Page 137 of A Song of Air
Guts and blood rained down over her, staining her skin and mouth. She felt her own palms split open from the force she used, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t let go of the spike. Even as she used her magic to help tear her away from beneath the beast, she gripped it tightly until her palms burned as badly as her eyes had once so long ago.
The monster keeled over, its great body thumping on the ground. Mud splattered everywhere, and it wasn’t until Bryson was sure the beast was not breathing that she dropped the spike and raised her bloody hands to her face, wiping off the lenses. All she did was smear dirt and blood.
Her head tilted up. Several gazes stared down at her from the top of the ravine. Among them, the queen’s. Bryson fought the urge to flip her the finger, only restraining herself when the queen, in all her beautiful glamor, smiled cruelly down at Bryson.
It was in that malicious, calculating look that Bryson knew she hadn’t won at all.
Suddenly, the beast’s body began to twitch, and Bryson’s gaze snapped to it. She took a fearful step back as bones within it began snapping. Its leathery, scaley flesh started moving like something had come alive within it.
Bryson stepped back as its flesh reamed open, splitting with a terrible wet sound. Bright green blood sprayed, and rib bone pushed through carrion. One pointed bone peeked out at a time until it pushed through completely.
Bryson barely contained her scream as she was met with an enormous spider made of bone. A creature of muscle and ivory, smeared in green. It scuttled across the corpse of the beast and charged.
Bryson turned and ran on impulse. Her heart slammed up to her throat, nearly choking her. Her arms pumped at her sides, her lungs burning as she heaved. The creature slid through the mud, thundering the ground as viciously as the leathery beast.
She cursed herself for dropping the spike. She shot her hands backwards, ripping her magic out to push the thing back. She sensed it behind her, sensed the way it slid away. She could only run with all her might, but it felt useless. Her fear choked her, nearly paralyzing her. And that thing was way too fast, her magic weakening.
When a sharp bit of bone scraped against her spine, Bryson screamed. It tore through her clothes, her skin, and shoved her face-first into the mud. Her back blazed with a fire that spread down her spine. The creature dug the bone in deeper, ripping through her skin.
Bryson screamed as it dug deeper, pinning her into the muck.
Her magic exploded, but the injury made her weak. Her magic flickered like the flame of a dying candle, like the slowest breath leaving lips.
Her fingers clawed against the mud, but every jerk of her body made her back scream. The agony was unbearable, and tears slid down her eyes as she sobbed.
“Please,” she cried, tasting mud, salt, and blood. The glasses slid down her face and through blurry vision, she stared skyward, finding faces leering, hearing their voices as they laughed at her.
“You can end this torment.” The queen’s voice echoed down the maze. “You can save yourself. All you have to do iseatthe fruit.”
Bryson sobbed. Never before had she felt so weak. She wanted to fight, but something inside her fractured the harder the creature dug into her back. She felt it push past muscle, to her own bones. She screamed, “Please, please stop!”
“Eat. The. Fruit.”
“Please.” Bryson tilted her head up and stared directly at the queen. “I don’t want to.” Something inside her broke at the sight of the queen’s expression then. Half-blurry, half-clear, smeared with blood red and green and mud, but she saw clearly.
Begging was futile.
She’d either die in the mud or...
From above fruit began to fall. It landed in front of her, one fruit after another, splattering and buried in front of her face.
An invitation.
A threat.
Die in the mud or eat the fruit and remain trapped in Unseelie forever.
“Eat,” the queen commanded.
Bryson stared at the half-buried red, Unseelie peach, but didn’t reach for it. In retaliation, the creature dug deeper into her skin. Tears streamed down Bryson’s cheeks. She screamed, she was sure of it, until her throat was hoarse, and it felt like she was spitting blood.
“Please,” she moaned again.
It was useless.
Die or eat.
Die or eat.
