“What’s going on?” Picket’s voice, now that Wilfred was gone, was no longer even attempting to conceal his disgust. I never catch a break.
Smalls didn’t reply for a tense minute, and when he spoke again it was only to say, “Just a moment.”
Smalls stepped out of the cave and found lengths of wood suitable for two torches, and reentered, binding the sticks with tree-sap-soaked cloth as he went. A minute later, the cave lit up with light as the torches flared. He handed one to Picket and began to put away his things. “We have to get moving.” Smalls muttered, disliking the foreboding sense creeping up on him. He glanced at Heather, to the mouth of the cave, and then the fissure.
“We have time to take care of her, I’m sure.” Irritation and exasperation poked Smalls, but on the minor chance that the doe was hurt badly…... They needed to move, and they needed to move quickly, but if Heather had a head injury or some other malady he wasn’t aware of, things could worsen in a matter of seconds.
She was pretty, he realized, upon seeing her in the light. More than pretty, in fact, but beautiful.
Rough voices and heavy footfalls echoed above their heads, making even the stone quiver in terror. Smalls tensed.
Picket’s voice shook. “They can’t get in here.”
Smalls made a decision.
“They won’t be alone.” He said to no one in particular. “Can you carry her?”
“I think so.” Picket handed him the second torch, and Smalls watched as he tried and failed to lift his sister. “No, I can’t. Please help me.” Smalls glanced at Heather, and then at her brother, and felt a wave of sympathy. It isn’t his fault. He laid a hand on Picket’s shoulder and nodded.
“It’s all right. Please carry the torches and go on ahead.” Picket obeyed, standing rooted to the ground anxiously as Smalls lifted Heather off the ground. He could feel dried scabs cracking all along the scrape on his back and the uncomfortable sensation of fresh blood, but he ignored it.
Heather wasn’t heavy, at least. He followed Picket into the fissure. “I’m right behind you.” He added. Picket nodded, but his hands were shaking.
Smalls would be a liar if he said he didn’t feel the same way. But he took a deep breath, and plunged ahead into the tunnel.
It felt like they’d been in the tunnels for hours. Smalls knew that they hadn’t, but each second they stayed, his anxiety increased. Picket said nothing, but his concern for his sister weighed heavily on him, and heavily on Smalls as well.
Frustration and doubt invaded his choices, and Smalls hesitated at every turn, and he felt they were going in circles. His irritation with himself only grew with each identical tunnel and cavern. His instincts hammered in the back of his mind, and the sharp, painful reminder of his wound didn’t aid his concentration.
The tunnels were dark and wet. And there was a perpetual noise of running water everywhere that stirred painful, old memories. Memories that reminded Smalls of the reasons why he hated the dark, why he hated being underground.
Though he was not paying much attention to the details of his surroundings, he saw enough to confirm what he had begun to suspect; whatever this place had once been, it had been ransacked. There were even scorch marks on the walls and tattered, blackened tapestries hanging on by their last few threads.
Now it was distant, but booms ripped through the ground and vibrated everything, disorienting him further. Smalls cursed under his breath. Blast power. Whatever the wolves were attempting to accomplish, they weren’t succeeding. At least not completely. He forced himself onward.
But all they came across was a useless blocked entrance. A useless, wasted blocked entrance. And Smalls couldn’t figure out this puzzle, he couldn’t make himself understand where they were and-
Finally, Smalls reached his limit. He had to rest, even if just for a few moments. He set Heather down around the same time he fell to his knees, drawing air in at such a rapid pace it made his head spin.
There was now, for certain, blood running down his back. He grimaced to the ground. I’ll be lucky if it isn’t infected at this point. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but it was intensely distracting. Aside from that, every muscle in his body ached so badly that he could tell it was going to be misery for days afterwards. If we make it out alive. He realized that he was trembling and dug into his satchel for his canteen. He downed the entire contents in one gulp, not bothering to ration it. There was plenty of fresh running water in the mounds.
“What’s your name?”
He’d spent so much time left in the turmoil of his own thoughts, that it took him a minute to understand what Picket was asking. He wiped sweat from his forehead before answering.
“My name?” He gasped. “I’m……I’m Smalls.”
