Merlin's Choice (Stand Tall 2)

Part Twenty-Three: Beneath the Earth

The dark mouth of the crystal cave was in sight when Merlin first heard the far off thunder of an approaching horse. His eyes darted everywhere, in search of the sound's source. He lingered, stuck fast by fear.

There - he spotted her through the trees, at the top of the ridge and riding hard. Her twisted mane of raven hair writhed about her skeletal face, and her blazing emerald eyes dead on him like a hunter's on his quarry.

The once-was-warlock sprinted for the cave, moving so swiftly that twice he had to push the ground behind him with his hand. His feet hit the smooth stone of the cavern, and he wished with all his might that his magic had returned - but he could not stop running. No - he would bury himself in the depths of the earth if it meant he could lose her.

The witch was quick. Dismounting from her horse, she was already giving chase on foot, heedless of the terrain within the cave.

Pounding, pounding, pounding - his heart, his feet, the blood in his ears. The walls of the cavern slithered by, the daylight slipping away. Crack - a turn loomed too fast out the dark, and his shoulder grazed it.

He had no breath with which to scream - only the lurching muscles in his legs that, without thought, urged him on.

There was no way he would ever be able to find his way out again. Not without magic - his only salvation.

He could see nothing, ahead of him or around him. He tripped ahead with a hand to the wall, as swiftly as nature would allow. A memory crossed his mind - not even that, an image. It was the world, that circle of savory light disappearing behind him as he was pulled into the She thing's watery den.

Now Morgana's hard breathing and clattering boots echoed through the labyrinth of earth.

He knew he couldn't escape her like this - his own boots and breathing were nearly as loud, if not the relentless drumming of his heart too. Perhaps it was folly, but a strange blue light seemed to glow from somewhere ahead.

The light of the crystals - it must have been.

But she was too close for him to continue.

The magician without magic made a snap decision, and pressed himself to the side of the cavern. Perhaps the dark would shroud him - give him cover, and time to think. He made his breaths small and silent though his lungs bade him gasp like a drowning man. There was no hope that he could strike her while she could see him - her magic would be much too quick. And how could he regain his own? What was the key?

The witch slowed to a walk. The sound of a young man's flight for life had vanished, but she was not stupid - he was hiding.

Saliva was flooding his mouth, but swallowing now would give him away. He pressed the side of his face to the stone, and let the spit stream soundlessly down it between painful, unsatisfying breaths.

Where was he? She'd been right on his tail, feeling the dust from his shoes. Fear shivered in her core. He could not have regained his gifts, not yet.

Green spots were flitting about before his eyes. He had to gasp, he had to. Merlin took in one, deep, hasty breath -

- and his body betrayed him. He choked. To avoid inhaling his own spit, sure, but he choked nonetheless.

Sheer horror compounded on him. The hair on his arms stood up, his knuckles were white on the hilt of his sword, and he was certain he could feel someone else's breath on him.

Something settled in his heart. He stood tall, and took a deep breath. He would not die hiding, no matter what he had to fight her with. "Face me, Morgana. Face me."