A hidden passage
The soggy and exhausted Stout lay face down on the dark, muddy shore, coughing and spouting bog water. Short, eager breaths regulated the urge to cough up a lung.
“I feel sick.
“A safe place,” I said, scanning every direction. There wasn’t a glint of light anywhere to break the darkness.
I collapsed beside him, smiling, breathing, and indulging in the rush of having just cheated death. It was a selfish moment. The air was stale and smelled of all things that crawl into the earth to die. I didn’t care. A long, black minute of well-deserved tranquility floated by as my body normalized. Side by side, we lay still and speechless. Our breaths grew even and steady. Kabor cleared his throat.
“I…
“I pulled you up,” I said. There was a long silence. Breathing.
“Was that some kind of giant eel?” he said.
“Dunno,” I said. In the long pause that followed, I waited for a milky “Thank you.”
“This is all your fault,” he spat. The acid water he swallowed must have turned his words sour. “You were supposed to fight with us, but you weren’t even moving… you let her get a hold on you.” His voice began to waver. “I tried to help…
I was… seeing. But I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t say that the hag was not what made me act that way. I didn’t know what to say.
“Let go,” was all that came out. He did.
“Where is that damn rock of yours anyway? It would be nice if we could see down here. Did you forget to take it out?”
“No.” I fumbled for words and fumbled through my pockets. I hadn’t forgotten anything; I just hadn’t put two and two together. One by one, I stretched my pockets wide open and felt through them.
“Well?” he said. “
“I don’t know where it is.” The stone just wasn’t anywhere. I patted myself down.
Kabor let out an impatient sigh. “Did the ole crone take it?”
I snapped back. “I DON’T KNOW!”
I stopped what I was doing and thought through everything that had happened during the fight. The last thing I remembered about the stone was looking into it. It was unnerving, to say the least, to have a gap in my memory. It just doesn’t happen very often to Pips. I started searching again, from the very beginning. Right pocket, left pocket, back pockets, shirt pocket…
Finally, I remembered the backpack. “I know…” When I undid the clasp and pulled back the flap, a pinch of pale red light filtered out between the soaked pieces of deepwood. Tucked away at the very bottom corner was the stone.
I breathed a sigh of relief. During the mayhem, I had half a mind to cast off the pack, for speed’s sake. I don’t even know how the piece got there – it started in my pocket, then I took it out, and then… no matter. I fished it out. In the palm of my hand, the light of the stone danced and pulsed, trapped in its gummy prison. There was scarcely a moment of calm between the flurries of red flashes. It seemed… excited, if unliving stones can be thought of that way.
I took a few minutes to empty the pack, shake the remaining water out, wring my cloak and dump the water out of my boots.
“You know we can’t swim back,” I told Kabor. By we I really meant him, mostly. I was surprised he could even swim at all. I repacked the wood and the boots, and left the flap open so everything inside would dry over time.
“We have to,” said Kabor.
“I don’t even know how to backtrack our way out,” I said. “It was dark and I was disoriented. If we try, we could get turned around and lose our way underwater. And what’s to say you won’t get stuck again? You could get us both killed, even if we did figure it out. And then there’s The Shadow…”
“I think it ate the hag,” he said.
“Hope so,” I replied.
Silence. The Stout shook his head.
“What about Cuz?” asked Kabor.
The last I seen of Gariff, he was in the process of being pulled under, just like us. The light of the stone steadied for a brief moment, and the Stout and I locked eyes. I didn’t want to say it, or even to think it. The light vanished. When it returned, he was still staring. I didn’t have to say anything. My lack of words spoke volumes.
Kabor let out a defeatist sigh.
In the uneasy silence that followed, I backed away and rested against the rock wall. A twisty tree root jabbed me in the back.
“Gariff’s OK. They’re all OK,” I said, trying to convince myself that such words could be true. “The Shadow and one of the hags were tied up with us. That leaves two old ladies. Gariff is skinning one alive by now, and Bobbin’s sipping tea with the other, exchanging turtle soup recipes.”
Kabor smirked. “I believe the Gariff part. And either way, Bobbin’s simply unsinkable.”
As we sat deluding one another, and ourselves, chains of flickering light scattered off the cave walls to reveal the natural chamber around us. Fossil imprints of small, insignificant creatures from an ancient sea embossed the stone. We were at the mouth of an irregular, tube-like cave. A few feet away was the wide pool we had entered from. Above the pool was a pitted and well-rounded dome. The cave walls had an overall smoothness to them, and showed the elongated signs of shaping by water.
