17. What Is It With Me And Bottomless Pits?
My direction was clear. Maelgwyn had to be confident in the efficiency of his cave zombies because he hadn’t made the slightest effort to hide the princes’ location. Arrogant prick. Clearly, he hadn’t known who he was dealing with.
I gave a dismal laugh at my own expense as I took stock of my body. He was dealing with an absolute mess.
Beneath the thick layer of dark, sludge-like gore splattered over my belly, my probing fingers found no trace of slashed flesh. My internal organs remained firmly in their allotted place, even if the aftershock of my near-death experience had them squirming like ferrets. Both my shirt and wrap were torn, four great slices cutting clean through both layers of fabric, but the flesh beneath was intact. I’d definitely felt talons rake across my abdomen. Had the protection spell cast by Sage, quite literally, saved my skin?
It certainly hadn’t saved me from the aches and pains of my tumble down the slope. With one eye fixed firmly on the cave mouth above me, I limped up the hill, retrieving my daggers and lantern. By some miracle, my little flame still flickered and danced, though the glass protecting it had smashed clean out of its frame. Would I need it in the tower? I squinted at the top of the ugly stone structure, protruding from the dead forest. No glimmer of sunlight reflected on any windows. It would be just my luck that the building would be as black as the tunnels, maybe even guarded by more awful creatures like the ones still swarming the shadowy cave mouth, fighting each other for a chance to brave the sunlight and strip the meat from my bones. Whatever awaited me in the tower, I had to face those tunnels again if I wanted to get home. Would the princes be as burly as the fae guards of Tir o Gaeaf, or would centuries of slumber have reduced them to stick-thin waifs? Who would be protecting who on the return journey?
With resignation heavy on my shoulders, I hooked the battered lantern over my wrist once more, palmed my dagger in my shaking hand, returning its twin to its sheath, and set off down the slope of dead, yellow grass, my eyes fixed on the dead, black trees.
Only, they weren’t trees.
My heart plummeted to my boots as the full scale of my latest obstacle drifted into sharper focus with every limping step.
Brambles. Thick, tangled brambles, as tall and broad as ancient trees, knotted and entwined with a density that prevented the glaring sun from touching the ground. I halted in their damp shadow, contemplating the wall of thorns. Some were as large as shark fins, waiting to shred my skin, others were shorter but still long and skinny, like oversized sewing needles, ready to pop an eyeball or sink between my ribs. Had they spent the past couple of centuries growing and snaking and twisting? In a couple more would they engulf the tower and fill the crater? What would become of the helpless, sleeping princes if I failed today? Would pain penetrate the curse as thorns squeezed the tower down around them, crushing them in a stony grave?
As it was, there was no way through the brambles for anything larger than a small cat. Maybe without the thorns I could have slithered and crawled between the narrow gaps left between the stems, but even then, I’d have risked tangling myself in a twisted tomb.
My grip tightened on my dagger. It had shrivelled a mushroom and a monster. Why not a bramble? Easing my arm between a cluster of deathly sharp thorns, careful to avoid skewering myself in the armpit, I scraped the tip of the black blade over the woody vine. With a bone-deep groan and a drawn-out creak, the bramble shrivelled, shrinking and slithering back into the mass like a retracting rope, whipping out of sight. In its place, it left a shadowed gap, large enough for a small child to fit inside–assuming they had an exoskeleton to protect from the thorns–and curled up in a ball.
Right, okay. Easy. I just had to nick enough branches to clear my path to the tower. I could do that. Sighing, I set to work.
One by tedious one, the brambles withered away at the end of my dagger, and I waded gingerly into the thatch they left behind. Hollow, husk-like brambles exploded into puffs of dust beneath my boots, while thick, healthy ones knotted overhead, beyond my reach. As long as they didn’t fall down, I’d be fine, or that was what I told myself as I left all traces of daylight behind and worked my way deeper into the weaving thicket.
With my boots blackened by the puffed remains of my bramble victims, I halted my path of destruction. At last, a wall of dark stone blocked my way, the mortar crumbled with age. Smaller vines covered in hair-like thorns clung to the tower wall like the stone had been caught in a net. Beneath the web of stems and thorns, I glimpsed planks of wood so ancient they wouldn’t have looked out of place on a pirate shipwreck. The musty scent of rotten wood drifted up my nose.
Perfect. It was a wonder this crumbling ruin was still standing. Health and Safety would condemn the building in a heartbeat, and yet, I had no choice but to go inside without so much as a hard hat. At least this ordeal was almost over.
It had to be almost over.
The canopy of dense brambles overhead left me with no sense of the tower’s height, but it couldn’t be that tall. Within the hour, I’d be on my way home.
