by Russ Linton
It was almost as if she were back home again. A child sitting on a ledge, dangling bare feet into damp darkness.
***
"Things live down there." Blind, old Jai wagged a finger directly in front of Kaaliya's face as if he knew right where her nose was. "Terrible things the ancient priests, the Murti, were waiting on to come and fill their empty altar. You mustn't seek that place."
Could she really be the only one that wondered what the darkness was like? Daylight from the surface world could only penetrate so far, and the deeper one went into the Pit, the closer one felt to slipping under that smothering cloak. Sometimes, she wanted nothing more.
She looked up from the rope bridge where the two of them sat, up through the opening of the Pit many spans above her. Light burned in like their own personal sun, netted by a crisscross of bridges. It was a clear day. No mist, no curtains of water from rainy season floods pouring over the lip. The cave mouths and decorated facades of the cliff dwellings surrounding them stood out as empty voids against gray walls. The clamor of busy households was a hushed whisper echoing strangely from the depths.
"I've seen the empty altar," Kaaliya whispered. "It's a stone dish, polished and smooth, with a hole in the center. The hole runs down into the pedestal, down past where anyone can see. And there are paintings on the walls. Old and peeling like dead skin, but you can still see them. Mountains growing on the clouds and blue people without faces."
Normally she wouldn't have told anyone about her exploration of the forbidden ruins, but Old Jai was different. Before he'd lost his sight, he'd seen more of the world than anyone in the Pit. They'd come to an agreement of sorts where they traded story for story—a kind of currency she didn't mind, and an escape from the dreary confines of her home.
Rarely were these trades even, for she never felt she had good stories to share. She'd been saving the one about the temple, unsure how he'd react. He had yet to answer, and she thought maybe she'd gone too far.
Old Jai's pearly eyes widened. "You know the temple is a taboo place."
"I know," she said, avoiding those eyes.
Carved into the far cliff side, the dilapidated temple's imperfections were hidden at this distance. Cracks in the aging relief melted away, and only the standing pillars were visible, not the toppled ones that littered the ground. Those priests had been the first to live here ages ago. Worshipers of a forgotten god, or a dead one, Kaaliya wasn't sure. She'd broken taboo and climbed through their lost sanctuary. Seen that empty altar.
She'd seen every habitable part of the Pit though she'd never fully explored the surface world. Her father forbade her from wandering too far. He often visited the towns and villages outside but rarely returned with anything except the men he traded her time with.
"Don't you tell anyone," Old Jai finally said, "but I've seen a taboo place or two myself." Kaaliya couldn't help but smile. "You've seen trees, haven't you?" he asked.
Though she'd only ever seen them in her imagination, she nodded, then remembered to say, "Yes."
She always had to remind herself the old man was blind. His tales of the outside were so vivid, so real. Jai had been forced to seek the sanctuary of the Pit after an illness cost him his status and his sight. A giant sinkhole in the lush pastures north of the hill-covered Paharibhumi, the Pit housed the dregs of society. Their human cast-offs and trash and those, like her, unfortunate enough to be born here.
"Around the mountain city of Cerudell," Jai continued, "the trees grow so straight and tall they brush the bottoms of the clouds. So close together, they clap their trunks in the slightest breeze." Old Jai raised his arms, rigid, and slapped them together in lazy motions. "On the edge of that frontier city is a troll hut."
"Troll hut?"
"A dome, like the great rooftop porches of Stronghold or the mud dwellings of the Ek'kiru, only this dome is woven from the roots of the earth."
"You mean roots of the trees?" Kaaliya may have had to imagine what trees looked like, but she knew they were plants. Plants had roots, not the earth.
Old Jai wagged his finger again. "The earth," he said decisively. "The troll hut, Redburl's Realm, is taboo. Many fear the trolls, a mystery of the wild spaces of the world beyond."
"What are these trolls?"
"Harmless creatures who speak in riddles and take the form of plants. They keep to their own domains and are nothing to be feared."
