There is an uninterrupted line, a continuous flow, a narrative that started with that person and forged me to become who I am today. The strangest thing, perhaps, is that…

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The tunnel twisted, turned, and twisted again. Sometimes the cave would split in different directions, but the girl stayed in front of their little formation, decisively choosing their path and leading them on. Matt wondered how she picked their way, as everything looked the same to him. The lone torch flickered in an attempt to hold the darkness away, showing just enough of the rough cave that they could see where to place their feet.

Nobody spoke, and Matt’s world constricted to the light ahead, and the sounds of their feet thumping hard on the stone surface. And sometimes, dimly behind, the clanging of metal. Death chasing them, deeper. Why can’t you just let us run? Just let us die or live in peace, as we want? Matt wondered, not for the first time, why Duke Hawth was so insistent on conquering this place. To him, it all looked the same as the lands around Keylor. More fields, and trees, and sheep and rocks. Small clearings of people living and farming and dying, and doing it all over. Again and again, squeezing as much life as they could out of the two decades they had. The men around the campfire had laughed harshly with their jokes about why the Duke wanted even more sheep and Matt smiled against the pain as they moved as fast as they could, the minutes passing as they made their way deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels.

A flare of pain in his chest made him stumble, and he fell forward, catching himself on the wall. Fuck, that hurt. Soon, Mother. Slowly, he fell down to his knees, unable to support his weight.

“Keep going, Pete,” he gasped to the man behind him as Pete stopped to help him up. “This is as far as I go.”

“Screw that,” Pete said, while throwing a nervous look into the darkness behind them. “If I can do this, so can you. You’re the lavender guy, right?”

The what now?

Matt clutched his hands to his chest, struggling to breathe. “No,” he coughed. “No. You don’t understand. Leave me. I’m… It is… It’s time. The wasting. It’s–.”

“Hold on a second!” Pete raised his voice. Had he not heard? “Thor, help me with Sir Lavender here!” As Pete grabbed an arm, Matt just wanted to lie down.

The tall, thin man–Thor–came back. “You are Jasper’s friend, right?” Not waiting for a response, Thor grabbed Matt’s other arm, and he was suddenly and violently pulled along, protesting as he tried to get his legs under him. “Guys, don’t…” he tried to put conviction in his voice, but only whispers came out. “I just have minutes. I’m dying. The… The wasting. You are better off without me. I will just slow you down, get away, I will hold them back!” He coughed hard, shallow bursts of air that did nothing to clear his throat.

“Screw that,” Pete said again. “You just need to rest. We will lose them soon!”

With no energy left to protest, Matt resigned himself to be dragged along; down tunnel after twisting tunnel. Desperately trying to hold on to his spear, he winced as the point dragged on the floor. For a minute or three, he closed his eyes, barely noticing his knees scraping against rocks. Mind closing in, his breath coming out like the sound of a whetstone grating, his consciousness slipping away only to be jolted back. He gathered a last bit of energy and tried to focus. If he could just pull himself free, he could lie down and die. Then the others could get away. And he could die. Finally. Would Father be there? Matt didn’t remember his father, who had died when he was still a small boy. A strange apprehension filled him at the thought. Would his father be proud of who he had become? Of the state of the farm? Would he even recognise him?

Behind, the sounds of the people chasing them were getting fainter, and Matt was about to try to pull free with all his strength when the ground suddenly gave way beneath them as the rock crumbled with a low roar. He noticed the torch falling a split second before he was falling himself. Hah, he thought. A third way to die tonight. After a moment of weightlessness, the ground was painfully back, punching him in the side as they hit the ground in a jumble of limbs and spears and bodies that continued to slide down a steep decline towards darkness below.

Up was down, and down was pain, falling, sliding. Two sharp cracks followed by a whimper of pain and an exclamation of, “Not my spear!” Another few seconds, and Matt braced himself when he heard two hard thumps ahead. A second later, his own fall was softened as he fell on someone, causing another muffled whimper of pain.

“Sorry!” Matt said, as he tried to extricate himself from the mass of bodies, pulling on an arm that was stuck between the girl and Pete.

“Fuck, I think I broke my arm. Fuck!” An unfamiliar voice. “And my spear.” The man who had carried the torch was bent over and cradling his arm, his face twisted against the pain and jerkingly stepping from foot to foot. The torch was lying on the floor next to him. Somehow, it was still lit.

“Let me have a look,” the girl said, as Pete went to pick up the torch.

Matt struggled to his feet, using Jasper’s spear for support as Pete and Thor took up position under the hole in the ceiling above, readying their spears. For a moment, they were all quiet, listening. The quiet extended another breath, then another, and then they breathed out in relief as no sounds of metal could be heard from above.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Stay silent,” Thor said, attention directed up towards the cave. “They can still find us.”

What is this place? Matt thought, looking around. A square… room? The floor was built from massive stone tiles that extended up the walls and up to the ceiling, which had a jagged gap where they had fallen down. Behind them was a pile of rocks and debris, and in the other direction was a wall with a large wooden door. What is a room doing here, in the middle of the mountain?