Spurred on by the thought, I slashed the web of vines away. Without their support, the rickety door gave an ominous groan, tilting on its rusted hinges, the top half hanging free from the frame. There was no handle, but I transferred my dagger to my injured left hand and eased the fingers of my right into the dark crack the tilt had created.
Wood crumbled beneath my touch as I pulled on the door, using my entire weight to haul against it. After a moment of resistance, it gave a small jolt, almost throwing me off balance, and then began to move. My shoulder trembled as I dragged the door toward me, leaving a gap just wide enough for me to squeeze through.
Yet another dark cavern awaited me, and I hesitated, holding my flame aloft and letting my eyes adjust. The last thing I needed was another creature ambushing me. I’d been lucky once; I couldn’t take any chances.
Nothing but silence and the lure of magic greeted me. It was stronger now, I realised with a surprised blink. Preoccupied with trying to survive, I hadn’t noticed the warm, pulsing something in my sternum, a second heartbeat calling me onward. Now I acknowledged its presence, I couldn’t believe I’d managed to drown out its strange loveliness. The sense of surety and calm that pulsed from its source. The feeling of home.
It was a trick. This tower was not my home, and calm was the last thing I needed to be. Danger stalked me, death clung to every shadow. I needed to be sharp and aware. I needed to survive. Only then could I go home.
With a shuddering breath, I eased through the gap and into the tower.
At once, flames erupted on either side of me, burning in brackets set into the walls. Ahead, another pair lit, then another, until my path was marked in a glowing trail, straight to the foot of a stone staircase.
No stalking creatures were revealed by the light, just plain stone walls and a floor coated in a thick carpet of dust. That was a good start, I supposed, but it did nothing to ease my nerves. Traps could be hidden anywhere, like some booby-trapped Egyptian pyramid. As Sage had wisely advised, I could trust nothing. I eyed the cobwebs that swayed in a non-existent breeze as I passed beneath them, but no spiders revealed themselves. Hopefully, they were long dead. Hopefully, I would not be joining them.
The hallway seemed to stretch far longer than it should have if my glimpse of the tall, narrow tower had been anything to go by. Or maybe it was my twinging ankle that made a short distance seem long.
I reached the stairs. Dusty, crumbling stairs, but otherwise, normal. They spiralled up and away from me, disappearing from view. Flexing my sweat-dampened fingers around the hilt of my dagger I took my first, careful step.
The walls didn’t come crashing down. Ghouls didn’t come whooshing from amongst the cobwebs. It was only me and a crumbling old tower.
I began to climb.
Thick dust muffled my footsteps, but in the dense silence, they boomed like a war drum. Around and around I went, clinging to the wall to ease my weight from my ankle. My thighs began to cramp as my skin grew hot under my layers. My breath rattled like the chains of a mournful ghost.
Around and up, and up and around. Over and again. A ceaseless climbing spiral.
Seconds turned to minutes, each one dragging on for its own eternity.
God, would it never end? Panting, I strained to see around the corner, hopeful I’d glimpse the top of the flight. Steps awaited me. No matter how high I climbed, how many steps I conquered, there were always more. The fire in my thighs grew with every step, and sweat slicked my spine.
A stitch seized my abdomen and I ground to a halt, buckling forward as I clutched the wall and waited for the cramp to ease. Ahead and behind, the stairs spiralled out of view, hidden by curved walls. My heart thudded frantically. At least it wasn’t from fear this time.
What I’d give for a breeze, but the air was still and musty, undisturbed for hundreds of years. I stowed my dagger in its sheath and took a glug of water from my bottle, gathered from the icy stream I’d plunged into under the glare of an advancing spider.
The stream. When I made it back, I’d strip off and douse myself in that fresh, chilled water. But to make it back, I first had to make it up. I stowed my drink in the side pocket of my pack, drew my dagger, though it hung limply at my side, too heavy for my weary body to lift, and set off again.
I climbed for what felt like hours, until sweat ran in a river between my breasts. Until each breath was nothing but a short, sharp stab to the lungs. I was going to vomit. I was going to collapse and roll all the way back down to the bottom. I was going to combust into a ball of flames and become just another layer of dust on the endless, cursed steps.
Just when I began to seriously consider admitting defeat and sliding back down on my bum, a glimpse of faint light met the glow of my lantern, and the most beautiful breath of cool air kissed my overheated skin. A breeze. A window.
Swallowing my sob of relief, I forced myself to continue. With every step, the light grew brighter, until a landing slid into view, adorned with an enormous, glittering window. An open window, its glass criss-crossed with lead strips. Below it, near where it had been thrown wide open, a low, broad sill waited, inviting me to sink down and take the weight off my feet while resting my hot forehead on the cool glass.
