Labyrinths
Legacy Name: Labyrinths

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The cell was utter black emptiness- a darkness ones’ eyes scarcely even attempt to adjust to. Nothing could be seen to orient oneself properly, let alone determine which direction was forward. You sit, cross-legged in what can only be assumed to be the center of the room- stone floor cold as winter on your shackled legs and half as merciful. It’s not until a fleeting, rhythmic pattern of noise some distance away is picked up on that you raise your head from your lap. Pressing your face up tight against the bars of the caged door, you crane your neck so your sight is at the very edge of its limits. At the end of the long, equally dark hallway you’re able to make out a faint light slowly creeping around the corner from the staircase above. Another guard, perhaps? And with another personal grudge against you for all the years of heinous debauchery you’d partaken in, no doubt? You let out an unflinching scoff at the nothing around you.

As the footsteps grow louder and the light bleeds further and further down the hall you’re finally able to get your bearings. Just enough time to reposition yourself before the guard can make it to your cell, lantern in hand, to see you facing a wall less than an arm’s length in front of you. Promptly, you shuffle toward the actual center of the room and brace yourself for whatever punishment is to come. However, when the guard rounds the doorframe and stands before your cell, something strikes you as peculiar. The man’s boots are small, brown leather with a myriad of hanging straps and buckles dangling from either side. Come to think of it, that rhythmic walking seemed inexplicably familiar, too. Your eyes shoot up past the rest of the conspicuous outfit and directly towards the guard’s eyes.

“Lars.” The hooded figure spoke in a smooth, high voice. And at once, your breath catches in your throat.

“Myra!” You gasp, forgetting yourself, and shuffle hastily towards the cell door with chains rattling behind you. Your sister drops quick to her knees to meet your level, and lifts a stern finger to her pursed lips.

“Shh!” She urges. “Let’s get at least one conversation in before you blow my cover, huh?”

You wince, swallow the shock and nod.

“Came to say goodbye.” Myra lets out with a stifled sob.

“Goodbye?” You utter, shocked. “Goodbye? Myra, they’re pinning those deaths on me. The bodies you left! Get me-” and she raises a hand with a pained expression.

“One last job, Lars.” She started. “No more looking over our shoulders, jumping at every stray shadow. No more revenge or rescue.” And she glances at you, face washed with pathetic guilt. That’s when it hits you, with a throat tightening surge of regret- you’d agreed to the terms. They’d sounded better then, with the warmth of drink and smoke and all manner of other vileness stewing within you. But now, laid bare in their sober reality the truth of the matter was far less appealing.

“One last job.” You let out towards the floor. The plan was for the two of you to finally be rid of the constant strife, to finally stop taking and start growing something meaningful with the funds you’d secure from this last heist. Here’s where all that hopeful thinking had landed you. At least one of you’d be getting the future you pined for all these years, you tell yourself.

A pregnant silence fills the air, and she clasps her palm around your hand gripping the bars. “You have to choose the blade.”

“Gods, Myra!” And you recoil your hand. “Is that what’s troubling you now, truly?” And her grief-stricken face hardens suddenly. Her eyes settle on yours, unmoving.

“Reimus is already on his way. The trial will be tomorrow, at the break of dawn.” And the news sends an entirely new wave of worry over you. “You have no more time to ponder. You have to choose. And there’s a clear choice.”

You shake your head, taking in everything at once. “Thought you said the maze was a crock of shit? Just a way for guilty men to sneak through and sail away on the other end, not a fearsome sight to be seen in the walls?”

"Maybe I lend a bit more credence to the rumors when it’s my own brother’ set on sneakin’ through those walls.” She snaps back. “Old Cultho CrossHand opted for the maze when they caught ‘im, and gods’ know that old bastard was the toughest in the company. Never heard from again.”

“Maybe that’s ‘cus he’s off living a life of freedom with a new name on some exotic coast.” You let out somberly.

Myra rises to her feet, flinching at some fleeting noise in the distance. “I need to go. Stop entertaining this thought, Lars. Take the clean way, the painless way. You know what they say about that… thing in there.”

You blink, stunned at the pace at which the events leading up to the end of your life are proceeding. “Will you be there?” In one last, desperate attempt for some sibling comfort. “Will you be with me in the end?” She raised her burlap hood, and turns to leave.

