To Save a World Ch. 04

But not because she was falling down. There was a violent jerk, her neck almost snapping tight. Somebody had taken hold of her hair.

"Don't move. For fuck's sake don't move." Aaron strained. His hand held a clump of Serche's abundant silver locks -- the only thing in between her and certain death. He had acted on pure instinct, dropping down to the precipice and then wildly swinging his open palm, grabbing whatever he could find. It was only pure luck that allowed him to catch Serche.

But the instant the weight settled on his arm, he knew it couldn't last. Already the grip he had on Serche's hair was starting to feel numb, the muscles of his wrists and arms trembled, feeling like they were about to snap at any moment.

"Reach up. Grab my hand." Aaron managed to utter through gritted teeth. Serche's hair ever so slowly slipped from his grasp. Even worse, without a proper handhold, his body was microscopically inching down as well.

"I'll fall. I'm going to die." Serche screamed, her voice hysterically high. He couldn't see her below and he was locked rigid -- moving would have been suicide. Aaron was positioned somewhat diagonally, his whole right arm down the cliff but the rest of his body, including his head, lying flat on the precipice. But if he was he would have seen the wolf woman stare down limply, wide, frightened eyes staring into the abyss that seemed to swallow her and her limply hanging body into oblivion.

"Just grab my hand!"

He felt a lurch, and for a second his heart fell as the weight shifted below him and further compromised his precarious grip, but then he felt an arm clasp his. Serche's arm gripped like steel, with the mad strength of someone staring death in the face.

'Yes!' He wanted to scream, but couldn't. His heart fell. In the several seconds of the perilous event, he couldn't feel his whole arm anymore.

A weight landed next to him, and swung a hand down as well. Trasnu was secured on the waist with thick vines wound together, attached to somewhere behind him. He grabbed Serche's arm and pulled. Air rushed out from their lungs in a huge huff as Serche started to rise upwards. Then the rest was a blur. They heaved and heaved, and when Serche's shoulders started coming into view Trasnu secured her shoulders with a vine as well.

She was now on the ground, as far away from the hole as she could without leaving the group, wheezing huge lungfuls of air while tears flowed unashamedly from her eyes. Her scalp was bleeding from where it was torn, trickles of blood like black, meandering rivers down the microscopic fur of her temple.

Lydia knelt beside her, her small frame wrapped around the much larger woman in physical comfort, as well as, Aaron knew, wrapping the frightened wolf woman's mind in calming thoughts.

"Thank you."

Aaron looked at Trasnu, doubled over, hands on knees and panting from their exertions. "Thank you," He replied, "If you hadn't done what you did, we both would have died."

Trasnu shook his head. "If you hadn't done what you did, Serche would be dead in a split second."

"Guess it was a team effort, then eh?" The young man started to smile.

They looked back at the cause of the near-disaster while they revelled in the small joy of their survival. The darkness had been claustrophobically oppressive so far into their jaunt to the depths of the run'an -- but compared to this, the past darkness would be positively sunny. The inky blackness of that unnatural absence of space seemed to take on a form of itself -- as if it was something alive. A boiling, roiling mass of pure darkness, clinging to the sides of the seemingly-bottomless sinkhole like the stomach of hell itself.

Another detail that leapt at them was the abrupt absence of the vines from the mouth of the hole. As far as they could tell, no vines grew at the mouth of the abyss up to... where? They couldn't tell -- although it must have a roof of vines covering it, as no form of sunlight has reached them yet.

Which must be why the vines are so damned tall, Aaron thought, reflecting back to when they entered the run'an, thick, black vines seeming to vie even with the ancient trees of the Great Forest for supremacy over the skies. The plants can't grow over this space for some reason, and as if refusing to accept defeat the monstrous plants just grew and grew to cover it all up.

But why? Aaron though suddenly, It almost seems like the whole place was a freaking lid-

The realization struck him like lightning.

And then, of course, came the rustling.

It was a horrifying sound, like something truly massive shifting, disturbing the heavy peace of the tangle of the run'an. It felt like how earthquakes would sound if such a calamity whispered. It happened again. And again.

