Braith glared up at the rafters of the stable, one hand on her hip, and the other on her nose. "Auck."
A pause.
"Does it hurt much?"
"Not more than I can handle. I'll be fine. People might even take me more seriously," she spoke, trying to lighten the mood. He sighed without humor and beckoned her closer. His eyes turned to a kind and forgiving amber as he ran a finger lightly down her nose. There was a small snapping noise as the bone and cartilage came together.
"There. Good as new."
"Better than new," she smiled, and cupped his cheek lovingly in her hand. Merlin gave a little grin, and turned away.
What kind of love it was between them, no man could say. Was it true? Perhaps there was no such thing, but this was as solid as anything either had felt before. Images of Freya danced in the warlock's mind, stirring his stomach sick. It felt disloyal somehow to think of this Northerner in such a tender way as he once did the other girl. But he was. He did. Almost. She did not need his protection in the way the druid girl had - but he was taken with her nonetheless.
Braith was simply fascinated. This young man was of a rare kind - gentle in his work as he saddled his horse, his skin as pale as a noblewoman's, and maddeningly clean. She wanted to protect him - and from what it did not matter. The cold, the creatures of the fen, grief - she wanted their bodies held close. Most of all though, she wanted to know him. To really know him.
Merlin spoke up from the other side of his horse. "What is this... Arna..."
"Arnanóst?"
He nodded once, walking around to her side.
"It is where the She thing has made her home. If we are to save Arthur, we cannot be idle and wait for her to act."
The Dane put her foot in a stirrup and swung herself up onto the mare.
"Come on, keep up."
---
A journey on horseback under the shy northern sun was a chance for Merlin to see this other land. It was late in autumn, and the winds were angry, whipping the forelegs of their mounts as they rode.
It was an hour or two later (or maybe what only felt like that long, for they did not speak much) when they came to the edge of a deeply gnarled thicket. The forest behind it - as much as it could be called a forest - was mainly comprised of short, wizened trees, whose roots curled into pits of stagnant water, and whose branches wove like a vaulted ceiling above their heads.
Braith dismounted with ease, and tethered both of their beasts to a fallen tree. The creatures seemed flighty and nervous.
Merlin's boot landed in muck, and sunk nearly up to the knee when he leapt down from his horse. "Are you sure this is the best way?" he called.
"Yes. This is the shortest way to the entrance," she said, helping him to yank his foot free.
They trod carefully through the fen. The few shafts of sunlight that fell through the trees seemed like trespassers among the thick, ancient moss, bright and shining gold against the variations of black. It was not merely the dark, but the treacherous bits of illumination that made them afraid. "Try to stay in the light," the Dane cautioned.
After what was scarcely twenty minutes, but felt like eternity for the rot-stench and all the strange little noises around them, the two came up to a large field where it seemed the fen's tangled roots could not quite reach. There, the young man could see a great rocky crag loom above ahead, and in front of it in the field stood a cluster of ancient homes. Only a few had any roof left at all, and most walls had rotted away, or been overtaken by grass.
It made the back of his neck tingle to walk through them. Many could be seen into through crumbling holes, and their stone hearths, once-beds of mummified pelt, and other echoes of life chilled him deeply. From one house, a little chime of bone and wire still clacked in the faint breath of breeze. Save their crunching footsteps, it was the only sound in the field.
"Arnanóst. This was one of the Danes' ancient settlements, from when they first tried to claim this part of the land," Braith explained, her voice strong in the silence. "Something came out from the treeline - and that was that. No one has tried to tame the fen since."
Something beneath the servant's foot cracked, and he started back. He'd stepped on skull of a dead horse, semi-preserved in the bog-water. He cringed, and cupped a hand over his nose and mouth. The thing's hide looked like it had melted over the bones.
The young viking woman stopped beside the edge of an old, in-ground well, no more than a great round tunnel overflowing with water. She knelt, shed her coat, and made sure her sword was fastened at her waist. "This is it. The entrance to the She thing's lair."
"The well?" Merlin asked in alarm. The distance across the hole was small enough for him to keep a hand planted firmly on either side at once.
"Precisely," she stood and turned to him. "I know this is not an easy thing to ask - you might call it a leap of faith, even." The look in her eyes was hardened, but pleading ever so slightly. "Do you trust me?"
Did he trust her enough? The servant suddenly found himself wondering. He remembered Kilgharrah's warning - that the Dane was a threat to his destiny.
"I'll have to go head first," she continued, "so you can hold on to my legs as I feel for the cavern."
"Braith," his hand went to hers. "There isn't enough room to turn around."
"I know." Her lips were pressed tight. "That is why I need you to trust me."
The young woman was going to have both their lives in her hands. Was this what the great dragon had meant? That she should be his death in that wet grave? Merlin wet his lips, and took a moment before he spoke - and said the words that would change their fates forever.
"I trust you."
A wash of relief flowed over the Dane, but it was followed quick by one of apprehension. She brought the warlock's head down, pressing their foreheads together in a gesture of cherishing.
Merlin took off his jacket wearily, and the Dane pointed for him to to hand a rock the size of a small cat. "What's this for?"
