Blood Moon

Chapter Nine

The easiest way to detect any ground traps, Ben and I figure, is by snatching up large twigs or sticks and poking the forest floor before us. So far, we’ve only come across one extra death pit. Who knows how many more we’ll find?

“This is tiring,” says Ben. He looks worn-out; his eyelids appear heavy, his shoulders hang loosely, and his prodding has become lax.

“I don’t even know where we’re at,” I say, “or how far this forest extends. We could be lost in here for days.”

Ben frowns. “We’ll find a way out.” Just then, his stick pokes at loose surface. A small portion of leaves and netting give in, collapsing like a domino effect. “Whoa.” Ben takes a step back. “Another hole with spikes. Nice.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Will this ever end?”

I think his question is rhetorical, but I answer anyway. “We’re probably not even close to being finished with these things. Everywhere we turn, a new trap lies in wait, and we have to disarm it, or find a way around it. We’re running out of time.”

Ben grits his teeth. “You think I don’t know that? Those crazy women could be right behind us, egging on our deaths so they can move forward with their master plan, which, by the way, we haven’t figured out yet.”

“Okay, remember exactly where these traps are, because the second we reach the end is the second I zap us back to the beginning, so we can do this all over again.”

“What the hell would you do that for?” Ben admonishes.

“So we can gain some ground on the witches. If we know where the traps are, we can avoid them and move on. By the time they work their way through the labyrinth of death, we’ll be long gone, because we’re already clued-in.”

“Can’t we just go back to the cottage and run in the opposite direction? That sounds way easier.”

“We’ve already chosen this path,” I reply. “If we go back and change the past, selecting a different outcome, the future will be different. We could literally spend hours trying to prevent things from happening, but those hours are lost time we can’t really make up. They’re useless. It’s the same as traveling to this time period—we have to be extremely careful with our actions, as they directly affect our futures.”

“All right, so . . . how about we just make a run for it once we’re in the clear?” he asks. We’re both tired and hungry, and most definitely want to escape the wooded region, but we have to keep our heads on straight.

I stop walking and jabbing the ground. “Listen, I know this sucks and we didn’t sign up for this, but we need to think about the bigger picture—our families, our friends, everyone who has a place in our hearts. They’re depending on us, Ben. We can’t do that if we’re arguing about whether or not using our powers is the right thing to do.”

“Whatever,” he mumbles.

As I resume my prodding, I find yet another trap designed to kill anyone who stumbles upon it. Staring down into the pit, I notice not one but two skeletons at the bottom. I struggle for breath.

“What is it?” Ben asks, edging up beside me. “Oh, no.” He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. “May they rest in peace, whoever they were.”

An ominous sensation floods my senses. “Ben, what if they were the men Fiona was talking about, the ones who went after the wolves but never returned?” In a tiny voice, I ask, “What if one of them is her husband?” Peering up at Ben, his Adam’s apple bobs, but he doesn’t say a word.

Clearing his throat, he gruffly suggests that we should keep moving, in case the witches show up. I agree that it’s a good idea; we can’t delay progress any longer. Besides, it’ll be dusk soon, and we shouldn’t be out here after dark.

By my best estimate, thirty more minutes have passed, and Ben and I find one more death trap. But as we move forward in our expedition of this forest and away from the witches who hunt us, we literally stumble upon another problem: tripwires.

“I can’t believe you almost triggered that,” I tell Ben, as he attempts to figure out where the wire leads, and what it leads to.

“Oh, my God. You have got to see this.”

I bound over to where Ben stands. He’s glancing upward, where the trees meet the sky. At first, I’m not going to lie, I don’t see a damn thing. All I spot are trees, trees, and more trees. But as the sun sets, the fiery rays glint off a huge chunk of metal. Metal in the shape of an axe head, tied and strapped to a ginormous handle, waiting to be released so it can swing back and forth, slicing a person, or animal, in half.

“That’s creepy,” I say.

Ben can only nod; he’s too amazed to do anything but.

“Why is it so damn big? Are there giants around here that we don’t know about?”

Slowly, Ben shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

While Mr. Testosterone over here stares in admiration at the handiwork of his ancestors, I check out the other side. Just as I had thought, there’s yet another giant axe suspended in the trees. Not only that, once I really pay attention to our surroundings, I realize these aren’t the only two axes—there are three more sets just like them. The section of forest in front of us is a circular clearing, with eight trees spaced apart in the center, two for each axe, nearly side by side. I guess whoever invented this trap decided it was best to uproot the remainder of the trees which might’ve been here once. That way, they wouldn’t have to worry about the axes coming into contact with them.

