Labyrinth Wall (9780991531219)

Obsidian Series – Book 1

The Labyrinth Wall

Emilyann Girdner

Table of Contents
Chapter 1
:
The Man in White
Chapter 2
: An Unexpected Decision
Chapter 3
: Simul’s Castle
Chapter 4
: “Criminals”
Chapter 5
: Trapped
Chapter 6
: The Blood Caves
Chapter 7
: A Predictable Departure
Chapter 8
: Am I Still Alive?
Chapter 9
: The Rotting Pass
Chapter 10
: House of Mutts
Chapter 11
: Rhymes and Riddles
Chapter 12
: Attempting an Escape
Chapter 13
: Navigating the Blades
Chapter 14
: The Surge
Chapter 15
: Boulder to Boulder
Chapter 16
: Fast Beating Hearts
Chapter 17
: Fresh Air
Chapter 18
: To The Wall
Or
Nothing
Chapter 19
: Walking On Lava
Chapter 20
: Fangs and Fire
Chapter 21
: Stubborn
Chapter 22
: Death in the River
Chapter 23
: The Stranger
Chapter 24
: The Hiding Spot
Chapter 25
: Haunted or Crazy
Chapter 26
: Spraying Fire
Chapter 27
: The Wall
Chapter 28
: Fire And Ice
Chapter 29
: The Other Side
Chapter 30
: Tomorrow
Acknowledgements
About the Author

Chapter 1

The Man in White

Bouncing off the walls of this wasted dark labyrinth, the slimy words leaking from Simul’s mouth carry no authenticity. Consuming green grapes to fill his large stomach, he stands high in his tower. Looming above thousands of us, his creations called the Mahk, he spouts his typical lecture. “We, your Creators, deserve respect. We gave you life, the opportunity to live long, and serve well.” His knack for being a bad liar is transparent as he says the words, “we treasure each of you,” before limping closer to the guard rail. The condition of his soul likely mirrors that of his tough and leathery skin. Perched on his balcony railing, the proud man goes on speaking, but the empty words mean nothing to me.

Beads of perspiration coat the back of my neck, so I sweep my curly red hair up into a knot and steady it on top of my head using the butt of my dagger. I glance around at the large crowd. Like tiny pebbles that gather at a river bank, we coat the barren landscape sweeping out in front of the castle, only to be dissected at its edges by the openings of labyrinth passageways. The dark cylindrical fortress stretches far above us like a snake looming over its prey, Simul’s words the venom it sprays. We’re all enemies to each other by the Creators’ design, competing for food that only comes to us at the Creators’ mercy. Loose skin hangs on the lanky middle-age man beside me. Like most of the Mahk, he’s clearly on the brink of starvation. Though they only brought me into existence two years ago, if I had to compare my body to a Creator, I’d guess I look like a seventeen-year-old, give or take a year.

My fidgeting hands find menial entertainment in adjusting my baggy green pants that close in tight around my ankles. All Mahk wear the same bottoms, patterned sashes around our waists, form-fitted shirts, and sleeveless orange shrugs. The Creators might dress us all the same because it’s easy, or to remind us that none of us are special; we’re easily replaced. Either way, the little rebellious details on almost every person are impossible to miss. One woman wears a small ring she either found or made on her own. Another man has cut his pants to just below his knees. Small details like those are proof we aren’t programmed little creations meant only to provide obsidian to our Creators.

It’s not long before we’re all forming a line, then offering our obsidian taxes. Yawning, the guard withdraws a small cracker from his food satchel.
Cracker.
Like every other object, every word since my creation, I just know what it is. Never have seen one, never have eaten one, but that’s a cracker. All Mahk have been created with knowledge planted in our minds.

“Number,” the tall, heavily armed guard demands in a gruff voice as a crumb rolls off his beard.

“Araina, P329111.” Our names are an interesting thing, our only semblance of unified rebellion against the Creators; confirmation of our identities beyond their simple number system.

His gaze navigates a piece of parchment. Then he marks on it with a writing utensil. Even their writing utensils are fancy. This one has a colorful fluffy feather waving about as he writes with the other end. He pushes me on toward the next guard. No “thank you” or even an instruction to keep going, only a shove.

My offerings are slim, three slick opaque obsidian shards and some kimberlite.

They give me only three potatoes, a dead rat, and two canisters of water. With a quick cram, the items enter my bag, out of sight. My stomach growls angrily. Frustration would love to bare its teeth about now. Like all the Creators, the distributor is plenty well fed. He clearly suffers no shortage of soft clean clothing each day.

“That’s all we got this week, Blue,”
I whisper to myself as if she’s beside me. It’s my moments with gentle Blue that make me think it’s not necessary to kill to survive. She may not take Mahk or Creator form, but there’s more soul under those feathers than in Simul’s whole being. Eagerness to reach my secret spot and see Blue propels my quick departure.

It only takes about thirty minutes to reach Sikla, the one volcano in our land. Compared to the monotonous miles of twisted trees lining cracked black walls that make up most of our world, this volcano is a brilliant jewel. Bright orange lava flows down its conical form, and occasionally it coughs ash into the atmosphere.

