The Labyrinth - 10 The Shift

The Shift The light came first. A torch. Then another. The others moving through the narrow passage, their shadows dancing on the walls. I had not moved. The cold had settled into me. I could not feel my fingers. Could not feel my face. They saw the wall. The voices stopped. I watched their faces in the flickering light. Silence. Just the sound of torches burning. The bison ran. The horse leapt. The deer looked out from the rock with eyes that were not eyes. The hunt leader stepped closer. His torch moved near the wall and the images shifted. Moving. Breathing. The way living things breathe. He reached out his hand. His fingers met the stone. He pulled back. His face changed. Something moved behind his eyes. Recognition of something seen before. In a dream. In the dark behind his own closed eyes. "The glow," he said. "It comes from inside." A hand hovered in the air. Feeling for warmth that was not there. "What did you do?" They all felt it. A whisper of what lay beyond. Not the full weight I had felt. Not the cold that had pressed through me. Just something. A draft. And then they looked at me. Their eyes moved across my stained hands. My crusted fingers. The colour that would not wash out. Then they moved to my face. The hunt leader's face was kind. The kindness of someone looking at the unknown. "You should rest," he said. I nodded. I walked past them toward the entrance of the cave. They did not follow. They stayed with the wall. With the paintings. With the presence that now lived in the stone. I did not look back. I could feel it behind me. Watching. Glowing. I was the one who had touched the wall. And the wall had touched me back. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.