Mad Adventurer
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It’s a good thing the sun is already so high when it comes up. The first rays of light strike me in the eyes and I can see that there are no more monsters around us, just rocks and dirt and trees. I get to my feet slowly and look over at Kazi.
She has her head bent low and she won’t even meet my eyes with hers. I feel like we both have something to say, but neither one of us knows how to ask the other if they’re still alive—if they want to be alive—and I know she feels it too.
I’m about to tell her that the last thing I remember before waking up was seeing the monster’s body collapse on top of mine when the sound of birds starts to break through the morning silence. It takes me back to another time when the world had only ever been black or white; all the things I’d lost because of fear and darkness and pain.
There were times when it seemed as though it would never end. But now everything looks different. Like the world is coming alive after sleeping for years under a blanket of snow.
“What day is this?” I finally asked, turning back to the rock where I’d laid down to rest.
Kazi glances away from the forest and toward me. “Sunday.” She turns again to survey our surroundings and shrugs. “The twenty-third of March.”
She doesn’t bother telling me what year it is. We both know that I can find out by looking at the sky. The sun hasn’t moved, which means that the seasons must not have changed either. If we could only figure out why this place didn’t freeze during the winter, then perhaps I might be able to understand some of the other mysteries that surround us.
We walk farther into the woods, following a trail that leads deeper inside the forest, until we come across an opening in the side of a mountain that looks as if it might lead us out onto the grasslands, which, although they aren’t flat, appear much easier to travel than the rocky terrain outside.
The air is cool and crisp, and we breathe deeply of its freshness. Kazi stops walking, and I stop behind her.
Something is wrong here. Something has happened since I fell asleep.
She lifts her chin up and says, “Come on.”
And I do. And we keep moving forward.
The ground seems harder beneath my feet, but it’s smooth and polished somehow, and I think I can make out the outline of stone steps leading down below.
The walls that surround us are gray and dark, and when Kazi reaches past me to pull out the torch I left in my pack, the fire catches instantly without having to be fed with any kindling, which makes me wonder why there isn’t any smoke coming out of the chimney.
As soon as we step off the path and onto the floor of the house, Kazi pushes open the door to a small room that looks like it used to be a kitchen or maybe a dining hall.
There is a fireplace, and when I turn to look behind me, I realize that there are actually three doors in the space between the wall and the ceiling. Two of them lead further inside, but the third is a set of stairs leading straight up into the attic.
“This was some kind of old mansion,” I say, looking around, trying to imagine who lived there and why they left all their stuff behind.
“You can see that.” She points to a shelf above the hearth, where I notice several books have fallen onto the bricks, along with plates and cups.
My gaze returns to the stairwell, which is almost hidden behind a curtain made up of wooden shutters. There must be a way out of the attic, and I don’t hesitate. I run over and push my hand through the gap.
I can’t help myself: I lift my palm up toward the window and watch as the light from the torch casts a shadow on the walls. I follow it back down and across the floor until it touches a heavy tapestry. When I reach for it, the fabric is stiff and rough under my fingers and I pull it back to find a narrow staircase leading underground.
“What’s going on?” Kazi asks when I return to her side, and then follows me into the hallway, leaving the door to the attic closed. The walls are painted in soft yellows and blues, with thick velvet curtains hanging everywhere.
There are no windows anywhere except the one near the stairwell, which has a large oval glass pane set into the center. Light floods in, making it hard to look directly at it, as though if I stare at it long enough, it might burn me instead of just reflecting off of it. The floor appears to be made of stones cut from some kind of metal, and the steps themselves are carved out of some strange rock.
A man is sitting cross-legged at the foot of the stairs, his back to us, but he doesn’t move when we approach him, and after a moment, neither does Kazi, so I go first, standing in front of the man while she remains behind me.
His long hair is tied back in a bun, and he has an earring in each lobe. He has an angular face and a beard that runs well past his waist, but when I take hold of the hem of my tunic and start to pull it up over my head, he quickly gets up.
I’m wearing nothing underneath.
When he looks away from me, his lips curve upward, and I catch Kazi staring at us, too. For a moment, I think she may even laugh, but she doesn’t. Instead, her hands drop to her sides and she takes a step backward.
