Blood of Wonderland (Queen of Hearts Saga #2)(21)
“Put that away,” he mumbled. “You could not fight what threatens to push us off this ledge.” As they crept around the boulders, the Spade took a surprising step between them. Dinah blinked several times before she was able to decipher the illusion. What she thought were two boulders was actually one carved to look like two separate shapes. Inside a narrow space between the two rounded forms hid a tall hole, almost impossible to spot unless you were standing at the perfect angle. Dinah knew she never would have been able to find it on her own.
“Through here!” shouted the Spade. Something churned in her stomach as she looked into the inky tunnel. It was a lurking, terrible feeling, a fear that distorted and confused. She recognized it immediately—this was how she felt when the root had twisted into her mouth. There was evil in that tunnel.
“No, I can’t go in there.”
Sir Gorrann grabbed her arm and practically dragged her inside. “We have no choice, Princess. Move!”
She opened her mouth to object, but there were no other options. Head bowed, she followed Sir Gorrann’s mare through the narrow opening. Morte gave a great huff and stomped the ground furiously, his hooves sending booming echoes through the quarry. The ground seemed to shudder. Finally, once Dinah took her hands off his reins, he ducked his head and entered the tunnel willingly. His flanks brushed against the wall. He was unfamiliar and uncomfortable in this rocky terrain. His ears were flattened against his head, and Dinah could see his muscles tensed and ready to run. She felt a sudden rush of panic.
Sir Gorrann, his mare, Dinah, and Morte were stacked end to end, moving as quickly as they dared. If Morte should panic and bolt, they would all be trampled under his crushing weight. Sir Gorrann glanced back at Morte, his face pale and drawn. He had obviously come to the same conclusion. They paused, their hearts humming loudly in their closely drawn quarters.
“This is a wicked place,” breathed Sir Gorrann. “Let’s hurry. Keep yer devil calm.” The tunnel was maybe a half mile long, and from the moment they entered, an all-encompassing darkness draped them like a heavy blanket. Overhead, Dinah could hear the slight slithering of roots, a whispered hiss, and the sound of a thousand tiny legs. A liquid dripped onto her cheek, warm and smelling of blood. Her hand brushed up against something wet and rubbery and she leaped toward the mare with a shriek. Morte was becoming more agitated, and Dinah forced herself to remain calm as a wet tendril caressed her cheek in the darkness. Something was crawling in her hair that made tiny clicking sounds with a sharp mouth. It scuttled across her forehead and leaped onto the wall. The walls around them were alive, raising their voices in a hissed chorus. Evil, evil, evil. Sir Gorrann pressed himself against the wall to let Cyndy pass, and Dinah felt his hand close around her wrist, grateful for the warmth of his calloused fingers. A creature wet and long encircled their wrists before slithering away into the tunnel.
“Do not run. Do not run.” He repeated the mantra again and again, convincing himself rather than Dinah. Dinah did not need the reminder. As terrible as the tunnel was—and it was the foulest place she could ever dream of, a place of nightmares—there would be nothing worse than being trampled alive and left to die in this place, to have your body consumed slowly by whatever demons thrived in this dark corridor. Her pace stayed steady, and her hand tightened around Sir Gorrann’s in a show of strength. She would keep him calm. They stayed silent, afraid their voices would collapse the rock inward, or even worse, stir up the invisible creatures to aggression. A wild fear of the unknown pressed against Dinah’s brain and she found herself remembering every dark thing that had ever happened to her. She saw death, bodies, the king. Charles, with worms crawling out of his eyes. Vittiore, wearing the crown her brother made her. The dead farmer, the arrow in his back leaking blood.
She stumbled once, twice. Sir Gorrann was having a hard time as well, murmuring violent things to himself as he bumped off the wall, falling over his own feet. Some slithery heavy thing had settled on his shoulder, and he struggled to wrench it away. Dinah kept walking. She couldn’t help him. Her hope was gone. The steam from Morte’s nostrils was burning her elbow now, his muzzle pressed against her back. He was pushing faster now. We’re going to die in here, she thought. Another thought occurred to her—perhaps they were already dead. Perhaps this tunnel was death, in all its hideous finality.
She couldn’t remember who she was. How did she get here again? A creature was prying at her mouth. Might as well open it, she thought. What could be the harm? Then warm light appeared at the end of the tunnel, a hazy pinkish spot, welcoming and safe. It throbbed through the darkness. Cyndy broke into a sprint toward it and Sir Gorrann followed, forgetting all previous instruction, so desperate to be free from this underground hell. Slimy, terrible things detached themselves from Dinah’s hair and wrists, slithering down her legs and back into the darkness. The light blazed through the dark. She burst through into its glorious pinkness and fell to her knees beside Sir Gorrann. He pushed her out of the way just before Morte’s gigantic body collapsed in a heap right where she had been kneeling.
They lay on the ground, gasping, taking in heavy breaths of delicious, sweet air, so happy to be free of the tunnel. Minutes passed. There was nothing sweeter than being alive. Morte whinnied happily beside her, rolling on the soft carpet of flowers to erase the stench of the tunnel. When she finally felt balanced again, Dinah peered down at her hands on the ground. Purple flowers, the same color that Cheshire wore so often, opened and shut before her eyes, their blooms radiating individual rays of soft light. With each pulse of the petal, a tiny tendril of red lashed out, a pink light on the tip of the stamen. It was remarkable and strange all at once, and her eyes followed the ground until she saw that one flower led to a patch of flowers, and the patch of flowers led to a field. They were in an entire valley full of blinking purple and pink flowers, pouring out light and—she held her hand over the tip of the flower—Yes, heat.