Tired of Death, Neil Hartley [best classic books to read TXT] 📗

from the body. The turning to stone part is just a side effect really.” She shrugged, though this was a fairly pointless gesture without any light.
“You said you’re trapped here? We just walked in, can't you walk out?”
“Ha! If only I could! You think I would be here in this dank pit? I was caught decades ago by a team of goody goody elves. I hate elves. They trapped me with an enhanced sleep spell. Next thing I knew I was in here.” The Medusa paused as Percy dipped her hands into some sort of liquid in small bowls.
“Don't ask what I made this out of,” the zombie said before scurry off, tripping over Sprat as he did so.
“So you’re restrained in some way?” continued Dreth.
“The area beyond the torches is like a wall to me. I can't go through it. You won't be able to either for most of it. Still, I know one way out that you should be able to take. The Dark is a little weaker in one section. Still too strong for me, but I think others could push through.”
“So you won't be able to join us then. Pity, we could use your talents.”
“Ha! I hope you get through! This damned Dungeon is nothing more than hell for me. I had hatchlings and a statue of a husband back home. I’ve lost hope in ever seeing them again. I hope they still keep Ronald polished.” She sighed.
“I’m sorry. If we can, we’ll find a way to get you out.”
“I’ve never met someone trying to escape before,” said Agnes as Percy came back and rubbed some sort of oil onto her hair, which hissed in pleasure. “Well, not a prisoner like me anyway. A few adventurers of course, I don't get many come this way. I end up feeding on bugs and rodents mostly.” She paused in thought. “Good job I don't have a big appetite.”
“There,” said Percy wiping his hands on his front. “Leave that on for an hour and you will feel like a new monster.”
“Thank-you zombie,” said Agnes.
Percy blushed, or would have done if he had any blood circulation. “Oh, you know. We all have our talents.”


~ * ~


Dreth turned to the Medusa, or at least where he thought she was standing. They were in another stone corridor, though the lights were still doused of course. Agnes has guided them along a maze of dark passages, leading them by touch and sound, until they had reached a place she said was the start of the way out. “You sure you can't get through?” he said. “It would be great to have you along. We could manage some sort of bag or something...”
“It's okay. Don't worry. I’ll be fine knowing you are doing this. And your zombie's makeover feels wonderful too. My hair has never been so slinky!”
“My pleasure,” said Percy. “I’ve left the cream in your parlor, on top of the stone dwarf. Don't forget to use it once a day without fail.”
“I will. Now. Here, push hard, I’m sure you’ll be able to get through.”
The Medusa guided them on. Soon Dreth felt a resistance, as if walking against a strong wind. He forced his way onwards.
“Daddy! Help!” came the voice of Sprat. “It’s too strong.”
“Hang on to me son,” replied Cuthbert from just behind Dreth, who was pushing hard against the invisible barrier.
“I can't go any further!” Agnes's voice called from behind. “Good luck! I hope to see you again!”
“Please let us know you’re approaching first!” shouted Percy.
The group struggled onwards, driving forward through the shield and out of The Dark...