"We have to get out of here." Aaron managed to whisper.

Then came the clicking.

There was only one of it, at first. It sounded like a mixture of creaking wood and pieces of metal being struck together. Too fast for their ears to distinguish the details, but holding enough patterns and consistency to be easily recognizable as a language. The clicking sounded, seemed to cast itself into the dark. It was coming from the hole that Serche almost fell from.

To their horror, another click answered. And another. And another.

Soon it was a cacophony of rapid, disturbing alien clicks, the loud din filling their ears with dread, seeming to come from everywhere around them. The group looked at each other with wide, frightened eyes. The sound was a confirmation of a truth that they've known in their heart as they first set foot in that place of legends. That the stories were real. The Spirit's Secrets were kept from the light for a terrible, unknown reason -- and they'd so foolishly waltzed right into it.

"We have to run. We have to do something." Aaron was desperate.

Serche shakily stood up, an unreadable expression in her eyes. "Then we run."

She glowed. Even Aaron, as ignorant as he was in magic, somehow knew that she was at her limit. So they didn't waste the chance. Aaron was about to run back to where they came from when a white blur passed him. Towards the hole.

"What the f-" He didn't have time to finish his curse, because Trasnu was shoving them mightily from behind. He felt his world lurch, and then he had no choice but to run forward. Ahead of him, Serche spread out her arms. The vines used to writhe with growth from Serche's magic -- now they whipped, propelled by an absurdly reckless rate of finely controlled magical growth, moving so fast that their stems cracked with sound from the motion. The roiling mass of thick, whipping plant stems surged to Serche.

'It's reverse Plant-Spider Man' Aaron deliriously thought at some small part of his mind.

Serche was at the edge, and a cry died in Aaron's throat as she jumped.

"What the fuck are we doing!?" He shouted hysterically. His steps faltered, staring at that bottomless abyss -- and he looked up at the split second when Serche crested through the air. Her image would be something that Aaron would never forget -- the wolf woman glowing with a halo of light green coming from nowhere, her silver fur shining with the light of her magic, her arms spread in a gesture of jumping -- or of insanity, or stupidity, or unbelievable bravery. Or all of those at the same time.

"Just run! Trust Serche!" Aaron heard Trasnu shout from behind him, making his legs fly forward once again. But trust or not to trust, it all disappeared from his mind as he realized what Serche was up to.

It was a bridge. Serche was making a bridge of plants over the darkness. Despite it all, his frenzied laughter rang out into the dark.

She was on her knees, her awesome, magical plant-bridge supporting her from below as it made itself. She was shouting with effort, her voice clearly ringing out determination and the will to survive amidst the horrible, alien clicking noise. The sound reacted, as if now sure of their presence, intensifying like it wanted to drown out her voice.

Aaron never stopped running. His first step into Serche's bridge and his heart leapt to his throat as his footing swayed and failed him as he flailed dangerously over the side, but he madly kept putting one foot ahead of the other, his fear gave his legs wings and his lungs more air to shout his defiance. He kept his balance. The rest of them followed him, swaying about the unsteady bridge made of magical vines and miraculously not pitching over the edge.

Serche limped ahead, her bridge of vines seeming to weave itself out of thin air further ahead of them as more vines joined their cause, recruited from everywhere around them. They gulped air like they were drowning, their guts dropping to the floor, certain that they would fall to their deaths each time their improvised bridge swayed and bucked.

Aaron made the mistake of glancing down, and what he saw made his blood run cold.

Amidst the darkness were points of malicious light. Eyes gazed up at them from the murky black, little circles reflecting the light of Serche's magic, barely distinguished but there. And there were millions of them. Cold raced up his spine, freezing his guts, animalistic fear flooding his brain.

His body wanted to freeze in fear. It really did. But as it was he forced himself to go on, whipping his head back up to Serche's hurrying figure ahead of them, fear making his legs light. He ran. "Don't look down!" He screamed at his companions, "Don't you guys fucking look down!"

Nobody did. The fear in his voice was enough for them.

It was a breathtaking moment for the group.

