Benediction Denied: A Labyrinth of Souls Novel Read online

  “Yes,” Adam said. “If I can’t get back above ground into the sunlight, I will die.”

  The snake thing retreated and the whispering again commenced.

  Adam began to cough, a harsh, rasping, lung-ripping cough that hurt his ribs and scorched his throat. His dehydrated lower lip split down the middle and the tang of blood flooded his mouth.

  “I need water,” he gasped.

  Again the slithering, but this time, when the snake thing spoke, Adam was prepared for it to be close. Still, closer than he expected.

  “We can take you to water,” she—it—said.

  “Please,” Adam choked out.

  “But Oliver said—”

  “Oliver?” Adam fell again to coughing. As soon as he regained his breath, he responded. “FUCK OLIVER!”

  When he heard himself say that, he remembered the last time he said those words with that wrath.

  It was all he could do to keep from thumping that smug fuck at his fancy dinner table with all those weird people. But assault hadn’t seemed to be the answer to his situation, so he had restrained himself.

  But here he was again. Oliver. Oliver had something to do with his being here. Oliver had his smelly little fingers in every aspect of Adam’s life, even here! It seemed like there was nothing Adam could do to rid himself of goddamned Oliver.

  What else did he have to sacrifice to that sorry bastard?

  Desperately sorry for his antagonizing outburst to these snake things, these “people,” he calmed himself and again addressed those weird creatures who could take him to the life-saving water. “Please,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Can you take me to the water? Can you save my life?”

  “Oliver said you would be worth saving, if you yourself believed that to be true,” the snake said.

  “Is Oliver your god?” Adam asked.

  “No, Oliver lives here. He is people, like us.”

  “He is not like me?”

  “No, he is people, like us.”

  Adam tried to remember Oliver sitting at the head of that ostentatious table. Had he been a snake thing? He was certainly a snake, but was he an actual serpent, like these people? Did he have legs? Feet?

  Did he have a tail? Did he slither when he moved?

  As dream memories go, he could not quite remember if Oliver was a serpent with a head, arms, and hands sitting in that chair. Did his tail curl under the table?

  What about the others at that weird dinner party? Were there serpent bodies beneath those fancy clothes? Did Oliver’s tail wind around the tails of others at the table? Were they communicating in that way while he innocently ate their food and tried to take them at their word?

  Could have been.

  In the ways of dreams, Adam could barely remember Oliver’s face. Only that he knew it, he knew that face as well as he knew his own.

  Fucking Oliver.

  Spent, Adam let his head hang and let the hot ball of emotion rise through his chest to the back of his throat. He was out of food, out of strength, out of energy, out of hope. “I don’t know if I am worth saving,” he said softly. “I am a wreck.” He pulled the remaining shirt sleeve from his waistband—the other having been lost long ago—wiped his face and blew his nose. “But if you help me, I will work to be worthy of your trust.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “Oliver has no right to judge me.”

  Oliver. That shit. That marriage-wrecking piece of worthlessness. He was the one who held the keys to Adam’s fate? Oh, that’s good. That’s rich.

  “You tell Oliver …” Adam paused. He did not want to alienate these creatures who could help him. If ever there was a time to be truthful, to be real, to be whole, to be honest and not manipulative, this was it.

  What was the truth? Fuck Oliver? That was the truth. But that wasn’t going to get him out of here. He sighed in resignation. “Tell Oliver I will be grateful,” he said.

  “Oliver wants your magic,” the voice said.

  Of course he does. He wants everything.

  Adam patted his shirt pocket that held the few remaining cards. “I will give you half,” he said. “And when I get out, I will leave behind what I have not used.”

  Again, the serpents conferred.

  “We will lead you to water, but you must carry us.”

  Their slithering sounds made a certain chorus as the whole pack of them approached him. He had doubts about his ability to carry himself, much less heavy-bodied creatures.

  Slowly, painfully, Adam got to his feet and stood stoically, gritting his teeth as serpents nosed around his screaming, swollen feet, ankles, and then began to wind their way up his legs. There seemed to be many of them, wrapping around his waist, winding up his torso to his arms, around his neck. He gritted his teeth against his compulsion to slap them off, to run screaming into the darkness, but after a few moments, they settled.

  They were very heavy.

  Adam began walking. His feet were so swollen they seemed like hot baked potatoes on the ends of his legs.

  Still, he limped along, bent over, carrying what seemed to be tons of thick, living ropes draped around him, tightening, loosening, sliding, moving relentlessly around him.

  Unnerving didn’t begin to describe it.

  He was tired. Exhausted. Dehydrated.

  One of the snakes whispered directions in his ear, but he was certain he was no closer to water than he had been when they started out.

  He began to stumble, and when he did, the snakes shifted, writhing around him.

  “Are we nearly there?” he asked.

  “Nearly there?” was the reply. “Are we nearly there?”

  Were they asking him? Why would they ask him? They were the ones giving directions. “Please,” he said. “My feet … I am so tired … I don’t think I can …”

  Just as he thought he could not bear another step, he heard it.

  Water.

  Thundering water—a waterfall—echoing in a giant chamber.

