The Ghost Greyson, Maeve (reading an ebook .txt) 📖

Testing the strength of his throbbing leg proved to be a mistake. It buckled under the slightest bit of weight and sent him back to the floor. Cold sweat peppered across his brow and upper lip. “I will do this,” he growled. After several slow, deep breaths to conquer the pain, he managed to return to a standing position with the help of the wall. He didn’t think the leg was broken, just twisted something fierce. It would be slow going through the tunnels, but that was just as well. Slow also meant careful.

Stooped over, he hitched his way along the wall, searching for a way to escape the pit. He tried not to think about what would happen if this pocket of space had no exit. He worked out a rhythm, holding to the wall and swinging the torch first high, then low in search of tunnels, cracks, fissures, anywhere he might wiggle through to get to hopefully a better place rather than a worse one. As it was, he was trapped, and no one knew where he was. As far as he was concerned, things could only get better.

Before he had started this search for an opening, he had taken a stone and scratched a large cross into the wall. Not as a prayer for help. He was too stubborn for that. But to let him know where he had started. If he searched the room and came back to the cross, then he would know there was no exit. He tried not to dwell on that possibility.

Instinctively, he had started his journey by going to the left. If the void was a circle, he moved in a clockwise direction. His mother would be pleased. Deasil, or clockwise, moving with the sun, raised power and increased the odds of prosperity, while widdershins or counterclockwise banished power. If he needed anything right now, it was power and prosperity.

His left hand slid along the wall, keeping him upright, while his right hand kept the torch swinging. Just as he swung the light downward to check the floor, he moved his hand and ran out of the wall. “Shite!”

The curse word echoed all around as he stumbled and hopped like a three-legged dog. He rounded the corner and leaned back against the side of the new tunnel that had opened up to his left. The old teachings had been right. Moving clockwise had led him to a wide passage that was tall enough he could straighten to his full height. He pulled in a deep breath and stretched, renewed hope pumping through him. A tunnel this wide in the cave system had to have been mapped. All he needed was the markings they would’ve left behind. Then he would know his location.

Fortified by his find, he inched along at a faster pace. The air even seemed fresher here. Could he be so lucky, or was it merely his senses feeding him false hope? Whatever the case, he would take it and use it to his advantage. Hobbling along, he noted the levelness of the passage floor, almost as if the mythical dwarves of ancient legend had chiseled his way out. He hopped along faster, tasting freedom.

Then all hope left him. A solid slab of stone ended what had turned out to not be a tunnel at all but merely an offshoot of the sinkhole. He pressed his forehead against the stone and hammered the wall with his fist, raging against the mountain’s cruel jest. So much time and energy had been wasted by going down this passage. His torch wouldn’t last forever. He had to find a way out before it was spent.

“Naught to be done but keep moving.” For some odd reason, the act of speaking out loud soothed him. First sign of madness, perhaps? “Nay, I merely appreciate a wise voice of reason,” he assured himself as he swung around and backtracked to the opening of the fickle tunnel.

Back to where he had veered to the left, he started out again, humming a tune as he swung the torch and hopped along. “Show me yer secrets, Ben Nevis. I’ve always treated ye well and respected yer name.” His request echoed through the void, then faded into the darkness. It was followed by the skittering sound of something scrambling across the space. The noise of a startled varmint. A rat maybe?

Still steadying himself with the wall, Magnus attempted to work his way toward the sound. For an animal to be heard at this level, he couldn’t be that far from an opening to the outside. He hoped it was a good-sized opening and not some crack in the earth, barely large enough for a wee mousie.

He came to another tunnel, much like the one that had cruelly made him believe he had found the way out. Should he try it or no? Staring at the new direction’s darkness didn’t tell him a damn thing. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered as he forged ahead. Then he heard voices. Or did he? Could be cave madness setting in. He’d heard tell of that happening to others.

Moving as quietly as possible, he strained to hear more, then his heart leapt so high he smiled. At least if he was doomed to imagine voices, he couldn’t think of a better one than Brenna’s. “Brenna!” he called out, hoping against hope it really was her and not his own wishful thinking.

“Magnus!”

More joy and relief than he had ever known surged through him. “Stay put! I’ll come to ye. These pathways are too treacherous for ye to travel alone.

“What makes ye think she’s alone?” A hearty laugh that Magnus had heard many times before followed. Alexander had found Brenna, and the two of them had taken it upon themselves to find him. But why? How had they known?

Perplexed, Magnus came to a halt. What had caused Alexander to search Brenna out to save her?

“Magnus?”