Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
The staircase I’d planned on using to the very top of the statue ends too soon, the way up choked by an internal collapse at the first landing I come to. And with a quick glance over my shoulder, all I see in the flickering light is a tangle of spider legs and a thousand red eyes.
The panic comes fast upon me, especially as the temperature rises from all the fire around me. I’m trapped here, no way forward, no way back—sorry, Merc and your saying, the motivation is not going to work this time—
Except there’s a wedge I can maybe squeeze through off to the side. Of course, the flames will consume me if I have to share the same space with them—but I have to try.
Projecting them to my rear, I keep a tight hold on the torch and crab-walk up the loose collection of boulders and stones. When the pile shifts some, I put the reed bundle in my teeth, and start clawing at the marble chunks, making more of a gap to force my body through. Behind me, the fire becomes a solid wall, and that gives me a chance to work—
It’s like a birth of sorts.
After I shove the torch through, and some kind of interior space is revealed by its light, I squeeze my head and shoulders through the aperture. With a gasp and a strain, I force my way along. The felt of my makeshift cape protects me from scrapes, but it’s a hindrance, too, adding bulk. I’m swimming now, through marble debris, dust getting into my nose, the flames behind me growing dimmer as I continue—
I pop out as bairns do, sliding free into a tumble that lands me on my face.
Lifting my head and the torch—
I’m in a little room, and I can smell fresh sea air.
Ah-ha. There’s a cutout in the wall across the shallow space, and a grate covers the opening. That’s where the mist is getting in from.
And at least there aren’t spiders staring back at me.
Fates, I’m tired.
Closing my eyes, I picture Merc staring out of that cell as I’m carried away. This gives me the strength to stand up. The metal mesh has a latch, and I’m worried that it’s going to make a lot of noise as I open it and my position will be given away—
Everything is so corroded by the salt and lubricated by the mist that there’s no sound at all.
As I lean out, I’m shocked at how far up I am, and very grateful that the horde is concentrated on the entrance to the stairs and hasn’t noticed me yet. But as the eddies of mist surge and retreat, I’m horrified by what’s beneath me. The entire spider colony has rallied around the temple, packing every available avenue of escape. I’m going to need more than just a ball of fire around me to get through all that—and how has Lavante fared? Has he lived? Even if I get down there, I need a way to rush back to the gate before the darkness comes.
Besides, I’ve come to love that horse—
I can’t worry about all that right now. Looking up, I find that I’m at ankle height, and it’s hard to see past the flare of the robing’s hem, and the rise of the bent knee.
Great. Now what.
I’m wondering how I’m going to drag myself up all that slick marble when I see the bolts. A series of huge metal hooks have been drilled into the stone, and given that they seem to go all the way up the statue, I imagine they were used to secure drapes of cloth to the goddess’s body or maybe ceremonial flowers or fates know what.
I’m going to have to climb them like they’re a ladder.
After a couple of deep breaths, I put the torch back between my teeth, crouch down, and emerge through the access point. Gripping the nearest cold, wet hook, I pull myself upward and go drawn-and-quartered, feet apart on two of the bolts, hands above my head gripping another pair at the same distance. I don’t wait but a heartbeat before sucking the fire wall out through the hole in the collapse and surrounding myself with the flames. I’m dimly aware of screeching, like the spiders are frustrated they can’t get at me, but they don’t have to worry. Their brethren on the exterior have noticed where I am already and are rerouting from the bottleneck at the stairwell and around the temple base, to a collective mounting the statue itself.
“You can do this…”
I move one foot to a bolt a length up, push through my thigh and knee, put my other foot up, shift my hands’ positions—and I’m a little higher.
Again. And again. And … again.
The going is slow and arduous, and my breath gets tight in my lungs from exertion. Then a gust of wind tests my ability to hold on, the whistling in my ears like a scream. Or maybe I’m making that noise—