Sightwitch (The Witchlands 0.5)

“Ryber, you don’t belong here. Ryber, Ryber, you’re not one of us.”

Somehow, in the panic that spurred my legs ever faster, I came to the conclusion that if I could just reach Level 10, these creatures would stop their chase. That some barrier would keep these … these Death Maidens locked on this floor of infernal ice.

In hindsight, I don’t know why I assumed this. Desperation, I suppose. An incentive to keep sprinting toward—a goal to reach.

I hit the stairwell and dove in. Two bounding steps at a time I rounded down. My name skittered after me. My pack banged against the wall, the ceiling, my back. This tunnel was even narrower than the one before. Twice I stumbled. Twice my ankles popped and I had to bounce off the walls to keep upright.

Still they chorused my name. Still their fingers clawed across stone.

Then I was there. To the balcony of Level 10.

Out I shoved, and thank the Goddess I did not slow. Not yet, at least.

I charged down to the main floor before I allowed my foolish feet to drag to a stop. Then I rounded back, staring. Praying nothing would appear in the darkened exit from the stairs.

Of course my assumption was wrong, for they were already in the room, staring down at me from atop the balcony.

They cackled. No more harmony. Just giddy, hungry laughter.

And unlike me, they did not need the stairs to descend.

Up they flew. Then over and down.

Never have I spun so fast in my life. Never have I reached such a speed so quickly. I launched from frozen and gasping to a knee-kicking charge, my lantern’s beam swinging in all directions. I couldn’t see where I was going, and I just had to pray that Level 10 was shaped like every level before it.

It wasn’t.

I learned that when I sprinted directly into a wall.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, when I veered sharply right, barely preventing a crash into the stone, a crunch sounded.

Then another and another, and before my shaking eyes, rubble punched out of the wall … followed by hands.

Human hands that grabbed at me. Two snagged hold, and I barely managed to yank free before two more had latched on.

Oh, how the Death Maidens laughed at that.

“No one wants you here,” they trilled. “You simply do not belong.”

“No!” I shrieked, using all my force to hitch free and fling myself back into a sprint.

But of course, the hands weren’t finished with me. Now they burst free from the floor. I had to hop and twist and dart and leap as fingers, fingers everywhere, tried to haul me down.

No time for thought, no time for strategy. Just forward. Just away from the Death Maidens still hovering behind.

Their cackles were much, much too near.

Somehow, though, I had chosen the correct side of Lady Fate’s knife by turning right at the wall. A jagged maw of a doorway glowed ahead. Fat fronds of foxfire reached out from the rock, giving my Firewitched lantern a greenish glow—and giving the clawing, reaching hands a rotting sheen.

This time, I did not make the mistake of believing the next level would save me. At least, though, there were no more hands to punch free from the rock. Just walls so close that my shoulders touched and my pack hit the ceiling as I careened faster down.

The cramped space slowed the three monsters. Their singing, “Ryber, Ryber, Ryber,” faded slightly as I barreled ever onward.

Level 11. I fell onto the balcony, hands windmilling to keep me upright.

Light. Foxfire. Everywhere it shone, bright enough to burn my eyes. Enough to slow me for half a desperate breath as my vision adjusted.

I almost wish my vision had never adjusted. Then I might not have seen the worst of the horrors to come.

As tall as the cavern and propped up like a spider—but with four human arms to hold it high—stood a beast with a head that spun my way. Then kept spinning, bones clicking with each turn. Skull-like, it had black sockets for eyes and a grin that spread wider, wider, wider. All the way around to the back of its head, the smile stretched.

It heaved its massive fleshy body toward me, shockingly nimble. Shockingly fast.

And behind me, the sound of my name bounced closer.

I had no choice: I had to keep moving forward.

Down the stairs I vaulted. My eyes were not on where I stepped but where the Skull-Face ahead was moving. It was fast, but it was also big. If I could stay close to the space between walls and shelves, then it could not reach me.

My plan was a poor one, which I realized the instant I pitched for the right wall.

Hands, hands—the same thrice-damned hands from Level 10 began to break free. Grabbing, ripping, towing me down.

Why, Sirmaya? I wanted to shriek as I cut down a row of shelves. Why is all of this here? What were these hands? Or the massive beast now scrabbling toward me, its head spinning and spinning?

No time for answers. Just running. My breath seared. My muscles had gone from tired to numb. Everything moved of its own accord. Distant limbs that kept pumping even as my mind was a useless jumble of terror.

Then I saw it, as I reeled onto the main path and a smell like festering flesh roiled over me—Skull-Face needed a bath—I saw the end of Level 11. It was closer than previous levels, and rather than a darkened doorway in the wall, a chapel waited.

Surrounded by brilliant foxfire, it looked exactly like the chapel at the entrance to the Crypts, now so far behind me.

Yet unlike the chapel outside, this one had a door. Twice as tall as me and with no latch or knob.

Doesn’t matter, I decided between one crashing step and the next. I would figure out how to open it when I got there. That was really the only path left to me.

I did not look back, and I did not need to. The sound of the monster’s spinning face clicked louder; the stench of death weighed heavier.

And, of course, the chanting call of my name, broken up by syncopated laughter, still followed too near.

The door waved and swam ahead, its edges glowing with a strange blue light. I’d thought that was light from the foxfire, yet the closer I ran, the more I realized it was not a natural light but a magical one.

This door was not going to open without some kind of key.

The bell. That had to be the way in, for there was a small belfry over the chapel, just the like one aboveground.

With my one free hand, I fumbled Hilga’s bell from my belt. The earth shook as the fleshy, grinning Skull-Face clambered close.

Its shadow slithered over me before I even had the Summoning bell free.

The Death Maidens simply laughed and laughed and laughed.

Then the bell was unfastened, and without looking back—yet still sprinting as fast as I could—I clanged it.

Once, twice. Hard, hard. A peal that rippled outward until the chapel bell answered, loud enough to drown out all that chased behind. The sound split my brain, and relief erupted in my chest.

If I kept running, I would make it out of here.

Except that the door was not opening. I was almost to it, yet the blue light still glowed and the carved wood had not budged an inch.

I rang the bell harder; the main bell tolled once more.