“Smalls?” Picket’s tone was surprised. Smalls’ laugh sounded more like a cough.
“I know. It’s strange. But I’ve always been little.” It was true. Smalls didn’t care about it too much-he’d learned, that, in the grand scheme of things, his height wasn’t going to make or break his life. Besides, it was amusing to watch other’s expressions morph from condescension to shock.
“Smalls, I’m good at math.”
And how on earth is that relevant? Smalls sat up, his breathing steadying slightly. He checked his tongue and replied, “That’s fantastic, Picket.” I take back what I said earlier. Math is better than this. “I wish we were in lessons right now, working on a massive math problem.” Even he was aware of how exhausted he sounded.
But Picket didn’t drop it. “We are, Smalls. This is a labyrinth, but it has rules.”
That caught Smalls’ attention. He stood up. Well, that explains why I’ve gotten us so lost. A quiet, bitter voice muttered in the back of his head. “Go on.”
Picket thought for a moment, and then continued. “Well, I know this area. I know Seven Mounds, at least from the outside. And while we’ve been running around in here-”
“Wasting time.” Smalls finished; his tone more bitter than he would have liked Picket to hear.
“No,” Picket shook his head. “It hasn’t been a waste. I’ve been getting to know the inside.” He began to pace, and Smalls tried to follow along as he spoke. “When we looked outside I recognized the second entrance, the blocked up one, as being outside the fifth mound. We came in the third mound. Now, by the way we came, it seems clear to me that there was no similar room in the fourth mound. We have been going around inside through these three mounds. The third, fourth, and fifth.”
That doesn’t give us a way out.
“I think, if there’s no entrance in the fourth mound-and there isn’t-then maybe there isn’t an entrance in the second and sixth mounds.”
“Okay, I sort of follow.” Smalls replied, brow furrowed as he tried to work it over in his head. Gah-I’m overthinking it.
“So,” Picket continued, “I know there’s the stream up near the first mound. And there’s the stream you heard, which comes out and must join the brook that runs right past the seventh mound.”
The information clicked, and Smalls’ eyes widened. “So, you can find the stream entrance and-”
“Uncle Wilfred.” Picket finished. “I think so.”
Smalls nodded. He was ready to try pretty much anything to get into open air. “Lead on.” He lifted Heather once again.
The noises from before became much louder, echoing through the tunnels. Flapping, wet wings, and heavy, pounding footsteps. And then-shouts, curses, violent, angry threats. If Smalls had had his eyes closed and wasn’t painfully aware that he was underground, he would have guessed he was in the Palace in the First Warren.
Then Picket halted suddenly, and Small nearly crashed into him but managed to avert that disaster by pivoting quickly on his feet. There were three corridors-one leading up, one leading down, and one leading straight on. The sounds were moving closer, and becoming harsher and quicker, and Smalls was struggling not to panic. Heather stirred.
“Please tell me you know which one is ours.” He pleaded, glancing back and forth from the way they had come and the ways they must choose to go.
Picket paced frantically and shook his head, rubbing at his face. “I don’t have it Smalls.”
Crashing noise from behind, and Smalls shouted, “Get it quick!”
“I can’t!” Picket cried, voice cracking. In the torchlight, Smalls could see how pale he’d turned. “If we choose badly, there’s no telling what’s down the wrong passages, have you looked at some of the tapestries in here? This is not a safe place.” Smalls had not been paying attention to the wall hangings, but he didn’t doubt Picket’s words.
“Agreed.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t solve it.”
Smalls glanced around wildly. Picket was at the end of whatever had been keeping him going, and Smalls was rapidly losing all ability to think straight through the combined ventures of exhaustion, blood-loss, thirst, hunger, and frustration. This is going wonderful.
“Then we’ll do what I usually did in math,” Smalls sighed, his voice sounding strangely calm to himself.
“What’s that?” Picket asked, voice hopeless.
Smalls shoved him forward. “We’ll guess!”
Author's Note: I should probably explain what the **** I'm doing lol. So this is a re-telling of the first book of the TGE series from Smalls' prespective and the basis for an alternate storyline I'm calling the True Blue AU. So yeah. Also, fun tidbit, I think I fell asleep uploading this chapter last night so........I digress. Have a great summer everyone :)