They Say...
Chapter six
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.
The corridor is long, and dark. The only source of light that would usually illuminate it comes from the small, paneless windows that let in the cool night draught. At one end, a hard stone spiral staircase leads up, into a tower. Our footsteps echo flatly off the paved walls and floor as we approach the foot of the stairs and stand, waiting.
There are people up there. The group of us gathered in the corridor hear snatches, little glimpses, of what they say. They tell someone to do something, that it’s their chance, that they should do it now. But there is no sign that anything ever happens.
“Out of my way!”
I jump as someone comes up behind me, walking at a rapid pace with a long black cloak billowing like a sail out behind him. He pushes past the group of us and runs up the stairs, two, even three at a time. We exchange startled glances, and then we hear more talking, the same voices, and look expectantly upwards, in the direction we can hear them from. This time they’re quieter, and we can’t make out as much as before.
Someone in the group standing in front of me starts to whisper something, but the person next to them elbows them in the side, and makes a gesture for them to be quiet, softly pressing a finger to their own lips.
This distracts us all, and we lose track of what we’re trying to listen to, craning our necks to try and absorb more sound.
And then, without any warning at all, we are thrown backwards by a burst of green light. I feel myself flying, sprawled through the air, then I feel myself hit the ground hard on my left side and echoing throughout the corridor, the thud bouncing off the stone-covered walls, floor and ceiling.
I look forwards, back towards the stairs. Everyone else is getting up as well, brushing their clothes and looking in the same direction as I am. I turn around briefly, to notice that I was the furthest away from where we had been, nearest the opposite end of the passage. Looking up again, towards the staircase, I notice people coming down it – large figures, all watching us back.
Hastily, we run forward into a group again, but as they come closer, we spread out in lines stretching the full length of the passage in pairs, one from each side, facing each other. The one looking back at me is intimidatingly tall, with blond hair that is long enough to fall from the side of the hood attached to his cloak. I draw myself up to my full height, alert and ready, although this fails to make much of an impact on the difference.
Jets of light begin to illuminate the corridor now, a rainbow spreading out around the space. The first strike that passes me is icy blue, but white hot, and as it passes the side of my face, it burns and I turn away, hand pressed to my cheek which radiates red heat into my fingers.
I try to stand up again, ready to fight, but another ribbon of light, violet this time, skims just above me and I’m forced to crouch. When I raise my head again, I see my opponent facing up the passage, firing in that direction, and then he turns, and does the same in the other direction. I attempt to catch him off his guard, but he turns back to me just as I send white light back at him.
Just as he starts to move his lips, forming the words with which to retaliate, two people run through the middle of us, their heads covered, desperately trying to escape the fray. Once they've moved out of our way, he starts to move his lips again, but someone else comes by, the light from the crescent moon outside reflecting off a pair of glasses. Then he’s gone too. Turning to my left, I notice everyone else in full battle, each weaving their own patterns with the light; all except one pair, locked in a fierce fistfight – no magic, just bare hands and brute strength.
I jump at a loud crashing noise, that reverberates around the echoing corridor, bouncing off the walls as if they’re shouting at us, begging us to stop. Someone to my right springs backwards into a wall, and the ceiling then starts to groan, split, and cave in.
At this point, all of our opponents run, scrabbling quickly over the littered rubble lining the corridor, then running around the corner and disappearing out of sight.
We run back up the corridor to the end by the stairs, where two people lie, both facing the floor. Blood surrounded one of them, but the other seemed to have no obvious damage. I go to the latter, along with some of the others. Everyone bears marks of the fight; cuts, grazes, tears in their clothing, and one has a deep gash crossing the back of their head. But we seemed to, in general, escape with little damage. At least no one on our side was dead. At least, I hoped no one was.
The corridor is long, and dark. The only source of light that would usually illuminate it comes from the small, paneless windows that let in the cool night draught. At one end, a hard stone spiral staircase leads up, into a tower. Our footsteps echo flatly off the paved walls and floor as we approach the foot of the stairs and stand, waiting.
There are people up there. The group of us gathered in the corridor hear snatches, little glimpses, of what they say. They tell someone to do something, that it’s their chance, that they should do it now. But there is no sign that anything ever happens.
“Out of my way!”
I jump as someone comes up behind me, walking at a rapid pace with a long black cloak billowing like a sail out behind him. He pushes past the group of us and runs up the stairs, two, even three at a time. We exchange startled glances, and then we hear more talking, the same voices, and look expectantly upwards, in the direction we can hear them from. This time they’re quieter, and we can’t make out as much as before.
Someone in the group standing in front of me starts to whisper something, but the person next to them elbows them in the side, and makes a gesture for them to be quiet, softly pressing a finger to their own lips.
This distracts us all, and we lose track of what we’re trying to listen to, craning our necks to try and absorb more sound.
And then, without any warning at all, we are thrown backwards by a burst of green light. I feel myself flying, sprawled through the air, then I feel myself hit the ground hard on my left side and echoing throughout the corridor, the thud bouncing off the stone-covered walls, floor and ceiling.
I look forwards, back towards the stairs. Everyone else is getting up as well, brushing their clothes and looking in the same direction as I am. I turn around briefly, to notice that I was the furthest away from where we had been, nearest the opposite end of the passage. Looking up again, towards the staircase, I notice people coming down it – large figures, all watching us back.
Hastily, we run forward into a group again, but as they come closer, we spread out in lines stretching the full length of the passage in pairs, one from each side, facing each other. The one looking back at me is intimidatingly tall, with blond hair that is long enough to fall from the side of the hood attached to his cloak. I draw myself up to my full height, alert and ready, although this fails to make much of an impact on the difference.
Jets of light begin to illuminate the corridor now, a rainbow spreading out around the space. The first strike that passes me is icy blue, but white hot, and as it passes the side of my face, it burns and I turn away, hand pressed to my cheek which radiates red heat into my fingers.
I try to stand up again, ready to fight, but another ribbon of light, violet this time, skims just above me and I’m forced to crouch. When I raise my head again, I see my opponent facing up the passage, firing in that direction, and then he turns, and does the same in the other direction. I attempt to catch him off his guard, but he turns back to me just as I send white light back at him.
Just as he starts to move his lips, forming the words with which to retaliate, two people run through the middle of us, their heads covered, desperately trying to escape the fray. Once they've moved out of our way, he starts to move his lips again, but someone else comes by, the light from the crescent moon outside reflecting off a pair of glasses. Then he’s gone too. Turning to my left, I notice everyone else in full battle, each weaving their own patterns with the light; all except one pair, locked in a fierce fistfight – no magic, just bare hands and brute strength.
I jump at a loud crashing noise, that reverberates around the echoing corridor, bouncing off the walls as if they’re shouting at us, begging us to stop. Someone to my right springs backwards into a wall, and the ceiling then starts to groan, split, and cave in.
At this point, all of our opponents run, scrabbling quickly over the littered rubble lining the corridor, then running around the corner and disappearing out of sight.
We run back up the corridor to the end by the stairs, where two people lie, both facing the floor. Blood surrounded one of them, but the other seemed to have no obvious damage. I go to the latter, along with some of the others. Everyone bears marks of the fight; cuts, grazes, tears in their clothing, and one has a deep gash crossing the back of their head. But we seemed to, in general, escape with little damage. At least no one on our side was dead. At least, I hoped no one was.