Labyrinth: The Keeper Chronicles, a prequel (7 page)

Turning her head to the side, she tried to pull herself out from under the thing. “Please don't,” she begged. “Not that. I'll run. I'll do anything you want.”

“Then run,” it whispered in her ear.

The satyrs of Siuslaw Forrest dressed like hipsters. Specialty boots hid their cloven feet, while skinny jeans covered their unnaturally bony goat legs. Even in the summer they wore long sleeves and button-up shirts, the better to hide the thick fur on their arms, and the facial hair they couldn’t successfully shave even if they wanted to was best shaped into big, ironic hipster beards. Even the fedoras and other hats they favored helped disguise their small horns. Everything was part of the camouflage, yet if you saw these guys walking down the street–and people often did–you’d think nothing was amiss.

You'd be dead wrong. After all, some of those hipsters were hundreds of years old. And ate human flesh for fun or on special holidays or if they got particularly bored.

Jason didn’t have a problem with the hipster cover. What he had a problem with was they were starting to act like hipsters. Getting attitudes. Thinking they didn’t owe their existence in this realm to the Keepers of this district. Drinking double-shot, non-fat pumpkin spice soy lattes with extra foam. It was ridiculous.

Sometimes he thought it would have been better just to kill them than put up with their pretentious talk of going green (as if they had a choice) or living off the grid (again, as if they had a choice) or the importance of physical fitness (all that grazing had to be a good workout, he joked). Today wasn’t one of those days.

Today, he needed their help.

“We came, Keeper, in keeping with the treaty,” the lead satyr declared, arms crossed as he surveyed the dilapidated house behind Jason. “What is it you require?”

The satyr’s name was Grothick, and he had the audacity to look…bored. Jason swallowed the urge to punch the second-order demon in its stupid goat face. “Did you bring what I asked?”

A hesitation. “Yes.”

“Well…?” Jason held out his hand for the supplies.

Grothick didn’t move for a moment. His green eyes flashed red in anger. “You understand what you’re asking?”

“The spell requires a sacrifice. A willing sacrifice.” Jason studied the satyrs before him. Six in total had answered his call, all appearing to be in their twenties but he knew many were much older. They didn’t look happy to be there. “Whoever volunteers can return with the next storm. It’s not like I’m really going to kill any of you. Not for long.”

“The Red…you Keepers don’t understand. It’s not as simple as you claim. Yes, some manage to return, but many are not able to fight their way through the ranks. And there’s no guarantee where the next portal will open or when. No guarantee of a return here.” Grothick looked older than the others with pepper in his brown beard and fine lines around his eyes. For a demon to show its age, it had to be ancient. “You ask much, Keeper.”

Jason tried to keep the annoyance from his voice. The sun was setting, Rebekah’s mom had left hours ago, and he was still no closer to finding where Rebekah was being held hostage. She had to be terrified. “I understand. I also understand that I saved all of you earlier today with my warning. I could have let the outsider find your herd, but instead I risked my life and reputation warning you.” He stepped forward. “Only, if I had been caught, there’s no coming back from the death I would have experienced. You forget what we risk for you. You’re here at our indulgence.”

“Very well,” Grothick nodded, gesturing to one of the satyrs in the back to come forward. “This is my son. He was born to us on this world and so has not been to the Red to complete his rites of passage. He has volunteered to undertake this responsibility. However, if he does this, I want your word that the Keepers will aid him at the time of his return and that this favor successfully fulfils the terms of the original Agreement between our kind.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Jason turned to the smaller satyr who stood proudly before him. His beard was short, no more than a few inches long. “What's your name?”

“Chuthick.”

“And do you make this sacrifice willingly, free from external pressure or obligation? Do you volunteer your spirit as guide to me until such time as I find the one I seek?” Jason paused and leaned in close to the teenage satyr. “Be honest, son. The spell will know and kill us both if you lie.”

Breaking free from his father's controlling hand, Chuthick stepped forward and puffed out his human chest. “I do.”

“Very well. Let's begin.”

They entered the house, and Jason lit the lanterns the satyrs had brought and placed them around the bedroom where he would perform the spell. In the gathering darkness, the room grew powerful, as if the darkness had hid inside the walls for so long that it'd soaked into the floorboards and walls, waiting for release. He looked over at the handcuffs where Rebekah had been chained to the bed and shuddered. She must have been terrified. Probably still was.

He needed to hurry.

“When this spell starts, you'll hear and see things that should help you find the girl's location. I'll talk you through as much as I can but if she’s in trouble, I many not be able to relay many details.” He looked at Grothick. “Someone should stay here with us and relay messages, but the others need to be out on the hunt.”

Murmurs of disapproval moved through the satyrs. “Why would we kill your demon for you? We were to bring supplies, that's all.”

“Because -” Jason started to answer.

Grothick interrupted. “Because then he will be in our debt. This is agreeable to us. If we find the girl for you and aid in her rescue, then you will owe us a favor in equal proportion.”

I'm going to regret this.

Jason nodded. “Fine.”

“Then let's begin.”

The rest of the setup didn't take long. He drew the boundary of the spell with salt on the floor, picking a square for the shape to give them more room. If he collapsed once the spell started, he didn’t want to break the circle.  He placed the cup they'd brought, a 32 oz Gulp and Sip from some gas station, next to the prone Chuthick. Now all he need was something with Rebekah's trace strong enough for him to locate her. He took the handcuffs and Rebekah's cell phone and placed them in the bottom of the cup.

He took a breath and looked down at the satyr. “Ready?”

The demon nodded.

Jason flipped the dagger in his hand, then held it hilt first to Chuthick. “Wait until I give you the signal, then you'll need to make a quick, deep cut. Are you sure you're still willing to be sacrifice?”

