Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #16 July 2015 | Page 5

Coils

By Valery Riddle
Getting a faceful of cobwebs has never been
on my list of fun pastimes. I’m not exactly afraid of
spiders, but having something sticky all over my skin
makes me squeeze my eyes shut and rub it away frantically with a special kind of disgust mixed with fear
that rapidly runs through my body.
I’d love to meet the person who came up with
the idea that rich families are supposed to own huge
mausoleums with a twisted net of chambers and corridors. Especially when nobility starts to slowly die off
and no longer has money to maintain perfect order in
their mansions, let alone their cemeteries. Gods know,
Rashen can maintain only one third of the living quarters as it is. It’s a shame watching the building, that
probably saw the very first rulers of this land among
its walls, turn to ruins, but nature takes its course.
Moss and ivy reign there now, making the feeling of
serenity settle in. I can’t say I have anything against
living here, away from the busy city and the politics.
A drop of moisture falls onto my forehead and
I flinch, wiping it away. So much for serenity. Whatever made me come down here is clearly not worth it.
Curiosity notwithstanding, this place will haunt me
in my nightmares. Even the hot shower I’m taking
afterwards will not be enough to banish the chill from
my body.
I hesitate for a split second then steadily continue. I can’t remember why I came here in the first
place. Was it Rashen who asked me to look for something here? I can’t recall.
Our son - I keep thinking about Consionel

as our son even though he was Rashen’s first - used
to run away and play here when he was a child. We
would call him to come back for hours. Rashen used
to get very worried. He has never been too easy on
himself. The man had grey hair before long. He has
never blamed anybody for his ailments, bless him.
I haven’t been away for more than half an hour
but such vivid thoughts of my husband make me stop
dead in my tracks. The torch in my hand flickers; its
blue light dances off the walls before the crystal stops
acting up. It’s not supposed to do that. I frown and
examine it but there’s nothing wrong with it now.
Maybe I should turn around and go back home.
I wait a moment and resume walking. Somewhere in
the back of my mind a thought slithers that I can’t look
back. I want to but it feels like too much effort. I came
here willingly, didn’t I? Why would I turn back now?
The voice in my mind feels fake. But it also feels like
I should trust it. I nod to myself and continue walking
until I’m standing at a fork.
I stare numbly at the passages that go into two
different directions trying to figure out what my goal
is here so I can make a choice. The torch flickers again
and I shake it, knowing all too well shaking doesn’t fix
the crystal that is losing its power. Grotesque shadows
run over the stone walls. They look like snakes, or
arms, or the tails of an ancient creature.
The light becomes steady again. I look up at
the ceiling, where roots are sticking out of the ground
and coiling around each other, and snicker quietly. Of
course the roots cast those shadows. And I need to go
left from here, what was I thinking?
The passage soon takes a dip and the roots
start disappearing as they can’t reach so far down.
Stone slabs replace them, and I shine light at them to
enjoy the pattern carved into them a long time ago.
The walls still retain the faint outlines of the pictures
that can only be depictions of sacrifices to the God of
Death. People in the old days used to be very zealous
about this sort of thing. I honestly can’t even recall
where the Death temple is situated. Not that I imagine
the information being in any way useful to me.

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