“Up… Wake uhhh… We…” the sentences trailed off before they’d made any sense. Ethereal, distant, and echoing to no distinct voice of their own, she struggled to make sense of them in her transient state of mind.

  “No Time…” she was starting to come to, her bleary eyes flickering as she felt a warm mass of human skin tug on her shoulders. Shifting in her bed, she turned towards the voice.

  It was exceptionally dark, with no light to speak of besides that which the moon cast through the narrow windows of the home. Had it not been for the contrast of the pitch-blackness of the sleeping void, she would have struggled to distinguish the blurry outline of the hulking figure at the foot of her bed.

  “Papa?” she guessed.

  “Come, give me your hand,” the smithy requested, extending one hand towards the girl while gripping a step of the ladder he stood on.

  She obliged without hesitation, lazily extending her arm towards her father. Swiftly, yet carefully, as to avoid hurting the waking child, he yanks her by the wrist onto his shoulder, holding her close as he leaps onto the ground below. He lands gracefully, as if one half his age—the dramatic quickness of the action, the bobbing of her head on contact, and the thud against the wooden floor, shocks the girl out of drowsiness and into panic.

  “Papa? What is happening?” her voice cracked, but the Smith had no response. She could, for a brief moment, peer at the dancing shadows against the wall before the Smith flung open a hatch in the floor that led down to a well-lit basement. Without second thought, he ignores the ladder leading down and hops down once more. This time, the girl was prepared for the landing. She clenched her teeth and shut her eyes as they hurled downwards.

  There was no thud, however, for the cellar boasted no floorboards. It was quite simple, really, almost more of a cave than a man-made structure. The walls and floor were kept to their natural appeal, composed of raw earth. Three wooden beams lined each wall, connected at the top by a lattice that held the flooring above. Runic lanterns, perched on the center beams on either side of the room, cast warm light on the humble storage.

  Along the walls were wooden crates housing raw materials, ingots and nuggets of metal, straps of leather, and blocks of wood. The far wall, however, was lined with wooden kegs, stacked on their sides into a wooden frame, covering the entire face of the wall.

  “It will all make sense soon, sweet one,” the Smith whispered, putting the girl down. Walking right past her, he drags one of the kegs out and onto the floor, revealing a hole in the wall behind it. He gestures to the girl who approaches him, before taking a deep breath and addressing her.

  “You must go now,” he explains, pointing his meaty paw at the hollow, “crawl through the gap, and you’ll find yourself in a tunnel. It leads one way; just keep walking, and you should find the exit. Wait for me there, Papa will be with you shortly.”

  “But Papa…” her voice trembled as a look of doubt took her visage. A rush of blood takes her nostrils as a piercing twinge takes her eyes.

  “You are a very, very brave and strong girl. It will only be a moment,” he whispered,” Papa will explain everything there. Just please… trust me.”

  She nodded, though scared and doleful, she did trust the Smith. He was her father, her friend, her teacher; he was all she knew and cared about. Part of her wanted to hug him before she climbed into the crevice, but she understood the urgency in his voice and wasted no more time.

  “Take this,” he added, “it should help you pass the time,” handing her a small leather satchel she recognized as her own before he helped her in.

  She’d just begun crawling forward before the lights dimmed out, and she could no longer see a thing. Her father had placed the keg back in its place, stranding her alone in the narrow gash. It was damp and warm in there, sending sweat down her arms that mixed with the soil beneath her palms, turning to grime. The path was just wide enough for her to crawl through, but cramped enough to impede the flow of air to her lungs. Claustrophobia was bound to drive the girl to madness had this part of the struggle not come to an end within just over a minute.

  Warm lights marked the end of this narrow tunnel, as it led to a second, more accommodating underpass. The cavern, though in a sense still narrow, was relatively vast. Able to take up an entire mule, it was enough relieve the girl of much of the asphyxiating pressure she carried into it. Its walls were even more earthy than those of the cellar, almost as if carved by a large burrowing animal; they curved all the way at the top, forming a jagged semi-circular ceiling.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Stepping down, she was once again on her feet and able to see somewhat clearly, thanks to the dim light of a singular runic lantern placed near the butt of the tighter tunnel. In the distance, she could see another lantern, marking her way forward like a will-o'-the-wisp.