The tube-cave would be a tight fit. Dense mats of fine roots dangled from the ceiling, nearly blocking passage in some areas, and thicker roots hugged the curvature of the rock wall. The roots played host to a nest of old cobwebs and vermin sheddings. The floor was chunky gravel. Despite all the signs and sheddings of past life cycles, no living thing dwelled there.
“We could probably dig our way up and out,” I said, examining where the roots punched through. I had no idea what I was talking about.
“I doubt it,” said Kabor. “Roots work their way through small fissures in the rock and then expand into them. Besides, we could be underwater and underground at the same time.”
“No. How is that even possible?” That did not seem right at all. “Wouldn’t we still be underwater then?”
Kabor sized up the chamber carefully, repeatedly rubbing his scruffy chin as he closely examined the walls, the roots, and the floor. He put on his glasses, went right up to each feature and stared at it sideways, inches from his face. I described the dome to him.
“Water used to run down through that big conduit, that’s for sure,” commented Kabor.
“I know that,” I said.
“And did you see the side openings? They’re drains. They relieve pressure when she fills up.”
“What stopped the water from coming?” I said, doubtful.
“The bog’s ability to retain water, maybe. These tunnels are flooded regularly… a cycle. And I would guess we’re near the end of that cycle.”
That didn’t sound good. “How long?” I said. “It’s as wet as it’s ever going to get in the bog right now. And that BIG rain we just had—”
Kabor bit his upper lip and started shaking his head.
“Dunno… years, decades. Maybe only during floods, or maybe it takes time to soak through. Or it could be that the geology shifted and there is no cycle to it anymore. Maybe…”
In the minutes that followed, Kabor came up with more maybes than I cared to count. After hearing half a dozen theories, I thought it best to move on. Young Pips are less than patient. I waited for a pause in his mental flatulations.
“We should get moving,” I said.
With a tilt of his head, he motioned to the passage. “You really think that’s our best bet?”
I nodded. “We can always come back.”
Kabor had a grim look about him. “Humph,” he said. “Lead the way then.”
I peered ahead, into our would-be escape route. “It does seem to slope up a bit, right?”<
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“That’s right,” he assured me. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
The Stout seemed quite at home underground. He had experience working in one of the mines outside of the Bearded Hills. According to Gariff though, the younger of the two cousins was too easily distracted and never really accomplished anything productive on the job. In part, it was because he avoided any and all honest work. Gariff once commented that Kabor used up more energy trying to get out of work than he would have just doing it – always a workaround or a shortcut, never the straightforward and sensible way. At the mine, he spent his time roaming the drifts and getting into trouble, not to mention danger, until he was eventually let go. To his credit though, he did find a few stray mineral veins while picking away where others hadn’t thought to look or had given up the search. But the network of caves under the bog was nothing like the organized, reinforced tunnels of a Stout mine. Water sculpted them, and water was a Pip’s element.
I started along the passageway, gripping the SPARX stone in one hand. Every few yards I stopped, held it up, and waited for the flicker to reveal the way.
Kabor continually and repeatedly asked about what was coming, how tight the fit was going to be, and whether it looked safe. “The flashes are fast sometimes” he complained, or “The shadows are confusing.”
“Just follow my lead,” I told him.
We soon discovered that it made more sense to crawl and wriggle our way along the gravelly floor than to stoop continually, often having to resort to it anyway. After several long minutes, we reached a divide in the passage. The main course abruptly widened and leveled out. An offshoot tunnel veered off to one side, curved, then ran nearly parallel as far out as I could see.
A light breeze refreshed the air at the junction. It was a good sign. Our luck seemed to be turning. We kept on through the larger tunnel.
“Out in no time,” I said, spirits raised. And as we crawled along on hands and knees, my mind began to drift towards the world above and the fate of our good friends.
Gradually, the passage gained in height and became high enough to walk along without stooping. Over time, the bed of gravel disappeared, replaced by larger, rounder river stones. Footing became an issue in the dim and fractured light, and I found myself wishing that I had my boots on. In one area, dark crevices loomed above, adding even more height, and a new odor was on the air. I stopped to rest by a small offshoot tunnel and hauled out my boots. That is when I noted the first signs of life – the floor was splotted with some kind of dung.
