It hadn't been long before my second task arrived.
Lightheaded and woozy from the venom coursing through my veins, I'd nearly fallen headfirst into what looked like quicksand after turning a sharp corner. It had been camouflaged against the rest of the muddy ground, and I'd been lucky enough to catch myself on a wall of ivy before nearly slipping into it.
The path was wide and short, no more than around ten paces to reach the other side. My throat closed up as a faded memory of sinking in quicksand during a hot and sunny summer afternoon clouded my mind. I'd been teaching myself how to swim in one of the boggy marshes near our cottage and hadn't realised that those grounds were scattered with sections of quicksand.
Screaming. Flailing. Pleading. Sinking. I remembered that day all too well and if it wasn't for Aslan who heard my screams, I would have eventually been submerged, lungs filling with sand and mud as I sank deeper and deeper and deeper—
I snapped my attention back to the matter at hand, keeping my breathing as steady as I could despite the burning of my lungs. I rubbed my eyes, trying to draw as much exhaustion as I can from them before grabbing my bow, fingers numb as they squeezed around the calloused feeling of drying blood.
The tip of my bow sank a little as I tapped at the ground in front of me, and I could feel it pulling my bow deeper towards its depths. A firm tug managed to set it free and I sighed quietly in relief. Relief—had never been fully an option in my entire life.
It would hurt—the sandy ground was coarse and thick. It wouldn't be quick. It would take time to fill my lungs. Sweat slid down my neck, my back, and I could feel the effect of the venom spreading like a wildfire. I repeated the process of tapping and tugging for various spots on the ground, at the different patches of muddy, sandy ground that had somehow become one of my greatest fears. A wrong choice would doom me—a right one would allow me to cross.
However, it was only a matter of seconds before my hopes were crushed like the lives of those snake-like vines. Nowhere safe. This entire path was a pool of quicksand.
Realisation dawned on me later on and I sucked in small, frenzied breaths. I could always retrace my steps and take another turn, or try to climb to hedge to cross over to the other side, or maybe—
I stumbled and tripped sideways, my feet thumping on solid ground.
Wait.
My eyes flicked to my feet, firmly planted onto packed mud. I held my breath as I stood still, waiting to feel the rush of grainy sand engulfing my legs and my body but nothing. Nothing came and I stood still before fumbling for my bow still clutched tightly in my right fist, tapping lightly again at the ground in front of me.
A light thump met my action.
Solid ground. It was solid ground. I could gladly, willingly, fanatically believe in a Mother and Fate if they would take care of me. I believed in the solid ground that lay before me. Solid ground.
I took a tentative step forward but again I was free to lift my foot as I pleased, no shackles to hold me down. Bathing in this newfound hope, I ran forward with my bow outstretched in front of me, tapping the ground to make sure it was intact.
It was a slither of mud that ran along the very edge of the path. Underneath the tangle of thorns, leaves and branches, it was nearly undistinguishable next to the quicksand. But now, I realised as I took some effort to focus my gaze at the snaking mud from the other side of the path, I noticed the little differences. There was a sleek, shining sheen coating the compacted mud, probably from condensation in the foggy environment of the maze. Tiny grains of sand seemed to shift in the quicksand too, reminding me too much of the sand in hourglasses I'd spotted in the village square.
Longing punched through me so sharp and sudden that a small gasp escaped my lips. The world went unmoving—stopped for a moment and all I could think about was my family, Aslan and home.
I had been so ignorant—so pampered in the ways that when I dress in finery and stuff myself in delicacies, I didn't know if the Elders had upheld their end of the bargain by providing for my family. And Aslan...
My hand reached up to brush against my cheek where Phoebus had kissed me. A hot blush crept up my neck, adding to the already unbearably burning in my body.
But then betrayal stung like a knife to the heart and I realised how easy it had been to forget about him. As though he had been no more than a fleeting moment of history.
All I had wanted—all I had dared want, was a life that was quiet, easy. Nothing more than that. Nothing extraordinary. But now...now...
I felt the change in the atmosphere without having to look up, and the scuffing of my boots stopped short as I entered a small, circular area. I didn't even realise I had started walking.
Leaning against my bow propped up on the ground, my body burned and burned. Hot—so unbearably hot. It was a struggle to see properly through the fogginess of the maze and my impaired vision as I scanned the clearing for any traps or unusual elements.
All clear.
