(48) Who Was She To Judge
Tara strode forward confidently, the sudden cessation of mountain sounds not deterring her. The darkness overcame her quickly, but she cast a small light spell, little more than a candleflame, that illuminated her way.
One benefit, perhaps the only one, of her nuarch heritage was excellent darkvision. Though she could not see in total darkness, a product of her other heritage, the small light was more than enough.
The passage before was much the same as when she entered, an impenetrable forest of stalagmites barring all progress save for the path carved through the middle. The ground she walked upon was smooth, though uneven, making her wonder if it had been carved by an underground river at some point.
The tunnel was dark, with no light indicating an end. It appeared to stretch on forever, and as she walked through it, her thoughts began to wander. How far away would she be able to perceive light? If she saw a pinprick of light now, how far did that mean she had left to walk? What would she do if this process took multiple days? She brought some food in her pack, but not enough for a days-long sojourn.
A change in the environment brought her attention back to the present, and she realized a fog had been rolling in. It weaved between the stalagmites, making them appear teeth among white gums.
As she walked, it steadily rolled over the path, thickening until it was up to her knees, while the stalagmite forest became a sheer blanket of white, reflecting her light spell so brightly that she had to dim it.
Fog would not normally concern her. It was undoubtedly humid in this cave system, as evidenced by the constant drip-drip she heard throughout, but the way the fog behaved was unnerving. It had started slowly, yet within a matter of minutes, she was entirely surrounded by the stuff, leaving her with a view of only about 3 feet in any direction.
Even stranger, her mana sight was not picking up anything unusual. If the fog were magical, she would understand. It was part of the test. However, this was either natural or something other than magic. There was the possibility that whatever magic animated the fog was hidden from her sight, but that did little to comfort her, either.
She could just make out the edge of the path by the jutting stalagmites on either side. The path itself was around feet wide, so walking in the exact center, she needed only to lean in either direction to verify her course.
After what felt like hours, she approached her first real challenge tentatively: an intersection.
She sighed, shaking her head.
A maze? Is that what this is? Really? What exactly is this supposed to test?
She walked over to the edge of the fog and, reaching a hand into it, channeled her mana, increasing the strength in her arms. With a crack, the sharp top of a stalagmite sat atop her palm, which she withdrew from the fog.
She placed it in the center of the intersection, pointing it in the direction she had been heading, and continued on her way.
Sure enough, after not much time, she encountered a three-way intersection, where she had to turn either left or right. Following the same method, she broke off the top of a stalagmite and pointed it to the left, the direction she had started down.
She followed this method for what her mind told her must have been days, but what was probably just a couple of hours. She would stumble upon a crossroad or intersection with the stalagmites she had placed, always breaking off another and indicating a new direction she had gone.
The paths circled back on themselves nearly endlessly. She was not surprised to discover that there was only one ‘correct’ path, but it reinforced the impression that this place was engineered rather than a natural environment, or perhaps a combination of both.
Strangely, a doubt began to creep over her with every turn she took. She would see her own markings and wonder if they had been tampered with. Did she actually place them like that? What if someone—or thing—was moving things when she was not looking?
She constantly shook the thoughts away, staying true to her plan, and eventually the fog began to lift, revealing a cave system that was…exactly as she had found it.
What was different was the strange vibration that filled the air. She could hear it, a low rumble that sounded like rocks scraping together, but she could also see it. The fog would roil and move, like waves on the surface of water would indicate a disturbance beneath.
Initially, Tara had been dismissive of the sound. Although she had not spent much time below ground like her nuarch brethren, she was unsurprised to hear what she assumed were the sounds of earth moving around her. Many sounds that could not be heard above the water were nearly deafening below. Surely the earth was similar.
However, after only a couple of minutes listening, a chill began to creep up her spine. The sound was regular, consistent. It lasted for a few seconds, there would be silence for a few seconds, and then it would come again.
It reminded her of breathing.
Subconsciously, her footsteps had become light, her movements fluid, making no sound. She looked around as she walked, but the tunnel remained unchanged. There were no side passages, no pockets or voids in the wall for creatures to hide in. It seemed that the source of the breathing must be—
Just as she had the thought, she stopped cold. Before her was a mound of flesh piled atop the ground. She could make out bulbous feet connected to legs that looked like fallen logs in a forest, or perhaps a strange stalagmite mutation, forming thick stone columns that grew horizontally.
The skin looked rough like leather, and several kinds of boils or tumors protruded from it like knodules on trees. Little gray and brown hairs stuck up from cracks in the skin, patches of dry grass in the cracked desert ground.
As she was taking the sight in, the creature’s smell reached Tara, and she fought hard to keep her breakfast down. She kneeled on the ground, her hands on her gut, and she squeezed. She did not know if the move actually helped, but with focus, she managed to acclimate to the stench without gagging.
She was tempted to breathe through her mouth to avoid the smell, but the idea of taking that foul odor directly into her mouth and throat disturbed her on some primal level.
So, this was the second test? Her passage was barred by…what, an ogre or something? One of its legs was as large as her entire body, so she had no doubt that it could clobber her into dust with little effort, should it wake.
