Flynn stepped down into dry, powdery soil. Despite being well under the earthy surface, there was a perplexing freshness in the air. There was also faint illumination further off, but the bend made it impossible to see where it came from. Moreover, the loud echo of flapping whirred near and landed at his feet to greet him. In the same manner of urging, the crow cackled and bounced around energetically before gliding away and disappearing again.
Flynn was adamantly avoiding rational motivation at this point. He simply pressed forward. But he did ponder over the crow. At first it wanted him to leave with such a violent tone and mannerisms, but having since watched him avoid all traps with ease and then leading him to this secret passage, the crow seemed to all but instill complete trust in him as a stranger.
"CAH!"
Apparently, it was too excited to bother talking anymore. Or perhaps, a spell was broken? Flynn shook his head. Sure, anything seemed possible right now.
"CAAAHH!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming…" Flynn called back casually, but he examined every inch of the walls in passing. After a few steps, there was a very obvious downward descent. He briefly wondered if this was the one and only passage that led to the center of the earth...or hell where he belonged.
As he rounded another bend, he noticed the sloppy but sturdy pillar work holding up dense mud and granite walls. There were wooden inlets on both sides of the trail— probably rain ducts. Then he saw why the crow hadn't left him entirely. A thick wooden door was braced against brawny brackets. The crow flew toward it and landed on top of a hefty lock.
Flynn's hands instinctively dived into his belt pouch and pulled out a couple of nifty metal prongs that he inserted into the lock with his customary indifference. The crow watched curiously, remaining very still so he wouldn't be a bother.
A familiar 'click' of success, and the crow was in a frenzy again, feathers flying everywhere. Flynn merely lifted a brow at him but couldn't help a small smile. He opened the door and the crow perched on his shoulder. Flynn stopped a moment to take this in. A crow was nestled on his shoulder.
"You're not gonna fly on ahead?" he asked. The crow sat quietly, clicking his beak gently and darting his now softened eyes.
Flynn shut the door behind him and continued. It was here that the illumination was becoming brighter, and he started to see the paths split. The crow ruffled himself and started cackling to the right tunnel. Flynn translated correctly and headed in that direction, seeing the bird's return to calmness as an indication. The feathery companion continued to be a makeshift navigator through two more bends, when the brightness of the outside startled Flynn. He stood still, examining a thick, giant wooden grate holding up part of the ceiling. In the middle was a door, and the crow flew to it again.
Flynn went through the same process of unlocking it, never taking his eyes off what he was seeing: Lush, dense fields that sparkled like rain-splashed emeralds;— a massive accumulation of deeply hued flowers and their chorus of sugary scents. The confident roar of a healthy waterfall, and…something else far in the distance that looked odd… out of place. He couldn't tell what it was though.
The door was opened and the crow flew ahead, cawing joyously and heading straight for what Flynn deemed to be the oddity.
Flynn 'followed' the bird, still leery, but doubtful that this place would have anything resembling the blackened, twisted woods he came from. The field he walked into was a collective range of fat, saturated greens, and it led to a forest just as thick as the one above ground. But this forest was alive, teeming with vigor and angelic vitality.
Of course, this only confused him further. He looked up and saw sky. He turned around, and saw the face of a jagged cliff. It then struck him that perhaps the only way to gain access to this cove was through the hidden entrance.
Then who did it belong to? Why?
The sound of the crow was gone. He disappeared into the forest, and having come this far, Flynn decided to venture deeper as well.
He stepped past the first row of bulky, authoritative trees, and there was nothing warring or dangerous so far. Flynn couldn't help but still himself and appreciate it for awhile. It was absolutely stunning; a breathtaking compilation of plant life that seemed immortal. In a way, he could understand why someone would want to keep it a guarded secret. But at the same time, to the extent of human death?
That brought him back to reality. He crept onward— admiring its beauty— fearing its mystery.
A gently shimmering river lay clear and pure before him. He noticed a few birds occasionally diving in for a quick bath or drink before flying off. He bent to wash his face and taste the crystalline water. He didn't realize how parched and thirsty his throat was until he drank. He then remembered the crow's strange and determined behavior. Why didn't he fly himself down here from the top of the cliff edge?
He reserved his thoughts on the crow for later as he passed through the creek. The scent…the wonderfully intoxicating scent was no longer a hint from a dark tunnel. This was its warm, motherly safe haven. This was its brooding home. This was the place that was inviting Flynn, and caressed and coddled him now that he was here. He easily accepted, fiercely pushing back any tugging instincts that tried to interweave caution into his state of bliss.
He found a small patch of level ground with short, soft, baby grass. It looked like the perfect spot to rest, reflect, and have a much needed lunch.
He crossed his legs, ripping chunks from a stashed bread roll as he glanced around at the serene composure of the towering trees. Time seemed to have no authority here. The sky looked like it had never experienced a storm, as it permitted the sun to touch every fragment of green. Even the sun rays seemed to stretch out and relax their glowing tendrils through dozens of welcoming canopies. The air was rich with purity and nutrients.
Flynn took a massive breath. He felt like he could linger forever; his company in exchange for eternal youth. When his stomach grumbled to remind him that paradise didn't provide food (so far), he started to dive into his bag for a second roll and some cheese, when he froze and held his breath.
