CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #2
I couldn’t simply walk straight. There too were many things obstructing my path.
Small boulders. Twisting tree roots. Prickly cacti.
Thin shrubs. Fallen or dangling branches.
As such, I had to do a lot of sidestepping, hopping, dipping, and turning on my side to squeeze past any obstacles clustered together.
I also had to pretend that there weren’t a lot of dead, decaying insects sprawled on their back on the ground. I wasn’t sure what killed them. The heat? Predators? The Minotaur? There was no way to be sure.
A light breeze piped up and whispered over my chapped lips and damp skin. There was nothing cool about the gentle brush of wind but it felt good all the same.
Gods, I’d give a kidney in exchange for a drink right now. My mouth was all dry and sticky, my tongue felt kind of swollen, and my throat ached with both thirst and the discomfort of breathing in the dry air.
Soon enough, I was so hot that I had to shove up my sleeves and roll up the legs of my breeches. I would have shed my tunic all together, but it would be like leaving a trail for the minotaur to follow. If it came upon the garment, it would catch my scent and hunt me.
I took a sharp turn, careful not to trip over a dying shrub. I skidded to a stop as my eyes landed on a big patch of dried blood. Like the last one, it had been smeared by the drag of something large.
An animal, I adamantly insisted to myself. It was just an animal.
Even as my mind tried protesting that, I shoved my uncertainties aside and kept walking. As I came upon what appeared to be my first real challenge, I paused to study it even as my whole system went ugh.
Seven thick logs zigzagged in a forward-fashion along the center of the floor.
A portion of the floor that was covered in cacti spines, which meant there would be no running over or around it.
The thing was … the logs themselves were also covered in spines, so there would be no walking over them either.
There were, however, square patches of baked earth zigzagging beneath the logs in the alternate forward direction. Which meant that the only way to pass the obstacle was to jump over each log diagonally, always ensuring that my feet landed on a square.
It didn’t sound too hard. Typically, I wouldn’t worry about it. But my coordination wasn’t at its best, and my balance was shot to shit.
Swearing to myself, I shoved my damp curls from my face and crossed to the first log. I’d fought my way through harder challenges today. Of course, I hadn’t felt weak as a kitten then, but …
Shaking off that thought, I tossed my leg over the log and pressed my foot down on the square there. All right. So far so good.
A growl echoed throughout the cavern.
I stilled, my heart thrashing in my chest. The growl had come from somewhere behind me, and I wasn’t sure just how far behind. Terror crawled over me, sharp and ice-cold.
Move, move, move.
Trying for stealth, I carefully eased my other leg over the log. Which was right when the square began to tremble. Shift. Crumble.
Fuck. The grating sounds did not help my need for stealth.
Moving as fast as I dared, I cleared the second log. The exact same thing happened: the square shook and heaved and felt as if it would crumble to nothing. So, once more, I acted fast. The pattern yet again repeated itself with the third log. And the fourth. And the fifth.
I quickly eased my first leg over the sixth log—
Another grating growl drifted through the passage.
I made a misstep as my body jerked in panic, and my foot landed right on the bed of thorns.
I clenched my jaw to muffle a pained hiss as I snatched my foot back and then carefully stepped onto the square.
It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. The thorns had pierced my boots and stabbed the bottom of my foot.
I couldn’t afford to baby the injury, though. Couldn’t afford to even think about it. I needed to get on the move again pronto.
With swift but weak movements, I managed to clear the obstacle, placing my feet back on stable ground. Stable, rough, hot, sandy ground that was already making my brand new wounds burn like hellfire. It was only my fear of facing the minotaur that kept me moving.
I tried making as little noise as possible, straining to hear any more sounds that would indicate he was close. My breaths were coming short and raspy now. Each one felt like sandpaper on my scratchy throat.
When nothing seemed to be pursuing me, I wondered if I’d misjudged just how close the minotaur was. That made me frown. Several times now I’d thought that he was nearby, but he never caught up. I never came across him any of the times I’d thought that he was somewhere up ahead.
A thought then struck me. Was it possible that he wasn’t even real? That this was merely a mind game? Could we have been told that we might be stalked by such a creature only to ramp up our fear?
