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Chapter Twenty-Five



The journey took the better part of that morning, mostly because they learned they were not alone in that area of the tunnels. They found the remains of two of the shaman’s tribe, as well as an absurdly large rat that had been squashed by a single blow to the body: almost certainly the work of the blugner sow.

But the blood was barely sticky anymore. It had been in the air long enough to darken into a maroon-brown color and harden around the paw prints of some predator that had discovered the corpses while they were still fresh. The larger muscles had all been consumed and the urzhen bodies had been gutted for the choice organs.

Umkhira surveyed the walls as if a monster might jump out at them. “We are in some creature’s hunting ground.”

Ahearn nodded as he stepped over and around the bodies. “No doubt. Whatever found the kills wasn’t shy. Stayed around to gorge itself quite thoroughly. So either this creature is on its own ground or is so big that it doesn’t care. Let’s go; we’ve another hour ahead of us before it’s safe to stop.” He reflected on that statement. “Well, saf-er.” He gave the sign for Kaakhag and Umkhira to resume the march.

* * *

The Grotto of Stone Bones was aptly named. The cavern’s ceiling arched as high as those in the slate-roofed temples Druadaen had seen in the coastal cities of Nyrthule and was plainly visible due to the complete lack of stalactites. In their place, however, were what appeared to be partial skeletons of great creatures, forever flying or hovering over a veritable army of their cousins that protruded in still denser profusion from the floor and walls.

Zhuklu’a sucked in a sharp breath when she stared around at the remains of the ancient behemoths that had somehow been trapped in the stone. “Aa-hai!” she gasped. “Is this a…a tomb? Or a burial ground?”

“Might be,” Ahearn answered with a shrug. “But judging from their skeletons, these beasts were just that: animals. No sign of tools. Just ribs and teeth, some bigger than those of the largest titandrays.”

“I wonder what became of them, elsewhere in the world?” Umkhira murmured, gazing at the brown and black bones that were every bit as hard as the rock in which they were trapped.

“Maybe they only lived in this one place,” S’ythreni offered as they finished making sure there were no live creatures lairing or lurking in the cavern.

Druadaen shook his head. “No. At one time, they lived all over the world.”

“How do you know?” asked Zhuklu’a, wondering eyes on him.

“Books!” laughed Ahearn as he lit the small lantern. “Am I right, Dunarran?”

“You are. Written by a few scholars from many different lands over many centuries. These stone bones are called ‘fossils.’”

Ahearn smirked. “And so what happened to all these great, stone-boned creatures? They all die trying to swim? Heyah! Maybe this was their natta—not-ah—er…”

“Natatorium,” Elweyr supplied. “But no, Druadaen is right. There’s mention of them being found in deep caves of almost every continent. Probably weren’t made of stone originally. Couldn’t have walked, let alone float.”

Ahearn rubbed his chin as he sat and pulled a strip of dried meat from a pouch on his belt. After tearing off a piece with his teeth, he used what was left to point at Elweyr. “I think I remember you saying as much the last time we were in here.” He leaned back, stared up into the frozen shadow-forms of dead or dying gargantua. “Ah, that was quite a battle.”

Kaakhag asked a question through Zhuklu’a. “Why would you fight to possess such a place?”

Elweyr grunted. “Didn’t fight to possess it. Fought to pass through it.”

Ahearn nodded. “Beyond there”—he used his dried-meat pointer to indicate the other end of the Grotto—“the path is narrow, steep, and comes out near a very small entry to the surface, far away from the main tunnels. For all those reasons, that entry—the one I called the back door—is rarely used.

“Neither Elweyr nor I had ever been to it, but we had…well, let’s call them recruits…who had seen it and knew of the path that led to it, the one right there at the other end of this cavern. One small problem: none of our lot had ever been to the Grotto themselves and had no idea how to reach it from our lager in the Underblack. So to get back to the surface, Elweyr and I had to find this place first, and then head up. But there were so many of us that we attracted more attention. And that meant more battles.

“So,” Ahearn finished, “because we’ve smaller numbers now, we traveled faster.” He frowned. “But when we come to the back door itself, I could wish there were a few more of us. But we’ll just have to make do—and make better plans—when that time comes.”

Druadaen nodded. “So let us not tempt fate, but eat quickly, drink sparingly, and be on our way.”

Ahearn smiled. “A fine-sounding plan, but you haven’t been up the bloody passage from here to the Pool of the Warrior.”

Druadaen frowned. “What is the Pool of the Warrior?”

“You’ll see. All of you: drink deep from your waterskins. We’ve a long, steep way ahead of us.”

* * *

Ahearn had not exaggerated. The passage upward was more of a climb than a walk, and in order to save what lamp oil they had left, they had to rely on the fading glow of the few remaining lichens.

When they finally emerged back into a more typical tunnel, it required another half hour to reach the Pool of the Warrior.

Druadaen had expected a large chamber to go along with the grandiose title. Instead, it was relatively small, no more than twenty feet across, with a roof that reminded him of the underside of a small dome. The Pool itself was barely ten feet across and even in the dim light, the edge of it was clearly covered in slime, the kind that results when pond sedge begins to die off. However, although this was the place where the Rot were supposedly confirmed and created, there was no smell of decay. The prevailing odor was more akin to the sharp, acidic smell of a freshly squashed ant mixed with the reek of sweat-soaked clothes.

Zhuklu’a entered with the surety of prior experience, reached up into a crevice hidden behind a fold of rock in the rough wall, and produced two torches and two jars.

