Chapter 9 #3
I’m not sure if I should be more worried about this maze or the man who’s currently in it with me.
The only sound surrounding us is his footfall across the decrepit stones.
The combination of eerie silence and Finnley’s figure stalking across the bridge, ready to confront an illusory threat, paints an absurd image of insanity.
What is even happening right now?
Just when I think it can’t get any more bizarre, his tall form bends down to pick up a particularly sharp-looking rock.
It looks sizable and lethal even from this far back in his large hands.
He abruptly stops and rolls his shoulders back, preparing for combat.
His large frame relaxes as a fighter’s does right before raising both fists again, the one holding the jagged rock toward the front.
I shuffle my feet forward, then stop. Uncertainty weighs me down.
I falter slightly too long, as in the next moment Finnley quickly ducks before rising and swinging out with the hand holding the rock.
He sidesteps to the right, leaning back to avoid what I can only imagine he sees as someone trying to punch him in the jaw.
Both of his feet move forward again, and his arm swings upward to deliver what would be a mean uppercut to his opponent.
A splashing sound echoes throughout the cavern as pebbles and stone fragments are kicked into the chasm below.
The shadowy water ripples, and I swear I see movement below the rings.
I look up, quickly refocusing on Finnley.
I can’t even concentrate on anything else right now when my partner is mentally fighting for his life.
Technically, in his mind, he’s fighting for both of our lives.
An experienced soldier would have difficulty defeating a wraith on his own, let alone a prospect who hasn’t even started his first year. He’s fighting an impossible fight. I flinch when his head is thrown backward, his body following suit, pushing him toward the edge of the crossing.
What the fuck.
He brings the back of his hand to his mouth, wiping what I imagine he sees as blood.
His lips pull into a snarl before he darts up and forward, throwing his elbow out, followed by a swift punch from his other hand.
“FUCK YOU!!!” he screams, his face scrunched in defiance.
Spinning around, he sidesteps something but immediately falls to his knees, clutching at his chest. He grabs a fistful of his shirt, pulling at it, gasping for breath.
I’ve seen a boy punched in the diaphragm before, and he looked a lot like Finnley looks right now.
The boy later told us it felt like his lungs had seized up and he would never breathe again.
He described the pain as if his chest was on fire, but with the blue kind, not the red.
The kind that burns so intensely there isn’t any warmth, only unbearable pain.
Without thinking twice, I run toward him. My feet jump over broken pieces of the bridge and loose rocks, but I have to get to him. We’re in this together, even if I know he’ll be okay, and the only threat he’s facing right now is himself.
Pain ripples across his face as he clutches at his chest with one hand and leans on the other for support. Slowly, his head raises, brows drawn as if even doing this small gesture is excruciating.
His eyes clash with mine.
They’re filled with sorrow and defeat.
“I’M COMING!” I yell.
I’m so close I can see the different browns and greens immersed within his irises.
Gravel digs into my knees as I slide across the stone, grabbing onto his face and forcing him to look at me. “You’re okay,” I assure him, gripping the sides of his jaw, forcing his broken stare to meet mine.
I move one hand to his back, rubbing in small circles.
Willing him to take a full breath. He hasn’t taken his eyes off mine.
They’re filled with apologies and despair.
I never want to see this defeated version of Finnley ever again.
Give me the goofy, arrogant, flirty version back. The one he wears like a second skin.
I drop my hand from his face and let it settle into his clammy hand, grasping onto it tightly, offering reassurances the only way I know how. The moment our palms connect, it’s as if a curtain is lifted.
And it’s absolutely horrifying.
Standing directly behind him is the object of nightmares. Evil in a living, breathing form.
My blood runs cold, and the fight momentarily leaves my body.
Long fingers, covered with ash-colored rotting flesh, hold each of Finnley’s cheeks within their grasp. The smell hits my nostrils almost immediately, and a gag works its way up my throat.
Vomiting would be so easy.
It’s a combination of decaying flesh and burnt sulfur. Rancid enough to leave a residual taste in my mouth that I don’t think will ever fully diminish. Tattered gray robes hang loosely over its tall, slightly bent form. A large hood obscures the face that lies beneath.