  Had they come upon it suddenly, or had he been so caught up in his own misery he failed to hear it?

  How could he fail to hear this?

  Maybe Oliver—that fuck—took him to his absolute breaking point every time.

  Had Oliver orchestrated all of this? Had Oliver ordered his kidnapping, given him the magic cards, made him walk through endless tunnels for miles, for days, skirting death at every turn?

  No, of course not. Oliver was not in Congo. He was back in Minneapolis.

  Chrissie was back in Minneapolis, too. He had left her alone there for three months while he came to Congo to escape responsibilities. To escape himself, he had left his wife at home in close proximity, very close proximity, to Oliver.

  He couldn’t blame Oliver for this. Truth be told, he couldn’t really blame Oliver for anything.

  Not even Mouse.

  Adam shook off his supreme annoyance at himself and leaned forward, hoping the weight of the snakes would help propel him toward the water.

  Water!

  Adrenaline shot through him and gave him energy to make final steps.

  “Turn left,” the voice said.

  He obeyed, and cool water sprayed across his face.

  One by one, in some apparent order, the snakes descended sliding their loops down and off him. They rustled gently, pooled at his feet.

  Adam reveled in the feeling of mist wetting his shirt, his pants. He let it run in rivulets down his face. He opened his mouth, and though he couldn’t catch enough to swallow, it soothed his parched lips and tongue.

  He wanted to laugh, to shout out that he was still alive into the misty cavern but first, he had business to conduct.

  In the total darkness, Adam couldn’t see the creatures that had brought him here, couldn’t see the gigantic cavern he sensed in front of him, couldn’t see the waterfall, but he could hear it.

  Water was life. Water meant safety, water was transportation, and water inexorably flowed to lakes, rivers, oceans. If he could get into the water, he could be save
d. He would be saved.

  He closed his eyes and held his arms out to embrace the icy spray that wet him.

  “Thank you,” he whispered in gratitude.

  “You owe us the magic,” the serpent said.

  As before, when Adam considered telling them he was their god, he now considered reneging on the deal to give up half of his precious magical cards.

  He paused, thinking about it.

  He didn’t really know what lay ahead of him, but he knew this was the end of his association with the serpents. What could they do if he failed to keep his part of the bargain? Besides, it was Oliver who wanted the magic. They were doing his bidding. What did he owe Oliver?

  Nothing. Not a goddamned thing.

  And yet … they had kept their part of the bargain. This was their realm, their home. They knew this place, and he did not. It could be that they could do him real damage if he skated from his obligation.

  And yet … the magic. It was only by the grace of the magic he was able to stay alive this long in this hellish place. What if he needed it?

  If he needed it and he didn’t have it, he would die.

  Did Oliver care about that?

  No. Oliver didn’t give a shit.

  Maybe he would just give up a few cards. They didn’t need to know how many he had.

  He sat down on the damp ground. The serpents assembled around him, crawling around his feet, his legs, over his lap, restlessly moving as if they could read his mind and knew of his hesitation to keep his part of the bargain.

  What was he thinking? They could see. Of course they could see in this darkness. They could see how many cards he had left. They could see that he was more of a snake than they were, his temptations to cheat them were the temptations he had to cheat everybody, all the time.

  The serpents closed in.

  Was this an aggressive move?

  Adam recoiled, but they had him surrounded. There was no escape, except to jump into the waterfall that was so close the spray wet his clothes.

  The snake things were more eager to get the magic to take to Oliver than they were to wrestle him for it.

  They could probably do great damage to him if he tried to cheat them. At minimum, they would get some of the magic, and perhaps they knew how to use it better than he did. At worst, he could lose all the magic and be stuck here with nothing.

  Surely Oliver knew how to use the magic. He was an asshole. A snake. The king of all snakes.

  And by even considering cheating on the deal, he saw himself as the snake he was, too. In comparison, actually, Oliver was not so bad.

  Adam unbuttoned his shirt pocket and removed the remaining cards. He counted out eight then put four back in his pocket.

  He blindly held out the other four, and a soft hand gently took them from him. Small fingers grazed his own.

  A hand! With fingers! What were these creatures, anyway? What did they look like in the light?

  Once they had the cards, the snakes retreated. Adam had a moment of panic at the thought of being left alone again. They were not such great company, but at least they were company.

  He needed to see the water, the waterfall, the whole situation, so he would know how to proceed. They got him to water, but he still had to get back to the surface of the earth. Back to the village. Back to his family in Minnesota so he could make his confession and then make his amends.

  He so desperately needed to make his amends.

  He took one of his four remaining cards and flicked it into the cavern.

  The concussion was lost in the enormous grotto, but the flash of blue concentric circles illuminated what lay ahead just long enough for him to see that he was sitting on a rock outcropping. A very thin ledge.

  To the left of him, a stunning waterfall fell from enormous height, and fell hundreds more feet below him. There was nothing but emptiness to the right. Behind him, the dark black, endless tunnel.

  They had taken him to water, but he had no access to it, except to jump to his death.

  Tricked. Again. Tricked.

  Fucking Oliver.