“Where is everyone else?” Kazi asks when we’re out of earshot. Her voice is quiet and low like it always is. She seems nervous about asking questions here, and I wonder how many times she’s been inside someone’s head and had a conversation with them without realizing it.
But this guy—who looks to be no older than twenty-five years old—doesn’t seem afraid to talk.
He stands tall in the middle of the stairs, and he smiles as though it’s perfectly normal for Kazi and me to be standing naked beside him. “You should know better than that,” he says, pointing to our bare breasts. “It would be impolite of you not to dress properly before visiting another household.”
***
I try to keep my eyes trained on his face, but it’s impossible. My attention keeps drifting to the bulge running down between his legs, and when he turns around, the full length of his cock is revealed. It’s thick and hard and pointed straight out. It’s bigger than any cock I’ve ever seen on Earth—even bigger than mine, which I guess shouldn’t be possible for something made of metal.
Kazi clears her throat nervously, and for the first time since I met her, she looks uncomfortable in the presence of someone who isn’t human. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and crosses her arms over her chest.
But it’s not the naked body of the boy that bothers me. It’s what he said just a few seconds ago: That we should know better than that.
I’m sure most people wouldn’t find this situation funny, especially a girl like Kazi, but for some reason it makes me smile. Maybe it’s because I feel comfortable being naked in the same room with him, despite everything he told us. Or maybe it’s the fact that his words are still ringing in my ears.
I’m not sure I can trust anyone anymore.
I turn to Kazi when I realize she hasn’t moved a muscle since the boy turned to face us. “What do you think he meant by that?”
Kazi shrugs. “That we need to respect the house rules?”
She’s right, but I think there’s more to it than that. This place has been abandoned for ages, but it doesn’t feel dead like some places left alone tend to be. There’s something different about this space, almost like it’s alive, and the way the boy looked at both of us tells me there’s a lot more going on here than we could ever imagine.
“And the rest of the House?”
“The House?”
I nod toward where the stairs disappear into the darkness below.
Kazi’s gaze moves beyond us and she stares at the far wall. There’s a doorway on the other side of the stairs, and when I follow her line of sight, I see a dark hallway that leads all the way back to a set of double doors. They don’t look like much—just wooden beams nailed across the top and a simple latch on the door. But they’ve got to open onto a world none of us have known existed.
“We should probably head down to the main floor,” Kazi says softly. “There aren’t any bedrooms on the second floor.”
I shake my head. “This is strange enough. How could we sleep anywhere but in the guest rooms? We’ll never survive a night in one of those.”
A small smile touches Kazi’s mouth. “Not likely.”
Her comment reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to tell her for days. “Did you ever figure out why you’re so strong?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your powers.”
She shakes her head. “No.” She looks past my shoulder and frowns. “Are you talking about the lightning thing again?”
“Just answer the question,” I say, irritated. “How come you’re always lighting up every time you get mad or frustrated or—”
“I’m not lighting up!” she shouts. “Stop making stuff up.”
My jaw drops open, and when I close my mouth, I feel stupid. Of course, I didn’t light up. She wasn’t even angry. So where did I see the flash of lightning? In her eyes. The moment she gets too angry, the whites of her eyes shine brightly.
Kazi sighs. “Look, I’m not exactly sure. It feels like it’s happening because I want it to happen. And it goes away when I calm down and take a breath.”
Something in her voice tells me she’s hiding more than she’s letting on. I reach out and put my hand on her arm, trying to gauge whether she wants to discuss it further. When her shoulders tense and she pulls away, I know she’d rather we move on from the conversation.
Still, it’s worth asking. “Is that how you knew to grab me before we jumped off the cliff? Did you think about it then?”
Kazi stares at her toes for a long time. Finally, she glances up at me, her eyes full of pain. “Yeah… I thought about it.”
“Then let’s make a pact.”
It takes her a minute to process my words, which makes me think it’s probably an idea we shouldn’t pursue now. But finally, she smiles sadly. “Okay.”
I hold out my hand, palm up.
Kazi stares at it, then at my face, and shakes her head. “What?”
I try to smile reassuringly. “Let’s promise not to give up, no matter how bad things seem.”
She stares at our hands for another beat. “You think we could really keep that promise?”
I nod. “Yes. Because we won’t know until we try.”