Serche felt like a droplet under the blazing sun, her awe-inspiring display of magical mastery making her energy seem to quickly evaporate from her body. She struggled not to think about how there are no proper handholds, and how easy it would be to tip over the unsure footing, how easy her friends could fall down from this magical bridge of her devising. Taking a shuddering breath, she stopped her imagination from running wild and focused on the act of burning her magical energy and putting one foot in front of the other.

Lydia could feel the contrasts of the space around her -- the oppressive weight of a world of legendary, labyrinthine plants above them, the unknown void below. She too desperately shut the doors of her mind into imagination.

The bridge swayed. Left. Right. Left. Every incremental movement taking Lydia's heart with it, her mind convinced she would be falling over any second, tasting the whoosh of air, feeling the earth pull her into emptiness, into the maws of a thousand hungry monsters...

And then it was over, and she was falling on her knees on solid ground, the uneven roots and vines digging hard into her hands and knees. Relief flooded her whole body, making her tremble like a leaf buffeted by a storm. She heaved air into her chest. Serche was worse, ahead of her, collapsed on the ground as her final act of heroism robbed her of all her strength. Aaron and Trasnu helped her up, one hand slung on each of their shoulders, but she was barely awake and there wasn't any magic to move the plants.

They were safely across the deep, dark, hole -- but they were trapped.

Within the dark recess, a sound came forth.

They've heard the rustling before. Now there was no doubt that it came from something alive. A lot of massive, moving somethings. Moving out of the hole.

Right into them.

Trasnu's heart sounded like waterfalls to his ears, the rush and roar of fear consuming his world. He had never been so scared before; not even when he was caught and collared, looking into a life of slavery. At least then he knew what would become of him. Here, in a place of legends, facing aberrations that were hidden from the light of day by the spirits themselves, he did not know what would happen when the monsters got to him. But he knew in his gut that his end with this darkness would not be something as simple as death. He didn't know what. And that terrified him.

Trasnu's fear poured into his veins. His posture lowered to the ground menacingly, letting the unconscious weight of Serche fall to the young man. His ears flatted against his skull as the hair on his body stiffened. Drool dripped from wicked-sharp fangs that were suddenly two inches longer, deadly claws curving from his fingers into razor points. A terrible, low growl emanated from his throat. Old Hunter's blood boiled with the suppressed fury born from fear, sharpening his senses and clearing his mind. He would die, if that was his fate, but he won't die with his tail between his legs.

Aaron was frozen where he was, his frame blankly supporting the unconscious wolf woman, his brain realizing their situation. Tiny fingers of cold dread clawed their way from his spine to the tips of his fingers and legs, rooting him into place, helpless as he waited for death to crawl out of the dark pit and devour them all. He simply knew he would die here -- there was no other possible means of escape. The straightforward space of roughly a meter between their group and that abominable, dark recess in the earth left no place for a comeback, no tactics to maneuver. A particularly loud wave of clicking washed over his terrified mind, and he froze with the certainty of it all. Tingling warmth spread down his legs.

But Lydia was different. She had never considered herself the least bit smart, and had never let her mind cloud the directions of her instincts. And right now in her heart it was a simple thing -- Serche had run out of magic, while she had a massive store of it.

The dubiousness of it never stopped her from trying -- it was practically unheard of for anyone to be able to share magical energy, much less for two races to share their magic with each other. But Lydia was of the dusk, and the blood that ran in their veins was mastered by their heart. And her heart -- her instinct -- was screaming at her to do one thing;

She grasped Serche's hand.

Lydia would not have been able to explain it in any words had somebody told her to. She just knew that in that moment, her whole being poured. A great torrent of energy simply moved from her body to Serche's. As much as she had gotten used to the feeling of freely floating on an ocean of unspent magic, she found herself floating on less. And much less. Her ocean was being drained by a hungry desert.

Serche felt her blood turn to pure heat. The sensation originated from her right hand, and for a second her unconscious mind did not register this particular feeling. Only for a second. The next, her eyes were flying open, glowing with an intense emerald light. Her body arched with the sudden influx of stimulus bordering on pain, and as she was so rudely woken from her tired slumber her mind struggled in processing what was happening to her.