A face I’ve read about in countless history books.
A face that I’ve heard my mother describe to me with a haunted expression.
I drop Finnley’s hand and reach for my dagger. The minute our palms no longer have the connection, the wraith disappears completely.
Abruptly, I grab his hand again. The wraith reappears directly behind him.
A slimy hand raises to push back the hood concealing its face, the other still firmly holding onto Finnley’s cheek.
As the hood falls, an audible gasp leaves my mouth.
Even being prepared for what I knew I was going to see, I wasn’t ready.
The abomination that stares back at me can only be described as pulsating evil.
Where there were once eyes now sit empty caverns filled with decayed muscle.
The nose is completely decomposed, and its mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth, dripping a black-tarlike substance from their points.
Slowly, as if it has all the time in the world, it tilts Finnley’s face back and starts to lower its mouth toward his.
It’s preparing to consume.
These atrocities devour every inch of a person’s essence before moving on to flesh and bone. The more powerful their meal is, the stronger the wraith becomes. Unfortunately for this asshole, neither of us holds much power.
And even more unlucky is the fact that it’s my friend’s face he’s holding on to.
Sharp nails dig into Finnley’s cheeks, but his eyes remain on mine. It’s as if my face is the last thing he wants to see before drawing his final breath. He’s accepted his fate.
That’s not going to work for me.
Carefully, without releasing his hand, I pull up my cloth pant leg and remove the dagger strapped to my thigh. The prick doesn’t even pay me any mind, quickly deeming me a nonconsequential threat.
Their mouths are almost touching as I yank my dagger free and plunge it directly into the side of the monster’s skull. An obnoxious scream rips from its mouth. Black blood oozes out over the hilt, dripping down my sleeve.
The only way to completely defeat a wraith is to fully remove the head from the body, but any kind of damage to the brain canal will severely slow them down until they can rejuvenate.
All I need is a few seconds.
The cloaked figure collapses, and without thinking twice, I yank my dagger out of the rotting flesh and pull Finnley up with all my strength.
And we run.
I don’t wait for him to fully catch his breath.
His color is returning, and honestly, even if it wasn’t, we would still run because I have no idea how long a wraith stays down when its head is still attached.
We don’t even stop to contemplate which archway to go through at the next set. We just run through the nearest.
The moment we cross the threshold, our feet sink into obsidian sand.
There’s no longer stone surrounding us, but instead a thick hedge.
Stems cut into my hand as I push into the branches, testing out how thick they are.
Thick enough we can’t climb through easily, but not sturdy enough to try to climb up.
“You had a dagger,” he rasps in an incredulous tone, causing me to wince.
Here we go.
“Well, I was in the process of telling you that before you interrupted me.”
“You thought I was crazy,” he accuses, his voice slowly returning to normal and his hands resting on his hips like a pissed-off girlfriend.
“It might have crossed my mind.”
He scoffs and rubs his eyes with the base of his palms. “This place is fucking with us.”
Yes, it certainly is.
My chest rises and falls in uneven, shallow breaths.
“I couldn’t see anything you were seeing until our hands connected.
I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.
Maybe it was some kind of hallucination, and we had to be connected for me to see.
” I throw my hands in the air. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter at this point.
I don’t want to stick around and test out my theory. ”
I dig my heel into the sand. The feeling of it beneath my feet hits me with a crushing familiarity, reminding me of home. But this is far from home. In fact, it feels like hell.
“So we’re basically going insane, and the only way someone can join our deranged party is by physical touch…” he whispers. “In other words, dark magic.”
“It makes sense since the Noctryns are supposedly the ones responsible for setting up this little shindig,” I mutter, kicking the sand. “But I think it has to be hand-to-hand contact. I didn’t see anything when I touched your arms or back.”
“It felt so real. I felt its breath on the back of my neck,” he mutters, before closing his eyes. “Fuck.”
“We don’t necessarily know it wasn’t. Not yet.”
We can’t make the mistake of underestimating the things in here.
I start walking again, ready to be out of this mind fuck and back into a place that makes sense. I’m also so tired of the absence of noise. No crickets, birds, not even the rustle of air movement. Just our heavy breathing.