“Uh . . . Ben? We have a problem.” Pointing to the obvious, he curses under his breath. “Why don’t we try going around those trees?”

Hands on his hips, Ben squints past the axes. “I have a feeling it’s not that easy.”

“More traps?”

“Probably.”

“Want to find out?” I ask.

“Might as well,” he admits, shrugging.

Carefully, we traipse toward the outer ring of foliage. Ben and I study the forest beyond, curious as to what secrets it holds, what tricks it has up its sleeves. Searching nearby, I find the stick I previously used. Taking a few jabs at the ground, the entire contraption gives way, and the forest floor becomes one huge hole.

“Let me guess . . . the other side is the exact same, which means we can’t escape on either side—we can only go forward or backward,” I say, stating the obvious.

Grim-faced, Ben replies, “I’d say you’re correct about this one. I guess we go forward.”

One of the trees at the edge of the gap is leaning; its creaks and groans sound like a house during strong winds. Its roots splinter under pressure, and as it tumbles into the cavernous pit along the edge, the tripwire snaps.

“Oh, no,” I mumble.

Ben notices the same, a concerned-but-concentrated look on his face.

“What do we do?” I screech, just as the first set of axes whoosh by, cutting through the air. The breeze they leave behind gently tickles my cheeks—an ironic reminder that these things are weapons, and there’s nothing gentle about them.

“We have to pass through them.” Ben’s eyes dart from axe to axe, checking out the rhythm. They’re not in sync with each other; as one swings, the other rears back into the trees. We’ll have to time this just right.

But just as we’re about to run through, another tree snaps, and with it, yet another tripwire. While the tree crashes to the pit below, two more axes are released from their bonds. Now the momentum of the axes produces a whoosh-whoosh every time they pass each other. None of the four axes are synchronized. Not a single one. If Ben and I are going to attempt this, we’re going to need a miracle.

“Okay, listen,” Ben shouts over the blades ripping the air nearby. “We need to get past the first two, and then stop. I think there’s an opening in between the first and second sets.”

Nervously, I shriek, “But what if there isn’t an opening? What if they’re too close and we can’t run? Ben, I don’t want to be chopped in half!”

Placing his hands atop my shoulders, he gives me a firm squeeze. Listen to me, baby. We have no choice. We can’t go back and run straight into the witches’ arms. We can’t go around, because we’ll fall into the pit. We can’t go back in time, because we’ll continually run into more problems and possibly change the future. I need you to stay with me and pay attention. Can you do that?

I bob my head in a half-assed attempt at agreement.

When I say go, grab my hand and run like hell, Ben orders. Ready?

My eyes expand as I watch the sharp blades swing across the expanse, only mere feet from where I stand. Should we make one small misstep, we’re done. Terminado. Finito. O-V-E-R.

This is a f*cking suicide mission.

Candra, focus!

I yank myself away from bad thoughts and concentrate on the weapon maze of death. Damn it, I don’t want to die in the sixteenth century. I’m not going to die, I chant to myself.

That’s my girl, Ben encourages, with his award-winning smile. In three . . . two . . . one . . . NOW!

We bolt just as one axe swings upward, the other on its way down. Ben was right: there’s a brief clearing in between the next set. I clutch his hand so tightly his fingers are white from loss of circulation. Pausing for only a few moments, we wait until the next axe zings through the space ahead before moving again. The other axe descends, the breeze it produces lightly nipping my backside. I scream, but I’m quick to silence myself, in case the witches are within hearing range. As soon as we’re free, Ben wraps his arms around me, resting his head atop mine. My body won’t stop trembling.

“We made it, baby,” he soothes. “We’re going to be out of here soon.”

The words no more exit his mouth than a loud crrraaaccck reverberates from our left. Even without glimpsing in that direction, I know another tree has fallen into the dark, shadowy abyss below. A flimsy clunk indicates I’m correct—the next tripwire has snapped.

“Shit,” Ben mumbles. Shaking his head, he says, “One more time, Princess.”

He and I run through the axes, which actually are in sync with each other, making the task of passing through them more difficult; while they both swing left or right, they cover an expansive amount of space. We’ll have to run either farther to the left or farther to the right, if we want to make it through. We choose left.

Almost immediately, the last tree breaks off at the roots; it groans loudly, until it collapses into the pit. Ben decides not to stop, believing we can make it before the final set of axes swoop down from the branches and ties holding them in place.

“Ben, we’re not going to make it!” My eyes skimming up toward the trees, I notice the momentum of the axes is faster than either of us anticipated. They’re also farther out than the other three sets, which will be an issue, since we’re going for it. “Ben, run!”

