“Keep going,” Gramps said. “We’ll catch up with him. He’s probably out on the other side of the mountain, chasing Flutterbees or the like.”
Flutterbees, Maria mentally shook her head, but the thought was quickly disintegrated by a distant shrieking.
“Sherlock!”
That was him; as plain as day, that was Sherlock whining. Did something hurt him or is he only scared? I will kill anyone who touches my dog, Maria swore, the anger boiling over her.
That same whimpering again, but this time, Sherlock cried out for Maria.
Maria, help me! Please!
She couldn’t take it anymore. Dimly, she was aware of Gramps reaching and trying to snag her arm. He wasn’t successful.
Maria tore off through the dark cave, not worried about stumbling or falling down a crack; all she was worried about was saving Sherlock.
Soon she became disoriented, but the darkness bled away, turning into a grayish film that seemed to settle over her eyes. Her hands brushed against the cool stone as she guided herself toward that distant pinprick of light that never grew closer no matter how fast she ran.
And the laughter came back, too—that high, maniacal laughter. It made Maria’s blood run cold.
Not the time to get scared, Maria, she thought. You’ve faced worse than this.
But had she?
At least when she fought Malakai, she’d been able to see him, thanks to the streetlights and the glow of magic—
That’s it! Magic, Maria! You keep forgetting you’re a witch.
She closed her eyes; or at least, she thought she did. Either way, the blackness was almost complete…until it wasn’t. Blue light rippled up her arms. It was nothing compared to Frieda’s palm-fire, but it was enough for her to see five or so feet ahead of her. She found it much easier to ‘light-up,’ as she called it, on Oriceran as opposed to Akron, where the magical energy was less prevalent. Though she hadn’t done it with the snap of her fingers, she realized she was already getting a better hang of it.
Sherlock, I’m coming for you.
The whimpering came about three minutes later, now from somewhere else—somewhere deeper. Maria took two rights and a left, and then the landscape sloped downward. She wasn’t sure now, because of her blue light, but she thought the darkness in the cave was quickly fading.
Maria!
An opening presented itself, seemingly out of thin air. Inside the opening, filtered gray light helped her see the rising land. In the middle of the land, which must’ve stood a hundred feet above from where she was, on a raised platform of rock, a man sat on a throne. He held a staff made of bone in one hand (of what bone, Maria was unsure), and he sat in a way that reminded Maria of George Demarco, her graduating class’s resident clown. His head leaned on the hand that held the staff, one leg hung over the opposite arm, and he had a big, goofy smile on his face. A very weird position indeed.
“Who are you?” Maria shouted up to him.
“Me? Why, Maria Apple, I am the ruler of the Cave of Delusion,” the man said.
Maria took a few steps forward, the blue light fading from her arms and the gray light taking over. As she got closer, she recognized this man as not being a man at all. He may have been a man at one point, but whatever he was now, she was sure of one thing—he was not alive…or he shouldn’t be. His skin was papery and stretched over his skull so tight that his cheekbones stood out like the points of blades. His eyes were sunk in far enough that Maria could not identify the color, if there was one other than black—even if she had been only inches away from his face. He was lanky, bony, withered and worn.
“Where is my dog?” Maria asked. Against her better judgment, she had not drawn her sword yet.
“Oh, do you mean Sherlock, the talking Bloodhound?” The man stood up and lifted his staff, a bloody grin spreading on his face. As he held the staff up, the air around it shimmered as if it had caught fire. Then Sherlock rose from the ground. He was out cold; his ears dangled back, and his tongue lolled from his mouth.
Maria gasped and stifled a sob.
“Oh, no, don’t worry, Maria. He is not dead. Yet,” the man said.
“But you will be,” she snarled. Already, she’d planned her route up the jagged platforms to save her canine companion and exact revenge. Her estimation was that she could make it up there in less than thirty seconds, moving fast enough to escape whatever dark magic the man on the throne possessed.
Only got one shot, she thought. Now!
She took off up the first slope, as the ground shifted beneath her feet. Using her reserved power, and drawing more from Oriceran, she was able to move much faster than she would’ve been able to on Earth. The first rise cleared, she breasted the second, then the third; the magic flowing through her like her own blood. As she climbed up the last rise, the ground was well below her and the adrenaline was making her skin prickle; she realized she was not tired, but re-energized.
“You’re dead!” she shouted as she jumped the last three feet to the edge of the rock platform and sprang up.
But Sherlock was gone, the throne was gone, and so was the man.
She spun around, whirling the sword in an arc. Nothing was behind her; she was by herself on the highest rise of the great cavern.
The man’s laughter cut through the air. Wicked laughter that Maria had only ever heard in the movies. Her body shook with anger and a growing rage. She was ready to explode.
“Why are you doing this?” she shouted to the empty space. The laughter cut off, and her voice echoed back to her, drifting, drifting, drifting…
No answer.
“What is it you want?”
“Want?” the man laughed again—if, in fact, he was a man. Maria had not known
