The Looking-Glass Illusion by Sara Ella

Author:Sara Ella
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Christian
Publisher: Enclave Escape
Published: 2023-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

Dressed in the dullest colours I think I’ve ever donned—a grey shirt, tan trousers, and brown boots—with hair uncombed but stubble, at least, shaved, I exit Erin’s chambers and hurry down the spiralling stairwell. My WV bangle hangs from my belt loop, a constant reminder at my hip that, eventually, I’ll have to face the poor decisions I’ve made.

But not quite yet.

Madi wasn’t kidding when she said the undercroft is set up like barracks. Metal bunks line the walls of the circular room. The stone floor is barren, and the crisscrossing archways above give the illusion the space is larger than it actually is.

Or perhaps it feels large because I’m the only one down here. “Hello?” I say it loud enough that my voice ricochets off the rafters.

Someone makes a shushing noise. Madi and Sophia playing tricks? I poke my head inside one water closet and then the other. Nothing, and no one jumps out to scare me.

Odd.

A door slams somewhere in the distance. It’s then I realise the sounds are wafting through the cracked round window. It’s placed too high in the stone for me to peer through, so I push open a monstrous wooden door and step out into the sunlight. The scent of nearby hay assaults my nose and makes me sneeze. After a few blinks, my watery eyes adjust, and a small barn across the way comes into focus. I jog over to find my teammates inside.

But what I stumble upon is not a barn at all. Or not fully one, anyway. These are stables and—

“Welcome,” Madi says in a hushed tone, “to the game room.”

My mouth hangs open and I close it abruptly. “This is . . .”

“Incredible,” Jack whispers nearby.

“Remarkable,” Madi adds.

But Stark doesn’t follow suit. “A mad house,” he mutters.

If I thought Erin’s chambers revealed a bit of her crazed side, that was nothing compared to what lies before me now. The first stall to my left is dedicated to her midnight black steed. The mare whinnies and neighs, and her giant nostrils flare, making her appear more wild than tame. Her coat has a silk sheen to it that suggests Erin brushes her more than once a day. Fresh golden hay carpets the stall floor.

I resist the urge to sneeze again and move on.

In every subsequent stall, a different chess game is set up on a small table or bale of hay or barrel or crate. Stools sit on either side of each game and more strategy notes and diagrams adorn the walls and posts and stall doors. It’s like looking at a foreign language for all the arrows and graphs and data Erin has drawn—or crossed off.

In the final stall at the end to my right, Erin and Sophia sit, a game in progress between them. Some of the pieces are carved from wood, and others from stone. Sophia plays red and Erin plays white. In fact, all the sets are white versus red rather than the traditional white against black. My mind darts to whom we’re fighting against, and what we came for.

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