"Domains? Like the troll hut?"
Old Jai nodded.
"So, you've seen a troll before?"
"Kaaliya!" A shout broke the spell of Jai's story, and she tensed, her eyes darting toward the opposite cliff. She knew the small, irregular doorway that was her home—the lintel slanted at an off-angle she'd long since memorized. Her father stood there, calling. She hopped to her feet and the bridge shook.
"Thank you, Jai," she said and hurried across the bridge.
"Take care of yourself, Spider," called Jai, watching her, she knew, with those all-seeing eyes.
She made it to the path quickly and turned toward her home. Her father waited, arms folded and a satisfied look on his face that she knew meant work. Her stomach fluttered, and she steeled herself.
"Go fetch some water. We have a visitor tonight."
"Yes Father," she whispered. She hurried down the path and her mind wandered into the darkness again as she ran.
***
Even this far away the defect was obvious. How far down did she need to be before the doorway to her home became just another hole in the rocks? She dangled her feet over the ledge into inky darkness and the promise of one last place to explore or escape.
Lost ages ago, a priest had rigged an old winch and bucket to collect water from a spring that fed into the black. No one else came here anymore. Too far out of the way along unmaintained paths of soft boards and frayed bridges. When her father sent her for water, this is where she went.
Usually, she came alone. This time, she'd brought a friend. Or rather, been followed by one. She didn't want him here right now, but she couldn't find the words to explain why he should've gone home.
"Damn, it's stuck!" Shailen manned the winch behind her which was spooled with a worn rope, swollen and fuzzy like a caterpillar.
"Well, fix it," she called.
He leaned on the winch, stringy muscles hardening under his skin. Before long his arms went slack. "No use. We should try another."
If Shailen lived in one of the surface cities from Old Jai's stories, like Stronghold or Cerudell, he'd be as swollen and fat as the old rope. He was lazy, always trying to find a shortcut. Today he'd followed her to the bottommost spring bucket because he liked to walk behind her. When they were younger, he'd been a loyal companion, but since they'd both come of age, she could sense something else keeping him at her heels.
She wished he didn't have to change like that.
Kaaliya rose and stretched, her toes gripping the edge. The complex mix of alarm, indecision, and enjoyment in Shailen's face was at least entertaining. If he had to change, no reason she couldn't have her fun.
"You should get away from the edge," he said. She could tell he wanted desperately to move to her but was too scared.
"What kind of a Pit dweller are you?" she chided.
"One who isn't a spider," he replied.
Spider. She'd always liked the nickname. As a child, she'd drop in on neighbors in the most unsuspecting ways—showing up on their porches by hopping down from above, or scaling sheer faces and scrambling over the edge like a beast clawing its way up from the depths. The women would scream in mock surprise, "Look! Look at the size of that vicious spider." They'd point to the weave of bridges above and below. "I should've known better than to make a home in your web," they'd say. They'd call to their husbands to squish her and instead, they'd bring her a treat. A bowl of goat's milk or piece of candied ginger if she was lucky.
Like with Shailen, things had changed. The women no longer called to their husbands. Instead, her father called to t
he men while she, she dreamed of what lay in the black.
"I think I can see where it's wedged," she lied.
Shailen inched toward her. "Leave it and we'll get water elsewhere."
"Pretty sure I can reach it."
"Come on, there are better places to get water. Safer," called Shailen.
Kaaliya left the ledge and walked over to Shailen. "Don't worry about me." She kissed his cheek, and his eyes glowed in the dim light. "Just be ready to pull me up." Then she disappeared over the side. How hard could following a rope be?
She'd made her way down several body lengths before Shailen's face appeared close to the ground, one hand gripping the rope. "Be careful," was all he could manage to say.
She looked at the smooth spot on his cheek where she'd kissed him and where blood still flushed his sandalwood skin. She hadn't minded it. So different from the scratchy faces of the men her father brought home. She cast her eyes down into the dark and didn't look up again.
