Unfortunately, that one torch casts little light between it and the one in my hand, and I can’t see what lies between me and the next opening.
Taking a deep breath, I hold the torch out in front of me about waist high, enough that light touches the ground and the immediate space before me. I take one hesitant step on the illuminated hard-packed dirt before I stop.
Tipping my head to the side, I listen.
At first, it’s almost as if the darkness itself is making noise but then the hair stands up straight on my arms as I take in the rustling, hissing sounds.
Another step forward, moving my torch lower to the ground.
One more step, and that’s when my heart nearly explodes from my chest as I scramble backward.
Did I just see what I think I saw?
Leaning forward, I hold the torch out as far as I can and force myself not to recoil.
For before me, the floor is covered with snakes.
And I mean covered. As in I can’t see a speck of the dirt upon which they are all entwined. They’re all different colors. Some seem calm, just lying there, while others are actually attacking each other.
I take a deep breath.
I’m not ordinarily scared of snakes, at least not in a one-on-one situation. Now, show me one tiny spider and I’ll go running, but a single snake I can handle.
I don’t know how to handle thousands, though, and there has to be at least that many if they are covering the entire floor between me and the next opening to walk through.
I have to see if there’s room around the perimeter, so I carefully walk to my right, keeping the cave wall at my back and the torch to my front which keeps the snakes at bay. I walk all the way to the edge of the room before I come up against the next wall, but the clear perimeter stops. The snakes cover every bit of the floor.
“Shit,” I mutter, bringing the torch up briefly to examine the wall. If it’s craggy enough, maybe I can climb across, but it’s fairly smooth and also covered in slick slime. That’s not an option.
I remember the old Indiana Jones movie I watched with my dad where Indy got thrown into a pit of snakes. Fire seemed to hold them at bay a little bit, but no way was I going to take them all on with one little torch that could snuff out at any minute.
I could potentially bend distance across to the next opening, but it’s incredibly dark and I don’t know if I’d be stepping out onto a pile of snakes.
And then the proverbial light bulb goes off in my head, and I realize I have the solution readily available as I’ve had to cross dangerous territories before.
The Crimson River—I built a bridge and tunnel that kept us safe from attacking, tormented souls.
While I don’t need the same level of architectural engineering to cross the room, I do take a moment to think about what dangers might happen.
Can snakes jump up?
Can they fly?
I decide to take no chances as I gaze up at the ceiling above me. It’s pitch black and I have no clue how far up it extends, so I don’t know how high I can make my bridge.
I’m going to have to take it a step at a time.
Holding my torch in one hand, much like Elsa built her staircase of ice, I conjure in my mind one built of solid wood with a thick railing for stability. It rises a few steps at a time and I walk up them as they appear, at first testing that they are solid and will hold me, and then moving with a little more assurance.
When I’m a good ten feet above the floor, I hang over the railing and dangle my torch down. No snakes appear to be jumping or ready to take flight.
I glance at the opposite edge of the room, and I decide to trust my magic and make haste.
I conjure a wooden walkway with railings to keep me from falling and thick pylons for support. The slats in the wood appear quickly, and I’m actually able to run across it. As I near the opposite edge, I magically build a staircase sloping downward and ending right at the opening where the lone torch exists.
That was actually pretty easy.
I can see that there are no snakes blocking my way as I walk through the opening. It’s another short passage leading to what looks like another room that has an ambient glow coming from it. Something is moving in there, but I can’t tell what—only that there are leaping shadows and a slight whooshing sound that echoes through the chamber I’m in.
Using my torch to assure the floor is clear, I make my way quickly through the short passage and come to the opening of the next room, my next obstacle readily apparent as there are plenty of torches providing enough light to see what I’m facing.
Between me and the next opening across the wall is a dark pit of nothingness. I move to the edge, leaning over, but I can’t see anything. Looking around, I find a chunk of packed dirt and pick it up, tossing it over the edge. I listen for it to hit against anything, but it’s silent, so it’s clearly a long drop to wherever that pit leads.
Maybe more snakes.
Certain death if I fell.
There is a way across to the other side of the room, though.
A single log, felled from some type of thick tree. It’s about three feet in diameter, and it looks pretty solid. It’s wide enough that I could easily make the walk without worrying about balance issues.
But for the swinging pendulum axes that are hanging from a horizontal steel pole above the log. The ax blades affixed to the end of metal bars are at least two feet in width and curved wickedly on the edges with sharp points.
They gleam in the torchlight, and there’s no doubt that they’d cleave parts of my body off with no problem at all.
There are five total, and they are swinging back and forth at odd intervals with only about five feet of distance in between.
I watch the swinging axes for a few moments and figure I can carefully maneuver through if I take my time.
But I don’t feel like taking my time.
I want out of here, and I decide to tap my magic again.
Holding both hands out, I imagine taking control of the momentum of the poles and pulling them all out to the side so I can freely walk across the log.
My magic works, shooting from me to coalesce around the arcing poles, but rather than taking control, something happens. With a loud clang, two more axes appear in between the existing ones. Now I have seven to contend with and some of the spaces in between just got noticeably tighter.
