Labyrinth

Chapter 4-

Labyrinth- C4

The thing about giant life-and-death mazes is that you get to think about totally pointless things.

I'm no exception; I've decided I'd know how to bring this up if I were to tell my situation to a hopeful preschooler. It would go something like this: 'Small child (yes, I would address them that way), there's good news and bad news. The good news is we're not dead yet. However, the bad news is that we probably will be soon.'

Mhm. We've been taken captive. You remember those eerie monochromatic little shits that Jake and I saw earlier? Well, they weren't little. Also, they appeared to be part of some creepy, inner-maze, human-sacrificing tribal thing!

"So, Shorty, how do you plan on getting us out?" inquires a snide, sarcastic tenor voice.

I grimace, hands struggling desperately against the tight nylon ropes binding me to a pole. The pole's thick, wooden, and unyielding against by thin but small hands. It's like something from an action movie, like Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark (which I only really watched because Harrison Ford was hot); both Jake and I are stuck here, hands above our heads, tied to this pole held up by the creepy maze tribe as we march along.

"I don't know," I answer finally, staring at the back of his close-cropped reddish hair. "We could always do the mutiny thing."

"Nah, we'd need more people for that."

"Don't be so sure."

This results in a chuckle from Jake. "It kinda sucks that we're going to die. It would've been nice to get to know you more."

If this weren't such a shitty situation, I'd probably be smiling and blushing like an enormously derpy nerd. Which I was, before I got here. "Thanks."

The pole's jerked hard once, forward. "No speaking," shushes a guard behind me. Probably night-colored hair, a burly build, and a stone-like, pale face just like all the others. Annoyed, I make a farting noise with my mouth. Immature, yes, but if I'm going to die, then I'm going to go out in style. The guard halts, stopping the pole and the guy holding the front of the pole.

And quite possibly the whole tribal group, or the portion of it here.

I can hear rage shaking in the tribesman's voice as he asks, enunciating carefully, "Did you just mock me?"

Oops. Guess my raspberry (I'm pretty sure that's the technical term for a mouth-fart that isn't actually a burp) was louder than expected. Well, now I need to come up with some sort of lie. So I stay silent as I try to do just that.

Thankfully, Jake steps up and acts like the asset I had hoped he'd be. "Um.. My companion happens to be deaf," he explains. "I'm her guide- we have a series of gestures and such to communicate with each other."

"Isn't that sign-language?" pipes up the guy holding the front of the pole. Only now I notice how fluffy and dark his hair is.

Jake shakes his head. "Most certainly not. We have an entirely different series of gestures. The majority of them are fairly subtle, so although it may look as though we're doing absolutely nothing, we're communicating." I'm, like, really surprised at how precocious he sounds. And at the lie he's come up with. I nudge his ankle with the back of a boot-clad foot, trying to remind him to cover directly for my raspberry. "Oh, and she has issues with passing gas," he adds. Well, he got the message, but for a good liar, he seems to have an issue coming up with one that benefits both of us. In fact, I can almost hear the ass trying not to smirk, and it's all the worse since I have no right to be angry with him.

The moment I finish mulling over my supposed 'gas problems', I'm aware of the tension-filled silence that seems to have settled over the people holding us hostage. The people in front seem to be looking past me, at their own, in sort of a silent debate. Probably wondering if they can trust us or not.

"We will bring you back to the Territory of the Night-Walkers, which is our tribal (Tribespeople. Knew it!) name. We are not the only ones in here, of course. You shall join us as guests, boy and boy's deaf friend. But one wrong move, and we won't hesitate to kill you." The decisive, booming voice that seems to bounce around us comes from the front of the line. I squint, trying to crane my neck and get a better look, but I'm unable to see any more than five people in front of my face.

Not that it matters, anyway.

After what feels like an hour of seeing nothing but endless grey stone and Jake's backside, things finally start to shift around. The artificial scenery gradually morphs itself into sparse, black grass, cluttered with strange, mutated /things/ that seem to move and melt with shadows. Leafless, dead trees are scattered throughout the area, and it's almost like some sort of illusion you'd see in a nightmare; just this endless black grass and crispy-looking trees and creepy creatures. It's almost reminiscent of the Fields of Asphodel, from the Greek's idea of death.

The landscape drags by, and after what might have been five minutes or two hours, we reach this giant setup. It's basically a giant crater in the middle of the place, filled with a gleaming, cold light. I'm pretty sure these guys stole the blue torches from the stone tunnels, but whatevs. They weren't /my/ torches anyway, so I guess it isn't really my deal. Plus, I need to be deaf, and I'm pretty sure that job-description entitles a lack of speech.

"Welcome to camp," the booming voice speaks to us again. God, it's really unsettling not being able to see this leader guy...

The nylon around my hands is cut, and I want to scream, "OH MY GOD HAVE FOUND RELIEF!" but I manage to restrain myself, simply stretching out my hands. In front of me, Jake's released, and immediately, I grab one of his hands. He squeezes mine, but doesn't let go. I smile faintly, though maybe this is all part of his plan with the non-sign language and whatnot.

My smile dissipates as the tallest, most massive human I've ever seen walks up to us. The dude's at least six-and-a-half feet tall, easily dwarfing me and contesting easily against Jake (and hey, I thought he was pretty tall). The man before us also has a thick, black beard, matching hair, and a dark cloak that I might normally be jealous of if I weren't too busy cowering in fear. He smiles at us, waving ever so slightly in a somewhat-friendly manor. I try to return it, but I fear I probably look constipated. "I am Storm Bringer. Obviously not the name I came here with, but my people have given it to me. You will stay with us temporarily, until we feel you are both non-threats," he booms, clearly addressing Jake.

I shudder inwardly. At this point, I don't know if we've escaped death, or have something worse coming.

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Author's Note:

So I realize I haven't been posting much, which has been due to a writer's block/lack of inspiration or whatever. //doesn't know if anyone's actually reading this story but whatever.