9 A Trail of Blood

The cavern was pitch black. If it hadn't been for the torches the group had, everyone would have shared in Athalos' sight. The cavern's ceiling arched high and the torchlights weren't strong enough to shed light on it. The air within was still as if time had forsaken the place and had a prickly coolness that seeped under their armor and garments. The group walked through an empty corridor, as much as their torches lit. The only clear remnant of previous life was Jeff's trail of blood which the group followed like crumbs.

Graff led the group at the forefront. Fortified with iron armor, and as originally planned even before Jeff's sudden appearance, he was suited best as the vanguard. As his eyes were closest to the barren ground, he keenly hounded the trail in search for any other clues as to what happened. Cautious of what lurked in the dark, he spoke softly. "Be on yer wits, ladies and gent. The gruesome death of our minute-friend Jeff begs it of us. I can assure ye now that if ye loved the novelty of surprise, ye'll learn to hate 'em now."

Maya was in the middle of the tightly knit pack. Her torch's wood churned at the strength of her grasp. On her other hand, she held a short iron sword at the ready. She felt the dampness of the hilt due to her sweaty palm. She was nervous and on edge, to lightly put it. She spoke even softer than the steps she took. "I thought this was where novices were sent to? Why do I get the feeling that was a lie?"

"Lady Maya, tremble not. You are with an adept of the dark. Whatever fell our unfortunate friend will do well to cower away from me." Athalos, also in the middle of the group, walked by Maya's side. He was the most fearless. Like a guppy in water, he was in his natural habitat; Funny thing was that he always had been. His surge of bravery unnerved the group rather than heightened their morale.

When they first entered the cave, he prodded his staff on the ground a little too loud for everyone's comfort. Thankfully for all who had eyesight, Maya couldn't deal with it. She tied a rag with twine on the staff's base to lessen the chance of alerting anything. Though if they ever got killed, the group knew who to haunt in the afterlife.

"Fear is nothing but a state of the mind." Athalos spoke with the wisdom of a sage in his voice. He clutched his bow's shaft which was slung across his body. He managed to slip it past the group's vehement objections; What Miss Maple of The One-Legged Duck told Maya wasn't mere tavern talk but a warning and the rest of the group heeded so.

He continued without worry and the prominence of one aged in the world's experiences, "Fear is but a pissing contest. But no, my friends. Do not let the tavern tales of old fool you. It is not in the art of how high the golden relief arcs but in the timely length the golden river flows."

"Please gods, whichever one of ye is listenin', wake from yer slumber and take the fool now," groaned Graff.

"T-The gods will do no such thing!" commanded Athalos towards the ceiling.

Maya clamped onto Athalos' wrist and easily wrung it like wet laundry. "I swear, Athalos. I will break you like a twig if you don't stop being so damn loud."

"F-Forgive me, Lady Maya. My appeal to the gods had to be heard." Athalos felt the truth in her words. He winced as he was set free then rubbed his burned wrist. He took huge relief in the knowledge that Maya's spite was solely directed at Io Hara. He cleared his throat and his vigilance towards prayers and spells. He tempered his voice as he went on. "I was merely conveying that the one who succumbs to fear first is the one most likely to find the knob on death's door."

While Maya wished for an analogy other than that of hygienic nature, she understood well enough. She had to stave off fear and not be consumed by it. Bravery was just as important as cowardice. She brushed her sweaty hands over her magenta slacks.

Graff spoke as he carefully followed the trail. "Never thought I'd say it but any sort of dark or wood elf would've been company well-taken. Those sneaky dark drifters can see past the darkness like a cat-"

"Hush," scolded Frina. She was the rearguard. Her usual cool and odd demeanor was brittled at the group's circumstance and the added uncertainty of whatever dwelled around them. She held her lute close and, just like Maya, her dagger was unsheathed. With the blade in hand, she neared it towards Athalos' bowstring on his back. She merely had the group's survival in mind but her blade stopped. She lifted her torch and her teal eyes, shimmering from the flames, scanned the area as much as she could. "Halt, Graff."

Graff stopped in his tracks and the group followed. He reached for his waist and took out a hammer the size of his smooth head. He raised his torch too but to lesser effect. He whispered over his shoulder, "Talk to me, o champion of critters."

"Why are we stopping?" Maya threw the question. She readied her stance, knees low and weapon close and upfront her chest, just how they taught her. But the blade of her short sword twinkled instead of a steady glint. She was reminded of the rusty sword back in the forest when she first arrived.