For the first time since we met, I feel like Kazi sees me. She smiles at my hand and holds it tight between hers. After that, nothing else matters except getting down to the bottom level of the house. But when we step through the doorway into the hallway, we both freeze.
There’s a woman standing just inside the entrance.
I recognize her instantly.
***
“Hey, Mom.”
Kazi lets go of my hand.
The woman turns around slowly. Her eyes focus on mine with a look that would melt glass, and the moment her features register as those of the same woman who raised me, my stomach flips over. A million questions race through my mind, and I wonder if she might remember me after all these years.
But when the woman steps forward and meets my eyes, the only thing I see is a stranger. She has long hair that flows past her shoulders. She wears a dress that looks like it was made for royalty. And she’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning. More attractive than anyone I’ve ever seen.
“Hello,” I manage to squeak out.
The woman laughs lightly. “Don’t be afraid of me, baby girl.”
She’s calling me by my childhood name, the name she used when I was very young. I don’t understand what she’s saying, and there are so many thoughts racing through my mind that I can hardly think straight. All I know is this isn’t right.
Nothing about this makes sense. Not her appearance or her demeanor. There’s no way she should have aged so well, nor does she appear sick in the least, despite whatever happened to her twenty-five years ago.
When the woman moves closer, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. As though someone has lit a fire beneath my skin, the heat begins to surge up from my feet toward my head. My heart thuds painfully in my chest. I struggle for breath, and a wave of dizziness knocks me backward.
Kazi reaches for me but doesn’t touch me. “Oh, no.”
I fall to the ground and curl into a ball.
“Jenna, please wake up!” Kazi kneels next to me, her hands shaking. “Please… Jenna?”
I hear nothing but the pounding of my own pulse, and my body feels strangely heavy. When I try to speak again, all that comes out is a moan.
Kazi grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me gently onto my side, holding me up as I sit up. “Talk to me! What’s wrong?”
I can barely breathe. The woman is here, and I know she’s not supposed to be. She’s supposed to stay dead. And yet she walks without any sign of fatigue. She’s wearing a dress, but it must be one of the most uncomfortable clothes I’ve ever felt against my skin. She looks like an angel and feels like death. It’s hard to believe they’re even the same person.
Kazi stares at her, confused. “Who… who is this?”
I’m struggling for air, trying desperately to pull myself together. “I need a drink.”
She looks at me quizzically. “Are you feeling okay?”
My mouth opens to respond, but no sound comes out. No matter how much I struggle, my tongue will not form the words.
“Maybe you should lie down for a few minutes.” Kazi helps me up, and when I stumble into a chair, she pushes me back and lowers herself down to sit beside me. She places her arm across my shoulder, offering silent comfort.
She knows something’s off because she doesn’t press me. But I can tell she wants to ask more questions, and I want to tell her everything.
Instead, we stare at each other for several long moments before I begin to cry. I don’t realize it’s happening at first; the tears just spill over, one after another. Kazi tries to brush them away, but when I turn and bury my face in her chest, she wraps her arms tightly around me and holds me close. For the first time, I feel safe enough to let my guard down and release all the pent-up fear.
I’ve never cried in front of anyone besides my mother, and now the tears come freely.
As I finally start to calm down, I glance back at the woman who’s still staring at us. She seems completely unaware of the conversation taking place near her. She stands tall, her gaze focused somewhere far beyond Kazi’s shoulder.
I take a deep breath and clear my throat. “Do you know your sister died twenty-five years ago?”
At first, she doesn’t react. Then I feel her stiffen.
And I notice it’s not the woman I thought it was, but rather a man dressed in a white lab coat, standing behind her. He’s handsome, and his hair is cut short in the style of the late ’60s or early ’70s. The lines on his forehead remind me of my father’s, except he appears younger.
His expression is stern, and his eyes hold some sort of judgment. It takes me a moment to recognize him as Dr. Thomas Wren, the director of the hospital where my sister died.
“You killed my sister,” I blurt out. “It wasn’t an accident. You murdered her.”
He smiles slightly at my outburst, but his tone remains cold and clinical when he speaks.
“That was unfortunate for both of you,” he says, then turns to Kazi and nods toward the door. “Take her home. We’ll talk there.”
The End