The group moved about in the pitch-black darkness of the cavern, using the uneven, jagged walls as a way to give themselves a sense of reference and space, for they saw nothing beyond the tip of their own noses. A short while passed since the entrance was blocked off from the outside, and so, without anything else to lose, they began to meander, in search of the torch-bearing girl and, hopefully, another exit, hidden somewhere amongst the labyrinthine tunnels and branching passageways.
Zelikman, feeling a slight pressure in his head, stumbled and almost fell over, but caught himself just in time. He huffed.
"See what happens, Amram?"
"I cannot see much of anything," Amram responded, though not out of sarcastic wit. He too felt a weight, bearing him down.
"This is no time for your plays on words. I told you our good fortune would run dry eventually, and it did! I was right, I always am, but you never listen, do you, Amram?" he sighed. "At least those pagan savages had the decency of leaving my hat unharmed."
Amram snorted. "Joy, Zelikman. Could it be possible for us to inquire on the whereabouts of the missing child—and the layout of this cavernous maze—with this, oh so precious, hat of yours?"
"Really? So soon have you given in to the claustrophobic craze? Well, best we make haste then, lest I want to find myself forced to drag around a blabbering man-child with me. You could do well by following Ariadne's example. She knows not to mince words."
"Zelikman, please, you saw what just occurred out there, must you be so inconsiderate?" he whispered and looked back. "I beg your pardon. He meant no offense."
The caves responded with their usual courtesy, that of damp air and deathly silence.
"Ariadne?"
Zelikman stopped as well. "Where is she, Amram?"
At that moment of mutual doubt, neither of the two spoke nor moved. Both then realized that Ariadne's steps were nowhere to be heard, nor had they been present for quite some time. A heavy shuffling and clacking on the rocks broke them out of this late realization, and the creeping thought of claustrophobic madness. Something of enormous size was there in the caves with them. Not far from where they were.
"Did you hear that?" asked Amram, with the faintest of shaking to his tone.
Zelikman let out a weak chuckle. "Claustrophobia—and a slight lack of air—performing their mundane trickeries, nothing more. Come let us go ahead and search for Ariadne, she cannot be far—"
It roared.
The inhumane sound resonated throughout the tunnels, sending shivers down their spines, and raising the hairs on the back of their necks.
They ran.
The duo scrambled through the twisting tunnels, insidious intersections, and confounding corridors, with no more than each other's breaths, and the rock walls acting as their guide, the latter on which they slammed themselves on multiple occasions. The clacking of stone and the monstrous growls followed at every turn, grunting and snarling. They knew not how far away it was, or what it was exactly, nor did they want to know, but deep down they knew; it was following them with terrifying ease, for it knew the maze-like the back of one's hand.
Such was their unholy mixture of terror, blindness, shortness of breath, and a foggy mind, that the duo ended up separating in the maze-like complex. Shout out for one another they did, as they made their best efforts to keep their distance from the unknown creature while trying to reunite with one another. However, the thing moved with such speed—in spite of the size its roar and footsteps implied—and possessed such an intrinsic knowledge of the caves; that it kept trail of them both, hounding at their heels with unrelenting persistence.
Amram and Zelikman's desperation began to overcome them. They did not know how much longer they could keep on going, to escape a horror that always followed and never stopped. The growing weariness of their minds and bodies was taking its toll, and with it, the sense of inevitability that they would fall prey to it. This ate away at their sanity, for moments that seemed to stretch into eternity, until they slammed into each other, and fell bum first to the hard, rocky floor.
The Frank and the Abyssinian groaned from the impact, but the familiar sounds of the other's voice recovered their lost stamina and wit. They got up and began to pat one another, a way to confirm they were not facing—albeit in total darkness—a hallucination born of craze, and the mind-altering effects of stagnant air.
"Heavens above, Zelikman, you're alive!" said Amram, before quieting down for a moment. "Or is this hell?"
"How else could I be speaking to you right now, you fool," Zelikman shot back, but his voice was that of pure joy. He touched the top of his head and felt a surge of relief as he caressed the hat above it. "Oh, thank God, it's still there."
Amram laughed aloud but paused abruptly. "Do you not hear? It is gone! No longer does it hound or track us, whatever it was," he cupped his hand in the Frank's ear. "Or do you believe that, perhaps, this was all naught but a trickery of the mind?"
"Uh, yes, of course," even Zelikman failed to believe himself. "Regardless, we must not falter, nor can we let ourselves astray again. We must make haste and find Ariadne and the child as soon as…wait. Amram, do you smell that? Faint smoke, burnt wood, going all the way down there."
"A torch! Zelikman, it must be the leftover smoke of the child's torch, you know what this means!"
