Lair of Beasts [Book I in the Curse Of Blood Saga]

Chapter XXVIII - Lunacy

There had to be a way for me to help my friend. The sense of urgency was playing havoc with my mental stability and I could not think for the frantic faces staring restlessly at me through the iron bars. I had, thus, only two choices: admit defeat and run home or climb under the gate and lead Thomas... where?

What would I do once I was inside? I still believed that the creature — hellhound — in the maze was kept beneath the trapdoor and was released into the circular chamber, that large casement at the heart of the maze, each night; but what if I was wrong. What if it was being kept elsewhere...

There was a plentiful amount of possible scenarios. Perhaps I had bypassed a hidden door in the bedrock or walls of the tunnels, heretofore unnoticed. Mayhap there were dozens of those hidden chambers — had I not myself only just discovered a secret door in my own chamber. The trapdoor in the floor might very well be the only exit and Thomas' only chance at escape; I could not live with myself knowing I did not even try to save him. I, therefore, would not leave him. The choice had been made long before this moment, I realized.

I knew my way through the labyrinthine tunnels well enough that I could give him some small hope of survival, but he would certainly perish if I did not. If the other malefactors did not kill him off... the maze's evil resident would. The existence of the beast, the bear-wolf creature, would be my burden alone; only I would know of it for now and not reveal the fact that such a daemon even lurked within these dark passageways. Better that they should imagine something else entirely because the reality was, in and of itself, unthinkable.

As I contemplated pulling myself through the gap below, I became aware of a burning sensation on my forearm — an agonizing itch spreading insidiously across my skin. I tried to pull my sleeve away from the unbearable sensitivity that centered exactly where my scars were located, but they were too tight, so I ripped desperately at the fabric with frenetic fingers, the wool tearing noisily, and gouged my nails across the pink marks on my pale flesh. The desperate need to rip my own skin from my bones became intense and almost crippling.

My knees sank into the snow and I grabbed hold of the portcullis in a futile effort to steady myself as a thousand spiders crawled up my spine and sank their needle-like fangs into my back... or so I likened the sensation. My breathing became sporadic and my muscles both atrophied and spasmed as I gulped down the acrid bile rising up and threatening emergence. The heart beating wildly against my ribs was not my own. It had suddenly grown twice its original size and now slammed around my cavity, ricocheting from my spine to my sternum and back again with the violence of a bucking hart.

"What in God's name is wrong with her eyes!" One of the two prisoners beside Thomas had raised his voice to a panicked pitch and I instantly growled for him to shut up.

The thing will hear you, I tried to say, but the lightening in my skull abruptly seized my brain.

Why had I snapped at him? That was not me! Wherefore had that ominous entity surged forth? It was, without a doubt, the same energy that had enveloped me during my encounter with Thomas in the stable. It was as terrifying now as it was then — this potency.

That low voice that had come from my breast had sounding nothing like my own! As I sampled the air with hungry gulps of air, their fear seeping heavily from their pores, I felt my mouth fill instantly with dense sputum; I was both enlivened and invigorated by their dread.

What the devil is wrong with me! But, the question came out in an agonized and indecipherable cry.

I could hear Thomas shouting at me now, the sensation similar to that of my head being submerged in vat of  ice-water, my ears barely able to comprehend the muffled semblance of his horror-stricken yelling.