I stepped into the clearing, careful to avoid slipping on the cold mud. A ring of purple-blue flowers adorned the edges of the clearing, their petals almost translucent-like under the waning moon's silver glow. Golden stigmas flourished between the petals and through the shimmery like powder oozing from its tip, I knew enough to stay clear from those flowers.
For a labyrinth holding the most powerful weapon to destroy faeriekind, letting my guard down at any moment could be disastrous. So I stepped into the clearing, careful to make sure not to touch the flowers. My eyes lingered a little too long on them before painfully lifting to what lay beyond the glade.
I took another step forward and stared at the crossroad beyond my trembling, aching self.
Three paths.
Obscured by the heavy cloak of misty fog and the cold shadows of the enchanted maze, I froze before the looming entrances of the three paths. I told myself my hands were trembling from the cold as I lifted my bow and drew another arrow with some effort.
I glanced around, searching for something, anything that could give me a hint or clue of which path was right. My body swayed, my head drooping with heaviness at the motion and I clenched my fist until it drew blood. I filtered through the entire area, checking under leaves and branches, between every edge and corner, under the soil and mud, and almost missed them as I walked past.
Three numbers engraved in the mud before their assigned paths.
I, II, III.
They meant nothing to me beyond life and death. Chance might save me, but—
Two. Two was a lucky number, because it was like Aslan and me—just two people. One had to be bad, because one was like the Sephtis, or the Alger—solitary beings. One was a nasty number, and three was too much—it was three siblings crammed into a tiny cottage, hating each other until they choked on it, until it poisoned them.
Yes. Two. It was two. Two.
I limped towards the entrance of the second path, squeezing my eyes shut as I stepped in. But nothing came, nothing attacked, so I took another step and another and another.
Soon, I was halfway down the path before reaching a shallow bend. I didn't stop as I slipped around the corner and continued to shuffle my way through twists and turns. My body sagged a bit more after every step and it'd become a struggle to keep my legs moving. My eyelids droop and my body threatens to collapse but I stumble through, over the labyrinth's ground and between the hedges. I stared only at my feet, thinking about putting one foot in front of the other.
Left, left, right, left, right, right.
I counted each turn and corner, my mind falling into the steady rhythm of following the path. The venom warps my perception of time and I'm lost to the fiery pain throughout the walk.
Left, right, right, right, left, right.
Panic started seeping into my bones as I took another left turn with a heave. What if this leads to a dead-end? This couldn't be my end, walking in an enchanted maze for eternity. No, I couldn't stop here, what would happen to my family then? I—
I turned to round another bend, and my worry only deepened when I stepped into the field. I hissed, withdrawing at the sudden burst of light from the moon. I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the brightness and gaped at the ring of flowers I stood in.
No, it couldn't be. Impossible. But I—
The very same translucent purple-blue flowers stared back at me, shimmering beautifully with the grace of the moonlight. I gave a quick glance towards the crossroad and sure enough, the engraved numbers were still etched into the ground. Paid shuddered through me as my hysteria increased. I had to be hallucinating.
Not wasting a moment of doubt, I scurried towards the third path, tripping over my feet and pushing myself back up again with weak arms.
Left, right, left, left, left, left, left.
I ignored the little scrapes and bruises as I crashed into hedges, only to push off them and continue to stagger along. Everything was a blur as I started running, precisely how I'd expected myself to run—how I'd kept running away from my responsibilities, my problems for so long that I'd forgotten what it felt like to fail. To lose something. I'd become so broken that failure had become common to me. Like a coward, like a fool, I'd left my priorities behind.
I couldn't decide if I hated myself for it.
It wasn't long before I found myself trampling over those shimmering flowers and my knees groaned as they wobbled before finally crumpling to the ground. Too exhausted to hold myself up, I lay on my back facing the sky, gulping greedily as my lungs claw at my throat for air. Little plumes of golden powder fell like powdered sugar on me, coating the left side of my body. I didn't care that there was a tingling feeling where the powder reached my skin, didn't care as my limbs stiffened and froze as the powder seeped under my flesh. I peeked through heavy-lidded eyes as an oily sheen was left where the powder once was.
Paralysis.
I should have known.