No…it was impossible. He was certain he had only imagined it. He was certain the enticing nature of this place took up the form of a phantom voice; a cerebral impulse that stemmed from his mind. An invention to give him an excuse to come here.
The voice.
It was real.
It was soft and melodious and it was pursuing him.
It was hunting him down.
And he stood. His eyes closed. His lungs drank in heaven's purified gust of gold dusted wind. His arms trembled upward, as though he was ready to embrace it as it washed over him like a thinly veiled cherub through the sunbeams.
His eyes snapped open. They suddenly fixated toward the direction he was certain it came from.
He dropped everything and headed straight for it. Every shred of caution he had to this point: gone. He didn't rummage or examine or pause. His breathing grew thin and patchy. His eyes darted about, dry and unblinking. How was it possible that the voice almost seemed ethereal? That it could carry itself from one forest to the next? As though it were a living entity? Flynn didn't know or care. All he knew was that it was a magnet, and it was pulling him with or without his conscience. He would stake it as his next claim. This, he knew without a doubt, was the ultimate treasure.
And then he saw it.
A strange, spindly chimney protruding from the ground.
Right from the ground.
Strangely layered shingles covered a few hundred square feet of the earth. And there, towards the left end of it, was a single square opening like a window in the soil. It was about two feet all around, supported by large bricks and bars.
The voice was coming from there.
At first, Flynn hid himself in the cover of soft undergrowth, and a tree that welcomed his company as he sat across its roots. He dare not approach without surveying first.
The voice continued, and Flynn found himself relaxing in an almost drug induced state as a smile came to him. What in the hell was happening? How did a mere voice have this affect on him? He felt his insides stirring with pleasure and strength. He stretched his legs out and melted against the tree, letting out a sigh as he allowed the singing put its spell on him.
What if it was a spell?
He didn't care.
He never felt like this before. It sent his lips, his eyes, his heart twitching, and he found complete adoration in it.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he found his eyes fluttering open when the singing stopped. He sat up and stretched, looking to the sky. It seemed that only a few minutes passed…
The sound of talking made him snap his head up again. It belonged to the same singing voice, muffled, quiet; brimming with the same sweetness and clarity. He was then startled to hear the sound of muffled cawing and then gentle laughter.
No sooner then when Flynn stood up, the crow popped its head from the bars, looked around, and then squeezed through. It gently crackled its beak as it looked downward before stretching its neck out.
"Bye!" it croaked. Flynn gave a small chuckle. He heard the sound of the voice again, and then the crow began to fly, unknowingly, in his direction.
"Hey…" he said quickly, as the crow flew over head. He somewhat expected it, but was still a little surprised that the crow immediately landed at the sound of his voice. The hefty bird shuffled through the branches and landed on the one nearest. Flynn tilted his head at it, and the crow stared. Then it turned its head in the direction of the bars in the ground.
"There…" it said simply. It looked back at Flynn and then to where he had emerged. "There," he reaffirmed. And then he flapped his wings and went off.
Yeah, 'there' was right. Just who and what exactly was 'there,' Flynn very much wanted to know.
The crow made it out safe. Quite safe. He even noticed the remnants of fruit and nuts on its strong, proud beak. Whatever was 'there' it was the reason the crow was so thrilled that Flynn could bring him access to it. Of course, this once again made him wonder why the bird didn't just fly here, but... all the same, he felt it was time to approach.
He snuck up to the laid out shingles…resembling something like the top of a flattened house. There were wood beams that trailed to the barred window in the ground, much like a makeshift path so that stepping on the shingles was avoided. Without a sound, he traveled the perimeter of this 'roof' and finally found what was far more suitable for a human than a crow.
Another locked door.
The door was about 10 meters well into the earth. A row of stone stairs led to it. Flynn could only wonder why anybody would want to live underground in a place like this, a phenomenally gorgeous floral paradise.
The traps…
Flynn flinched and blinked. He almost completely forgot about them. It was as if the serenity of this place had nearly erased them from his memory. The danger of that thought stilled him. The clever deceptiveness to that obviously intentional concept was terrifying.
He reached for the side of his belt and unhooked the clasp of a very large knife. He didn't unsheathe it, but made sure it was ready to be.
He was a skilled, dirty fighter. He could sneak up on someone in broad daylight in front of a crowd, but no one could sneak up on him in the night of a dark alleyway.
He slowly stepped down the staircase, standing before the door, breathing calculated and drawn out.
He thought about knocking, but realized suddenly that the lock was on the outside.
The outside.
He looked up with widened eyes and realization.
The crow visited through bars in the ground.
This forest was hidden beneath a more fearsome forest.
That forest was guarded by deadly, well used traps.
Whatever secret this place was ultimately keeping— was behind this door.
And a person was definitely inside.
It—was— locked— on— the— outside…
This was no house.
This was a prison.
It may have initially appeared to be a cottage or a den or a cute little novelist's hideaway. But this was a prison in the middle of the woods, and there was a prisoner trapped here. A prisoner with a voice that bore wings.
Flynn pondered, sweat starting to call him out by beading on his brow. His breathing was weak and wasted.
Completely at a loss—woefully curious—addicted to a voice.
He swallowed his fears and knowingly embraced the most careless decision he would ever make in his entire life.
It would be the first time Flynn Rider willingly walked into a prison.