"That we've yet to find Ariadne or an exit out of this accursed labyrinth for that matter? Or perhaps the fact that we might just be afflicted by a severe case of cave-induced lunacy?"
"Oh, how I missed you so, during those grueling, unquantifiable moments of dread," said Amram, his tone teasing but his words genuine.
"The feeling is mutual, old friend," and so were Zelikman's.
Time went along as the duo continued their way through the tunnels, following the ever-stronger scent of soot, until, suddenly, something incredible occurred. A faint turquoise glow began to illuminate the path around them, covering every stone and crevice of the walls, which on close inspection revealed itself a glowing, slimy moss, creeping on the rocks. The connections between the sight and a certain, concentrated, mold, in the Chieftain's manor and the faces of beheaded men, sent a shiver down their spines, but they soldiered on regardless, making sure to touch the walls no more. However, that harrowing realization alone was not the last thing that awaited Amram and Zelikman, for not much later, the sound of sniffs and whimpers came from the very end of the tunnel, the sounds of Ariadne's despair.
They sped through the remainder of the glowing corridor and saw an opening to a large chamber, where the fluorescent light was stronger than ever, as were Ariadne's soul-rending wails. The chamber welcomed them, its ghastly image freezing their hearts.
Strangers they were not to the horrors of war and theft, all that it implied and encompassed, but that sight before them they would never forget. Bones large and tiny spread out all over the floor of the circular, clean-cut chamber, in a showing of the macabre, unlike anything they had ever seen before. Dry petals and pulverized stalks too laid scattered about, serving as an unfitting complement to the image of the waking nightmare.
Ariadne knelt on her knees near one of the piles of remains, her hands covering her face, while the young girl stood still in the middle of the chamber, her extinguished torch lying beside her trembling shape.
Amram and Zelikman moved towards Ariadne. They did not know what they could do or tell her. At that point, what else was there to do?
They stopped halfway, for a loud, bull-like snort brought them, and everybody else, out of their state of shock. Everyone looked at the entrance of the chamber, and there it was, and it was no hallucination.
Only in its enormous, corpulent body was it in any way, shape, or form resembling to the human physique. It stood taller than Amram; its bulk was far wider still. Its head, gnarled and twisted, was that of a horned beast. Its eyes, empty and black, were hell itself.
It charged.
Amram and Zelikman snapped out of their stupor and leaped out of the way in the nick of time, but the monster made a sharp turn and lunged. Using every drop of adrenaline and strength in their bodies, Amram and Zelikman dodged the close-fisted blows of the beast, blows that, despite its barehanded nature, could tear flesh like a hot knife through cold butter.
The desperate struggle went on for a short moment, while Ariadne and the girl huddled together, watching terrified from the edges of the chamber.
Soon after, however, the beast grew tired and frustrated at the slippery nature of its prey. It roared, crouched, and charged, faster than before, pouring every bit of strength into its bulbous, misshapen muscles, in the attempt to ram and smear the pair on the rock walls.
Amram and Zelikman jumped yet again, this time escaping the beast's strike only by a hair's breadth. The monster smashed headfirst on the stone, shaking the entirety of the chamber. It fell and slumped on the floor, crushing many a shin and femur under its weight. Everyone stared at the veritable mass of flesh, hopeful that it would remain there, on the ground. Ariadne, however, pried further, her attention grasped by the human sounds that came out of the beast. She thought, connected, realized.
Neither Amram, Zelikman, nor the girl could ask her why she stared at the creature with tears in her eyes, for it was at that moment that it began to shift and turn.
The monster, slowly but surely, raised itself and let out a faint groan as it stumbled about, its face bent at an irregular angle. It paced back and forth, unsure as to where it should go until the young girl's sobs and whimpers brought it out of its pained daze.
It charged at her. Neither Amram nor Zelikman could react fast enough to come to their aid and take their place, nor had they the power to subdue or even bother the creature, which flung them aside like rag dolls for their efforts. They screamed for Ariadne to get herself and the child out of harm's way, but she did not. As the monster lunged, Ariadne pushed the girl aside, saving the young one's life but forfeiting her own.
Amram and Zelikman strayed their sights away. The young girl, raising herself shortly after, scampered up to Amram and clung to him. The Abyssinian picked her up and guarded her in his arms.
They stood there, watching the creature, as it, for some reason, remained frozen in place. Taking advantage of its immobile state, they began to retreat to the entrance, when out of nowhere, in a voice too light and human for its size, it began to wail, a cry cut through bone with its emotion and intensity, echoing far into the tunnels and passageways. Then, the cry stopped, and the beast turned around. What they saw shook them to their core.