"I hold on to it to take us straight to the bottom," the girl explained. She took the stone, and looked at the water disdainfully before laying on her stomach beside it. Her body slipped through the film on top of the water, and disappeared into the darkness. The young warlock had no choice but to hold on, and dive after her head first. Taking a deep breath and preparing himself for cold, he was pulled in. The light of the world was sucked away above his feet, and his face was washed with the slime of rot. He had the distinct impression that this was birth in reverse.
The water, to his discomfort, was not cold, but unseasonably warm. Like decay. It felt like a lifetime he clung to her legs, falling through the dark and stagnant water. So dark was the water, he shut his eyes, for it was brighter behind his eyelids.
The Dane, eyes clamped shut as she fell, kept one hand pressed to the side of the well, looking for a gap in the stone. Below her, the bottom of the well hit hard against her arm - they'd been dropping much faster than she'd thought. Heart pattering out a rhythm of fear, she let go of the stone and felt frantically for the crevice that her father had assured her so many times before was there.
At last, her fingers found an edge. She pulled the two of them towards it with all her might. The warlock felt each of his shoulders bump the sides of the tunnel in alarmingly quick succession. This one was even more narrow than the well.
The young woman crept along on her hands through the pitch black water. She kept her eyes squeezed tight, as if by doing so she might be in control of her fate. They were going up again, though at an angle - a good sign.
Merlin's lungs ached and his throat burned for air. He could feel himself giving in to the instinct of every living creature. Breathe! But his will was strong.
The Dane forged ahead with her fingertips, a tedious task. She pulled them around stalactites partially blocking the way, only hoping her companion had enough sense to hold his shoulders narrow.
Sensations were becoming less distinct, and the Briton fought the urge to gasp.
Suddenly, the woman's arm burst through into what she knew what air. Crawling on her belly in the blackness, she writhed up onto the rock, and was alive again.
Merlin felt his companion's ankles shift beneath his grasp, and her hand plunge back to drag him forward - upward. He was born from the water once more and hefted up onto something hard and cold. His core heaved for breath as he lay sprawled on the stone, his body resting on Braith's warm one. A thin laugh burst from his lips, and though he could not see the young woman, he wrapped his arms about her. She returned the embrace, torso vibrating in shock-laughter. His trust in her had not been misplaced after all.
Wherever they were, it was still pitch black - their sight would not return.
The She thing could strike them at any time.
Helping Merlin to his feet, the Dane stepped further into what must have been a cavern. She nearly slipped on the slick rock, but the warlock kept her standing with a hand at her back. "Just a moment - don't move," he said, closing his eyes and trying his best to recall a spell.
"Ágiefeþ mec leoht, líefaþ uppan þone cleofa... áscínan."
It stung the eyes to see, out of the dark, light dawning around them as though he held a tiny piece of the moon in his hand. The first thing it illuminated was Braith's grinning face - dripping wet, and incredulous.
"That's wonderful," she spoke in amazement, "I did not even know such a thing could be done with magic."
Merlin felt warmth bloom inside him. So rarely did he receive compliments, and certainly not for his skill in sorcery. He looked around at where they'd come out of the tunnel.
"Where are we?"
"Within the mountain," she answered, as though it were obvious. The girl sounded pleased with herself. "Have you no sense of direction?"
The servant laughed - her tone was merely joking. The She thing's cave awed them both into silence, when they finally broke a look shared just a bit too long between them. Above their heads, the stone vaulted higher than the ceilings of the great hall, pierced here and there by great columns of the earth's own making. The rock beneath their feet, though pitted with pools, was carpeted in troves of riches, spotted with treasures of many kingdoms past. An ocean of lost wealth. The gold coins were as pebbles, and ancient swords as driftwood on this alien beach, forgotten by the sun.
"I take it this is where your drinking horn came from," Merlin said, taking the light in his palm closer to a skeleton half covered by a golden mail-coat.
"Yes." Her voice was distant. "All of it is cursed in the same way, so don't take anything. No matter how tempting it is."
"You needn't worry. I'm not planning on it," he assured her. Just as the wonder of the place wore off, it hit him. The way this place felt, smelled, and even tasted. The aura of the She thing's dark magic enveloped and smothered the travelers. Merlin could feel the putridity of his surroundings in every breath he took. So sickly sweet it clogged the air, like drowning in a syrup sea. The two coughed and gagged until the scent grew tolerable. Out of curiosity, the warlock sniffed his sleeve.
"Oh that's dis-gusting!" he protested without thinking.
"Shh!" Braith shot him a look of exasperation. He quieted.
And they heard it. A sound like heavy, echoing footsteps coming louder and louder from a bend further in the cave.
The Dane drew her sword, and crept as silently as she could towards the sound. One step - two steps - three steps - four... The coins beneath her boot shifted, tinging together in the silence.
"Braith, what are you doing," the sorcerer hissed, nearly bowled over by her stupidity. Did she think she could take the creature on by herself?
Another step, and another...
"Merlin, come and see this," she called back. The woman was not alarmed, but her curse echoed about the cavern. "Lort!"
The Briton bounded towards her, almost slipping several times, the light in his hand bobbing wildly. When he reached her side, he could barely take it in. It was another much greater tunnel, the water in it undulating to produce the footstep-like sounds.
"That leads out to sea, Merlin," her tone was flat, disheartened. "We're too late."
He placed a long-fingered hand on her arm and turned her towards him. There was hope yet, the Dane had to know. "If She's already gone after Arthur, then we haven't a moment to lose."
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