Kicking his legs into warp speed, he practically drags me along with him. The edge of the forest is just ahead, if we can manage to get there in time. In my peripheral vision, I see the axe to my right descending at an alarming rate of speed. If my swift calculations are accurate, Ben and I will meet the axe at the same location, at the same time. This obviously isn’t good.

“Faster, Candra!” Ben bellows.

My legs ache from pushing them to their limit, but if I want to live, I have to get past that exact spot before the axe does. This is like watching a car accident happen in slow motion—there’s nothing I can do to stop it, and the seconds seem to tick by in sluggish increments. Down, down, down descends the axe. Coming straight at me. My mind is one big pile of mush as I try to block out the insane possibility I might not be alive in five seconds.

Five. “Almost there, Candra! Stay with me!” Ben yells over the steady whoosh-whooshes occurring behind us.

Four. I squeeze the shit out of Ben’s hand, and he does the same with mine.

Three. Less than twenty feet to go.

Two. The axe is so close that I inadvertently bite my tongue and taste blood.

One. I scream when Ben attempts to yank me out of the way at the last minute, but the axe descends too quickly and catches the back of my skirt, carrying me with it. My fingers slip out of his grasp, and he frantically chases after me. With the axe swinging upward into the trees, my face snags on several branches. I cry out, but I’m silenced by the tree’s limbs slicing my lips. Cold air stings my open cuts, and liquid warmth seeps from the wounds. As I descend with the axe, Ben eagerly waits, his hands deftly snatching me when I pass through again. We tumble to the ground. My face feels like it’s on fire. I don’t know how badly I’m bleeding, but if Ben’s features are any indication, I look like someone who went to a knife fight and lost.

“Oh, baby, baby, baby,” he coos, rocking me in his arms.

I lick my lips, and they taste coppery. “How bad is it?”

“Don’t worry. We’re going to get back to Fiona’s, and you’ll heal.” He wants to kiss me—he’s visualizing it in his mind—but when I see my face through his eyes, I realize then how horrible I appear. There is no area for his lips to land; it’s all one big, bloody mess. “Can you stand?”

I lightly nod. “My legs are fine, even if they’re a bit wobbly at the moment.”

Ben helps me to my feet, and we traverse through the woods once again. I hope the axes were the last of the traps the witches set in place. If not, I don’t know how much more Ben and I can handle. More importantly, why do the witches need so many deadly traps? What are they hiding?

After clearing more ground, we decide to rest. We’ll have to go up and around if we want to completely avoid the chasms on either side. Hopefully from there, we can find our way back to town . . . and Fiona’s house.

I swipe blood off my face and wipe my hands on my skirt. My scrapes feel like a thousand bees are attacking them. I cringe, and the act only makes my cuts hurt worse.

“We need to keep moving,” Ben says. “I’m sure the witches know how to get around their own traps, so it wouldn’t take them long at all to catch up to us. We have to be out of here before they arrive.”

“I agree.” It hurts to budge my lips, even a little bit.

The trek through the wooded expanse seems never-ending. Trees, shrubbery, dead leaves, twigs—all of them look the same. I’m not sure where we’re at exactly. With the sun gradually disappearing beyond the mountains on the horizon, we don’t have much time to find a way out. Once nighttime plummets and the sky is nothing but a blanket of glittering stars, the forest will become a maze—a dangerous labyrinth in which we have to find the exit before the witches find us.

We break through a row of trees and enter a clearing. The heavens are shades of rich crimson and orange. A cool breeze swirls around us, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“We can’t stop,” Ben states, determined.

Cobblestones fill every inch of this open stretch, and a gazebo-like structure is situated along the backside of the area, with two benches resting underneath its covering. In the center, a cherub statue points a stony finger at us; its other hand looks like it’s gesturing toward the pergola. There’s something odd about this place. Why does anyone have so many death traps prior to a site as peaceful as this? Who builds something so intricate in a secret corner of the woods? I feel as if there’s more to this than meets the eye.

I ask, “What now?”

Ben shrugs. “I honestly don’t know, but would you take a look at this place.” He takes a few steps forward, mesmerized by the beauty of this unforeseen setting. Turning around to face me, he smiles. “When we get back to Hartford, we should build—” His body goes rigid, and then he grapples at his neck frantically.

“Ben?”

“Candra, don’t move,” he wheezes.

Terrified, I cry out, “What’s going on? What is it?”

Ben hoarsely murmurs, “Poison,” as he wrenches a few miniature arrows from his skin, and then crumples to the ground.