Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [151]
As he stood, pondering his decision, something emerged from the tunnel on the right. It was a person in rags. Somebody lives here! Using one of the spears as a walking stick, the figure came forward tentatively—slowly making its way to the altar remains. Wataru stood rooted to the floor, unable to move.
That’s no person. Though it might have been once. It was a skeleton. A skeleton, wearing rags wrapped around its bony frame, and walking with a spear. With every step its jaw would rattle.
Relax, I have to relax. I’m not frightened. Wataru closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, repeating those words to himself. I beat the four statues in the Cave of Trials—they gave me wisdom and bravery. I’ve even got the protection of the firewyrm! No bag of bones is going to send me running.
The skeleton, now at the altar, stood clinging to the spear and swaying gently from side to side. Then, with a hollow knocking sound, it collapsed into a formless pile of bones.
Wataru steadied himself and began to walk toward the right-hand tunnel. He noticed right away that the spears by the mouth of the tunnel were baked with grime and rust.
Only the entrance of the tunnel was clearly visible. But when Wataru held up his Brave’s Sword in front of him, the blade began to glow with a wan light. It was almost as if it was catching that white light coming from the other tunnel and somehow augmenting it. It wasn’t as bright as his lantern, but it was more than enough to see by. Wataru held his sword high and began to walk.
He had gone about four or five yards when he saw what looked like wooden bunks stacked three high on either side of the tunnel. He stepped closer and saw that they were full. There were people in the bunks.
Not people—skeletons! Bunk beds filled with bones!
There was a clattering noise behind him. Wataru spun around to see one of the skeletons, wrapped in rags, fall out from its bunk. Arms held out, it began walking toward him.
Wataru leapt backward, too startled to shout. He dodged the skeleton’s bony embrace, but got nicked in the nose by one of its fingers. The skeleton waved its arms like it was doing the breast stroke, then fell to the ground with a clatter.
Wataru heard a sound like a racing locomotive. It was his own breathing. He wiped his forehead with his hands and looked up.
Skeletons were rising from every bunk. Some clung to the edge of their beds, others held on to the back of the skeleton in front of them. The sound of their bones rubbing together was like the beating of a thousand moth wings.
Their eyes—swimming in empty sockets—were fixed on Wataru. The army of bones made their way toward him. Wataru felt the hair on his nape stand on end.
Suddenly the strength returned to his legs, and he fled. He didn’t think he had come that far down the tunnel, but the distance back to the entrance seemed to take forever. The hall of worship was filled with dim light, and it seemed like the tunnel was even brighter. His escape. His road to freedom. Wataru ran like the wind, and found himself going nowhere. It was like he was running in a dream. Skeletal hands reached out, pleading and grasping. They hooked his clothes, they looped through the belt at his waist, and they yanked at his hair.
Wataru realized he was screaming. The skeletons were going to charge him, collapse upon him in an avalanche of bone, burying him under their weight. I can’t let myself fall! I can’t fall!
Wataru was so panicked he couldn’t run straight. He felt his speed decreasing. Bony arms reached out from behind and grabbed his shoulder. He brushed them away with such force he lost his balance and nearly fell to one knee, clawing at the air to keep on his feet.
That was when he noticed the bars jutting down from the top of the tunnel. A portcullis. If he could get out of the tunnel and drop that behind him, he could lock those skeletons up forever. There had to