Before long, she reached the bucket. The rope handle had hooked on a chunk of stone jutting out from the wall right along the bucket's path. She could hear the spring trickling from the wall a span below her. Odd that the bucket never caught here before. Shailen's luck, she supposed.
A few quick tugs on the winch, maybe a re-positioning of the guide rope, and he could've reeled the bucket in. She clicked her tongue and slid the handle free. Water sloshed inside.
Half full, the Pit's window to the surface world was reflected as a small white disk floating on the satin surface. She stared into it, an odd symmetry against the walls of the bucket. A crisp blackness floated over the disk, and she felt sure a lid had settled over the Pit. She almost gazed into the light above to check.
But the floating shape was too real, too substantial. Closer than the reflection of the opening. She steadied herself against the wall and reached into the bucket.
Between her fingers, she held the stem of a leaf. Shaped like a spade, she could see green in the meager light. She twirled it from side to side in wonder.
It was common for surrounding villages to leave things at the Pit's rim or toss them into the black. Many things cluttered the upper ledges, beautiful and vile, useful and wrecked. Some were offerings from an aging group of believers. Some were secrets never meant to be found. The worst she'd seen was a broken form no bigger than her forearm. Rotted flesh around thin bones.
One thing she knew for certain. The open pastures around the Pit didn't have trees. She ran the stem between her fingers.
"Are you okay?" Shailen called from the ledge, his shout stretched and distant.
"The bucket's free," she replied, her eyes on the leaf.
Water trickled down her arm where she gripped the cliff face. That was strange. She probed the edges of her handhold. More water trickled out.
"Grab on, I'm going to pull you up," he shouted.
The crevice where she'd wedged her hand began to spray. The rock that had blocked the bucket's ascent shot from the wall, a geyser behind it.
She clawed with her hands and set her feet. The leaf plunged into the depths, snatched by the cascading water. She'd be fine as long as the footholds stayed stable. Hands were for balance, she told herself. More water gushed down her arm, and she pressed against the wall in the chilly eruption of the spring.
She tucked her chin to her chest. Her heart hammered, and with every breath, she fought to swallow only air. She needed to move. It was the worst thing she could do, her hands still searching for that balance.
She squinted into the spray and saw the bucket creeping out of her reach. She could yell for Shailen to lower it.
Far above, she could just make out the crooked lintel of her home. She still wasn't deep enough. She stared into the dark and lunged.
CHAPTER VII
The darkness didn't swallow her alive. It scraped and slapped and arrested her with bony arms until she slammed into a deep cushion that enveloped her with a choking cloud.
Kaaliya sat up and sputtered. Gagged.
"Shit."
"Yes, that's right, Cave Daughter," said the darkness above the rush of water.
"Who's there?" Kaaliya called.
She inched forward, feeling with her toes. She'd fallen on a slope of some kind, the ground made of loamy, packed earth. No, not earth. She knew the smell from the meager gardens grown in the upper houses of the Pit. It was guano. Shit.
"Very funny," she said, trying to sound brave. "Who are you?"
Even the opening to the Pit was blotted out in a darkness so pure it settled like a film on her skin and eyes. Slowly, a subtle buildup of light burned away the murk. Separate from the rush of flowing water, she heard a sound like the scuttling of feet. Shadows flickered overhead. Insects, maybe, or bats. She continued scooting down the slope.
Stark points of light winked into existence ahead of her, the source of the changing illumination. The points formed a loose cloud billowing out of a tunnel in the cliff wall. Water, which must have been from the spring, spilled into a stone gutter over the tunnel and diverted toward the base of the mound where she'd fallen.
She looked overhead where the shadows flickered. Not bats or insects, but leaves. A tree grew behind her, straight and tall, with a trunk that looked like it was made of bundled limbs.
At the heart of the glowing cloud forming in the tunnel, a figure emerged. It was short and broad, dwarfed under the high roof of the tunnel. Strange, sinewy gaps allowed the illumination to shine through where flesh and bone should have met.
