The Wonder (Queen of Hearts Saga #2)(25)
“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. Something dripped onto her cheek, something warm and smelling of blood. Her hand brushed up against something wet and rubbery and she leapt toward the mare with a shriek. Morte was becoming more and 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, something that made tiny clicking sounds with a sharp mouth. It scuttled across her forehead and leapt 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. Something wet and long encircled their wrists and then slunk 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, 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. She would not run. If she ran, Morte would run, and they would all die. 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 her silver crown. The dead farmer, the arrow in his back leaking blood.
She stumbled once, twice… again. 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, 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? Something was prying at her mouth. Might as well open it, she thought. What could be the harm? Then, there was light. A warm light appeared at the end of the tunnel, a hazy pinkish spot, warm and 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. Dinah did not run. She kept her pace steady, and Morte did not run. Slimy, terrible things detached themselves from her hair and wrists. Something slithered down her leg 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, radiating light and— she held her hand over the tip of the flower. Yes. Heat.
The flowers radiated a warm heat when they popped open, which accounted for the heavenly air that flowed through this field. The grass was a bright green, and felt more like a soft pillow than a wooded forest floor. Dinah felt the overwhelming desire to slip off her boots and run laughing through the flowers. It could only be called a hysterical happiness. She was drunk with it.
“My gods,” she heard Sir Gorrann mutter, and Dinah stood up. The Spade rested his hand on her arm and with a gentle touch tilted her head upward. They both looked in wonder… at the mushrooms. Thousands of enormous, swirly mushrooms filled the field. They were huge, as tall as trees in most places. Their stems were wider than Dinah, trunklike white stalks that led up into a thick, billowy explosion of color, the horizon like a bucket of upside-down parasols. They exploded from the ground, each unique in its varied colors and type, giving the overall effect of being in a hazy dream. Dinah turned in a circle. The valley was deep and long, a maze of color and fantastic curling shapes, each mushroom standing proudly against the sky.
Dinah blinked. She suddenly wasn’t sure how long she had been staring at the mushrooms. Had she been here an hour or a minute? She looked over at Sir Gorrann. The Spade stood rooted in the same place he had been before, his mouth agape. Dinah shook herself out of the trance and began walking toward one of the mushrooms. Its cap was a brilliant yellow with swirls of glittering orange and red, like someone had taken a wet paintbrush to the top. Underneath the cap, a warm white light pulsed within its gills. They seemed to contract with each burst of light, as if they were breathing. The mushroom was utterly intoxicating, perhaps the most attractive thing she had ever seen. It seemed to be calling to her. Dinah reached out to touch the stem.