Page 30 of The Ninth Element

For a heart-stopping moment, it remains there. Then, before our astonished eyes, the creature’s golden form folds in on itself, transforming and splitting into two distinct, solid objects: two golden Martysh coins.

There’s no need to guess if those shiny coins are our golden ticket. We both feel it in our guts, a certainty that resonates deep within us, as deep as the chill radiating from the crypt’s walls. I surge forward, eager to collect the coins.

One step… that’s all it takes before something slams into me, sending me sprawling onto the cold, hard floor like a sack of potatoes. Pain explodes through my body, momentarily eclipsed by the crushing weight on top of me. I hear the sickening clatter of metal on stone as my vision swims, and my mind becomes a chaotic blur of shadows and pain.

A voice cuts through my haze. “Gods, Arien, are you hurt?”

Darian pulls himself off me, revealing that he was the one responsible for my sudden crash landing. Color drains from my face as I see the stray arrow lying innocently beside the wall on our right. My gaze goes immediately to the left, toward the direction from which the arrow must have come.

“There’s no one there! Who… ” My voice trails off.

“This place must be enchanted. I heard the arrow coming straight for your head. It was like it appeared out of thin air,” Darian says as his gaze sweeps across the vast chamber like a predator on the hunt.

I gasp, and the realization of my near-death experience sends shivers down my spine.

“Stay low,” Darian mutters, rising cautiously onto his knees. He draws his sword in a smooth, fluid motion, the polished metal glinting ominously in the flickering torchlight. Silence, thick and unsettling, follows his movement.

I hold my breath as he slowly rises to his full height, half expecting another unanticipated arrow to target him. But nothing happens. Darian cautiously advances his sword as if challenging an unseen assailant to a duel. Still, nothing. But when he takes a single, hesitant step toward the pedestal, a whistling sound pierces the silence.

Another arrow, this time from our right, hurtles toward him with deadly accuracy. I gasp as it comes within inches of his back, but Darian, with lightning reflexes, spins and deflects the projectile with a resounding clang.

“Stay put, Arien. It only attacks when we move toward the pedestal,” he mutters, his eyes darting, scanning the shadows for any hint of movement. He chews on his lip for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. “I’ll get the coins; you stay here and keep an eye out.”

“But what if it attacks from other sides?” I protest as I recall the near-miss of that last arrow. “That last one nearly tore your back! I can help.”

Darian hesitates, his gaze flickering between me and the pedestal. Finally, he nods, “Draw your blade.”

Rising to my feet, I unsheathe my sword. Darian positions us back-to-back and then draws a long dagger from his belt. The air crackles with tension, and the only sound is the soft rasp of our breaths and the distant dripping of water from the crypt’s ceiling. “We’ll take this one step at a time. You watch our back. I’ll handle the rest.”

I want to argue, to insist on a fairer division of labor. But I remember that I’m still a slouch with a blade, and his confidence screams of years of training and a natural talent that I can only dream of. So, I swallowmy pride, acknowledging that right now, we need his skills more than my stubbornness.

And with that, we embark on our death march.

The moment our feet touch the ground, a hiss slices through the air. I don’t see the arrow, but the sharp clang of metal on metal tells me everything I need to know.

Another step. This time, the arrow materializes from behind, aimed squarely at my unsuspecting chest. Panic floods my veins, but my body reacts on instinct. My sword, a trembling extension of my will, barely intercepts the arrow, altering its course but not its momentum, and it careens off the wall.

“Good?” Darian’s voice pulls me back from the brink of terror.

“Yes,” I croak, trying to catch my breath. “I’ll react faster next time, I promise.”

“You will,” he replies. His confidence in me is like a life raft in a stormy sea. It’s strange, this belief he seems to have in me, a stranger he barely knows. But I’ll take it.

Each step feels like we’re tempting fate, dancing on the edge of a knife. When three arrows fly at us, Darian deflects them all, two with one hand and one with the other.

“Damn, that was a close shave,” he says with a slight chuckle, a hint of excitement lacing his voice. This deadly game seems to have awakened something primal in him. Me? I’m shaking like a leaf in a storm, terrified he can feel my fear through our touching backs. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice.

We press on, and as we get closer to the pedestal, the attacks grow fiercer and more complex. Darian somehow blocks two arrows with a single sword swing.

“How are you doing that?”

“Timing and reflexes, my friend,” he replies with a cocky voice. “Three more steps to go,” he adds as if sensing my fear.

But the heavens, or whichever celestial comedian is orchestrating this nightmare, clearly has other, more sadistic ideas. The very next step wetake unleashes a six-pronged assault, arrows streaking toward us from every direction.

Panic flares in my chest, and my heart leaps into my throat.

There must be another woman, hidden in my body, who reacts instinctively, reaches her arm to block one arrow, and then, with a seamless movement, with the speed of light, shifts my sword to block another. Beside me, Darian moves with lightning reflexes, deflecting the other four arrows with his blades.

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