  As his eyes again grew accustomed to the dark of the cavern and tunnel, he saw that even though the magic card had not given him access to the body of water way below, it had again gifted him with the slight blue flame. It burned on the ground right next to him.

  He was grateful for the flame, the one almost-constant in this ridiculously long and twisting underground ordeal. And now the two of them were together again for the end.

  Adam and his blue flame. Together forever.

  He picked it up between his thumb and forefinger and held it above the serpents who were slithering back into the tunnel.

  “Hey!” he called after them. “What now?”

  One of them turned back to look at him. In the pale blue light, Adam recognized her face. She had sat across from him at Oliver’s dinner party.

  “Hey,” the serpent replied, then glided into the darkness. “What now?”

  Yes, yes, now he was certain he had lost his mind.

  Adam inched closer to the edge of the precipice. He held the light out over the abyss, but its light was swallowed up by the mammoth cavern.

  Adam got to his knees, and braced with one hand on the wall of the tunnel, got to his horrifically painful feet. They were so raw and swollen he thought they might burst with the pressure of his weight.

  He held the little blue flame up, but it illuminated only his immediate surroundings. He saw nothing but the ledge he stood on and the walls of the tunnel. Ahead of him was the great unknown.

  As he stood facing the enormous cavern, the thundering water to his left, the pool, or river, or whatever, way below him, he contemplated his miniscule importance in the world, both above and below ground.

  He was inconsequential to everyone but himself. This waterfall didn’t care. Those snake things didn’t care. The tunnels didn’t care. The magic didn’t care.

  And Chrissie didn’t care.

  When he had put the four of them on the plane to Minneapolis, he knew that was the end of their marriage. He just hadn’t wanted to face it until now, until just this minute. He hadn’t had the courage to face it until just now, right now, as he faced death and was about to meet his maker. Having his girls come to Congo was a last-ditch effort to save his family, and he had failed.

  Failure.

  He had lost them. All of them, by being a prick.

  And now, here he stood on the precipice. Again.

  Clearly, he had two choices: go back into the tunnel, or go forward, dropping most assuredly to his death hundreds of feet below. Chances are, he’d be smashed to pieces on rocks before ever hitting the water and drowning in the freezing, crushing, churning, maelstrom.

  There was no choice, not really. He couldn’t go back.

  His chances of surviving in the water were perhaps one in a million, but he had no chance at all if he returned to the tunnel. In the tunnel he would starve, die of infected feet, die of thirst.

  He wanted to sit and wait, to torture himself further by reviewing his life, to make promises to God, to pray, to try to make himself right with his life, to make himself right with his death.

  But that was just postponing the inevitable.

  “God save me,” he whispered, cupped the blue flame close to his chest, and leaped off the ledge.

  10

  ONCE AIRBORNE, survival instincts took over. Unexpectedly desperate to live, Adam windmilled his arms to try to stay upright, to keep his balance as he fell through the darkness. He wanted to land in the water as vertical as possible. He crossed his legs at the ankles, hoping to slice through the water like a needle with little drag. That would be his best chance of surviving. Falling from this height and landing on his back or his belly would be the end of him.

  Of course if he landed on rocks, all this would have been an exercise in futility. Perhaps it was, anyway.

  The blue flame stuck to the front of his shirt.

  He fell for a l
ong time, longer than he imagined he could ever fall. Time slowed, warped here the way geometry and proportions of the dining room had bent, the way the tunnels had elongated. In slow motion, he fell until he thought perhaps this was another aspect of the nightmare: the falling dream. He would fall forever. Surely he would awaken in Jolmy’s house to the sounds of the family rising and getting ready for their day.

  Please God, let it be so.

  Then he sensed the water coming up beneath him. The splash of the waterfall as it poured into the pool came back into focus. He anticipated the coolness of the water, the increased spray as it soaked him.

  Time may have slowed, but his heart raced. He squinted his eyes and waited to either smash on a rock and wake up in—what, heaven?—or sink deeply into what he hoped was normal water and not something underworldweird that would keep him submerged until he drowned.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, took a deep breath, and braced himself for impact.

  He knifed through the water almost as he expected, except that no water washed up his nose, nothing cold surrounded him.

  The little blue flame on his chest did not extinguish. Instead, it had created a bubble around itself and, therefore, him.

  He could breathe!

  Adam hit the water perfectly vertical, and then the current swept him in great, dizzying black circles. Without the protection of the blue air bubble he would certainly have drowned. As it was, his heart pounded loudly in his ears, and he had a hard time catching his breath. Breathing normally was out of the question. All around him was black water. He could only see down the length of his body and the shiny interior of the weird bubble in the blue light.

  The swirling eddy eventually spit him out and he shot into the current, going quickly in some dark direction. All he could see was the blue flame, still sitting on his chest, illuminating the strange envelope of air. He must glow in the darkness of this cavern, this lake, this river.

  Do you see me, Oliver? Are you watching?

  The river sped him along at a startling speed, up and over rocks, around eddies and over small falls. He was small, and the magic insulated him. He tried to remain flexible, to just go with the flow and let the bubble do its job. As long as the blue light held, he had hope of survival.