But I was too exhausted and all I could do at that moment was stare at the night as it swallowed my body. The shadows on the ground like tendrils of wispy chains that held me down. My head lolled to the side and through my delirious state, imagined a pair of warm, calloused hands gently lifting my head as cool metal was brought to my lips. A bitter, grainy liquid slithered down my throat and I coughed and sputtered for a moment before reluctantly swallowing it down.
I was too feverish to sort through what was real and what was not as I blinked to clear away the black swirling on the edges of my vision. I blinked again and the warm hands were gone, leaving me with a sour aftertaste in my throat and my head on the mud again.
Who was that?
My saviour had disappeared as quickly as they came and left no sign of who they might be. But I knew that taste all too well and couldn't help but wonder if there was someone else in this labyrinth, watching me. I shuddered at the thought and brushed it off, claiming it as my own imagination. Still, it didn't stop me from scanning my surroundings and checking my weapons as I slowly rose to my feet.
My head thrummed a little from getting up too suddenly and I braced myself on my knees to clear away the last of the headache. It was strange how fast it recovered. I couldn't help but scrutinise the rest of my body, at the fading numbing sensation on the left side of my torso and my left arm and leg. Couldn't help but realise that the burning pain of the venom had also subsided to a dull throb throughout my body.
It was strange, but I thanked the Mother and the forgotten gods for it.
A slight breeze swept through the clearing and my mind was brought back to three paths. Two led back here. Perhaps the last one would lead me to the black milkweed. It was another guess—another round at luck but I snatched it anyways.
Standing in front of the first path, dew caught on my eyelashes and I shivered from the chilly breeze. The path was wider and longer than all the others making it easy to run across. The fog made it impossible to see what was located on the other side but the backs of my hair stood and goosebumps ran along my skin. I raised my bow a little higher.
There was something wrong in here.
I could feel it.
The same buzzing of the air was heavy in the path as it had been when I first entered the maze. My knees buckled as I took the first step in and I held my breath, waiting—always waiting.
Five more steps in, and I loosed a breath but my lungs tightened again when the walls started closing in—the air compacting. Everything was squeezing inwards, sucking out the air—
But I couldn't. I couldn't move.
My knees and spine, not entirely of my own will, suddenly forced me upright, and I was sprinting, sprinting so fast that the wind whipped at my face and the hedges became a smear of colour around me. The hedges gained speed, eating up the soil and dirt and mud. I could suck in enough air—the walls were forcing it out of this confinement.
I was going to be crushed, squashed like a grape between the walls. My shortcomings had caught up with me, and this place would be my tomb. I would never paint again; never see the sun again.
But then there was a beacon of light that pierced through the fog and I could feel myself coming closer—so close—
The walls were now against my front, my back and I squeezed through, choking as I could barely breathe—
But a light whump echoed in my ears and I was sprawled on the ground, the path I had taken sealed shut in front of me. Hauling breaths escaped my throat and I struggled to push myself up to flip around.
At first, I didn't know what to make of it. But a startled, hysterical laugh broke me out of my trance and I realised that it was coming from me, slipping past my lips so easily that I was stunned. For so long, so long the humans have suffered under the faeries' rule. Even during these times, humans have long feared them, using whatever scraps of enchantments and iron they could in hopes of warding off the faeries.
But now...now...
I stared at the neat little rows of black milkweed. So fragile, so beautiful under midnight's reign like porcelain dolls sitting behind the front window of an artisan's shop. Yet under it—under the smoothness of its black petals lay a weapon. A weapon so sought out by humans to finally have a chance of standing up against the fae.
Crawling on my knees and hands, I stretched out a hand towards the first row of the faevenom, caressing its petals. It yielded like velvet to my touch and I shivered at the luxurious feel. Quickly pulling out the piece of parchment Japeth had given me, I fumbled a little before unrolling it.
It looked exactly as how the illustration portrayed it.
It was time to right the wrong. I had disappointed by people one too many times in the past and it was time for a change. A small voice in the back of my mind wants me to forget about the black milkweed and go back to the estate, to Phoebus.
But I can't, I won't.
Not again.
Drawing out the jewelled hunting knife from my boot, I grabbed the stem of the nearest one I could reach and began sawing.
I tried to work as quickly as I could but there was a faint stench of burning grass and I looked up from my cutting to see the grass before me sizzling away. My eyebrows furrowed as I watched a greenish drop of liquid fall onto another patch of grass, burning the blades to ashes.
Shivering, there was a hiss and a click and I looked up to face a stinger, poised and ready to strike.