  Thus far, she’d been denied the luxury of thinking about what had transpired. However, now that she was alone, it was quiet, and she, at least in her mind, had the time to wonder. It is here that a spiral began taking form, as the racing thoughts took her mind like a violent stampede of wildebeest. Images of the past hour flashed before her eyes as she trudged towards her next checkpoint, and questions, so many questions, rang loud in her ears.

  Where am I?

  Why am I here?

  What was Papa so worried about?

  What were those shadows on the wall?

  And most importantly, where am I going?

  Perhaps it was all just a dream, she thought to herself, perhaps she was still asleep in her cot, soon to wake up to the sun’s graceful light, playfully settling on her face. Papa would be preparing the table with a warm breakfast, alluding to another day of chasing rabbits and reading stories. Yes, that was it; she just had to wake up.

  “Wake up… Wake up…” she whispered to herself, kneading her face and pitching her arm. The stinging sensation in her nose returned as she began to disband her delusions and make terms with reality. This is real. She was awake. She was alone. Nothing made sense, and so the questions returned.

  What if there was no going back?

  No rabbits or stories?

  No… No Papa?

  She clenched her teeth, holding back her tears; she knew if she broke right now, she could not make it forward. She also knew there was no running back; the wall was sealed, and she could not possibly push the keg herself.

  It hurt, everything hurt.

  Her head was heavy, ringing with the obnoxious pounding of her heart and the rasping whistles of her breathing. Her temples were warm, but her spine shivered as if taken by fever. Despite her stomach being empty, she felt the urge to hurl, blocked by a lump in her throat. She grasped her chest, choking, too weak to walk, and writhing in internal agony; she wished the heavens would take her at this very moment.

  But then, through all the noise, amongst the flashing images, was one of her father. His stoic expression and steady eyes peered into hers as he made his final request, “Trust me…” he’d begged. And how could she deny him this? For he had never denied her anything. She would give him her whole world just as he would give her his.

  Unclenching her jaw, she took a deep breath, exhaled, and repeated, “I trust you, Papa.”

  She punched her fists down to her sides, cleared her throat, and gazed ahead before marching towards the next lantern. Her breathing was paced; she was intently focused on it, controlling a regular pattern as she pushed ahead, determined to reach the end of this damned tunnel.

  From one light to the other, the journey felt quite monotonous; it had been a minute since one could argue it overstayed its welcome. But the light at the end of the tunnel was soon to come, both figuratively and literally, as the sound of the girl’s heartbeat was being eclipsed by the pleasant rush of flowing water.

  Ironically, the end of the tunnel did not yield much light; it burrowed deep down and opened to a steep ramp of soil and gravel. Besides, it was still mostly dark outside. Overtaken with excitement, impatient to end the waking nightmare she’d been living, the girl frantically ran up the ramp, occasionally using her hands to prevent herself from slipping on looser soil.

  Finally free, she did not stop before her bare feet came upon a patch of grass. Her breathing had steadied, and her mind was at ease; it was there that she had a moment to take in her new setting. The chill of the late night’s breeze, the vastness of the open world, and the infinite depth of the heavens, decorated with celestial lights denoting the Gods. Around her, in every direction, were tall oaks and dense shrubbery, their palettes tainted bluish by the hues of night. There were no creatures in sight, but she could clearly hear the hissing of crickets and distant hoots of owls above the not-so-distant roaring stream to the east.

  At last, she could sit down, a chance she was not about to pass up, as she collapsed against the base of a nearby tree and threw her head back into its trunk. She cast her legs wide and placed her satchel in between them before looking down at the little bag. Inside, the smithy had packed: dried fruits, two books, and a pencil.

  She could immediately recognize the two books, her journal, and The Epics of Skadi. He was tired of that book; he would have preferred she’d be reading anything else now. But he knew this was her favourite, and so he packed it, a gesture that was not lost on the girl. Drawing the book from her satchel, she gazed at its cover longingly before embracing it tightly to her chest with both arms.

  She did not feel like reading right now; she definitely did not feel like writing either. Tired and underslept, all she wanted to do was cry. Not because of some racing thoughts, or fear, or doubt, but simply because she wanted to, she’d earned it.

  And so, the tears came like the rain.