Headed by a Snake

Chapter 37 Four Hearts Beat

?'Six pale fingers around her ankle, // Twisted white strands for each finger.

They whispered as they watched. // A single eye, hidden within, seeing all.

They hungered for flesh. // They thirsted for innocence.

Ah, to drink of her blood. Lovingly. Explicitly.

See how she squirms. // See how she rejects.

"Cry out, Child of Heaven. No Angel can hear you in this place."

Pale ignored the sound of his own voice, whispering words he did not will.

"Pale... Please tell me what's going on. You're scaring me." Taree's voice quivered as she spoke. She stared ahead into the darkness, petrified in fear.

"Just don't move. It'll be okay. I'll get it off you."

"G-get what-- O-okay?" Taree grew quiet, strangely obedient. "Please hurry."

Pale knelt down, placing the Ivory Stone in his mouth to see. A humanoid arm made of dozens of twisted off-white tendrils had ensnared Taree's ankle, so tightly she was starting to bruise. The tendrils grew straight out of a flattened rock-- it didn't look like it was possible. He pried at the cold fingers but they were as immovable as tree roots.

A loud crack shook their cave tunnel, like a hammer that had fallen upon a heavy stone. A web of cracks bleeding a harsh, white light spread from below the girl's foot. Acting quickly, Pale shoved his spear-blade into the alien hand and it bled a warm, transparent-gold sap.

"Pale! Do something! It hurts!" Taree whined in pain.

Pale hesitated... if he stabbed again, the grasping tendrils would tighten their grip.

Before he could decide, the ground gave way. Not content with sinking the pair into the earth, the ground instead, shattered like glass, sending them tumbling through an endless white.

The feeling of weightlessness overcame Pale's senses. Six white, smooth-stoned walls surrounded them, illuminated by an unseen source as they fell into the abyss. Red cracks disrupted the smooth, eerily white walls, carved like violent strikes of lightning and pulsating with a black-to-scarlet glow.

The falling had stopped at the cost of Pale nearly dislocating his entire shoulder. He looked up to see that Taree had grabbed onto one of the protruding red roots and also onto his wrist.

"Taree? Taree! Are you okay!?" Pale yelled, his voice echoing and distorting in the tunnel.

The girl stared at nothing, her pupils dilated and unfocused, as she began to babble.

"Four hearts beat DESPERATELY for the body!" She screamed. "Flesh remaining! With rotting soul! The Child? The Ancient. The Missing? The Dead... Praise--"

"Taree! Let go of the branch!" Pale yelled. He grit his teeth in frustration-- the girl was mumbling incoherently... just like when he was whispering to himself, before.

He slung his spear over his shoulder and he began to climb up Taree.

"'Ow! Pale!! Pale??" Pale's touch snapped her out of her daze, "What the heck?! That hurts! Wh-WHERE are you touching?!"

"Let go!" Pale yelled again.

"Wait, what? No!"

"Taree, you need to trust me." Pale steeled his voice, "Let go of the branch!"

Taree shook her head wildly, grabbing onto the crimson lifeline with both of her hands, "I can't! I need to go back! My brother's still at the entrance! I have to make sure he's okay!"

Pale climbed up the lithe girl, hooking his arm over her shoulder to keep steady. Reaching up, he began prying her fingers off of the branch, one by one.

"Why are you doing this Pale?! Pale, stop! We need to climb! We need to go back!"

Pale shook his head as he pried her right hand off, holding hers tightly in his. The girl stared at their intertwined fingers with wide eyes and warmed cheeks.

"We have to keep moving until the voices stop," Pale insisted.

"Pale... No! I don't want to fall! I need to--" Taree shut her eyes... "I need to KNOW! WHY does the Child grow old?! WHY does the Ancient yearn to be free? Why does the--"

Pale reached up to unhook the last vestige's of Taree's grip, and with that, they fell.

Not a second had passed when the opposite white wall opened up, brilliant white blinding their eyes. Waxy, half-melted flesh upon bony fingers-- a gigantic hand, larger than the two of them together, reached out of the opening. As they fell, the pale hand and arm shot forward, bloodying itself on the red roots the two had barely escaped.

...

Pale never let go of her hand.

Taree was so scared, she had run out of tears. As they fell, she embraced Pale, burying her face in his warm chest. She didn't want to see anything anymore. She didn't want to hear anything anymore. She wanted to hear Pale's one heartbeat, not four.

The voices in her head softened to whispers. The sensation of falling grew distant. She curled her body up within Pale's armes as he carried her. He was running, bobbing her up and down as he traversed uneven terrain-- it was so hard for her to sleep like that. She just wanted to lie on his chest and sleep until it was all over. She wanted to punch him until he stopped running. He needed to rest. But he wouldn't listen to her pleading. She wriggled angrily in his arms to show her dissatisfaction... but not enough to disrupt his gait.

...

Pale walked amidst a forest of crystalline trees, their branches clear like refined glass, and their trunks ancient like thick mountain ice. He walked upon anywhere there wasn't water, ten hundred trees and ten thousand pools before him, his spear slung on his back, and a sleeping brat held in his arms.

He couldn't see through the reflective water, gently lapping against the dirt and sand. Each a perfect mirror, the pools reflected a green and salmon-pink sky.

Time blurred in this place. Countless bells passed as he walked, watching the waters rise and fall. Binary suns cut across the strange sky, watching their world in silence.

He found a spot to place the sleeping Taree, at the base of a crystal tree upon a gently sloping crook. He ran his hand along its bark, smooth and comfortable, then laid her down gently against it.

"Come out," Pale called out. He unslung his spear and spun it with a flourish.

Within two spears' distance, a dark shadow dropped down from a tree, landing as softly as the ring of a bell. Pale's opponent drew their sword, its metallic ring sending soft ripples across all the mirrors in their small world.