Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER THREE

A cold liquid dripped onto Laban's forehead and trickled down his face. He woke up. He wiped whatever it was off with the back of his hand.

"Please tell me that was just water," Laban mumbled.

"Probably," Torreck mumbled. "But really, I can't make any promises."

"Ugh," Laban moaned. His head was still throbbing, as was the rest of his body. "How did you sleep?" he asked.

"Didn't," Torreck replied.

"Yeah... I don't think I did either," Laban agreed. He tried to twist the knots out of his neck and back. "Just closed my eyes for a few minutes. But I guess we don't really know how long we've been down here."

"Yeah, it's probably been a while. Which is strange, come to think of it. It seems like it's been almost too long. You'd think the War'acks wouldn't pass on a fun evening of torture. Or at least their supper..."

"The dark is probably playing tricks on us. It probably hasn't been as long as we think," Laban said.

A loud noise echoed through the corridor above them, like the sound of metal against stone. They could hear voices, but they were distant.

"I just had to say something, didn't I?" said Torreck.

A faint flicker of light could be seen through the metal grate above them. The sound of approaching footsteps drew nearer, but then suddenly passed by them and began to fade.

"I guess I spoke too soon," Torreck said. "Maybe they've forgotten about us. That doesn't sound so bad. I think starving to death down here might be the best option."

"What do you mean?" Laban said. "We're not going to try to escape?"

"Escape? How do you plan on doing that, kid? By praying to your gods?"

"They could protect us," he replied, though softly. "They saved me before."

"You got lucky."

"Maybe. But luck has to come from somewhere."

Laban felt for the pouch at his side. He thanked Those Above that it had stayed with him through this ordeal. He pulled out the stone and cradled it in his hands. He tried to situate himself as comfortably as possible on the bone-riddled floor of the dark tomb. Meditation in such an evil place would be difficult. But at least it's quiet, he thought to himself.

He closed his eyes. He let the weight of the stone rest in his palms. If he focused hard enough, if his meditation was deep enough, he almost thought he could feel a warmth flowing from the stone into his hands. It would recharge him on days when he was particularly weak and lift his spirits even in the bleakest of circumstances.

That was what he hoped for now. But he couldn't stop his hands from shaking and his heart from wanting to pound out of his chest. From the stone, he felt not warmth, but cold. Perhaps, he thought to himself, there is simply no warmth here to draw from. Even the poor stone suffers in the heart of this wretched cave...

Laban took a deep breath. His heart began to settle down. He could feel the eye etched on the surface of the smooth stone staring back up at him. He imagined that through it, Those Above were watching him, too. They were watching both of them in that cave.

A wave of comfort passed over him. For a brief moment, the horrid memories of days passed were bound once more. It felt like when his mother wrapped her arms around him as a boy. "Everything may not always be okay," she had said. "And not everything will turn out the way we want it to. In fact, it rarely does. But everything will happen the way it is meant to. It will end in whatever way They have planned. We only have to trust Them, and surrender to the flow."