Trespasser. Mesa had ignored the signs and here she was: bringing the pickaxe down hard. It was as she had done hundreds of times since climbing down into this section of mines. Wind up, swing; rise, fall. These two steps steadily pushed her deeper into the ground. It felt like days since sunlight embraced her brown skin; days since she started chipping her way through these underground rock walls. She missed fresh air. The pick helped silence the persistent thought that she was digging her own grave. Hearing it echo out behind her into this abandoned shaft motivated her onward. Mesa prayed that that stone was down here, for her family’s sake.
Centuries ago, a conjurer rose to power in these mountains. Tales of his dangerous magic and the Mancer’s pursuit of immortality in the form of a jewel were only bedtime stories she dismissed. Her parents always ended those stories with that jewel being lost forever. Now that the plague reached Mesa’s town, those stories returned in the desperate voices of those afflicted. Her mother supplied the backpack and everything in it, and her father, ill as he was, showed her the mine. As a child she demanded answers and as an adult she was set on finding them.
Mesa stopped for rest, her lungs ached and muscles perpetually tensed. By her lighter’s flame, she devoured the last bits of dried fruit from a sack and the final swig of water. Her backpack still had the dynamite sticks. It was a death wish to use them in such a rickety mine. Inching, painstaking slowly through the stone was safer. She flexed her tired hands. She was at her limit, but she gripped the pickaxe. She heaved, bringing it down with the last of her strength into the wall.
Light burst into her corridor. Mesa’s heart skipped a beat. She felt around the small opening, determining where to strike to break through. Excitement consumed her fatigue. She wielded the axe with her second wind, huffing with ecstasy at the small entry she’d made. Mesa grabbed her bag and climbed through.
Mesa let the pickaxe clang to the soft ground. Her eyes wet with joy, nausea climbing in her throat. She dug her way into the large cavern with luminescent fungi and a grassy knoll in the center. Tombstones ran around the hill. Despite the dim lighting she saw her prize atop the knoll. Adrenalin pumping, she clamored over and between the headstones. On a small pedestal the crystalline object waited. Mesa held the heart-shaped stone in her palms. Its glossy onyx surface reflected her exhausted dusty image. Those vague rumors of this place had been true! The disease claiming entire towns up above could finally end. She gazed into her own crying eyes, becoming immersed in their darkness.
Her hands seized up, feeling electrified. The stone was fixed in her hands. From the deep center of it an azure hue, exploded into being. Mesa staggered backwards, trying to pull away. Trembling, she peered upon the light growing inside its crystalline prison. A force sent her careening backwards down the knoll; her head slammed against a tombstone. She saw the stone levitating on its own before unconsciousness claimed her.
The smell of decay struck Mesa. A high-pitched with a low earthy timbre voice brought her back with the command: “Arise!”
Mesa snapped awake, she felt movement beside her. Mostly decomposed bodies dug their way up from the hill’s cemetery. Illuminated by the ebony stone and fungi, the vague form of a man stood engulfing the stone. From their motionless lips emanated, “To the brave woman who has revived me, I humbly thank you and welcome you to my army.”
Her blood ran cold at the sight of him. The Mancer turned his attention to raise the dead once more. “Arise, comrades!”
Mesa felt torn. So many people above needed a cure in that immortal stone. She swore to bring it to the surface, but she couldn’t let the Mancer escape here. Mesa’s mind ran through the limited options. Her dynamite! She frantically searched for it. Her backpack was still beside the pedestal. Mesa found the lighter in her pants pocket and coaxed her tired body into a sprint up the knoll. She forced herself past the half-decayed army unearthing themselves. She leapt snatched her bag, the sticks falling out. She and the Mancer caught each other’s eyes. Mesa witnessed his visage slowly come into focus. She had to act. Mesa lit the backpack ablaze and threw it down at the dynamite. She slid down the hill to escape but the amassing undead army on the hill caught her.
The deafening blast rocked the cavern. The ground itself seemed to break and fall away under the explosion. Mesa felt the cold rotted hands fall away. She drifted down as the hill collapsed and sunk into the gaping chasm below. Shadows embraced them as they fell deeper. Mesa’s chest rose and fell as she braced herself for the landing.