“Shit,” I mutter, trying to figure out what happened. My magic felt right, but something went wrong.
With my mind, I probe outward toward the pendulums and I can feel something coating the structure.
Not just something.
A spell of some sort.
Hesitantly, I hold my hands out and try to wrest control over just one ax this time—the first one.
There’s another loud clang and one more swinging ax appears.
Now there are eight, and the message is clear.
I’m not allowed to use magic to cross here like I could with the snakes. This is a test of my dexterity and nimbleness, as well as a big old heaping of courage.
I can do this.
I’m going to have to or else I’m going to end in pieces at the bottom of the pit.
I’m in the best shape of my life. My confidence is at an all-time high, and I’m no dummy. Part of this is strategy.
I take my time and merely watch the axes as they swing, counting seconds in between each one, estimating the distance between each set. I don’t know how much time passes, but I easily could have been watching for half an hour before I think I have the pattern of the pendulums memorized and my plan of attack.
I’m going to move through as quickly as I can, knowing I’ll have to pause twice between two of the sets, but otherwise, I think I can make it safely to the other side.
With my mind made up to be swift of foot rather than overly cautious, I step up onto the log and, with relief, note it feels very solid. I still need my arms for balance and to propel me forward as I run or to halt me when I
pause, so I toss the torch behind me on the ground.
I watch the pendulous swinging of the axes for a few seconds to get my focus and my bearings once again. I take a deep breath, let it out.
Take in another, and then I bolt forward.
CHAPTER 14
Finley
The first three swinging axes are easy to time, and I’m able to run through them with plenty of clearance. I do feel, however, the waft of air across my ponytail from the third pole as it swings behind me, causing me to actually tuck my butt in a bit lest some of it get lopped off.
The last five are in a steady synchrony. Rather than run through them, I think I can take a steady walk but will need to turn my body sideways to slip through the last two.
Another deep breath and I make my move.
All goes fine through axes four, five, and six, and I’m feeling confident enough that I’m already preparing mentally for my next task. It’s by far easier to slip between two axes than the multiples I’ve done so far, so I don’t even bother with a deep breath before I start to step in between them.
And that’s when the cave starts rumbling and shaking, hard enough that stone above me loosens and rains down.
At first, I merely hold my arms out and my balance is maintained, but the shaking gets worse and the log starts vibrating.
Then shaking.
Then bouncing.
That’s when my foot slips off.
I’m off-balance, twisting as I start to fall, but I manage to catch myself by squatting, hands to the log for balance. Before easing my foot back up, the ax behind me swings my way and I can’t move fast enough to get out of the way. The corner catches me on the outside of my thigh since I’m at an angle, but luckily it doesn’t slice too deep.
It hurts like a bitch, though, and I can’t help but cry out in pain.
I’m panting now, trying to hold myself on the log and figure out how to right myself in between swinging axes.
That’s when I notice that the end of the log, just a mere ten feet from me, is jostling so much from this earthquake that it’s bouncing closer to the edge of the pit. It won’t be long before it falls off into the dark abyss, which means I don’t have time to study the timing of the swinging axes anymore.
I don’t trust my magic since trying to manipulate the swinging poles caused more to appear, so I dismiss trying to build another staircase across the short distance to the edge or even trying to bend distance. The risk is too great.
I close my eyes, feel the whoosh of the axes behind me and to the front. I feel the blood soaking into my pant leg, knowing I can’t afford another confrontation with one of those blades. With the log now starting to bounce, I decide it’s do or die.
I pop up straight, watch the last two axes part on their swings outward, and fling myself forward across the unstable log. I hold my arms out for balance as I tippy-toe my dash forward. My body lurches from side to side but, somehow, I manage not to get cut. When I make it past the last ax, I’m horrified to see the end of the log start to fall off the edge of the pit.
Only one thing to do—I make a flying leap for the edge just as the log slips free of the ledge and tumbles into the darkness. My momentum is strong enough that only my feet fall short of the edge. I land hard on my chest, both arms reaching outward to scrape at the dirt as everything from my waist down hangs over the ledge. Feet scrabbling for purchase, I manage to push, kick, and claw my way up onto the ledge where I roll to my back and gasp for air.
My entire body feels depleted, and I have no clue what awaits me next. I’m not stupid enough to think that I’m near the end or that the next task will be easier.
In fact, I’m sure it will be harder.
I take a few moments to at least get my breathing under control. When I feel like my legs won’t give way, I manage to lurch to a standing position. Leaning over, I pull at the ripped fabric of my workout pants and look at the cut to the outside of my thigh. I was at enough of an angle that the ax nipped me but the cut is about three inches long and freely bleeding. I can’t see how deep it is, nor do I want to as I might pass out. With nothing to bandage the wound or even pack down inside my pants, I ignore it and hope it’s superficial enough that I won’t die from blood loss.