The cloud coalesced and draped the creature, and in the brilliance, she could see a face. Twisted branches formed the outline of a head. Gaps suggested where eyes should be and in them, she caught a gleam of spotted amber, each black spot contracting under the glare. The branches tapered together at the crown and pushed upward to form spiraled antlers.
"So this is how we meet, Cave Daughter."
Her stomach clenched, and she held her breath. The voice could've been an echo from the Pit, and the rumbling tone reminded her of Old Jai's warning of the things that lived here. Yet far from terrible, this creature appeared regal, robed in light and crowned by horns that rivaled the beauty of a moonstrider's.
"My name is Kaaliya, not Cave Daughter," she said.
"You are embraced by the bones of the earth." It tilted its head up. "And very fortunate."
She followed its gaze and saw the battered limbs of the tree reaching out over her. Picking out the path of her fall brought back each stinging slap and jarring crack of the branches. Fear tossed aside and her adrenaline sapped, her back and neck began to ache. Open cuts on her arms and legs burned.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I am the root who pierces stone, watcher of the Elder's passing, who runs deep and forever in the void."
"You must be a troll," she replied.
"I am the Hollow One, if lies are to be spoken."
"Lies?" She shifted to her feet slowly, groaning with the effort. "What lie?"
"Names. Words that seek to make us different."
She thought for a moment. "Some people call me Spider because I can climb better than most anyone. Maybe I am different."
The Hollow One raised its chin and gave a broken growl. It was laughing…she hoped. "Maybe you are. We are not."
"We? You don't look like me." Her bravery recovered, she moved toward the troll. "We're very different."
It reached out a hand. Clad in the shimmering light to its wrist, the palm and fingers were a twist of bare wood the color of bone. She searched for her fear deep inside, but it had completely vanished. She'd known rough hands. Dangerous ones she needed to guide with subtlety and distraction, counting the time until the knock on the door. Despite the harsh appearance, these were not those hands. She took it.
The troll traced her knuckles with a sharp finger. "Are these the hands that grip the walls when you climb, Spider?"
She nodded.
"Are they yours?" it asked.
"O
f course."
"Where did you get them?"
"I was born with them."
"Ah, and they were spider hands then?"
"No, I learned to climb."
"So you are only what you become?"
"No…I mean, I don't know."
"You are what you were when you came here and before." It walked away from the tunnel, past the tree, and she followed, her hand clutched in the root-like grip. "The well is deep and you are always a part of her. There is no escape—only surrender."
She could see its eyes, sap in constant motion dotted with irregular spots, clenching and relaxing. It watched her and let go.
They were on another ledge, not at the bottom as she'd thought. She and the tree and the troll occupied a large shelf with more darkness below.
She balanced on the precipice like she had so many times before. The troll's light cast no shadows, just smothering emptiness. When the troll and the light moved away, those depths stayed the same.
All she needed to do was step forward. Surrender. It would work this time. She'd never have to leave her sanctuary.
"You will follow us," warbled the troll's eerie voice. "But you will wash first in the water." It said this not as a demand but a statement of fact.
Why should she listen to that strange little thing? She'd be happier in the dark. She thought of Shailen above and hoped he didn't follow. This was Shailen though. Fearful, cautious, he'd never come for her. He'd assume, as she had when she let go, that she'd been lost. Even Blind Old Jai, with all the things he'd seen and could still see, would think the same.
Yet she'd explored everywhere in the Pit, and the tunnel beckoned. She walked to the entrance and watched the clear water trickle down either side, diverted by the stone gutter. She cupped her hands under the stream and rinsed her scrapes and cuts. When she was done, she looked up. The opening to the Pit was no bigger than her palm, and the dwellings only tiny blemishes on the rock.
She stepped into the tunnel and ran her hand along the smooth rock where the passing of the troll had left a luminescent coating. Light broke free from the wall under her fingers and floated toward her, condensing into a cloud. She opened her palm and let it cover her arm. A thousand tiny hairs prickled her skin, and the illumination bloomed.