And not only that, but something about everything looked so… old, and a shiver ran up Matt’s back. They were deep inside the Dagger Mountains, a place that was claimed by stories and monsters, and here they were standing in a room that was obviously man made. And even if he knew next to nothing about stonework, there was something about the way the slabs fit together that spoke of a level of skill he had never seen before. His eyes focused on the closed door and he felt a stab of curiosity as he considered the dark, heavy wood inset with intricate carvings. What is going on here? We fell down a hole, and then…

He was consumed by sudden curiosity. That same focus his sister had always teased him about lit in his eyes. When he would get lost in something that she thought was mundane. “Who cares why the ants walk in a line, Matt?” He could almost hear her voice. But he liked ants, and he liked to figure things out. Even long after the last ant had followed a specific path, the next one would track the path perfectly! I never did understand those ants, he thought wistfully.

The girl got to her feet, having finished her inspection of the man’s arm. “It’s broken.” She declared and approached Matt, nodding to him. “I’m Mia. We need to set the bone and I need your help. Hold him down,” she said, pointing to the man sitting on the floor.

“What do you mean?” He answered as he moved over to the man with the broken arm. Putting his hands gently on the man’s shoulders, he introduced himself quietly with a nod. “Matt.” The man threw his head back to clear a mass of messy hair out of his eyes.

“Vic.” The man nodded back up at him. “I would shake your hand, but…” Vic grinned up at him with an infectious smile, sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin, making his face seem almost bony. His body was slight, but Matt noticed lean, taut muscles flex beneath his skin. Matt smiled back at him.

“Matt, grab his shoulder. Like this, and hold on tight. Vic, this will hurt. Don’t scream.” Mia said, and Matt took a firm grip on Vic’s shoulder, like she had shown. What is she… With a sudden pull, Mia yanked on the man’s hand as she twisted the limb to one side, and Matt heard bone sliding against bone as Vic clenched his jaw, tears suddenly streaming down his face.

“Fuck,” he said through gritted teeth, wincing. “Fuck, that hurt!”

Mia pulled a bandage from a bag. “Stop being a baby, Vic. This should do for now, but we really need to get this set properly and wrapped up tight.” She looked up at Matt, who was bent over and breathing hard. Her voice softened for a moment, as she asked, “Wasting?”

Matt nodded, and Mia gave a short nod back, mouth set in a line. Her expression was not unkind, but matter-of-fact with a core of compassion; and for the first time, Matt noticed how young she was. She couldn’t be older than fourteen, maybe fifteen. No older than his sister. Her hair was jet black and tied in a knot at the back of her neck, and the eyes that looked back at him belied the almost childlike softness of her features. They pierced right into him, almost like they were searching for something.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pausing for a moment before looking away. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“I know,” Matt said.

She cradled Vic’s hand and closed her eyes as she took a deep breath, before looking back at Matt. “Hold his arm still while I wrap it.”

As Mia wrapped Vic’s arm tightly with the bandage, Matt could feel himself losing his last bit of energy. As she tied off the end, he slumped to one knee, his vision closing in. A strange distance between the world and his mind. So this is what it’s like to die, he thought, watching intricate patterns swirl in the surrounding air. Silver and blue and red and green and all the colours he ever knew, and many more. Floating around in spirals, in waves and in lines. Looping around, reaching across, drawing shapes and symbols, lighting up the small room. His consciousness was floating away like those strange threads of colours, and from somewhere far back in his past he recalled a memory of his older brother dying. “Rivers in the air,” Robert had said as he looked up, his eyes tracing something Matt could not see. He had thought it was just confusion at the doorway to death, but now he understood. He saw them; threads everywhere, connecting everything. A tapestry of existence he never knew existed. Until now.

His consciousness was fading, but his vision sharpened momentarily at the sound of something dragging on stone. Thor was pulling the door open, and from his location on the floor, Matt saw another room behind the door. Peering into the darkness, he could see a tall, vaulted ceiling which was covered in silver lines, and some type of monument–a statue–in the centre. Another sharp stab of curiosity drove away the pain for a moment. What is that? What is this place?

As Thor and Mia made to move inside the room, Matt felt powerful arms pick him up as Pete reached down. “Still with us?”

“Barely.” Matt smiled weakly through the mist of coloured swirls. He was nearly ready. Nearly. One more wish, one more want, one more need. “That room…” He tried to cough, but his lungs had nothing to expel. This would be a good death. A last wonder, a last question.

Without a word, Pete nodded and carried him inside.

Gently, Pete lowered him to the floor, and a small soft hand grabbed his own. Mia sat next to him and through the haze of strangely coloured threads, he saw understanding and kindness in her eyes. He wanted to thank her, but he only wheezed. A thin, weak breath.

Finally, Matt closed his eyes against the pressure. The pain radiated from his chest in sharp, tingling waves, reminiscent of tiny ants scurrying outwards from his heart’s centre, walking in determined straight lines to bring the pain to every corner of his body. Step by step, limb by limb, taking over everything that he was. He breathed in, and out, and then there was no more air in his lungs. He tried to draw breath again, but he had reached the end of his journey.

Can you make apple pie when we meet, Mother?