Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
My pretty sparks again winked out as I flung my free arm over my head protectively; gritting my teeth at the bang and scrape of stone against my scalp. The sensations were nothing compared to the feel of the pebbles drumming on my singed skin.
I couldn’t bite back a cry. Couldn’t even find it in me to panic that it would lead the minotaur right to me. The pain stole my focus so completely.
I felt tears trickle down my face. Felt stinging patches of my scalp become warm and wet. Great. More wounds.
A muffled scream rang out.
My eyes snapped open, and my breath snagged in my throat. It had come from somewhere behind me—not too close, but not far enough away for my liking.
Panic punched my lungs. I produced yet more sparks and hurried onwards, hating every noise I made.
Busy flapping a hand at a moth that fluttered near my face, I almost didn’t see the wide fissure in the ground in front of me. Inwardly calling myself an idiot, I hopped over the crack.
Annoyance bit at me as I saw that the ceiling was becoming lower the further I walked. I ducked under a particularly low point, shuddering as I felt the stroke of a cobweb.
Eventually, the ceiling started to creep upwards. But not quite enough that I didn’t have to—
The ground shook and dipped as another quake hit. I planted my feet to maintain my balance, but it didn’t work. The force of the quake threw me against the wall; the rough stone scraped at the skin of my side. Dust rained down on my head and neck, slipping down my tunic.
I coughed up dust and ash. Such a lovely combination. Well, at least it wasn’t my burned side that had crashed into the wall. Small mercies and all that.
Once the ground stilled, I pushed onwards, stepping over a stone head that had broken free from a fallen statue. I kept my ears peeled, listening for any indication that I was being stalked. I heard nothing. But then, I was making so much noise that it was hard to pick up other sounds.
A droplet of water slid right down my collar, startling me. I was so on edge I almost jumped—which would have made me bang my head on the godsdamn ceiling.
I could not have been more grateful when the aforementioned ceiling returned to its normal height, allowing me to stand up straight. My back and shoulders truly were hurting from the muscle strain of hunching and bending.
Reaching a stone wall that almost touched the ceiling, I couldn’t help but silently groan. Frustration made the backs of my eyes sting. I was tired. Hurting. Bleeding. And the last thing I wanted to do while my palms were cut to shit was traverse a freaking wall.
It hit me that, making things harder, I would have to do it blindly. I couldn’t hold onto my power and climb.
Sometimes, I hated my life.
I scanned every inch of the wall, trying to memorize the locations of the best fissures, ledges, crevices, and knobby edges that I could use as both handholds and footholds.
The quake having passed, I set one foot on a ledge. Intensity rubbing at my nerves, I let my sparks disintegrate. Pitch blackness swallowed my surroundings.
Taking a shaky breath, I reached for a bulging piece of the wall and started to climb. It hurt like holy hell, aggravating almost every wound I had, but I kept going. Even when I was pretty sure that I’d accidentally touched a splatter of bat guano—I knew the smell of it—I kept going.
I felt a slight give in the rock beneath my foot, and panic slapped me. I lifted my leg fast, listening as bits of rock scattered down to the ground. Dust gusted up to meet me, fanning my face.
I kept my mouth closed to muffle my cough as I scrabbled to gain another foothold, scraping my face and knee on the wall in the process.
If I never climbed anything again in my life, it would suit me just fine.
Grimacing at the taste of gritty dust on my tongue, I kept ascending, my heart pounding each time my sweaty palms seemed like they were about to lose their grip on a handhold.
Another quake hit. I heard something clatter to the ground behind me. Bits of shale shook loose, skipped down the wall to which I clung, and tumbled down on my head.
I squeezed my eyes shut against the barrage, clinging so tight to the wall that my sore hands spasmed. Ow, ow, and ow. I’d have new wounds on my skull for sure.
The moment the quake subsided, I wasted no time in moving, not wanting to be still on the wall when the next one struck. Within minutes, I’d slid over the top of it and was making my descent, sadly and accidentally kicking loose bits of rock that noisily then went skidding along the ground.