“I’ll always be with you.” And again with a rhythmic pattering, she faded away into the night, taking the glow of the lantern with her. Once again submerged in the murky shadows, you lay back onto the cold stone floor waiting for the guards to come- a pit in your stomach gnawing at you accompanied by the unsettling feeling of a decision having been made for you.

You survey the scene as two guards drag you up and onto the stage. Before you, a small but tightly packed crowd has gathered before the wooden platform. No shortage of heavily decorated noblemen and generals with personal vendettas, and a few blood mad peasants that’d attended every execution that week- all with the same glaring distaste plastered across their faces. As the crowd stirs with anticipation, a burly man presses into the back of your leg with his foot and forces you down into position kneeling over the headman’s podium.

“Let us not delay this trial further by rehashing your great list of wrongdoings, Lars.” The commanding officer standing next to the headsman sighs informally. “We all know why you’re here.” The crowds’ restlessness finally boiling over into a chaotic frenzy of movement, at once shouts of “Thief! Coward! Your sister’s next!” Ring through the cobbled streets.

The officer lifts a stern hand, and the headsman nods, slamming the pole of his great axe down into the wooden boards below like a great judge’s gavel. The crowds’ confidence quickly dies out as the hulking beast of a man grimaces down over their heads. “As is tradition within the walls of Corinth-” the officer begins, and your heart starts racing. It really was now, wasn’t it? No more deliberating, no more debating despite what Myra had said the night before. Now, it was time to choose.

The man’s stern voice fading in and out of your racing mind, you begin weighing the options. The blade offers the quick, instant end to it all.

“-those met with the gravest sentence of all, are given a choice.”

While the maze offers a slow, tormenting labyrinth of starvation and confusion.

“Must decide between two fates-”

But- that was how Myra thought of it. And she’d the mind of a hapless brute. Sure, she’d picked all the locks, dealt with the guards, and secured the packages. But it had been you who’d stitched together the plans, mapped out the floor plans, and provided the picks. If anyone could figure out the winding labyrinth, why not the brain behind the brawn?

“-and should the accused return from the maze, they will be stripped of all charges-”

As for the rumors of some vicious creature residing within the maze walls- you ultimately decide to push superstition to the background in favor of the much more real and immediate threat of the glistening axe blade currently hovering less than an arm’s length from your head- the small, dark brown stained podium before you looking less and less appealing to press your neck against with each passing moment.

“So, Lars. Time to choose.” And the finality of his words snaps you from your trance. The crowd baying and whooping wildly, you swallow whatever doubt you can before making the declaration.

“The maze.” You blurt, surprising yourself more than anyone. “I choose the maze.” The officer, the headsman, and the entire crowd at once adopt a look of grim worry. It was then, you remember, that none had opted for the maze inyears.

The men on the podium shuffle uncomfortably for a moment before turning to one another, not used to entertaining the option for anything other than the tradition of it. “Get the boat.” The officer commands. “We’ll ship him off at once.” The headsman turns to move you once more, and a shrill cry from the crowd freezes all in their tracks.

“Wait!” A woman pushes through the crowd, forcing her way to the podium. “He’ll not go alone!” And when she finally reaches the stage she throws her hood down off her head. Your sister stands before the crowd and the men on the podium, arms outstretched to be shackled. “I’ll be accompanying my brother, I’m sure you’re glad to hear.”

The headsman turns, angrily. “That goes against long held-” before he can finish, the officer grabs his arm and pulls him aside. Though too far to hear over the murmuring crowd, you can make out the bulk of their speech by reading their lips. “We will not shirk an opportunity to take out both twins at once.” The officer urges the headsman. “Traditions be damned.” And soon, you and your sister are reunited once more, shackled together in the back of a small rowboat.

Once on the shore, the officer presses a key into your shackles and the heavy latches fall to the sand with a metallic rattle. No look of satisfaction radiates from the face of the man who’d been hunting you and your sister for years- instead, he seems oddly remorseful. “My man will be camped on the other side of the island outside the exit for no more than three days. Reach him by then, and he’ll take you back to the mainland as free citizens.” He spoke halfheartedly, like he could scarcely believe the words coming from his mouth. As he turns to return to the boat and the headsman, he mutters something under his breath. “Should have taken the blade.”