Fire. She was being bathed with fire. Heat flowed in her veins and mapped her nerves, swirled in her insides and formed galaxies of pain. She was floating in a sea of vibrating pain. Pain that forcefully flooded her with vitality. Pain that opened up her mind to possibilities -- a pain so pure that the ancient spirits around her quaked in recognition.

Suddenly, she realized. Magic. She was being blasted with a torrent of magic.

She closed her eyes to give her reprieve, but it did not give her darkness. Instead, her closed lids showed her memories that flowed along with the energy. In the split second that it took, her mind saw scenes of fear, of anguish. Pain and hopelessness and dread. But then more recently -- of a fresh hope, of companionship, friendship, lust, love.

And then her confused brain caught up with their current situation. Even with her eyes closed, the flood of unnatural magic in her essence amplified her magical perception by a hundred-fold. Her mind saw the nature of things, and she saw the run'an for what it was. And she saw what was beneath it. What was right now crawling out of it.

She recoiled in fear. Her mind refused to come to terms with such archaic monstrosities, their spirits as old as the bedrock, their nature as rot, as decay, as the unforgiving, irreversible passage of the seasons.

Seche was shouting once again. Her mind had found an outlet for the massive magic in her; her mind was screaming 'get us out of here' and the magic saturating her being acquiesced. Her whole body burned as she expended a ridiculous amount of magic and for an instant she was an emperor and she was sitting on a throne high above, and the spirits around her were her subjects, and they bowed down to her absolute authority.

The Shaman felt all of the run'an shift.

Aaron and Trasnu and Lydia felt the whole world shudder, and as while a little while ago Serche parted the dense wall of plants, now the vegetation parted for Serche. They were pushed - everywhere around them they saw twisting, weaving and writhing stems of plants, opening up a way and warping to close around them as if they were a bubble shooting through water. The hole of darkness was gone in a matter of seconds.

And then it sped up. There was no time to panic. Aaron initially worried about how they'd move and the oxygen levels and everything else you're supposed to worry about in an enclosed space, but it all ended when he realized he was upside down. He turned in a split second, tossed about by the mind-boggling movement of the vines around them. At the back of his mind he thought that this must be how a shirt in a washing machine would feel if it gained consciousness.

The bubble was filled with yells and grunts and dizzying, half-formed contrasts of light and shadow. Aaron thought his neck would snap at one moment, but that ended when his knee smashed into something hard, and he felt something sharp graze hot lines across his face. Worries about his friends and the emerging nightmare from the darkness was cast into the air as he wondered whether he would survive this ordeal instead. He wanted to puke. In fact, he wasn't sure that he did not.

Lydia screamed in terror. Trasnu growled and thrashed alarmingly. Serche fainted.

And they were like that when they were spat out of the tangle the ungodly vines. Into open air.

Aaron registered three things. One, they were not on land -- he could not tell which side was up, and his sense of balance was still distorted, but the he could feel the whoosh of the wind everywhere around his body.

Two; they were falling down. He felt the irresistible tug of gravity in his guts as he plummeted through the air. His limbs whipped dangerously, instinctually, as he tried to gain impossible purchase to quell the entirely new dread that was eating at his mind. He actually saw the cliff they were falling from, saw his friends launch into the air like rag dolls, the black walls of the run'an quickly shrinking from his view. He was screaming.

Three; the sound of his terrorized scream wasn't the only sound buffeting his ears. A deep, powerful, constant churn roared louder and louder from below him.

And then all thoughts forcefully dislodged from his brain as he slammed into ice cold, turbulent water.

It quickly became a haze. He couldn't breathe, his scream dying from his throat as air was forcefully evicted from his lungs from his impact to the concrete-like surface of the water. The pain of his collision was washed away by the immediate effects of the biting cold. He fought with disorientation and panic as the swift currents of the river threatened to pull him under. His limbs thrashed hopelessly in an adrenaline-fueled, desperate bid to claw into the surface air and assuage his burning chest.