DEPTHS

Light shines between cracks in the masonry. The tunnels had flourished with new life. There was talk spreading among the kingdoms that the tomb that had swallowed so many willing souls had been transformed into a lush environment ripe with new flora and fauna. It had been dismissed as talk until they arrived and descended down into the depths. Leaves brushed against the stones like gentle whispers beckoning you further. Moss padded the walls and floors again. Multicolored and wondrous flowers dotted the cracks. New roots had wound their way into every surface they could, occasionally tripping their perplexed footfalls. Every so often, an animal would cross paths and dart off before their eyes could properly adjust to the new shapes. Green pierced every surface no matter how deep they felt themselves going. How deep were they now? Not really sure anymore. The land at least provided.

Something still felt wrong. Things flourished down in the gloom that shouldn’t be. The breeze carried sweet floral scents upon it, but the smell soured near the end of it like decaying bouquets at a long lost grave. Any water they quaffed had a strange tang like it was just on the cusp of becoming stagnant. It made the stomach sour to think about drinking it again as their mouth began to dry. No matter how the dungeon presented itself so gorgeously the slight sting of decay followed its glamour. The deeper they delved the more vibrant and lush the dungeon grew. Sometimes there were small rooms with ponds and fountains with odd statues run down by the passing of time, and they caught the dim glint of coins left at the foot of the statues. Sometimes there was a couple gleaming at the bottom of the small dark pools.

Clearing vines from their path, they stumbled into one of the largest rooms by far in the labyrinthine halls. An enormous tree loomed above them, its canopy disappeared among the gloom. Every so often a leaf would float down from above and gingerly land upon the soft grass that carpeted the ground. The only sound they could hear was the gentle babbling of the brook that rushed from a gash in the wall behind the great tree. It smelled like a forest before the spring approached; new and fresh but the hints of winter’s death toll around the edges. They reach out and touch some of the grass, recoiling in pain as the blade draws blood. Something pushes at their thoughts, but they wave it away looking for a small bandage. They do not notice the ground hungrily drink the sanguine fluid. She does not notice.

Her eyes once again scan the wide room, taking in all of the beauty now found in what once was a condemned and damned place. Greed and hunger for the unknown had driven many to embark from the cities to this dungeon. No one had successfully mapped the winding halls, or discovered why the pull was so intense to delve these cursed depths. One rumor was great and abhorrent treasures awaited those who could brave the horrors deep inside. Another mentioned a spring of immortality from a civilization long gone.

As far as she was concerned, the prize itself was realizing how ridiculous both rumors were and coming back home to the tavern to show how good you were at planning for an incredibly difficult excursion (and possibly free drinks for the rest of the night). Rustling in the grass turned her attention away from her thoughts and a hare hobbled out into view. Luckily the pangs of hunger were not as loud as they could be, and she nocked an arrow. The hare was unbothered, still sniffing around for roots to nibble. String creaking with stored energy, she steadied her breath for the shot. A strange wind coursed through the room and, for a moment, she felt something touch her. The arrow whistled off into the opposite direction, embedding itself deep into the large tree. A sound wailed from the depths off the halls. It was needling and painful, like someone driving a well honed blade down the surface of a new shield with every ounce of strength. The hare perked up in response, giving her a second chance. The next arrow hit its mark perfectly, slaying the creature in one clean hit to the skull. She does not know.

It was easy enough to make a fire with the abundance of greenery here. At least eating wouldn’t be much of a problem. The smell of meat made her mouth water, and she thought of the curried rabbit back home. I shan’t have to pay for curried rabbit for a while after this, she thought. A few unseasoned meals would not deter her curiosity to see how deep she could go. The crackling fire and gentle waters soothed her nerves. Something was still wrong, but nothing so far had any cause for alarm. Just nerves. Never been this far alone somewhere like this really, that’s all. Her stomach started to complain, and she gave it a few more minutes to do so as she listened for the sizzle that told her the cooking was done. It was no curried rabbit but this would have to do for now. She carved a few hot pieces from the carcass and wolfed them down with not much chewing. Then the stomach complained again, but this time she felt it cramp like it was trying to force the meat out. She heaved once or twice, and swallowed for good measure but it did not work. It came back up hot and stinging. The smell of rot hung among the sick smell of bile.

Tears stung her eyes as she gasped for air after the sudden expulsion of the burning flesh retracing it is path out. Her senses were heightened, and now she could smell how the hare she cooked was already rotten from death. Her mind raced.

“Were there no external signs it was dead? In her haste had she dismissed them?”