Just for a minute. I could spare a moment to cool down.
Straightening my aching spine, I approached, my knees threatening to buckle in anticipation. The breeze danced over my skin. When had I ever felt anything quite as blissful?
Through the glass, I glimpsed the cliffs beneath a cloudless sky, and slopes of long, thick grass swaying in the breeze. The view was almost worth the climb. Despite what lurked inside those cliffs, the valley was beautiful from up here, lush and green.
Turning away from the view, I let my knees bend with a groan.
Green?
The grass had been dead. Yellow and as dry as hay. Not green.
Question everything you might see or hear.
Too late, Sage’s warning clanged through my memory. My bum touched the sill as a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze that couldn’t possibly exist shivered over my skin. The tower had no windows and the grass was dead.
The sill disappeared from beneath me just as I attempted to lurch back to my feet.
The world opened into a yawning chasm, and I threw my arms out wide, my fingertips skimming the velvety layer of dust encasing the walls. This was a trap, and I’d fallen right into it.
My stomach flipped, lurching to my throat as gravity dragged me down. The edge of the stone pit collided with my belly, and all the air left my lungs in a bark as my nails clawed at the floor, searching for purchase. They dug into the shallow crack between the floor tiles, clinging to the scant few millimetres of rock. Cold, stale air whooshed up around me, stirring my braid.
Visions of massive spikes and skewered skeletons filled my mind. Or maybe a starving beast, waiting for the first meal in centuries to fall into its enclosure. Whatever awaited me, it would not be pretty. The toes of my boots scraped the wall of the pit, searching for a foothold to propel me back to safety. I found none.
God, I was an idiot. Why did I have to be so fucking unfit? I was pathetic. If only I’d bothered to do a few squats now and again, the stairs wouldn’t have left me desperate for a seat. If I’d curled a few dumbbells, my arms might have been strong enough to haul my weight from the lip of the pit, digging mercilessly into my lower ribs. Now I was going to die. I was still alive only thanks to my moment of realisation, the brief propulsion I’d given myself as I tried to stand. It was only a matter of time before my trembling, white-knuckled fingers lost their grip on the edge of the stone tile and I slipped into the waiting abyss.
Spikes would be quick, wouldn’t they? With any luck they’d skewer my brain, killing me instantly. Or maybe my luck had run out. Maybe they’d spear through a shoulder, leaving me trapped and wounded, but not mortally so. Maybe I’d be left to bleed out slowly, alone in the dark. Or would infection or dehydration claim me first?
Would Pansy argue when the second moon set and the witches packed up their tents? Would she beg for another day, another hour, while I festered, far from help? Would Sage shoulder her disappointment at yet another human failure, putting on her impassive mask and doling out efficient orders? Would she claim she’d never believed in me at all, that her words at the gate had meant nothing?
You’re really her. It’s you.
It was me, Goddammit. I might not be the Human Queen, but I was going to break this fucking curse. Maelgwyn would not finish me off this easily. I would not allow it.
Grunting, I scraped the toes of my boots over the wall. The brief moment of resistance was enough to shift my weight forward onto my arms. I could do this. I had to. Again, I shunted my weight slightly in favour of survival. My knee scraped the wall, but I barely felt the sting. Sage would fix it with her magic paste. My arms trembled as, bit by bit, I shoved and scraped myself up the wall. By the time the lip of the pit dug into my belly, my fingers were numb and stiff, my elbows raw from taking my weight. With a last surge of effort, I swung my leg to the side, hooking my knee, and with trembling thighs, I hauled myself up and over.
With a sob of relief, I rolled away from the pit, collapsing on my back, the beautifully solid floor beneath me.
“Fuck you, Maelgwyn,” I panted at the cobwebs, swaying innocently overhead. Hopefully the old bastard heard me with his weird magic. Actually, no. It would be better if he had no idea I was here until it was too late. Still, fuck him to Hell and back.
My body resisted my instructions to stand, reluctant to leave the solid safety of the floor, but I scrambled stiffly to my feet, the trap beckoning wide and dark beside me.
I’d almost died. Again.
Shivering, I retreated a step. That had been too close. A cat’s whisker from disaster. Too easily I’d have become nothing but a broken skeleton, locked away in some lightless pit forevermore.
My legs began to quake violently. I was going to die here in this God-forsaken world. There was no point worrying about rifts, or monsters, or even making it back through the tunnels. This was it. This tower was the resting place of royalty, and everyone claimed I was destined to become a queen. It was my grave.