The creature is as long as an alligator, as narrow as a fish. But it’s tail is massive and longer than the rest of its body. The pikes on its tail graze the foot of the castle, sparking until the end catches fire. The face is too thin but it’s jaws are long. It snaps and snarls, yellowed teeth clacking. It pulls it’s tail to the side, preparing to whack Talis with a flaming ball of spikes but the obsidian sword strikes through the creature which puffs it into such fine dust, the lightest breeze carries it away.

The Plesiosaur, the Lochness Monster, reaches for Talis. Talis takes a moment to adjust his furs and says, “Go Lyla. It only will become worse from here until you find the map. Run.”

The Lochness’s long neck bends against the river bank and its jaws snap so close to Talis, the force of air from its jaws moves the furs on his back. Then Talis strikes it in its throat, twists the sword, and pulls it out. Dust pours from its body until its head slams against the ground and the weight of its body pulls it back into the water. And its entire being dissipates so simply, just like salt in the ocean.

“Lyla, run. Find an entrance, any. And run.”

“But,” I stutter, taking a few steps backwards. The pillars, the clouds, they’re so encompassing and enigmatic and enamoring yet endangering and exposing. “How will I find the entrance?”

A beast comes through the clouds at the base of the castle between Talis and me. It’s quiet, too quiet. One step towards me, then another until its hot breath touches the skin on my arms. But a slice of black sends its head tumbling off its shoulders. The body slumps and joins the head on the ground. Mass turns to liquid, turns to ice then to snow. It drifts upwards somewhere into the black above.

“Take your shoes off and listen to your intuition.”

And with a push from Talis against my shoulder, its all it takes for my legs to finally work, to finally gain speed, to feel the friction of jeans against inner thigh. The chaff muted only by the fear of the noises behind me though the distinct slices bring a relief, sort of. Talis is only an ant now and I still haven’t found anything like a door or a window to enter. Nothing at all. A few jogging moments until Talis is out of sight, is really as far as I’m willing to go. But nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Except for one tiny thing, sort of. Just one or two, five to fifteen, maybe twenty-ish little things, sort of. And you know, when I used to watch those scary movies where the dead come alive by first wriggling their fingertips through the ground somehow, I thought This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. Should hundreds and hundreds of pounds of dirt on top of a dead body force it to stay in place? But now, those rotten fingertips continue to grow from the ground. They loom above me before any concept of a hand comes through but when it does, the smell of decayed flesh steals my breath.

One time, when I was thirteen and Levon was fifteen I think, we went to a day camp for school. Really, it was an adventure camp mom and dad volunteered at, at least while we were there. But it was fun. A lake to swim and kayak. A cabin to bunk in and for Levon to tell scary stories. And when we both sat around the fire pretending to not be afraid of William Layton’s scary story about zombies, a waft of death startled us all around the fire. Turns out, William’s best friend, Tod Dwyer brought a rotting raccoon near us right as the story came to it’s terrifying turning point – the zombie was behind us.

Rotting raccoon carcass is in front of me, dangling its tendrilic fingers while a wrist emerges through the ground and the idea of just pushing through anything finally dawns on me. My hands against the cloud against the castle and my arms disappear into warmth. A finger falls down towards me but it only nicks me, right down the back of my leg, slicing my calf and hitting the heel of my shoe. I stumble through the clouds, cold stone holding me upright. The clouds reform just as the tip of the finger opens and devours my dinosaur-plastic shoe. Blood trickles down my leg but I rip off a piece of fabric from my pants, the piece ol’ weird fingers ripped and tie it around my leg. Luckily, it’s not deep and just a paper cut, sort of.

It's a hallway of sorts. With clouds to the outside and stone to the inside. An opening about as small as Levon’s head is only a few blocks up. A running wall jump is what I try first but of course, it’s impossible. Not only with a bare foot scraping against stone but the lack of general body condition from avoiding sports my entire life. But I give it another go. And end right where I started. If only the stone were steps and I could walk-

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My eyes widen. My breath halts. Stairs move. Yes. They move. They jut out. One cautious step. My calve aches, burns really. But that’s in the back of my mind, where I put the pain. Right next to the quiet love odes of Priya and the Moon.

Crumbles of rock line the edges of the stone that connect to the castle. You know when you have a carpet burn and the only relief is from an icepack? My raw foot cools with the stone underneath. A creature shrieks outside of the cloud exterior and rushes me to skip a step until I teeter on the window sill. Feet lined perfectly, ankles wobbly, back pressed against the frame heavily.

