The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

Gauntlet
by Wynelda Ann Deaver

They say all the maidens must make it through the gauntlet to prove themselves worthy of… I’m not sure what. None of the elders tell the same story. Some of the other girls blather on and on about marriage prospects being tied to the gauntlet.

They gifted me a key ring with seven keys, all decorated differently. A set of bat wings on one, a depiction of a skull on a skeleton key. All of them are fairly ghastly—I wonder if all “maidens” get similar sets of keys. Or will the others get hearts and roses on their keys?

We are all escorted to the temple gardens, a bouquet of mustard yellow girls. The pathway is smooth stone, cold beneath my bare feet. A long brick wall covered in ivy is to the right. Seven sets of doors. Seven  “maidens”. Seven different hedge mazes.

I wonder– idly– what if anything will happen when they discover Anna is not a maiden. Or Iris. Do we each get different experiences too? Or are all expectations equal?

None of the elders are here—only priestesses. Naomi stands beside my door. She looks directly into my eyes and nods, sharply, once. If I could imagine any of us females on the battlefield it would be her. “You will get to the exit door in whichever manner you decide. Not the center. Do you understand?”

I nod, lip trembling. Stories are whispered about your destiny waiting in the center of the maze. Fairy tales, almost. My luck I would make it to the center and Zaren, who makes my skin crawl as if fire ants swarmed my body, would be there.

No, thank you.

“Choose your key and open your door,” she tells me.

I choose one resembling a sliver of bone. The lock sticks for a moment, gears grinding and turning before the door opens. I walk through, into the hedge maze, and she slams the door behind me.

I take a step forward and soon realize the small pebbles have glass scattered among them. My feet burn from this discovery. There has to be another way…

The glass has sliced open my heels. I move quickly to the earth close to the hedges, blissfully glass free. I tip toe to the first cross section, looking left and right. There’s a small bench and I go to it, sit, and make sure my feet are free of glass.

A man’s soft baritone sweeps through the maze, warming my heart. Naomi’s instructions were clear—go to the exit. Not look for the male whose singing well leaves you in a muddle.

They call the maze the gauntlet. Nowhere in there does it mention men, or love. Or even sex. My instructions were clear. Find the exit. My feet are free of glass, it’s time to move.

I stick to the edges of the maze, often crawling under the branches to hug the brick wall. His song has changed to a haunting love song. Leaves are in my hair, my dress is torn and my left arm is bleeding.

I am not giving up my objective for a man. I don’t know who it is—it could be Zaren. Zaren, who tried to take what I didn’t freely offer.

This damn maze goes on forever. I’m under a hedge when the man speaks. “I can smell you, little girl. Come to me.” Zaren tries to command me.

No! There must be a door in the next wall. I’m almost to the corner.  No hedges remain to hide in, to walk next to and spare my feet.

“Come out, come out where ever you are!” he calls.

I make a mad dash down the path. The pain ricochets up my legs. Blood flows freely from my feet now. I’m almost to the exit. I pull the keys out of my pocket and rush to end this game.

My breath shatters in my chest when I’m tackled to the ground. I kick backwards, not caring where I hit him. It just has to hurt enough for him to…

Yes! His grip loosens and I’m away. The key ring shakes in my hand while I ram the skull key into the lock. He’s coming up quickly, his hand grabbing my hair and yanking my head backwards.

 “No!” I shout the word as the door opens and I fall through. My hair rips from my head as Naomi appears, a dagger in each hand.

More priestesses flow through the door as Zaren screams. Hands touch my hair, my arms, my feet. Soft hands, caring hands.

Strong hands.

They lift me up, as Naomi drags Zaren  through the door and throws him at my feet. I don’t think he’s alive anymore.

I don’t think I care.

She comes to me, handing me a bloody dagger. I take it in hand, trembling. “Welcome to the Gauntlet.”

At least it isn’t marriage.

.

Fiction © Copyright Wynelda Ann Deaver
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

More about Wynelda Ann Deaver:

Wynelda Ann Deaver writes in the world of dark and twisty fantasy. She is in her own words a ‘girly girl’ who loves scrapbooking. Wynelda is extremely family oriented – her father is her best friend, and her son is the light of her life. If you’d like to read more about Wynelda, please visit her online at Wynword’s Weblog.