The Job Part 2

Part 1

“How much longer?” you asked, sweat covering your shirt from climbing up so many sets of stones.

“Another mile,” I said, hoping it was true.

“You know, I can tell when people are lying.”

“Yeah?” I said, reaching up to grip another stone in the wall. 

“You're doing it right now. You don't know how to get me out of here. You don't know how long this wall is, just that this is somehow the way out when you're not using that magical teleporting dust.” You were right next to me, your eyes staring into mine, both pairs knowing you were right.

I looked up at the unclimbed wall ahead of us and forced my muscles to keep moving. 

“How did you get yourself into this anyway?” you asked, deciding that talking to a liar is better than talking to yourself.

“I was marked, just like you,” I said, not looking back down at you.

“Marked, with what?”

“Stars–everyone's marked with stars. You can't see them unless you've also been marked. . . and had to guard the gates.”

“The gates to what?” you asked as you stopped, resting your feet on a few nice rocks pushed outward.

“Hell.”

“Really? I've been marked to guard the gates of hell?”

“No, I don't know what gates you were marked to guard--I don't know which ones I guarded either.” I snuck a look at you, hoping you wouldn't ask me why there were more than one set of gates or any other questions I didn't know the answers too.

“So why guard them?” you asked instead

“I didn't have anything better to do,” I said, reaching up and finding my hand touch dirt. I let out a sigh of relief and reached up with my other hand to pull myself up. Your hands reached the ground a minute after my feet did and I helped pull you up before both of us looked across at the forest of trees surrounding us.

“Trees, huh?” You sucked in a breath and looked around, taking in the sounds of tree frogs and whatever else it was living in the sea of plants.

“And mushrooms,” I added, the tip of my feet nudging the top of one growing in front of me.

 ”What are those?” You pointed at the sky and the black feathers housing the cries of killer birds that flew in circles above us.

“Birds,” I said, taking a closer look at them as they spiraled down. “Birds we should run from. You still have my bracelet charm?”