Maybe. I’d heard screams and growls, yes. But who was to say that they were real? I’d only come across one dead body—poor Finian—and he’d sadly met his end at the hand of a pool of ice, not a minotaur.
I turned a corner … and saw a tumbleweed rolling toward me. Swearing, I pressed my back against the wall to avoid it. A wall so hot I jerked forward slightly, almost causing me to crash right into the tumbleweed.
Puffing out a breath once the passage was once more clear, I began to walk again.
I flapped the front of my tunic, wishing that I had something to fan myself with.
I was so sweltering hot that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam wafting from my skin, or to find that my sweat was sizzling like grease in a heated pot.
I’d earlier told myself that I’d never complain about heat again. Ha. How na?ve I’d been.
It had helped that my clothes were initially wet—it had given me some reprieve from the heat. But they’d dried fast. And maybe it was due to the temperature, but every scent that clung to them seemed more pungent than ever.
I’d trash them later, I decided. Caked in dust, sweat, dirt, and all manner of other things courtesy of the ordeal they’d undergone today, they weren’t whatsoever salvageable. Most were also torn and sporting holes, much like my boots. I’d trash them, too.
I absently licked my chapped lips, grunting at the subsequent sting. I kept making the mistake without thought—it was too instinctive to moisten them. If I came upon any kind of water source, I couldn’t promise that I wouldn’t drink it. Even if said source happened to be a river of blood.
As I took yet another turn, it wasn’t a body of water I found. It was rows of thick branches dangling from the ceiling, forming a sort of horizontal ladder—and in a very deliberate manner, which told me that I’d arrived at yet another obstacle.
Pausing in front of it, I cocked my head. I could certainly swing from branch to branch … but why would I need to when there was a perfectly good floor beneath it that I could walk on?
My nape prickling, I snatched a pebble from the ground and tossed it into the sand beneath the branches. The pebble disappeared, swallowing up by the small grains.
I dragged in a breath. Sinking sand. Crap.
There would be nothing at all easy or painless about using that ladder of branches, given my physical condition. Just looking at it made me want to cry. I was drained mentally, physically, and spiritually. Plus, my palms were all busted.
I would have taken a brief rest, but there was nowhere to rest. The overheated ground made my feet feel like they were frying—there was no way I could plop my butt on it. I couldn’t even simply lean against the walls as they were just as scalding.
You’re almost done.
Letting that thought bolster me, I tore more strips off my tunic and added them to the ones already covering my hands, giving my sore palms more padding. Still, this was gonna hurt big time.
I jumped, snapping my hands around the first branch. Fuck, it hurt. My palms were not up to this at all—every wound and blister protested. More, stretching my body this way pulled at the burns skimming down my side.
I didn’t let the pain distract me. Couldn’t afford to. I swayed forward, reached for the next branch, and used the momentum of the swing to propel me on.
Again and again I did it, primarily using the muscles in my arms and back. Still, I felt the strain in my shoulders and had no doubt I would earn myself more palm blisters before this was over.
Grabbing onto yet another branch, I hissed as a splinter buried itself in my thumb. For the love of …
I heard a whirring sound. Saw a small whirling gust of something up ahead that looked much like a miniature dust devil. And it was heading right for me. “You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
Dread taking wing in my chest, I kept moving along the ladder of branches, going as fast as I could. Eventually reaching the end, I jumped down and lunged to the side.
I wasn’t quick enough.
The mini gust clipped my side with a real punch, peppering me in sand and dust.
Coughing, I wafted at the tiny grains clouding the air as annoyance surged through me in a rush. The grit was clinging to my body like a second skin. Moreover, some had made its way into my mouth. I tried spitting it out, but it was hard when I had practically zero saliva.
Coughing again, I scraped myself off the ground, grunting and whimpering. I sure hoped that was the last time today that I’d be forced to drag my body off the floor. It got harder and harder to do it each time.
Turning my attention back to the passage, I pushed on, my footsteps dragging somewhat. Gods, I felt sick. Probably from the combination of heat, exhaustion, dehydration, and pain.