Eyes whitish, ghost-like pupils, a face crooked and twisted smeared with a turquoise glow, a face no longer hidden away by the bull mask that lay on the floor, the face of a man. Demetrios stood before them, tears overflowing from his cheeks. A raw moment of humanity and pain that cleaved deep into the souls of the hardened thieves and the young girl, a dim light flickering in the darkness, one that came as soon as it went, snuffed out by primal rage.
It roared.
Amram and Zelikman ran for their lives, with the beast never trailing too far behind. However, despite the fact that they soon passed the point where no moss-born glow illuminated their line of sight, they somehow sped through the void, unimpeded. Never once slamming into walls or running in circles.
Neither could explain it. Was it their subconscious memory of the maze, drawn forth by a life or death situation? Was it adrenaline heightening their senses, or was it perhaps something else? A guiding hand, or rather, many, leading them on towards freedom. Sounds in their ears, sights from the corner of their eyes, all whispering, helping their escape in chilling unison.
Whatever it was—hallucination or otherwise—it worked. The boulder-blocked entrance was right ahead.
"Ready?" Amram asked as he shielded the girl's head.
"Whenever you are!" said Zelikman.
"Now!"
The beast roared and lunged.
A large wooden effigy burned and crackled. The village folk sang proud, with their beloved leader acting as their conductor. Callinicus ordered his loyal followers to raise the hollow statue, not long after trapping the infidels, and the chosen, inside the cave. It was another sacrifice for the occasion, more overt in a way, but then again, people had far fewer qualms about the offering of livestock to the greater forces than they did their children.
How Callinicus cherished these moments of pure adoration, these build-ups after days, weeks, and months of otherwise mundane reverence, and how he lamented that he had to wait a whole year to relive such synthesis of catharsis every time. Distaste grew deep down in his stomach as the crowd finished the last verse of the last chant, one of a due harvest reaped from the sow.
He kept on smiling anyway. He could wait, he always did. He was a patient man. He would create a new force of Keepers, thanks to the miraculous substance that grew inside the caves. He would reinforce his iron grip on the people once more. He would start anew.
After all, was it not a miracle, to use what this sinful world granted you, in order to grant miracles by your own hand? Was it wrong to feed those in need and then ask for due tribute?
To Callinicus these were not pointless questions, nor did they lack an answer, for he believed his truth unquestionable, he believed in it, and as long as the Gods kept him anchored to his form of flesh, he would continue to do so. In his own words, whispered to him and himself only as he waved at the crowd, what is sin, but a mere stain when performed in the name of righteousness, and the will of the heavens?
The boulder behind him shook, and the crowd gasped. Callinicus's eyes went wide, but he maintained his ground and composure nonetheless. It shook again. His legs trembled. Then, it shook no more.
He sighed and looked back at the crowd. He waved and, after a short pause of muted whispers, the people did as told and resumed their reverence, as always.
A tremendous impact froze him in place and took the canticle right out of the village folk. From the darkness of the now wide-open cave, the silhouette of a beast sprang forth. Some screamed, others scattered, Callinicus, however, could only so much as stare from the corner of his eye, to bear witness as the bloodied, hulking shape loomed over, huffing, trembling, before it released a deafening roar and tore him apart.
Saddles were set, weapons strapped beneath garments, whatever meager provisions stolen packed tight, and beasts mounted. No words were spoken.
Amram and Zelikman watched from atop a sandy hill, the heat of the fire below palpable and sweltering even from such a distance. Cries echoed from afar, of chaos, death, and pandemonium, and though the roars of the beast and its carnage died out not long before, overwhelmed by the rage of the village folk, the massacre still ringed in their ears. There were no remarks about stumbling across misadventures around the Mediterranean melting pot of the Iberia, no usual attempts at lifting moods or reassuring spirits at the expense of one another. Nothing but their own thoughts.
For the Abyssinian, there was only an unspoken hope that the girl, who escaped his arms amidst the outrage, and her family, formed part of those moving spots and clusters of people, fleeing from the grisly scene. For the Frank, condolence, one that those only acquainted with the man would have perceived as cold indifference for his companion's plight. One that, for those who knew him at heart, would recognize as the sign of sleepless nights and the bottom of many a barrel and pipe.
For both, however, was something else, something nearby as told by the corner of their eyes. Neither drew attention to it nor did they question its presence. One look at each other was all they said, before whipping their steeds and galloping away.
As the sounds died out in the distance, and the razor winds of the desert night calmed the blistering sting, though not the memory, of the blaze, the two companions dared not turn around and look back. At the orange hue and the black column that rose high into the sky, at the once-thriving village falling apart at the seams, at the shapes huddled together by the edge of the sandy hill. One lithe, one small, and two more holding onto one another, reunited at last.