I lean in close and set my hand on the bark of a tree as I try to get my feet under me. The ground is slippery here and it doesn’t help that my knees are shaking and my heart is pounding.
“Bad Tor,” she giggles and runs her index finger down his cheek. “I know what you’re thinking.” She giggles again. “Nightshade could mess with an incubus, but you’d have to get him to eat it first.”
My heart pounds, and I lean up against the huge redwood for support. I won’t let them get that poison anywhere near Harlow or Jean-Claude.
Their words are muffled behind the large trunk. Grains of sand slip out from underneath me, and I climb the tree for a little bit of stability. But when I do, bark crackles under my feet.
The air goes still, and I hold my breath. Silence. The two aren’t talking anymore. I pray they haven’t heard me or worse, seen me.
After holding my breath so long, I can’t hold it any longer, and I sip air and turn to peek out from behind the redwood.
They’re both gone.
Great.
I climb down the trunk of the tree, but when my foot touches the ground, I slip. My ass lands at the base of the tree trunk and the pain reverberates through me. I bend to get up, but my foot slips further. The sand is now ankle height. If my other leg weren’t bent, I’d be doing vertical splits.
Sand coats my leg, like a turtle flinging sand on her way to the ocean.
The ground doesn’t have any firmness to it. I slip further. A light of understanding shines in my mind as a groundswell of sand engulfs me to my thighs.
Sand pit. But not just any sand pit. Quicksand doesn’t grab your legs and pull you under like a tiger would pull a deer into its mouth. This is a Pit Monster.
“Don’t panic, don’t panic,” I assure myself, even as my body starts falling further into the sand. What do I know about Pit Monsters? Um. They’re formless, yet they can use sand like ocean currents. They suffocate their prey and then eat them. It’s hard to escape, and fighting only makes them suck you into their pit faster. That’s about it.
Riddle swirls above me, squawking, and his head swivels towards me, eyes affright.
“I know… I know,” I grumble. “I’m in trouble.”
He squawks again and I get an idea.
“Riddle, can you grab a loose vine or maybe…” I look up to see if there’s anything I can use to pull myself out. Dead branches hang from a distance, but they aren’t close enough. “Can you pull me that branch?” I point to it.
The sand creeps up my leg. It’s like a thousand hermit crabs digging underneath me, sinking me into a suffocating coffin. Only this is a casket of sand where no one will ever find any trace of me.
Riddle chirps and flaps up to the trunk of the tree I pointed out, racing the Pit Monster that flings wave after wave of sand over me before I’m waist deep. The feeling of sand rolling along my skin… it’s just not right.
My little golem grabs the branch with his beak. He twirls in midair, and pulls. But the tree branch pulls back and yanks him forward as he holds on for dear life.
The branch lurches downward. It looks like it’s going to break.
No. “Riddle!”
I reach, but I’m too late. His weight is enough to bend the branch down, but our timing is off. I leap like a mermaid on land, not getting very far, and allow the Pit Monster of sand to climb up my ribcage.
“Riddle, swing!”
He does, using all of his weight to force the branch down further. But I’ve sunken too far to reach the damn thing.
“Hold on, Riddle! Hold on for all you’re worth.” I try to grab on to him as he continues to fight the branch, flapping his wings to keep it in place. The tree continues to try to yank it back. Each time I get a little closer, but never close enough.
In the back of my mind, I know this is it. I failed. Priestess Kareen won’t have an understudy. Riven won’t find the necromancer. The count might get taken over, his mind and will used for another’s purpose. Mom will be heartbroken.
I can’t go out like this! This can’t be it! I can’t let anyone down!
Yes, I have to fight. I have to get out of here. But struggling makes the Pit Mmonster fight harder. The sand is gelatinous, yet it can separate into tiny seeds. It’s like fighting a swell or the tide. My feet can’t get purchase anywhere.
The thing is a patch of sand with a consciousness, or rather a sand pit with the will to consume. As my legs kick, trying to instinctually push off on anything, my skin brushes against something hard yet smooth. I don’t want to know what that is.
“Riddle!”
He bounces, wings flapping up and down, shaking the branch past its point of bendability. I fear he’ll break it and get stuck in here with me. But the little guy is frantic, flying up and down, fearless in his attempt to bring the limb close enough to help pull me out. His bravery is admirable. Yet, I find myself covered to my chest in sand.
The situation is looking hopeless. Then I feel the rough feel of the bark hitting my fingers. I grab hold and the thing sways, but I hold on to it with the might of an oak. Riddle releases it and flaps around my head, chittering, making a ruckus. With my other hand, I take hold of the bark and start pulling myself up. The base bends, but holds. The sand is thick