When you turn, you can’t help but be taken aback by the scope of it. Before you an enormous monolithic structure juts from the uneven, sandy earth. Encompassing the majority of the island’s surface with thinly-stretched beaches lining the outer perimeter, you’re already less than a few strides away from its gaping entrance even back on the rocky shore. You turn to your sister, finally able to speak free of persecution. “Why?”

“Guess you’re more convincing than you give yourself credit for.” Myra smirks and starts off towards the maze. “All that talk of dancing out the other end, care-free like. Guess it started soundin’ pretty nice.” And she’s already ahead of you, looking forward as she speaks. “Besides- two heads are better than one. We can figure this out together.” The reassuring words are enough to push your nagging doubts away for now, and you let loose a sigh of relief at the familiarity of the company.

“Fine. I’m done trying to figure you out.” You shake your head. “Let’s get this over with. Be out the other side and back to where the golds’ buried in Corinth before the day ends.” And you’re met with silence. The pair of you glance across at one another on the precipice of the maze’s entrance; a simple opening in the stone just wide enough for two people two walk next to one another shoulder to shoulder, though more comfortably in single file. Glancing down the great hall before you, nothing distinguishable from any other parts of the stone walls can be seen as far as the light reaches from where you stand. Somehow, you feel like you can already hear faint footsteps from within. “How hard can it be?” You say with a shrug. “The island itself can be crossed in under an hour.” And you take your first steps in.

Once the sun sets, the already impossibly similar walls become even more so. You drag your hand across the one on your right, in an attempt to keep your direction straight. “This will be our… fifth right turn.” You announce over your shoulder.

Behind you, your sister stalks ominously. “You’re a navigator, aren’t you?” Myra croaks, wincing at a pain in her back from the constant walking. “Can’t you tell where we are using the stars?” And she gestures up towards the sky. Not a bad idea, in all honesty. You crane your neck back to see as far up as possible, and even that small freedom is rebuked within the maze. The walls, in their breathtaking height, block any more than a small sliver of starry night sky being seen from any one angle- the star-filled scene reduced to a mess of deep blue puzzle-pieces by the jagged corners and edges of the labyrinth walls.

“Nope. Not going to work-” and when you bring your sight back to ground-level, to your shock your sister is no longer standing behind you. You twist around, then back again, taking in every degree of vision available to you- Myra is nowhere to be found, despite the long stretch of stone hallway you currently stand in having no turns or other entrances anywhere near. “Myra?” Reluctantly, you continue on forward.

After roughly an hour or more of walking, your eyes finally begin to adjust to the faint light levels provided by the moon and unable to reach the floor of the labyrinth. With increasing frequency, strange sounds have been rushing past you as if your sister had just been close enough to brush shoulders- though with each panicked turn of your body, no one else could be seen. Another turn coming up in the endless halls, and you prepare to round it. As you hesitantly slink around the curved stone an incredible force barrels into you, knocking you onto your back. You look up to see your sister, sweat-soaked hair plastered across her face and gasping out of breath. Then, you realize, there had been no sound of footsteps leading up to her turning the corner. Your own seem to have been inexplicably silent, as well.

“Where did you go?” Myra urges, visibly shaken.

“Me? Where did-” and Myra cuts you off, shoving one shaking hand outward and clasping a fistful of hair in the other. “No. No, fuck this. I’m getting the hell out of here, now. There’s something in here.”

“Relax, Myra.” But your words only make her more hysterical. “We’re both getting out. We just have to stick together.”

Myra glances at you coldly then snatches something from her belt before returning to your gaze, her movements as quick and calculated as some reptile preparing to strike its prey. In her hand, a small blade is gripped tight with her thumb pressed against the flat. “You should have chosen the blade, Lars.” And she pounces. In an instant, the pair of you are struggling, writhing on the ground with the small knife caught in the middle.

“What are you doing?” You struggle out through gritted teeth. On top of you, Myra lashes wildly with the blade while you do what you can to catch her wrists, the blade repeatedly dropping down upon you with all her might behind it.

