Becoming P.T. Lyfantod - 53
A serial fantasy novel
What follows is Part 53 of Becoming P.T. Lyfantod
If you missed Part 1, start there:
When the world reasserted itself, I was alone. I rolled sideways only seconds before Merry materialized beside me. Tom came immediately after. Soon we were all there, peering around a gloomy room not at all like the one where we’d first met Cyril Lightfoot.
It was a small, low-ceilinged hemisphere with curving walls that had a melted quality, and glistened wetly. A pair of doorways stood opposite one another, perpendicular to a set of matching windows. The construction was arched and intricate and crudely gothic. Through one doorway and both windows drifted tendrils of chill blue fog, along with faint sunlight that suggested early morning. The second doorway was a black maw. Lightfoot’s knot was chalked on the keystone above it.
“Can’t see a bloody thing,” complained Tom, over with his head out the light door, peering around.
“Tom, get back here,” said Merry. “You don’t know what’s out there.”
Iain was leaning out one of the windows. “Just white, in every direction. You could cut this fog with a knife.”
“The light’s weird, isn’t it?” I watched the shadows shift over Tom’s shoulder. “Like the bottom of a pool.”
“I don’t like this place,” said Stuart. No sooner had he spoken than a furious voice rose out in the fog. Echoing, unintelligible, but undeniable enraged. Everyone went white as sheets, huddling in the center of the room.
“What the hell was that?” Iain hissed, backing into Merry, who grunted.
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,” she said.
“I really, really don’t like this place,” Stuart tried to look everywhere at once.
“It was way off,” I assured him. “There’s no reason to think he’s coming here.”
“Bit like whatsit…” Tom waved a hand. “Ghost Island.”
“Mynydd Pwll,” Iain turned toward the other door. “We should go.”
“In there?” Stuart eyed the darkened doorway with just as much dislike as the lit one.
“Did anyone think to bring a torch?” Merry asked.
“Oh!” I fished one from my bag. “Here we are.” A flick of my thumb and a yellow beam shot from the end.
“Thank God,” Stuart sagged as I pointed it toward the dark, revealing a long, straight corridor.
“Old man didn’t account for modern technology,” Tom gloated.
“C’mon.” I said. I’d only taken a handful of steps when the light flickered and went out. I screamed.
“What happened—?”
“I don’t know!” I banged the torch against the flat of my wrist, “It worked fine when I left…”
“Oh, for Chrissakes,” Tom rolled his eyes. “The batteries are dead.”
“I changed them!”
“Well, clearly you picked the wrong ones.”
“And what have you brought that’s so bloody useful?” I snapped.
“Uh—me?” Tom replied as though the answer was obvious.
“We’re all real grateful,” said Iain.
“Look, can we j—” Merry was interrupted by another raving shout from outside.
Stuart whimpered. “Did that sound closer?”
Merry’s face was pained as she turned towards the dark. “We’ll have to make do without. But let’s go. Whatever’s down here, it can’t be any worse than… that.”
The tunnel was wide enough to walk two abreast and then some. And without the torch to light the way, it was completely, utterly black. “Why does it have to be so dark?” Stuart moaned.
“It’s another test,” said Merry.
“Of what?” Tom said. “Night vision?”
“Courage,” I swallowed. “Probably.”
“What if there’re traps?” Stuart’s voice was thin and reedy. “Pits with spikes, or… giant swinging axes… I don’t know if I can—”
“Now hold on,” Iain’s hands were on his hips. “Why would Lightfoot be trying to kill us after we passed his first trial?”
“To cull the unworthy,” Tom said. “Obviously.”
Outside, someone—something—laughed. The sound was madness itself.
“We have two choices,” Iain said. “Into the dark, or out here. With that.”
“I swear it worked,” I muttered, fiddling futilely with batteries.
“We’ll go slow,” Merry said. “And… I think we should hold hands. In case someone falls.”
“Seriously?” Tom arched an eyebrow.
“Yes.” Merry’s tone was firm. “Lightest first. So if anyone falls there’ll be someone stronger to pull them back.”
“You mean if you fall,” said Iain. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to go smallest, then biggest? Otherwise it’ll be you, then Stu, and—no offense Stu—I don’t think he’s pulling you up.”
