Page 89 of Quarter Labyrinth

I gritted my teeth together but stayed quiet.

“Can you tell your tattoo to be still?”

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t like me.”

The gentle thump thump kept time with the wolves stepping closer. They hadn’t caught our scent, likely thanks to Delilah. But they caught the boy’s. As I watched, the wolves circled the columns to come at the boy from both sides.

He cowered when he saw them, sinking to his knees. “Tell August I’ll do whatever he asks!” the boy yelled.

So, August was having a bit of fun.

The cowering boy held up the sword like a child playing with a stick. Clark had taught me enough about weapons to know the make of his wasn’t cheap, and the full bag at his side signified wealth. All that money couldn’t save him.

A right boy was about to die.

The wolf bared his teeth. “Our commander doesn’t care for your promises. You promised him before, and you failed to oblige. Now you’ll see what it means to break your word with a Stone God.”

The wolves would spot us if they turned their unruly faces toward the west but they never did. They prowled closer to their victim. The boy swung the sword, but it was all in vain. The closest one snapped at it, and while the boy turned to him, the other pounced. He sunk his teeth into the boy’s skin and ripped. Blood splattered against the stone, dark and glistening in the dimlight. I turned my head away, biting my lip to keep from making a sound.

The graveyard gained another body.

FORTY-ONE

I shook long after the wolves ran away.

“We should have helped.” I tried not to look at the boy.

“We are trying not to end up like him.” Clark’s face was as white as the temple walls around us. “Let’s keep moving before anything else comes.”

With a pit in my stomach, we ran toward the east—the opposite way the wolves had gone. It didn’t matter. I swore I could still hear the pound of their paws following us, and that soon I’d feel thesting of their teeth.

When the wind came, I leapt. Clark had been right last night—the days were getting colder. The change to each of the other seasons came swiftly, but the labyrinth slowly pulled us toward winter. It wouldn’t surprise me if we found frost when we woke tomorrow. I’d always found autumn to be the most beautiful, but these colors reminded me of death and the smell hit like decaying bodies. It was almost as if the maze wanted us to feel like we were dying, like our time was running short.

The day passed slowly. The water tasted awful but I could be grateful for it when we had nothing else. We were picking at all the trees for something to put in our bellies, and lapping up any pools of still water we could find.

Every so often my necklace would warm again as Delilah protected us from a danger unseen.

“At least one Stone God is on our side,” Clark said.

“Thankfully,” I said over my shoulder. “I’d probably be dead without her.”

I walked a few paces ahead, my boots crunching softly against the leaves. My breath was visible in the cool air, little wisps that curled and disappeared into the stillness. Every so often, I would pause at a corner, my hand brushing against the rough, weathered stone, my eyes scanning the winding path ahead.

Clark followed close behind, his steps quieter but no less deliberate. Whenever I checked on him, his eyes were flicking to the edges of the corridor to watch for movement in the shadows. A single wolf howled in the distance, its sound bouncing eerily off the towering walls. He tightened his grip on his sword.

“We’re getting closer,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I glanced behind at him, my brow furrowed. “You feel it, don’t you?”

Clark nodded, his gaze narrowing on the path ahead. “Yeah. The air feels… heavier.”

It was true. Each step seemed to draw us deeper into the labyrinth’s grip. The walls pressed closer, the vines creeping along the stones, curling inward like grasping fingers. The quiet of the air felt unnatural. It was broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by an unseen breeze.

I stopped at a fork in the path. My hand hovered above a faint carving on the wall. The symbol was ancient, its edges worn by time. The symbol of a wildflower.

I thought of Delilah, of the flowers in her hair and on her dresses. Of the garden outside her temple.

“This way.” I pointed to the left.

Clark hesitated. “How can you be sure?”

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