With nothing to grasp onto, I pad down the uneven, jagged steps leading to the Labyrinth's depths. The damp, slimy surfaces are green with algae. My wits need to remain sharp, or I’ll slip and tumble to my death. Sweat runs down my face. The air is thickening, becoming so dense I can almost chew it and taste the heated vegetation around me.
A noise startles me. I glance over my shoulder, fearful that the warrior is close. I’m sure the Lycans know this labyrinth inside and out. Why else would they use it for their hunting ground? As if they don’t already have an advantage, being stronger and faster than us. Maybe that’s why the labyrinth continuously changes, to give them a greater challenge. I imagine life would get boring here, cooped up on this island, far out at sea, unchartered, unknown, where no one will ever find them.
Stepping onto the earthy ground, I shove aside my tangled thoughts and take a moment to study my surroundings. It’s too dark to see clearly. I’m reliant on the moonlight to keep the shadows at bay. The passing clouds cast an eerie veil across my light source, allowing the darkness to creep back momentarily. Something soft and damp touches my hand, and I turn with a gasp, frightened of what had touched me, but it was just a dewy leaf. A wild and overgrown wilderness makes up the walls of a maze. The moonlight can scarcely seep through the mosaic of thorns. It’s so quiet. I can’t hear a chirp, a croak, or a scuttle. Nothing. Not even the hoot from an owl or a rustle of leaves. A deadly silence has swallowed me whole and lured me into the dark.
With an uneasy heart, I venture onward, unable to go back. On and on, I meander through the wild maze with its reaching branches and scratching thorns. The deeper I go, the harder it is for me to see the path to determine the way. The parting clouds grant me a flicker of moonlight, and I see something dark slither along the path. It’s impossible to identify what it is among the fallen leaves, but it’s the first sound I’ve heard since leaving the staircase. It sounded like a hiss, or at least, I think it was. I can’t be sure. All I know is I heard something. I initially thought it was a snake, but as it coils around my ankle, a sharp pain spikes my skin like a mouthful of teeth, not fangs, and I scream. With a rough tug, it pulls me backward, and I land with a painful thud. It drags me across the ground, my dress bunching beneath my arms, bare skin scraping through the dirt, scratching, grazing, hurting, burning, the fire around my ankle blazing as whatever it is attacks me. The louder I scream, the tighter it squeezes.
“Help! Somebody, help me!” I call out, despite knowing no aid will come.
Fingers grappling, reaching, searching, desperate to find something to use to defend myself, touching, feeling, finding a sharp, jagged rock. The stone bites my palm as I whack my unknown captor repeatedly until it relents, lets go, and retreats into the shadows.
“Argh.” I struggle to stand, limping, gasping, my heart racing, eyes wide with panic.
A sinister chill crawls up my spine as the unruly foliage moves around me, branches snapping their restraints, twisting and coiling, towering above me.
Gulping hard, my eyes bulge as the plant life springs to life, moving and reaching for me with withered fingers armed with spiked thorns. I suck in a breath to scream, and a loud, guttural roar shatters through me. The light brightens, illuminating the monster vines and their tubular heads with jagged teeth and clawed vines. Another almighty roar steals its attention, the plant-like heads turning at the sound, which is my cue to escape. My injured leg hampers my mobility, but I grit through the pain and limp along the passage.
The warrior will catch me. I know this. I am not foolish enough to think I can outrun him forever, but I will not stop trying.
A vine snags at my hair, tearing strands out by the root and burning my scalp from the violent assault. I hiss through my teeth, fighting off lash after brutal lash. Each flower head snaps its teeth in my direction, hungry to tear the flesh from my bones. Another vine reaches out, coils around my throat like a viper’s fangs, and drags me back. My feet skid through the fallen leaves, finding no anchorage. Choking, I dig my nails through the vine, drawing thick, viscous liquid until it releases me. Gasping, I scramble free, hoping it hadn’t poisoned me. It takes every ounce of strength that I have, but I manage to prevail, scrambling to the end of the path where the vines have no choice but to retract back in defeat.
With my throat burning and my skin raw, I fill my lungs with rapid breaths, saliva filling my mouth like a fountain. Warm, wet rivulets run down my arms, and I wipe them on my tattered gown, painting dark streaks on the fabric. That thing cut me deep, but the adrenaline flowing through my veins knocks the edge off the pain.
I find myself at a crossroads, hearing the Lycan snarling behind me, held up by the carnivorous plant that wanted to eat me alive. Perhaps it has no preference for what it eats and has snacked on a Lycan or more. I don’t want to remain in this place any longer than necessary. But which way is it to the centre and how do I choose between left and right or straight ahead when every direction looks the same?
Woodland trees loom over me like giants, swaying from side to side in the haunting breeze, with rustling leaves and my heart thumping in my ears. My head aches. Everywhere hurts. My feet drag through the dirt as I run, not having the courage to look back, too afraid of what I’ll see.
