No matter how many battles Sabit had won, the people she loved most were always the ones to suffer. Fighting never solved anything. Yet, fighting was all that Sabit could do. It was what she always did, even in the face of oblivion.
Oblivion was here. Sabit could see the skeletal faces of the ravenous ghosts coming for her. Sinking down beneath the cold water did not deter them, their lipless grins only grew wider. Her chest burned for air.
Sabit’s hand brushed against cold metal. Her fingers quickly grasped the bar sticking up from the stone floor. She pulled, but the metal did not move. The ghosts pulled closer. A roar rose in her ears.
Turning from the ghosts, Sabit grabbed the bar with her other hand. Planting her feet on solid rock, she heaved with all her might. The metal refused to bend.
But the ancient mortar fastening the bar to the rock cracked and crumbled. The bar came loose. Before Sabit could swing her improvised weapon at the ghosts, a surge of water and crying, screaming bodies washed over her. Sabit fell backwards through the opening that was no longer blocked by the metal grate.
She splashed into the river, beneath the open sky.
Wayfarings of Sabit: Tumult is copyright (c) 2017 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller or http://ipressgames.com/fiction/