magick.
I had to face facts. Either I was wandering around a mad maze out of my mind on something, dust inhalation addling my brain, or this fae, faerie business wasn’t simply silly stories and half proven bits.
Grunting, I wiggled the opposite foot, sighing in relief when it remained in place and nothing happened.
Thinking of that voice again, I gulped. Titania. If it was anyone, it would be the fae queen herself, yes? My skin prickled at her commanding tone. I could only wonder what it would be like to be under her direct scrutiny. No wonder she was revered as a goddess.
‘Come, my pet. What great things there are in store for you.’
To my doom, to Vetra, or straight into the Minotaur’s lair, I kneeled, ignoring the purple fairy light dot on my hand map’s sudden bout of cursing, unsheathing the knife in my left boot, then straightening, to trot along.
A roar sounded in the distance, shaking the walls. The tremor sent dust crumbling from the ceiling. Green and gold sprinkled my shoulders. Tiny bits of purple flecked here and there, but nothing as bright or shimmering like that green.
Much as I had with the stone horns trip inside here, I blanked out, blindly following along.
On the inside my mind was screaming, but I was doing what needed to be done, and that’s what mattered most. On the outside, my dumb arse started humming that blasted lullaby, tapping the tip of my knife along the wall.
“Of maidens and mermaids… of ships better sunk…” A soft smile lifted my lips.
“Blasted!” Disembodied voice groaned. “Not that! My queen!!! You do not fight fair!” Petulance. The male was whinier than I liked in a man, childish in his annoyance.
Feminine laughter filled my head, as if amused with my assessment, listening in on my thoughts, but I was unfazed.
More laughter followed as I continued to warble out my song.
It was funny, I knew, yet I was also aware I should be mad, she was laughing at me and my inability to carry a tune, but when I next parted my lips I mimicked her laugh. I couldn’t help myself. It wa
s so strange to hear the embodiment of someone else coming out of me.
Disembodied purple dust voice must have thought it odd too, yelping a curse for the sound to cut off abruptly, leaving me feeling alone despite the gentle voice in my head.
Well, that was one less thing to worry about.
My song changed, some strange words I didn’t know, and yet I sang every note perfectly.
CHAPTER THREE
The walls shook for the umpteenth time, the reverberations from those vicious roars, as if magnified by the cavern’s design, sent red buildup and that fairy dust mixed concoction I seemed to cross paths with at every turn raining down on me.
My right leg felt funny, a mild tingle along the outer part of my calf. Right where my other dagger lay, wrapped and protected, I acknowledged. Did each dagger have a voice? And if so, did I really want another ghosting along with me? I’d barely just gotten rid of that first one, and the one currently rattling around my head was proving rather useful. What if it disappeared when a new voice joined?
‘Another right,’ my sweet-voiced siren instructed. If she looked anything like she sounded, I could imagine men, and some women, happily skipping to their deaths in name of their lady’s favor.
Green eyes the same otherworldly, untsiamuunly shade of the emerald sparkling fairy dust, I thought to myself. She’d have—had—green eyes. And bronze and gold highlighted, fiery blood red hair. Her skin would have the same gold flecks as the strange dust, with an unusual, pale pallor, like her once gold and bronze shimmering skin longed for the sun. It was almost possible to picture her, or my idea of her, as it were—such a thing didn’t exist.
Then it struck me. Would I find her in the labyrinth? What would being her Chosen mean? Would my human self get to meet this magical being in the flesh? I could barely believe any of this was happening, but grateful for the assistance—ever so eternally humbled—no matter what may come of it. I’d deal with any fallout after.
By the Horns Page 5