“I’ve a better idea,” said Tom. “Mer and I will go first. I’m plenty strong enough to catch her if she falls, don’t you worry Lloyd. You and Jenkins can come after. And Petey here will bring up the rear and just have to hope that whoever’s out there can’t see in the dark.”
Iain rolled his jaw. “Fine.”
No one was interested in hearing my opinion. So I got stuck in back while Merry led. As much as I tried to pretend I wasn’t afraid, I wished she would hurry. She inched forward balanced on her back foot, right arm outstretched, fingertips sliding along the wall. Her left hand was clasped in Tom’s right, who followed, a mirror image, with his back hand trailing along the wall behind him. For all his apparent confidence, I saw his face the moment before the dark enveloped it. It was the sort of face people make at the dentist after the drill has started whining, but before it’s hit their teeth, and they’re praying the novocaine’s kicked in.
“Do we have to hold hands?” Stuart grimaced up at Iain. “I mean, if they fall, I’ll probably hear it. And what about P.T.?”
“I don’t like it any more than you do, Stu. But better safe than sorry. And as for him—” Iain smirked in my direction, “—if the rest of us are dead, there’s no real point in him going on anyway. I mean, what’ll he have to live for?”
“Avenging you, of course.”
“Against a hole in the ground?” Iain’s back was to me now, his voice echoing off the walls of the corridor.
“I’ll just have to fill it in.”
Iain snorted. Stuart had adopted a less graceful version of Merry’s stance, and, his hand dwarfed by Iain’s paw, set off into the dark. After a few short, shuffling steps, they vanished from sight.
My turn.
I couldn’t see the others, but I could hear them. The rustling of clothes; the scraping of jackets and bags against the wall; the scuffle of trainers along the floor. The stone was smooth and damp beneath my fingertips, and a chill breeze caressed my face… Like the breath of something long dead. At least if anything happens, I’ve the best chance of escaping, I thought guiltily. Then a shout from behind whipped my head around and curdled the blood in my veins. The doorway remained empty, a frame for shifting murk. I knew I wasn’t visible because I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face, but I felt exposed. I still gripped the torch. It might not light the way, but it would make a passable bludgeon. I hoped.
Iain grunted when I ran into his back. “Hey, watch it now—”
“Can’t we go any faster?”
“Unless you fancy ending up at the bottom of a pit, this is as fast as we go,” Merry called from not far ahead, voice strained.
“It’s just—”
“I heard it,” she growled. “I’m going as fast as I can. If you don’t shut it, he’ll find us for sure.
I couldn’t help peering over my shoulder as we crept along. I was worried about what we’d find here in the dark… but the slowly shrinking doorway felt like eyes on my back. It was also the only way to gauge our progress, which as far as I was concerned was excruciatingly slow, though I refrained from saying so. The voice—or voices—kept at it, alternating between laughter and rage. It was hard to say which was worse. Once, looking back, I could’ve sworn I saw a shadowy figure flit past the open doorway, leaving swirling eddies in the fog. My breath hitched. I forgot how to move. Wound tighter than a coiled spring, I watched, knowing I might at any moment be confronted with some horror.
The others had no way of knowing I’d stopped, and so when Merry screamed, it was from a way off. I wrenched my eyes from the doorway and hurried to catch up. A fraction of a second later, Tom cried out as well.
Iain and Stuart were shouting over one another.
“Merry!”
“What is it?”
“What happened?”
“Merry! Tom! Are you there?”
“Hurry up, Stu!”
“I’m going! But I have to be careful! What if—?”
Up ahead, someone groaned. “Oh… my bloody elb—Ow! What the hell was that for?”
“You were supposed to catch me!”
“Merry! Tom!” Iain shouted. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“We’re fine,” Tom shouted back, sounding more annoyed than injured. “Just mind your feet. There’s a step.”
A step? A step. Oh thank god. I loosed the breath I’d been holding.
“I can’t see anything,” Iain complained.
“Oooah!” It was Stuart.
A grunt—Iain.
“Found the step.”
“We’re going to break our necks in here.”
“My hand…”
When I finally reached the step, I was prepared well enough not to fall down it. I lowered one foot over the edge and found solid ground. I could hear the others feeling their way about. Wherever we were, it appeared to be wider than the corridor that had brought us here. Behind me, the outer door was a pinprick in the distance. Straddling the corner, I lowered my second foot and stepped fully into the room. Light bloomed.