Ahearn came forward eagerly as she made to hand off the container. “I didn’t dare hope we’d find any, but this is better than gold, it is.”

Curious, S’ythreni leaned close. She leaned away abruptly. “Well, it’s certainly not valuable as a perfume.”

Elweyr smiled, shook his head. “No. It’s the dye for the Pool. But on us thinhides, it almost makes us invisible down here. Seems to muddy or block the urzhen ability to see heat.”

Zhuklu’a translated the brother’s rapid hand motions. “To use it that way is to…uh, show disrespect for a god-gift meant for the Bent alone.”

Ahearn shrugged. “Well, apologies to your gods, but also our thanks. This dye saved my life, and Elweyr’s, more than once. We never did have enough of it.”

The brother muttered something dark as Kaakhag nodded, but also shrugged, palms upward. What’s done is done and you can’t expect any better of thinskins, was Druadaen’s translation of the gestures.

Around a mouthful of dried meat, Umkhira nodded toward Kaakhag. “It is time we go on ahead, if you know the way.”

He nodded, but hesitantly.

“Well,” Druadaen asked, “does he, or doesn’t he?”

Ahearn put out a temporizing hand. “He does, but the memory is not fresh. I suspect we shall have one or two wrong turns before getting there.”

“And why are they going alone?” S’ythreni asked. “Why should any of us stay here?”

Elweyr stared at her. “Because two people are a lot less likely to be seen than eight, and because urzhen don’t move blind down here.”

Umkhira accepted one of the jars from Ahearn and walked toward the brother who, like the shaman, had apparently decided it was not safe to share his name. “Get-brother of Kaakhag,” she began solemnly, “I did not know it would be an offense to your gods to use this dye directly upon my body, for I am not familiar with all the ways of the Rot. I ask your forgiveness that I must anoint myself with this dye, so that I shall be less visible to any underkin whose paths we may cross.”

“Brother” frowned but, after glancing at Kaakhag, nodded.

Umkhira offered a slight bow and stripped without any delay or modesty. S’ythreni rolled her eyes as the powerfully built Lightstrider covered her skin with a thin layer of the dye. When Umkhira had slipped back into her hide armor, she glanced at the humans and S’ythreni. “Did you see or smell the spoor as we neared this chamber?”

Druadaen was once again prepared to feel like the only person in the group who had no idea of what was going on, but on this occasion, the others shook their heads as well.

Umkhira nodded. “Whatever fed on the bodies we found earlier today seems to have picked up our scent from the site of that kill.”

“And it followed us all the way here?” S’ythreni asked, disbelieving. “It would have had to track us to the Grotto and follow us from there. Except that means it could only get here behind, not ahead, of us.”

Ahearn tilted his head. “Now that’s not always how it works down here. If that beastie tracked us to the Grotto, found us gone, but caught our scent in the upward passage, it might know where the other end comes out. So, as it’s likely too big to fit through that passage, it probably just took another route here.”

“So if there’s another route, why did we just struggle up that underground goat trail?”

“To avoid everything else in these tunnels,” Elweyr sighed. “And if we hadn’t, it’s likely that the creature on our trail would have overtaken us. Because if it’s big enough and quiet enough, it wouldn’t need to be cautious.”

With nods, Umkhira and Kaakhag crept back to the entrance, listened, then slipped out into the tunnels. If they made any sound as they moved, Druadaen could not hear them.

When they were gone, he asked Zhuklu’a, “How did you know where to find the jars and torches?”

“Because they are a female responsibility,” she said through what sounded very much like an animal growl. “We attend the one being Dipped. We are the ones who make any patterns in the dyeing if they are required.”

Ahearn shook his head. “A daylong bath to become green. I’ve never been able to figure out all the fuss over it.”

Zhuklu’a stared at him. “You led many urzhen in these tunnels. How is it you do not know more about their ways?”

He smiled. “Well, little huntress, down here, leading urzhen means losing them right and left. So you don’t learn a great deal about ’em, y’see.”

“Then I doubt you know that any who come here to be marked as warriors may not eat or drink for three days before.”

Ahearn’s smile was mischievous. “Is that a ritual cleansing, or a way to make sure the would-be warrior doesn’t add to the holy broth with a bit of his own water?” His grin widened. “Or what might be worse.”

Zhuklu’a was not amused. “It is both. If the Dip is soiled, it must be replaced. To the Rot, this rite is not just important; it is useful.”

Brother signaled at her. She translated: “Becoming Rot is a test. The Dip burns every second you are in it. For months after, it chafes and itches until finally, you shed that layer of skin.

“All to make yourself green?” wondered S’ythreni.

Zhuklu’a shook her head. “You do not perceive. Becoming the Rot means you have sworn an oath that everyone can see. That you will live the life of a warrior. That you are a killer and that your very skin declares that.”

Brother signed. Zhuklu’a had to ask him to repeat it before she explained, “He says that the patterns—made by covering that part of the skin with wax—promise and declare other things. He says that no race wears their oaths as openly and permanently as do urzhen. There are other temporary markings, but they only have meaning among—”

S’ythreni held up a hand, tilting her head. Then she was unsheathing her weapons. “The creature tracking us: it’s approaching.”

But Zhuklu’a grabbed her arm, stared urgently at the others, and hissed, “You must trust me.”

“Why?” asked Elweyr.

“Because we do not wish to fight what is coming.”

“And so—?”

“And so, we do this!”

Without further explanation, she held her nose, closed her eyes and mouth tightly, and jumped into the Pool of the Warrior.

Druadaen was hitting the slimy, fetid Dip before he was even aware he’d decided to follow her.


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