“First, you survive the ambush. Then, the execution. For one last job, you’re really dragging this out for me!” And she wrenches one arm free, getting in a quick slash with the knife. The realization hits you with a burning rivaling that of the new cut down your forearm. Myra had tipped off the guards. She’d sabotaged the job, and tried to persuade you to choose the blade so the fortune would be uncontested. One last job alright, where she would come out as the sole beneficiary. And now, she’d followed you into the maze to ensure you didn’t reach the end.

“Fucking bitch! You let out with a pained shriek, pushing her off of you for an instant long enough to wrestle for the knife once more. “After everything-”

“Oh, do spare me the ‘everything I’ve done for you’ speech, brother. You sat comfortably behind a desk while I stuck my neck out on every job.” And again, Myra is able to get in a quick swipe, this time dragging the blade up and through your palm before the pair of you break and shuffle apart.

“Without my plans, you’d have taken the blade years ago. Without me, you’d be nothing!” You struggle out, now entirely unfocused on the surrounding interchangeable walls- the villain before you occupying all your thoughts. You charge one another, and the footsteps from before become deafening loud. Upon clashing, you’re both on one another in an instant. Myra drags you to the sandy floor, but not before you’re able to pry the blade, slick with blood down to its handle, from her wildly flailing hands and toss it blindly into the distance. Without the leverage of her weapon, your sister devolves into utter madness atop you. Thrashing, clawing like a restrained street cat she rips ribbon after ribbon from your cheek with her nails. Through the tearing pain and impossibly loud stomping, you’re able to orient yourself just long enough to firmly grip the collar of her jerkin, dragging the rabid girl down towards you and thrusting your head forward with all the might you can muster- and everything goes silent.

With a sickening crunch Myra jerks off of you and back onto her feet, stumbling backward. A palm she raises to her face does little to suppress the torrent of blood pouring from her nose. “You…” she mutters, mad with anger and pain, taking wobbly steps back as she speaks. “You…” the blood fills her mouth and stains her teeth as she spits out the words. “You…” and suddenly as she backs into the intersecting hall, around that same corner she’d barreled into you from, the stomping footsteps start up once again- faster and more impending than they’d ever sounded before.

You blink, unsure if your vision is playing tricks on you. Where Myra stood not an instant before, the space is now entirely vacant. The only evidence to show someone had just been standing there being the small circle of disturbed ground. Some odd, wet gurgling sound beckons you from around the corner of the intersecting hallway. You struggle to your feet and hobble over to the turn in the great stone wall, squelching noise growing louder with each step.

When you finally will yourself around the corner your blood goes cold, sending a chill through your body right down to the roots of your hair. You glance down at the mess of what could hardly have ever been called a woman. Streaked, stretched and scattered remains line the walls in that one red-painted section of the maze. Before you can scream, or run, or drop to your knees, the footsteps return again briefly before stopping; and a hot, booming breath of something can be felt dampening the back of your neck. You jam your eyes shut so tight you wonder if they might never open again; still a better outcome than facing whatever horror is looming over you.

Myra be damned, you push all thoughts of the conflict away as best you can. Nothing matters now except yourself and finding the exit. You take one shaky step forward, and the breath behind you seems to lessen. Another, and it sounds a mile away. You don’t dare turn and look behind you, but would a simple peak really hurt? Nearly the instant the thought enters your mind, the low growling breath starts up once more, and the stalking footsteps catch up to you in an instant. Forcing any other thought into the place of this one you speak to yourself, trembling. “Have to get out. Have to get out. Have to get out.”

Suddenly, a gust of air sweeps over you in a startlingly refreshing wave. You finally force your eyes open, and see a long, bright tower of light in the distance at the end of the hallway as if it had been there all along. Foolishly, you turn to look behind you and near instantly regret it- though the gruesome scene is nowhere to be found. Gone, swallowed up into the shifting stomach of the maze. You limp hurriedly towards the gaping exit, ignoring the pounding footsteps, growling breath and new, yet somehow familiar whispers assaulting your ears all the while; not daring to let the thought of freedom leave your mind until you reach it, lest the maze shift again to reflect your concerns.

You stumble outward onto the rocky beach and the cacophony of brutal sound finally ceases, the air itself feeling cleaner. There’s the headsman’s tent, as discussed. Before you march over towards it, you take one fleeting look back at the maze before returning to your path. You could have sworn you saw Myra leaning in the great doorframe waving, but ultimately decide not to confirm your suspicion with a second glance.