The Shards by Gary Alan Wassner Page B

prodding in order to increase her pace. Quickly, she reached with her leg for the next crevice and stepped firmly upon it, and Angeline followed as deftly as a mountain goat, surprising herself and her friend as well. The two maidens disappeared into the depths of the hole, obscured by both the safety of the darkness reaching out to them from below as well as by the blackness that menacingly descended upon them from above.
    “Step lively Tamara,” Angeline urged as the more sprightly maiden scurried down the sheer wall of the pit almost on to the head of her friend.
    “You seem to have regained your nerve, sister,” Tamara replied, while at the same moment she searched the wall for another place to insert her toe.
    “The darkness is both a boon as well as a fearful enemy, sister. The dread of it propels me downward while it conceals the precipice that initiated my concern.”
    “Do not be too thankful, Angeline. The noise grows louder. Even in this gloom we may not be able to evade what hunts us down,” she said balefully.
    In fact, the buzzing sound was increasing in volume although it was impossible to see or feel anything other than the cool air wafting upon them from below. There was no question that the noise was descending faster than they were, and at their current pace whatever was causing it would soon be upon them.
    Tamara continued to step as quickly as she could without even thinking about where this drop might ultimately lead them. It was their only option and she chose it willingly. Now though, it occurred to her that the darkness that cloaked them coupled with their enemy’s pursuit might be more than they had bargained for. She could see nothing whatsoever either above her or below her, and the only sound she could decipher in the gloom was the incessant droning of the enemy.
    A shudder coursed through her body unbidden, and Tamara suddenly grew terribly worried.
    “Are you with me still, sister?” she called up to Angeline. Her call was greeted by silence. “Angeline? Can you hear me?” she asked again, hesitating in mid stride this time, but only the sound of buzzing reached her ears in response.
    Tamara frantically began to claw her way back up in search of her companion.
    “Where are you? You must be here or I would have felt you pass me by. What is it that prevents you from answering me?” she cried.
    She heard a scraping sound just above her head and she stretched out to touch it believing that it must be her friend’s foot, but her hand came in to contact with something thoroughly repulsive, something totally unexpected, and she withdrew it in fear and disgust. Her hand felt as if it was on fire. As she retracted her arm, an abominable odor reached her nostrils causing her to wretch momentarily in response, and she could feel her fingers sticking together, coated by a slimy substance that would not yield to her pressure when she attempted to separate them. Panic began to grip her and she forced herself to breathe deeply and relax, though her heart was beating twice as fast as normal. She held on to the wall precariously with her free hand and she dug her feet deeper into the crevices in the wall.
    Tamara knew how important the scroll that she carried was, and for a fleeting moment she hesitated before reaching out again. She could suddenly feel the parchment against her body, and it struck her instantly that her awareness of it was generated by the object itself as if it had a mind and spirit of its own. But in her heart, nothing was more important than life after all, and she could not sacrifice her friend even for this. Tamara fought the impulse to protect the map, and she refused even to reach her hand inside her tunic to touch it, though it seemed to beckon so saliently. She climbed up another notch and held fast to the wall with her clean hand. She then turned her concentration inward. Using the same power that she used to conjure a glowing orb out of the surrounding air, she caused a