“I'm willing.”

“Then I'll begin.”

As he'd done in his apartment, Jason sat cross-legged and breathed deeply, feeling the breath and energy flow inside him as it pulsed with his life. He gathered that energy with each inhalation, pulling it up and into his center, holding it until the pressure on his chest throbbed with each beat of his heart, threatening to explode. He took another breath, the room darkening in his vision as the energy began to crack and spit yellow sparks around his body.

He turned to Chuthick. “Now.”

In one smooth motion, Chuthick sliced his own throat.

Jason used the Gulp and Sip cup to gather the demon's sacrifice, the sulfuric stench nearly gagging him with his senses so heightened. Where the blood splashed his skin, it burned like acid. His Keeper healing abilities took care of the wounds pretty quickly, but prolonged exposure would cause permanent scars. Of course, he had to live long enough to worry about that.

Oh, this is going to suck.

Energy pulsing through his body, he brought the cup of blood up to his lips and drank.

Searing pain tore through him as the blood and energy mixed. The cup fell from his fingers, but he didn't see what happened to it as his body convulsed and seized. Taking a breath, he fought for control of the magic, gathering the wild threads and bringing them together inside of him.

An eternity passed as his body reacted to the demon's blood, but he was beyond concerns of the physical. All his energy and attention were settled on the writhing ball of energy at his core.

Take me to her
, he thought.

The shade of Chuthick rose up in answer.

Jason’s body went still.

*              *              *

Darkness had fallen what felt like hours ago, but without a watch or a phone, Rebekah had no way to tell time in the hell of the labyrinth. Sunrise—that point she had to survive until—could be an hour away or eight.

Not knowing was driving her mad.

With the fall of night had come many disadvantages: the creeping vegetation, which would reach its tendrils out to grasp her arms or legs if she stopped too long, was now an invisible threat that lurked every time she paused for more than a few seconds; any chance she'd had before about finding the exterior walls of the labyrinth and forcing her way through or climbing them had disappeared with the sun; and whatever warmth the sun had offered left her now shivering and frozen in its absence.

On the bright side, she wouldn't have to watch that thing eat its own maggots when it killed her or look into its bull-snouted face.

It was the small things.

Removing the pack, Rebekah pulled out the water and unscrewed the lid. She took only a sip then replaced the cap and licked her lips. Her bruised and beaten body begged her to lay on the grass and sleep, whispered that maybe the creature forgot about her or gave up, but she knew better. Just because she hadn’t seen the thing didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Moving. She had to keep moving.

Swinging the backpack over her shoulder, she started walking back down the path when something snapped beneath her feet.

The idea hit her like a bag full of bricks to the forehead.

Fire.

She needed to set the maze on fire.

Excitement shivered through her body as she ran back and grabbed the branch she’d stepped on. How many more would she need?  If she could find enough wood, she could make a big enough bonfire that someone would have to come investigate. They’d have to find her. But where was she going to get enough wood?

Dropping to her hands and knees, she bit her bottom lip and felt around the grass for anything she could use as kindling or fuel for a fire. It was spring, the time of growth and renewed life for plants – there had to be some dead branches somewhere.

Creeping vines stung her hands as she worked, and she swatted them away before they could dig their claws into her too deeply. She considered getting the flashlight out of the backpack but rejected it for the same reason she hadn’t used it yet: although she’d be able to see a cone of things well, it’d set everything else into deeper contrast and actually make her blinder than she otherwise was without. Her father had set up a scavenger hunt one night, making her find ten different objects with nothing but moonlight to guide her steps.

The walls of the maze clawed her as she searched their depths for dead branches and rotted wood. Before long, her hands were slippery with it.

Rebekah stood.

She’d been going at this the wrong way. Instead of looking for sticks, she should be looking for a way to set the entire maze on fire.

“Oh, I’m probably going to regret this,” she whispered, reaching down and ripping off the white gauzy skirt of the dress until only a thin stretch of fabric touched her thighs.

Shivering, Rebekah listened for any sign of the creature as she wrapped the cloth around and around the tip of the sick she’d found earlier. When it could circle no more, she tied the ends to each other. Now she needed a lighter.

Of course, she didn’t have one. Why would she? The only people who carried lighters any more were either smokers or potheads, and she was neither. Okay, so she needed to break the problem down. She didn’t really need a lighter. Any kind of flame or spark would work.

And she had a flashlight in her bag.

Rebekah dropped to her knees and opened the backpack. Unscrewing the top, she pulled out one of the big D batteries and set it by the torch. Now she just needed metal. The bulb of the flashlight would have a filament tip she could use, but getting it out wouldn’t be easy. She groped around the bottom of the bag until her hand found one of the energy bars that thing had given her. The wrapper was crunchy in her hand–made by one of those companies trying to eliminate plastic waste, they’d used something not unlike aluminum foil. She laughed and then covered her mouth.

There was a small chance she just might survive this.

Stuffing the energy bar in her mouth, she chewed in big bites as she twisted the wrapper so it made sort of a metal rope wire. To make a spark, she’d need to complete the circuit and have the wrapper touch both ends, preferably over top of her makeshift torch.

She swallowed the last mouthful of energy bar and put the torch on the ground in front of her. Next, she held her makeshift wire to the flat side of the battery with her thumb and used her other hand to rub the wire against the knobby end of the battery.

Nothing happened.

“No, no, no, no. This has to work.”

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Maybe the flat end needed a flatter connection? 

Rebekah untwisted that end of the “wire” and pressed a wider section of the wrapper against the entire surface. “Please work,” she whispered and rubbed the wrapper against the tip of the battery.