No it was bumbling along in the grass, and stood up in alert when it heard the ghastly sound as she had. What the hell was this place? She crawled to the brook that had given her peace earlier with the fire and when she brought it closer the dull tang of stagnation filled her nose. Another heave, but this time it was dry. The panic started to swell, and she felt the tingle in her hands. Her eyes fell upon the arrow she loosed before she made her mark, and she wiped her tears. A dark, syrupy substance was leaking from the tree. Her panic subsided a little bit. Trees do this, its nothing to worry about. She felt herself rise to her feet, hunched over from the cramped midsection that was still angry about the meal it was given. As she inched over to the bark she noticed the syrup had a tint to it. Red? No, not here. She knew there were trees that had red sap instead of beige or brown, but those were found in very secluded areas and used for dyes and inks. The more she edged forward, the stronger the scent of blood filled the air. Sweat started to soak her as the panic wound its way through her tired body again. Trees filled with blood? What was-

She stopped in mid touch. The temperature had dropped instantly making her shiver involuntarily. Light given off of the flora in the room seemed to dim making the darkness even more pervasive. Her breath clouded in front of her like winter suddenly blanketing the area. From the mouth of the large cavernous opening a bright light inched its way towards the room. She heard no footfalls, but it sounded like someone was breathing softly near her ear. The breath exhaled and a figure appeared in her view. It was white and shining, clad in a shimmering robe that was as white as fresh snow. The garment looked newly laundered, and the silver trim was like it had just been embroidered that very day. A silver blade was clasped to the figure’s waist with no scabbard. Her blurry vision could barely make out an odd red streak upon the blade. It left no stain upon the cloth it leaned against.

The being was enchanting, like an oil painting of divinity but something was wrong with the eyes. Where the white should have been on any normal person, they were darker than every well she had peered down, every cave she had ventured through. She shivered as its gaze fixated upon her with fascination despite not even knowing where exactly the things eyes roamed. There was no sound. The strange breeze that caressed the grasses was silent. The stream did not gurgle its gentle way through the room. All her ears heard was her labored breathing and bile swallowed down forcefully as she tried to hold herself together in the daunting presence. It had finally sidled into view enough the tears could not blur the details of the perfect and unnatural face. She saw the smile it wore. It was like looking into a casket where the dead had been made to look like they were resting peacefully and enjoying the penultimate moments before being lowered into the earth for the final sleep. Her breathe caught in her chest as she saw the being’s irises materialize like the moon appearing from behind the clouds. The soft lighting that had dimmed before the strange thing entered the room came alive again as it’s eyes glowed in tandem with the surroundings. An eerie draft brushed against her shivering body echoing something that sounded like a very distant voice.

She knows. The words had a shrillness that made her ears ache. She wanted to scramble away from the whatever this thing was, but her legs were rooted. The terrible awe of its beauty held her in place. She stared into the strange orbs that paralyzed her, shining like moonstone against the blackest abyss. The pain had not hit until the piercing sting broke the focus. Breathing was pain. Thump.

Why had she come? Tha-thump.

She would not see the tavern again. Tha-thump.

There would be no body to lay to rest. Tha-thump.

Curried rabbit. Tha-thump.

I didn’t kiss her. Tha-thump.

I didn’t. Thump.
I. Thump.

The death rattle was gentle. The last tears trailed down the frozen face onto the unsoiled sleeve, and then into the dirt floor. Your arms holds the corpse as you slide the sword from the cooling body. It is coated completely with the warmth of life. The blade does not slice your tongue as you run it over the length of the sticky metallic liquid. You cannot cut yourself no matter how hard you press your flesh into the edge. It has become you. It will not harm itself. Having cleaned your fill from the sword, you lower it into the nearby stream. It floats on the surface like watercolors upon a blank page and then dissipates into the flowing water. You feel more strength flowing into your vessel. It had been some time since something living had come to this place. Come to you.

The small camp she had made held only a few belongings: a flint and stone, a leather book half filled with various observations, an empty quiver, and an inkstone pen. Your eyes flit up to the great tree and the arrow sticking out of its wide trunk. The throb still flitted in your side but it was slowly ebbing. It would take more than what mortal hands could forge to strike the fatal blow. One easy pull and the arrow is dislodged. You do not flinch as the sting in your side wells up in commiseration and then disappears. Tearing a page from the journal, pale fingers guide the inkstone pen across its surface. The words are familiar. Things you had seen with mortal eyes posted up in the city promising riches to those who could swallow their conscience deep down, and brave the things lurking deep in the earth. More would come. You smile. You know the lengths the human mind will go for the tales of glory. The stories they can tell back home to whoever will hear their drunken raving of glittering artifacts and piles of coin.

You pluck a small vine hanging above the entryway and lightly wince at the echo of pain upon your scalp. The letter is secured. A pure white crow lands among the grass curious of the shiny beetles scuttling around until you hold the letter out. It takes the rolled paper, looks into the endless pools of your eyes with its own dark stare, and then with hardly a sound soars through the corridor into the gloom. Once it makes it to the outside it will die and rot, but it will be staved off long enough to make it to where the letter will be picked up. The word will spread. The waters will flow once again in your favor. What little she had brought here was now paved over with mud and already new sprouts pushed up to greet the stale dungeon air. The sound of unkempt claws scrabbled against the stones from down the hallway. The shamblers would enjoy this feast as they too had not had a meal in quite some time. At least since you had come.

The sounds of the dungeon were starting up again as you rose from your knees, robe still unsullied despite the damp ground. With graceful sliding steps you continue your wanderings ever deeper into the winding labyrinth. There is something else here, still calling to you. A rhythmic calling like the pumping of the heart of a great twisted beast in its death throes. No fear. No pain. Nothing but moving down

down

down into the unholy depths you descend.