Athalos, hands casually perched on his grounded staff, raised an eyebrow. "I personally wouldn't mind it but it's much too early for lunch."

"We aren't alone. I'm sure of it." Frina sheathed her dagger and tossed the torch to the ground nearby. She cradled her banged lute. Both hands hovered over the strings, one on the lute's neck and one on the body. She called out to any of the group because she wasn't sure who had them, "Fireflies. Now."

"O-On it!" Maya scattered to flip her shoulder bag open. Once she finally unlatched and flipped it open, light that of a pocketed moon burst from within. She grabbed the closed jar of fireflies and hurled it to the dark.

But the only benefits they received were the crash of glass like a popped lightbulb and two fireflies that escaped massacre. All the other fireflies died upon impact.

"Oh my god. M-My bad." Maya felt regret for all the little souls she vanquished.

As the sound of broken glass rang through his ears, Graff closed his eyes as if in meditated contempt and breathed deep. He felt a stake run through his heart where his wallet resided. Fireflies, especially enchanted ones to prolong their light, cost an arm and no, not a dwarf's arm. He frowned that he, or anyone else in the group, didn't instruct Maya how to use them. He deafened himself from the cries of wasted coin and spoke with cautious restraint. "L-Lady Maya. M-Might I suggest ye open the lid and shake the jar."

"I-I'll do that," replied Maya obediently. Bent on redeeming herself and washing away the guilt, she retrieved a second jar of fireflies from her bag and did as instructed.

Once she opened the lid and shook the jar, the fireflies flew away like a mist of yellow-green light. As the fireflies spread out, the cavern brightened at a steady pace. The beautiful scenery calmed the nerves of those who could see. But once the light reached the ceiling, horror replaced awe.

Bats. There weren't a multitude of them. There were only five perched in sleep above the group. But each one was as large as any human was.

"Holy shit," escaped from Maya's mouth.

Frina shook her head as she responded, "Nothing holy about those beasts."

"Are we playing that game again today as we always do?" The sarcasm in Athalos' voice was thicker than usual. "Where my imagination is free to roam like a deer on a prairie?"

"It's bats above us, you loud nitwit!" whipped Graff but he kept his voice bordered at a whisper. He stared at the sleeping black beasts. He returned his hammer to the slot on his leather belt. He took out his shield and kept it over his head. He turned to the group, "Apologies, I only brought one shield on me back. Droppings that large will give ye a nasty bath."

Maya thought the absence of droppings on the floor seemed strange. Did they recently move to where they were? Her suspicion slipped away as she lifted her bag above her head. She leaned in behind the dwarf and asked, "What's the plan, Graff?"

"I say we slip through unnoticed," suggested Graff. "If all goes well, we'll be ready for the next ordeal. I don't wanna deal with these. Flying foes are frustratingly pesky, especially for a dwa—"

"Fear me."

A twang of a bow and an arrow flew from behind. It went past the motionless black-furred bodies and the sharp sound of an iron tipped arrow clashing on the solid rock between the monsters vibrated throughout the cave. But that wasn't all. The arrow bounced to a few more rocks before it the wooden shaft drummed on the ground.

Graff and Maya turned behind to the sight of Athalos, who stood tall and unapologetic, with his bow post-draw. Frina was frozen with her dagger in hand. In coveted silence, she tried to prevent what happened but ultimately failed.

Before Athalis could get another arrow from his quiver, Maya held him by the collar. With crazed eyes and reeling in the strong urge to punch him on the face, she questioned him, "Why?! Why would you do that, Athalos?!"

"Bats are my Io Hara, Lady Maya." Athalos scoffed and smiled. "Do you think getting compared to a flying rodent is acceptable to my kind?! I think not! And if I must, I would pressure the world to think otherwise! We, the sightless, are not as blind as—"

"Ye boundless idiot!" screamed Graff as he gladly threw away his hushed tone. "These aren't cute rodents ye can give yer scraps to! These ones are as blind and as large as yerself!"

The corners of Athalos' smile went limp in an instant. "Oh dear."

As the three members scolded, pummeled, and elbowed Athalos, one of the bats opened its huge red eyes. It didn't know what it was looking at, what kind of squabble was happening. All it knew was that warm blood meant fresh meat. And seconds later, unknown to the entire Graffodil's Troupe, five pairs of red eyes hungrily gleamed at them.