~ * ~


“Are we there yet?” asked Sprat.
“If I knew where we were going I might be able to give you an answer,” said Cuthbert, looking meaningfully at Dreth.
They were wandering around in empty gray stone passageways, as they had been doing since they had left the Dark. They had stopped once to allow Redthorne to rest, but had spent the rest of the time moving steadily along, their echoing footsteps the only sound in the silence. It felt like they were walking along the same stretch of corridor over and over again. If it wasn’t for the layer of dust on the floor, Dreth would have believed it some kind of magical trap.
“Are you sure this isn't that maze you mentioned?” asked Redthorne.
Dreth sighed in annoyance. “I told you a hundred times already, how should I know?”
“Well, it's your dungeon.”
“It isn't my dungeon. If it was my dungeon I would know my way around wouldn't I? I’d be sitting in some sort of control room stroking a white cat and laughing manically whilst watching everyone kill each other.”
Before the wizard could reply Cuthbert pointed. “I can see something! Light! Light at the end of the tunnel!”
“Probably a dragon knowing my luck,” muttered Dreth, but hurried forward anyway, Redthorne close behind.
The pale glow grew as they moved closer, to reveal a simple doorway. After shoving the zombies through first, Dreth walked after them cautiously.
The small chamber was lit by orbs of blue fire set into the walls. Their glow cast a strange tint over the area, making it look like the whole place was underwater. At the far end of the room a figure rested upon several large cushions. It looked a little like a bronze statue, sitting cross-legged. Eight arms waved about over an enormously fat belly. The head was overly large, with lots of small horns protruding from the top like strange fat hair. The mouth was wide and filled with sharp white teeth, while slitted green eyes observed their approach.
“What is this place?” asked Percy to the world in general.
“Welcome to my lair,” said the creature. “I am the Oracle Farnsworth the Fair.”
“Ooh! I have heard about this chap!” said Cuthbert, jumping up and down and clapping his hands. “You can ask him any question and he has to answer it. Truthfully too mind you.”
“I’m bound to answer a question, just one,” said the Oracle, “Just don't make it too long.”
“Oh, an Oracle. Seems a bit of a strange place to put one of them,” Dreth mused. “Still, why not?” He shrugged and stepped forward. “Names' Dreth. I’m a guardian in the dungeon. Nice to meet you Oracle.”
“I know who you are, may your journey take you far,” replied Farnsworth.
“This isn't my question to you, so don't answer it if you don't want to, but perhaps you would like to join us on our little quest? We could always use someone good with information.”
The Oracle's eyes seemed to gleam for a moment, but then it answered. “Your offer is kind but I fear, until my time is done, I am bound here.”
Percy was covering his ears. “Stop speaking like that! It's very annoying! Or I will push my fingers inside your eye sockets and waggle them about!”
“Now now,” said Dreth calmingly to the zombie. He turned to the oracle. “My friend is a little excitable. Still, he does have a valid point.”
“Oh don't be a bunch of philistines,” the oracle said. “Everyone knows Oracles speak in rhymes.”
“That does it. Finger waggling time.” Percy stepped forward but Dreth pulled him back.
“We can ask one question each or just one for the group?” Dreth asked, holding onto the struggling undead. “Again, this isn't our question for the Oracle. Just a query.”
“One question for the group, though nothing about pea-soup.”
“What?” Asked Cuthbert. “Pea soup? Is that the best you could do? Couldn't think of anything to go with group eh?”
“It's not easy to rhyme,” answered the oracle wiggling its eyebrows, “all the time.”
Redthorne stepped forward. “In that case,” he said. “The question is...”
“Oh no! Grab him! Stop him speaking!” Dreth shouted, and the three zombies jumped the wizard, holding him down and covering his mouth.
'Mmffff,” said Redthorne, flailing about. The undead were too strong though, and he soon slumped back in defeat.
“I ask the questions here,” said Dreth, glaring at him.
“Hey, why should you get to ask the question? I would rather like to know if there is any way I can return to life,” Cuthbert complained, standing up as Percy straddled the mage.
“I thought you weren't very good at being alive?” asked Dreth.
“Doesn't mean I wouldn't like another chance though.”
“Well, if I we can find the wizard to undo my curse, maybe we can ask him to help you too,” said Dreth.
“Oh, that's going to be likely! And what if your wizard is dead? He could be. It's been a long time.”
“There’s bound to be someone who can help you, zombies are all over the place. My situation is special.”
“Hmph, self self self.” Cuthbert folded his arms and put on a sulky expression.
Dreth, ignoring the muffled complaints of Redthorne as Sprat played with his hat, turned back to the Oracle and regarded him thoughtfully. “Now, Oracles are a perverse lot, so I’m sure you will take any chance to twist my answer, or take the meaning in the wrong way. So, let me think a moment.”
“Come on,” Cuthbert pleaded. “If you think hard enough you could ask some sort of question about both of us.”
“Forget it,” Dreth said, making a slicing gesture with his hand. “That may produce some ambiguity. These Oracles are tricky creatures you know. They twist your answers around and make them all riddle-like. I hate riddles.”
“Look, all I’m saying is you could as a question like, oh, I don't know. Mmmm...” Cuthbert wrinkled his face in thought, which didn't produce the most picturesque effect. “Okay, we could ask something like...”
“No! Don't!” Dreth shouted, waving his hands about as he realized what the zombie was about to do.
“...how can we turn from undead back to living creatures?” Cuthbert looked up as Dreth slapped his hand to his head. “What? Oh.”
The Oracles eyes gleamed bright orange for a second, and then it spoke in a somber voice that echoed around the room:

“Dreth must be strong willed,
The first step - his betrayer,
Must be found and killed.

Cuthbert, for life to win,
Must redeem himself,
Be absolved of his sin.

Percy is an easy case,
Just find the one,
Who knows his face.

For Sprat, little hope for joy,
He needs to find a soul,
To become a real boy.”

The squat figure smiled evilly and closed its eyes, whereupon a shimmer ran over it, and it stilled, turning into a dull bronze statue.
“Great, now look what you did!” Dreth said, gesturing at the inert form.
Cuthbert looked smug. “Heh, serves you right for being selfish. Anyway, you had your answer didn't you?”
“Find my betrayer?! Who the hell is that? I