Entering back into a labyrinth passageway, the sound of dingy rocks crunching beneath my feet swims in my ears. A cowering stone statue greets me at the corridor opening. It’s one of many in the labyrinth. The breathless stone remnant of what was once a living Mahk represents yet another unhappy way to die in this place. Sporadic dimples and lines form intricate detail in the jagged walls. My eyes follow the climbing cracks in their surface, but their towering tops stretch out of sight.

A map of the labyrinth is clear in my mind, because I’ve traveled its paths a million times. Aside from a couple select places that few dare to enter, like the Blood Caves or the Rotting Pass, I’ve been everywhere. There could be some turn left unexplored, but it’s unlikely. Not that long ago, it seemed rational to hope there was more than the hostile life this place offers. Eating what’s provided, when it’s given by the Creators, or fighting amongst ourselves for scraps is the Mahk way of survival.

“This is my world,” I confide to the walls; they’re as good as friends in this place. “I’m a puppet, and the Creators pull my strings.”

Grating faintly sounds ahead, bringing me to a halt. Silence follows.

Dagger now retrieved from my hair and gripped tightly by my side, I inch forward. A break leading to another corridor lies close ahead. Pressure heavy in my chest, my body scales the wall, sneaking toward the opening. Still no more sounds.

Ready for the worst, I peek around the corner. The lonely passageway stretches beyond my sight, no threat to be found.

That’s a relief. My walk toward my hiding spot with Blue can’t pass fast enough. Though not many Mahk venture this far away from the castle or Sikla, there’s always a chance of being followed. Hunger consumes every moment of Mahk existence, so Mahk will take food if they have to. It’s happened to me many times, some of which I’ve barely survived. Other times, I’ve been the taker. You do what you have to do.

Rapidly paced footsteps interrupt my thinking, just before pain thunders in my lower back. Air thrown from my lungs, I try to catch my breath as my body falls violently into the dirt. Someone is trying to yank away my bag; my food.

An angry-eyed girl about my age scratches at my arms, screaming at me.

“Get away,” I screech.

Dagger still in hand, I swing at her pale shoulder. Quicker than a blink, her leg kicks at my hand, dislodging my weapon. It flies across the corridor, landing near a twisted stump. Again she reaches for my bag. This time, I let her get close, waiting for just the right moment to pull out of reach. She stumbles, which was the plan. An extra shove sends her flying, head smacking into the sooty wall. Her body drops to the ground. Her eyelids twitch, but she seems unconscious. No sense in waiting around to verify.
She’s out, but for how long?

My feet can stand to carry me away faster, but the back pain is taking a toll. I check her position every few strides. She hasn’t budged. Finally, my turn is in view, and I slip out of the corridor.

That one was sneaky. Exercising more caution wouldn’t have hurt. The sound tipped me off. Impatience was what cost me. Thanks to my recklessness, an uncomfortable pain throbs in my lower back from her attack. Focusing on the discomfort won’t help. Only fifteen or so minutes until I reach Blue, reach home.

The branch poking through the wall above the boulders comes into view. Joy washes through me. I’ve almost reached our hiding spot. Upon my arrival, the climb up the boulders is faster than usual. Maneuvering too hastily across the branch and through the small hole in the wall causes me to nearly fall from the tree.

“Blue?” I drop to the ground, surveying the small space. “Blue? Come here.” My eyes scan the twisted black bushes and walls filled with my drawings.

She croaks but is still nowhere to be seen. After a few minutes, she emerges from behind some thorny bramble. Blue’s slender body rushes to my side, her tall skinny legs jerking to a halt before she nudges my cheek.

Fingers dancing through her blue feathers, I’m unable to resist the smile that spreads across my face. “Okay, okay.”

Standing at my height, her big gold eyes bat at me.

“What were you doing back there?”

She fluffs her wings as if to gesture confusion.

My thumb grazes the little scar above her eye where my dagger nicked her face the first time we met. She still loves me despite the pain I inflicted on her. Even now, I tell myself if I had no obsidian to pay my taxes, if I had absolutely nothing left to eat, I could… Cringing, I push the thought far away.

She prances back behind the thick, tangled black bushes. She likes to play in them, but their giant thorns are unsettling to me. Her feathers must protect her.

Evidently she’s busy. I shrug, preparing to pull out a rock and draw on the wall. Images in my mind scream to be released. That girl who attacked me and her angry eyes need a place in my drawings.

Splashing sounds from Blue’s direction. She croaks bleakly.

“Blue?” My arms are pushing through the tangled branches. What could she possibly be splashing in? Water that isn’t provided by the Creators isn’t safe. My heartbeat drums in my ears.

When I finally reach her all the way at the back of the shrubbery, a scream rings from my lips when her long legs submerge in acidic water. Nerves twitch under my skin. Countless times I’ve suffered burns from the water around here.

“Blue, no!” I dash toward her.

She disappears into the dangerous liquid of a small pool extending from the base of the wall.

Without hesitation, I dive in. The cool water wraps around me. It doesn’t burn or blister my skin at all. The water isn’t acidic like the other river or pools near which my fingers dig for obsidian. My eyes open to see Blue a few feet ahead of me, swimming beneath the wall to the other side. Gliding through the water on her trail, I realize this pond might be the source of the Creator’s clean water.