A startling squawk spikes my heart with panic, and I look up, paranoid it’s another threat. My eyes widen at the strange-looking creature as it peers from an overhanging branch above me, its head twitching, beak closed, its beady eyes unblinking, much bigger than a vulture but just as ugly. Its glinting eyes follow me as I creep beneath it, expecting it to attack like everything else in this unearthly hellhole. But to my surprise, it doesn’t. I don't turn left or right; I keep moving forward one lumbered step at a time.
With nothing to bind my wounds with and not seeing anything around that'll suffice, my blood drips onto the ground and absorbs into the earth. There's nothing but barren, spindly trees and not much else. No ferns. No foliage. Not here amongst the tall, dead trees protruding from the dry loose chippings and crumbled logs. What if I chose the wrong trail?
Crossing my wounded arms against my chest, I turn around to look back and see nothing but forest and darkness closing in. It all looks the same. I tear a strip of silk from the hem of my gown and tie it to a gnarled branch - something to mark my passing. There's not enough of it to use as bandages, not unless I want to be naked. I at least want to die with dignity. So, I keep going, limping for what feels like forever, my body numb with pain, teeth chattering from the shock and trauma of the horror I’ve been through. But as I come across the same torn piece of garment hanging limply on the branch, I sag against the hollow trunk and let the tears flow.
I’m never getting out of here. No one can help me.
Heavy footsteps thunder all around me, sounding unclear of where they’re coming from. Moving clumsily, I limp faster, whimpering through the pain. Unwilling to give up and weakened with fatigue, my footsteps falter but don't stop. Rough hands seize my waist, and then something large and heavy wrestles me to the ground. A solid body collides with mine, and dirt coats my face, filling my mouth with forest debris. I can turn my head to spit it out and scream. The forest whirls around me as I’m abruptly flipped onto my back, and then a firm, calloused hand clamps over my mouth to muffle my cries. Glowing yellow eyes, a furry, beastly face with a muzzle, and sharp, snapping teeth. It’s him. They Lycan warrior. He’s caught me, and now, he’s going to kill me. I buck and thrash desperately to free myself from the crushing weight. It’s useless. I’m no match for him.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, with all the ferocity of a monster.
Frozen with terror, I dare not move, watching his fur recede. It melts into his tawny skin, baring his muscled biceps, and as I glance up at his face, I’m met with the grey eyes of my Lycan warrior.
My Lycan?
I blink away the intrusive thought, because how can I think that after everything his people have done to me?
He’s a brute. A Neanderthal. A monster.
“If I remove my hand, will you scream?” he asks in a comforting tone to placate me.
Having no reason to trust him, I shake my head from side to side, hot tears rolling down my temples and into my hairline. He moves his hand away and wipes the moisture away with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth to taste.
“You’re dehydrated. You must drink?” he rasps.
Grit crunches between my teeth, leaving an earthy texture on my tongue. “Yes, please,” I reply, needing to cleanse my mouth more than anything.
Gently lifting me, he helps me back up on my feet, unfastens a water skin from the belt, and holds it out for me to take. With an unsteady hand, I take it without question and swish some water in my mouth, spitting the first mouthful onto the ground. Then I gulp down another few chugs of cool fresh water. My brittle tongue welcomes the moisture and the sweet relief it brings.
Perhaps I should show more caution. After all, he is the hunter, and I’m his prey.
“Thank you,” I mutter timidly, handing the water skin back to him.
He fixes it to his belt, then advances on me, taking my hands and studying the wounds on my arms. Then, he does something utterly revolting. He licks the scratches, lapping at the blood like an unholy fiend.
“Get off me.” His actions repulse me.
“Hold still,” he scolds, forcing me to endure it.
Unable to pull away, I succumb to the gentle slither of his tongue as it glides across my wounds. A strange, comforting sensation washes over me, lessens the pain, and quenches the sting. Then, astonishingly, my skin knits together as if my injuries had never occurred.
“My name is Diego; what is yours?” he asks, the deep accented voice rolling from his tongue in a husky rumble. He tilts his head as he awaits my reply.
I want to ask him why he cares when this was supposed to be a hunt, but I’m scared. I don’t want to anger him if it means I’ll get to live a bit longer.
“Carina,” I answer.
“Carina,” he repeats, his voice softening.
Diego’s exotic accent allows it to roll from his tongue as sweet as honey. It’s nice. My heart flutters as he smiles, his eyes buoyant with mirthfulness. This eases the tension.
“I like that. Your name means purity, just like you, so innocent, so perfect,” Diego speaks fondly of me despite knowing nothing about me. Reaching out, he brushes two fingers along my face as if mapping out a memory, his eyes glimmering wondrously, compelling me to gaze into them and find the man behind the intimidating visard.
“What are you going to do with me?” My voice quivers with nervousness.
Diego removes his hand, his eyes darkening. “Nothing that you won’t enjoy,” he answers as if he is certain of it.
Text Copyright © K.L.Lord ™ 2017.