Becoming P.T. Lyfantod - 55
A serial fantasy novel
What follows is Part 55 of Becoming P.T. Lyfantod
If you missed Part 1, start there:
Chapter Eighteen:
Dreadful Rhythm
“I was the size of a building, terrorizing a seaside village.” Godwyn stomped imaginary houses in the air, swinging his babylike fists. “The wee folk screamed. Everything was on fire. Bodies everywhere… And you had to go and wake me up.” His lip curled. “Damned persistence. Damned nerve…” He paused, seeming to notice his surroundings for the first time. “Why is it so … Oh. It’s this one.” He smiled.
“Godwyn,” Merry went for stern bit didn’t quite hit the mark. “What do you mean, this one?”
He looked down on her, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. It was not a pleasant look. “Ah ah…” He wagged a stubby forefinger. “Mustn’t ruin the surprise.”
“Why is it so bloody dark?” demanded Tom.
“Because—” Godwyn cleared his throat. He delivered his speech in a lifeless monotone, making tired gestures with his hands. “Disciples of the Brazen Horn are warriors of light, bastion against the darkness. They are the beacon of hope. The light in the dark. The dispellers of doubt. The fighters of fear, uh…” he tilted back his head. “—Oh, right. When light without cannot be found, you must find it within yourself. Only then may you become a guide to the lost. A standard for the weak and weary. A harsh glare in the eyes of your enemies. Do not seek the light at the end of the tunnel—become it.” He squinted down at us, gauging our reactions, then added, “His words, not mine.”
“What does that mean?” asked Iain. “Where’s Lightfoot?”
“Light-who?” the imp cocked his head in mock puzzlement, smiling prettily.
“Godwyn!” Merry snapped. “You’re supposed to help us. That’s the rule!”
“Ooh…” Godwyn screwed up his face in a petulant scowl. “You’re no fun at all.” He spent a moment grinding his teeth before spinning and flitting away. I thought he might leave, but he stopped before reaching the wall. The light of his crooked candle fell upon the doorway opposite the one we’d come through. He pointed. “It means go that way. And it also means you’ll be doing it in the dark. Reach the end, and you’ll find the old blowhard, sure enough.” He spun back to face us, hands on his hips. “Is that clear enough for you?”
“Come with us,” said Tom. “We could use that candle on your head.”
“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you, boyo?” Godwyn sneered. “Fat chance. I’ve got better things to do than play bat to your belfry. But—” he drifted toward the doorway at our backs. “If you’re frightened, you can always go home.”
“You expect us to go out there?” said Tom. “With those… voices?”
“Those are your choices! Out there—” he thrust his chin one way, “—or into the dark.” He jerked his head at the doorway behind him. “And it makes no never mind to me which of the two you pick. Now go on! Time’s a-wasting.” He surveyed the room one last time, taking in all of the frightful statuary, and that wicked grin of his returned. “Heh.” And with that, he dove and vanished through the floor, taking his light with him.
Everyone cried out at once. Tom’s gong clattered to the floor. There was a thump, and Iain grunted. “Bloody hell, Stu, watch where you—”
“Godwyn!” Merry’s shout echoed in the confines of the space. “What the hell?!”
There was no answer.
“All right, all right. Everybody calm down!” Iain yelled. “Panicking isn’t going t—Stu! Stand… still!”
Stuart made an inarticulate noise. I imagined Iain strangling him, but that probably wasn’t what happened. Some of the commotion did stop. A moment later Stuart coughed. “Err—sorry. Lost my head…”
I could hear Tom’s teeth grinding. “That little… When I find him I’m going to—!”
“I can’t see anything,” Merry complained. “I’m tired of the dark!”
“The light isn’t coming back, and neither is Godwyn,” said Iain. “This is part of Lightfoot’s plan. A test—”
“The second trial,” I corrected.
“Why did he laugh?” Stuart asked.
“Only one way to find out,” Iain said. “Just… keep your eyes—I mean ears—open.
Merry sighed. “Door’s over here. Same order as last time. Let’s get this over with.”
* * *
There was something about the dark, and the overpowering silence, that made you want to whisper. Which made it all the more jarring each time Tom shouted.
“Bloody hell, Jenkins! Watch where you put those feet!”
“Shh—!”
It was the fourth time Stuart had trodden on Tom’s heels. Or possibly the fifth. We were clustered together in a trembling knot, and everyone’s nerves were fraying. I could no longer see anything ahead or behind, and I hadn’t heard any voices in some time—but Godwyn’s parting chuckle had left me with a powerful unease.
“Sorry…” Stuart murmured. Again.
“What do you reckon the trial is?” whispered Iain after a time.
“I bet it’s a maze,” said Merry. “A labyrinth.”
“But there haven’t been any turns,” I said.
“Yet.”
The prospect didn’t seem to have crossed Stuart’s mind till then. “W-what if we’re lost down here—forever?”
“No problem,” said Iain. “I know a trick.”
“What trick?” asked Tom dubiously.
“You just keep your hand on one wall, exactly like we’re doing. It might take time, but eventually you’ll make it out. Guaranteed.”
“No,” hissed Merry. “It isn’t.”
“What?”
“That only works if the exit is somewhere on the outer edge of the maze. But if it’s in the center, it doesn’t work.”
There was a stretch of strained silence. I could almost picture Iain’s frown. “How do you mean?”
Merry didn’t answer immediately. She wasn’t fond of explaining things. Any minute now, she was going to call Iain dense. Not that I understood what she meant any better than he did. I just had sense not to let on. “Imagine the maze being a simple donut shape,” she said. “If the exit is somewhere on the outer edge, touching that wall will eventually lead you out. But if it’s in the center of the donut, you’ll just go in circles and never find it. Understand?”
“But then—we could just use the other hand.”
“Yes, all right. That’s true. But now imagine that instead of a donut, it’s the number eight, and the inner circles aren’t touching. You might walk around one circle forever, and never find the exit because it was in the other one. And those are simple shapes. A proper maze would be infinitely more complicated.”
“But…” Iain clearly had a thought, but was having trouble getting it from his brain to his mouth. “How would the exit be in the middle? That wouldn’t lead out, it would just lead deeper into the maze.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Iain. Stairs!”
“Or a magical teleporting knot,” Stuart suggested helpfully.
Another silence, longer this time. The consternation in the air was palpable. “Well,” said Iain at last—sounding not at all pleased, “I suppose we’d better hope it’s not a maze, then.”
“Brilliant assessment, Lloyd,” Tom snickered.
“Stu, switch places with me a moment,” Iain muttered.
“What?”
“Just do it.”
“Why—?”
There was a smacking sound. “—Ow! What the hell Lloyd?”
“That’s why.”
Merry sighed. “Would you two cut it out? I swear, you’re going to get us killed…”
“I didn’t do anything,” Tom muttered. “But you can bet I will, next time I can see.”
“Ready and waiting,” Iain whispered back.
“Good. Because I meant it. Soon as we’re out of here, I’m—”
DOOM.
Somewhere far away, down the lightless corridor, someone beat a massive drum. The hollow sound echoing off the walls filled me with dread. My eyes, wide and staring, were useless in the absolute dark.