There’s another opening in the cave wall with a torch on the wall beside it. But this one doesn’t have a short passage to another room but rather seems to stretch on into the darkness. I grab the torch, pray there are no more snakes, and step through.
The passageway I follow is wider than the others and actually meanders in gentle curves and bends. To my surprise, torches appear on the walls along the way, but I keep the one in my hand just in case.
After several minutes of careful walking, I come out into another cavern, but this one is different from the others. It’s larger in width and depth with stalagmites rising in thick columns from the floor all the way up to the low-hanging ceiling. The effect is to parcel the large cave into sections and provide plenty of places for someone or something to be lurking behind.
I immediately go into defensive mode, walking several feet away from any stalagmites lest something come leaping out from behind one. Even though there are plenty of torches, the columns of rising rock block the light depending on where I walk, so the cavern is mostly shadowed. At this point, I can’t even see the next opening I need to go through, but I try to keep walking in the same direction.
When the attack comes, it’s not in the form of a beast leaping out from behind a stalagmite.
Instead, it’s a dark daemon who casually walks around one so as to put himself in my path. It’s not overly tall, maybe five-ten or so, but he’s built like a linebacker. His aura is thick and black, but I don’t need it to see the evil intent in his eyes.
Wearing nothing but leather pants, his bare chest is shiny as if covered in oil and he’s got two brass cuffs around his thick biceps and another two around his wrists. His countenance is humanoid, much more than any other daemon I’ve seen before. He’s actually kind of handsome with a square jaw that projects strength and determination. His Light and Dark Fae parents must have been nobles or royals, I’m guessing.
“Hello,” I say genially, not really feeling genial at all. But I’m always one to try conversation first, even though I take a step back and squat slightly for leverage in case he attacks.
“Aren’t you a sweet little piece of meat?” he growls back, flashing a perfectly straight smile.
“Not your piece of meat,” I retort with a shake of my head. He’s got no weapons I can see so if this is just a case of fighting him with bare knuckles, I’m feeling okay about that. I’ve had years of MMA training, and I have taken down bigger men than him.
“Think I’ll roast you first,” he taunts and I frown, thinking that’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard. Then he lifts his arms, strikes one wrist over the other so the brass cuffs clang and flames erupt from his fingertips. When he curls them into fists, I’m staring at an overly muscled dark daemon with flaming hands who is ready to pummel me.
“Crap,” I exclaim as I scramble back a few feet.
He charges, swinging a left roundhouse that I easily duck, and then a right that I also manage to evade. I scurry back several more feet as he growls in frustration.
If he lands a strike, I’m going to catch fire—especially my hair. Which means I need to stay out of his way, yet somehow land some type of knockout strike.
Or… maybe I can use magic.
It didn’t work in the last chamber, but it did in the one before it.
Dropping the torch to the ground, I thrust my hands out, calling upon nature to help me out this time. As I envision it, jets of water shoot toward the daemon, extinguishing his fire-engulfed fists with a hiss.
For a moment, he’s stunned, but then he snarls with fury. He raises his hands to strike the brass cuffs again—presumably to ignite them.
Without hesitation, I hold out my hands. But this time, I don’t call forth water.
&n
bsp; I call forth a cyclone of wind that kicks up dust, dirt, and small rocks as it spins toward him. He glances up as it barrels his way, eyes growing wide with shock. The daemon actually starts to turn as if he’s going to try to run, but it’s too late for him.
The funnel encircles his body, locking his arms tight to his side. For a moment, it just spins there while serving as a prison. This is my task that calls for some ethical thought. I fully understand that death can and should be expected to occur once the gauntlet starts.
But I’d prefer not to kill if I don’t have to.
I can’t keep the cyclone on him permanently as I need to move on, so with the thought in mind to spare life if I can, I sling my arms to the side—right toward a stalagmite—and the cyclone obeys my command. It goes hurtling in that direction, then slams hard into the column of stone.
Rather, the daemon slams hard into it while the wind dissipates into nothing. He slumps to the floor, a large knot on his head and a trickle of blood from his nose. I watch him carefully. While he’s out cold, he’s thankfully still breathing.
I don’t wait around to see if he wakes up. Instead, I take off at a run toward where I hope the next passageway is.
I find it easily, seeing it’s short and leads into another cavernous room. I nab the torch affixed to the wall to light the way. The cut to my leg is throbbing, but I’ve regained some of my strength since the swinging axes. Expending the magic I just did back there didn’t even wind me.
I run through the passageway, sensing I might be getting to the end, and come to a skidding halt that kicks up a puff of dust in the next room.
It’s more circular than the others, and the walls are smooth but still slimy looking. I immediately spot the opening on the other side, but I can’t discern any obvious obstacle for me in here. I’m considering a mad dash when I hear a low growl from behind me.
In horror movies, people slowly turn around to be shocked that a monster is standing right there. I immediately jolt forward several paces to get away from the growl. As I’m spinning, I conjure my whip as a weapon, immediately going into a slight crouch with my arm poised and ready to let the thong fly.
The Rise of Fortune and Fury Page 13
