Page 30 of Quarter Labyrinth

When the night fell quiet once more, I continued forward.

I moved slowly, stopping often to listen for other competitors. I heard them once in a while, most at a distance, but saw no one. Higher and higher I climbed. Small rocks tumbled underfoot to roll down the hill while I moved at a pace so slow, it might take me all night to climb. Better slow than spotted and killed.

A turret sat atop the hill, polished stone and windows intact. The beauty of it stood incongruous amongst the broken mess of the rest of the landscape. A flowery vine climbed up its side until it reached the shingled roof.

At the top, an open window stared toward the star.

If I crossed to it, I’d be atop the hill for thirty seconds with nothing to shield me. But if I could make that, I’d be at one of the highest vantage points to see both the star and the rest of the labyrinth from.

If we hadn’t spent all day climbing endless stairs, I might not risk it. But we were lost, and only one day in. We needed any help we could get.

I mustered up my courage, and sprinted the distance.

It seemed to take ages to reach the tower. For those moments, I was completely exposed to any nearby to see—and to pursue. I half expected an arrow to fly through the night and strike me down. My feet pounded against stone, while my heartbeat thumped in my chest. At last, I reached the tower and flattened myself against its side while searching for the door. I found it a moment later, a narrow wooden latch that let me inside.

When I shut the door behind me, I breathed deeply.

My tattoo was the only noise in the tower.

Oddly, it beat smoothly, not matching the fast-beat of my own. I’d expected the pulse to hasten when my own heartbeat did.

Pushing thoughts of my tattoo away, I inspected the tower. It wasn’t more than the top half of a turret, with only the stairway remaining. Polished stone gleamed as if someone lived here, oil lamps flickered though I saw no oil to light them, and mist hid in the shadows like ghosts sent to spy. I passed them to climb the wooden stairs, each one silent as if they guarded a secret, until finding a room at the top. Small, round, and empty.

Beat. Beat. Beat.

“Be quiet,” I muttered.

A soft breeze came in through the window, where raindrops had soaked the stone. I crossed to it as close as I dared, just close enough to see the star.

Once there, it wasn’t the star that caught my attention. It was everything else.

Swirling lines from hedge mazes that extended forever. Temples from Stone Gods lit with fire. Hills and mountains, with ropes strung between them for those brave enough to try. Manors of all sizes—some built, some crumbled—dotting the labyrinth.

We came in at the top level from the deadly ladder, but we hadn’t dropped as far down as we thought. The real labyrinth lay down another level yet. From here, I could see most everything, and it pleased me to find that we’d gone further than I thought.

A sea sparkled by the moonlight in the middle of it all. Above that sea, the star shone.

The sea is the center.

Once I thought it, I knew it to be true. I could only see the distant shores of it, but everything else faced toward that sea. If I wanted to captain the Silver Wings, I must reach those waters first.

So drunk with the thrill of uncovering that, I didn’t hear the voices until they were right behind me.

In a moment, they’d opened the door. Three men strode in, their faces speckled from days of not shaving and their clothes wrinkled and stained with dirt. The tallest had brown eyes and a curved blade, the next had a shirt as red as blood and two long daggers, and the third had a bony frame with a bow strung overhis shoulder. Each of his arrows looked sharp enough to stick in a rock.

My gaze snagged back on the second’s shirt. Was that actually blood?

From the way he smiled, he saw my thoughts.

“What do we have here?” Blood Shirt asked. He led the group in, but hadn’t the decency to leave room for me to leave.

I ducked my head. “Just resting. I’ll be on my way.”

Bow and Arrows blocked the door. “Where are you from?”

The way he asked it sounded like a test.

“I’m a Seaweed from Haven.”

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