How should she tackle this?
She knew no offensive magic. The best she could manage was a sudden bright light to stun it temporarily. It would do no lasting damage. She fingered the dagger at her hip, contemplating.
Nephthys had provided her with what must be an artifact-grade coat, but all she was given for offense was this small steel dagger. It was of good quality, but it was just that: a small steel dagger. It would not even reach the bone in legs as thick as trees, and its skin looked far tougher than her own. Would it even pierce?
Her transformation could possibly work, but that was a last resort. The thing might wake while she transformed, and then she would have lost the element of surprise. Truthfully, she did not want to attempt to match this ogre in a contest of strength, even transformed.
Tara kneeled on the ground, her brow furrowed. She debated several options, but she ultimately settled on action. She did not know how long this thing would sleep, and every second she spent deliberating was one that could see it wake. The only thing she knew about this creature was that it had a head, and if it had a head, that would be a weak point, right?
She slinked around the creature, stepping lightly. The thing occupied the entire path, so she found herself weaving in and around the stalagmites, doing her best to slither through them without breaking the tips off or disturbing any rocks that might alert her enemy.
She pulled the hem of her shirt over her nose, the stench redoubling as she approached the thing’s head. Its breath, she realized, was the primary source of the stink, and it was fierce from this distance.
The ogre’s face had the same yellowed skin, bulbous and marked by tumors and growths. Its eyes bulged from its sockets, obvious even with closed lids. Its nose was wide, smashed against its face, while its mouth was slightly open, revealing sharp, needle-like teeth.
She cursed internally, though she was not surprised. She could tell from its posture that it was lying on its back, but she had hoped its head would be turned.
She wanted to strike at the point where the neck met the skull. In her experience, that was the quickest and most reliable way to end someone quickly, yet the back of its head and neck was against the ground.
The neck was a possible weak point, but people could take almost a full minute to die from blood loss, and that was assuming her strike was maximally effective.
This thing could undoubtedly do quite a bit of damage in sixty seconds, and who knew if its anatomy was similar to hers? She could strike where she assumed its major veins were and hit nothing but meat.
Briefly, she glanced back the way she had come. She had to stand on her tiptoes to see the path over the thing’s distended belly, which rose and fell with its breath as high off the ground as she was tall. It would be so easy to turn back, to follow her signs and walk the maze in reverse.
It would be so easy to turn back.
Tara shook her head, allowing the thought to dislodge and exit, along with her hesitation. If this ogre woke, she died. She needed to act fast and with purpose.
She gripped the hilt of her dagger with shaking hands, squeezing her chest muscles tightly to stop the shaking. Maneuvering around its hair spread across the ground, she stepped over and straddled the creature’s neck.
She stared into its closed eyes, the caustic stench of its breath nearly singeing her brows off, and she firmed her jaw.
She thrust the dagger down with all her strength, channeling mana into her entire body to make sure it struck true. It pierced into the ogre’s right eye with a sickening sound like stepping on wet sand. The dagger went through its eyelid and buried itself in its eye, but Tara gave it no time to react.
She released the hilt and jumped onto it, springing off of it like a leapstone. The dagger submerged fully into the creature’s eye, the hilt completely vanishing as clear liquid mixed with blood flowed out of the hole in its lid.
It thrashed about violently, smashing the stalagmites to bits on both sides of the path. It screamed a horrible cry that sent Tara to her knees, covering her ears with both hands.
After only a couple of seconds of struggle, its limbs stilled, and it lay motionless before her. Its belly did not rise with breath, and the stench ceased, though its presence lingered in her nose.
Tara walked over to its head cautiously, still in the same position. It never made it to even a sitting position.
She grimaced and thrust her hand into its eye, retrieving her dagger from the horrid mush. Its eye was as large as her entire hand, and she had to dig in it up past her wrist, so she spent the next several minutes shaking her dagger and arm off, wiping them on the thing’s ragged clothing.
She turned around to move forward, only to come face-to-face with an almost mirror image of the ogre. It stood before Tara, staring with glassy eyes. It was only as tall as she, though its body mimicked the proportions of the huge one, making its silhouette odd to her eyes.
This was the ogre’s child, obviously.
It looked between its mother and Tara, back and forth, its clouded stare devoid of emotion, or perhaps Tara did not recognize ogre emotions. It seemed too young to know what was going on, and it merely stood and watched Tara, its hands at its side.
…
What should she do? Would this thing survive without its parent? Should she put it out of its misery so that it would not slowly starve to death?
She tightened the grip on her dagger, firming her resolve, when the child suddenly moved. It walked on unsteady feet over to its mother and plopped down next to its unmoving head. It leaned its own tiny head against its mother's, stilling, as if intending to rest.
Tara stared at its back, wrapped in a disheveled, dirty rag like its parent, and she was reminded of herself. There were many times in her own life when it seemed like she would not survive without her parents, yet here she was. Who was she to decide this child’s fate?
She sheathed the dagger and, with a lump in her throat and stiff steps, proceeded down the tunnel, never looking back at the ogre pair and clenching her shaking fists tightly.