Good thing the hand-finger creature didn’t have eyes to follow me but damn if its noise isn’t bone shattering. The room I hover over is small, quaint. Empty too. Devoid of anything. Well, except books so it’s a library that stares back at me. Inside the library I go, running my fingers over the shelves of books. Wood grain meets skin and velveteen book spines do too. The library is lit by a single sky light overhead bathing the room in bright enough light that dust floaties suspend in the air.

In the heavens, they have dust floaties too.

Alright, so where is this map? Black is behind my lids as I force them shut, my foot is cold against the ground. Priya’s lovely voice murmurs so far from me, I can’t make out the words and neither do Mangha’s. What do I do?

Talis’s nagging rings in my mind so I take off my other shoe, the stone floor sending a shiver over my body. But only black is behind my lids still, cold stone ringing through my body giving me goosebumps on my arms. Wipe them away, open my eyes, and focus on the literary world around me. Horacio, Cicero, Plato, and Socrates. Also, some recent authors for some reason and a few other authors I recognize, their works held high and loved dearly. The room of beloved works, is what this room is called.

Wait.

How the heck did I know that? The heavy wooden door is a bully to move but it opens after a few good shoves of my shoulder. And I know, I just know, that a plaque is inset next to the door. My fingers follow the embossed letters, The Room of Beloved Works.

The hallway stretches in a long circle against the perimeter with rooms dotting it. On the other side of the hallway is a frail rail made of putrefied pieces of wood. The wood is smooth and widens at the top and bottom and actually, this isn’t wood – it’s bone. I’m pretty sure a femur was under my hand just now and by the looks of it, I could touch every part of the human bone system if I walk along the hallway.

My hands tremble and I press them against my shirt partly hoping to stop them from shaking or to get the sweat soaked off of them or maybe to wipe the dust of death away. The inside of the circular hallway is a giant open space. The marble pillars continue to rise high into the sky but only one level of rooms exist and opposite of me on the ground floor are no walls at all. Just the columns. And a booming voice which echoes so greatly, the words skew. But all of the clouds around this place turn black and crackle with electrical charge. And then, the most glorious of figures comes into view and is the epitome of what Zeus looks like. A giant man, olive skin, white beard and hair of bravura if he was performing as Zeus on the stage either on or off Broadway – either way because I really don’t know the difference.

“YOU ANGER ME, KAIROS! YOU ANGER ME. DID YOU NOT RECEIVE MY MESSAGE FROM THE DIASPORA!?”

The words boom and explode like thunder and lightning, marble pillars vibrating. The stone under my feet, shifting. And a grain of sand slides around my ankle, then a whirlwind of sand dusts over my feet and legs before speeding towards the center of the room before Zeus. The sand turns into a cyclone which grows and grows and grows until it reaches the height I am. And for a moment, the briefest of moments possible, Talis appears. “Stay hidden and find the map, Lyla.” And the the sands shatter to the ground in front of Zeus. The cloud of dust and debris clears and leaves a cloaked Talis before him, obsidian sword drawn.

The sight is memorizing but the lightning which strikes from the sky above, towards Talis is frightening. The obsidian blocks the bolt and absorbs it, I think. Judging from Zeus’s, “Oh my God,” and eyes wider than mine, I assume he didn’t expect a sword could take on a lightning bolt.

And then the stone beneath my feet warm and I know, I know, it’s Talis telling me to go so I do. I stay out of sight of Zeus, as close to the wall as I can. Where to go, where to go? Where would you go? Each plaque by the door reads something else. The Room of Thoughts, The Room of Memories, The Room of Prophecies, The Room The Room The Room The Room. They blur by as Zeus and Talis fight. Tinging, clanging, yelling. Which is the right room?

But one plaque catches my eye. The Room You Seek. I know, I know in every horror movie the main character makes the mistake of taking the obvious route and they’re usually the ones who die but what other room even makes sense?

The door silently opens and easily closes behind me. A map is unrolled atop of a podium but besides that, nothing else is in here. One step, two step, ouch.

A line of needles sit in rows against the floor. A drop of blood trickles from my foot and leaves a drop on the ground. But no matter because I leap over the inconvenient prods. The map is worn, the edges golden brown. The waters of the skies or oceans or whatever, is the blue of old maps from the movies. Even the sundial is old-timey, a smile tugs at my lips while my fingers trace it.

A knock on the door sends me reeling over the lines of needs and against the wall.

Oh my, Oh my.