“Look Kabor,” I said, pointing to the splotches.
“I ran into some a while back,” he said. “They’re all over the place.”
“Bats?” I asked.
“Maybe. Hurry up with your flippers.”
The boots were dripping wet, so I tied them upside-down to a shoulder strap for later use. Kabor still had his on – it’s a wonder he had been able to swim at all. Of course, only a Stout would go swimming with his boots on, and leave them on afterwards.
Over the next leg of the journey, the scenery more-or-less repeated itself many times over – a dark, winding tube-like passage with smooth limestone walls and no major offshoots, small cracks and crevices here and there, and a stony path beneath our feet. At times, it was difficult to tell if we were traveling up or down. Certainly, there was no way to determine our bearing – we could have been directly under Webfoot for all I knew, or on our way to Proudfoot. Along the ceiling, fewer and fewer roots showed through until there were none at all.
So after a long crawl and a doubly long hike, we came upon a choke point in the passage. Rubble covered the ground and stacked up along the sides – a partial collapse. I inhaled the sweet air. It was high quality. The breeze had become stronger and it carried a pleasant water and mineral scent.
Kabor noted the change in my demeanor. “What is it?” he said.
“Water. Don’t you smell it?”
“I hear it,” he said. We stopped to poke at the fallen debris.
I found a weak point in the pile and punched through to the other side.
“Ahhh!” I yelled.
The floor gave way.
I felt myself drop.
I grabbed for the wall.
My heart pounded. Teetering in mid-air, half my body swung over a dark abyss. A mere two fingers gripped enough rock to keep me from toppling into it. I hung there for a suspended moment, and then gained a foothold.
I had come upon a large crevice of sorts in the rock. The passage opened up into it, and then fell off a cliff. Across the gap – no more than a few feet – a wet wall glistened. Water sprayed slippery doom from above. The mist chilled my cheeks and forehead. Below, a proven drop to sudden death beckoned. The gravity of the downward plunge drew me to the edge, as though inviting me to join the scattering of bones below. Kabor had halted behind me.
“What’s the hold-up?” he said.
“Death by plummet, that’s what.” I waited for the next flurry of flashes then gestured to the drop. Kabor peered down from behind the rubble.
“Oh,” he said. “Now that’s a doozy.”
A dozen feet up the far wall and offset to one side by another five feet, a second cave opened into the gap. By its size and shape, it appeared as though it once connected with the passage we stood in. A steady stream of water sputtered off the edge of the high opening and fell like red rain, glimmering in the light of the stone.
A knot developed in my stomach as I stood there, surveying the obstacle, a knot that told me we had gone the wrong way.
Kabor pushed me aside to get a better view. He was excited, and motivated.
“I never seen anything like this before.” He stuck his head out and looked up. “We can scale it.”
“I don’t kn—” Kabor cut me off.
“There’s only up or back down,” he stated, leaning out dangerously to get a better view. He said it like it was an obvious, everyday problem, and went on to provide an equally obvious plan.
“There was that one side tunnel, not too far back,” I reminded him. “That might be the way.” It had been small, but we could have squeezed through.
“I say we go up,” he insisted. “That’s the way out. The crevice is narrow enough to wedge ourselves in as we climb.”
“It’s slippery,” I said.
Kabor was either fearless, reckless or completely oblivious to the incredible peril that went along with his recommendation. I spent a moment pondering the situation, and tried to convince myself that up was what we were aiming for all along. Up was good – until I looked down.
“Are you mad?” I grabbed a loose stone and dropped it down the crevice. It fell for a count of two, then ricocheted several times before coming to rest at the bottom. “Why do you think there are bones down there?”
“They’re probably ancient animal bones,” he argued. Kabor ran his hand along the inside wall of the chasm. “Look at all the holds,” he continued. “No able-bodied Stout – or even a Pip – should have any trouble scaling that wall. Just shimmy up where it pinches in.”
“It’s suicide,” I said.
The argument continued, more for the sake of argument than for finding alternatives, but in the end, the choice was clear. Being the more agile climber, I went first, and the plan was that Kabor would catch my fall on the off chance I slipped. I would help to pull him up when it was his turn.
I held the SPARX stone with my teeth and braced myself for the climb. I started with a forward lunge, throwing my left foot into a small pocket on the far wall. I grabbed onto a small ledge jutting out above. I stayed in a near splits position for a second or two, and then shifted my weight wholly to the opposing side. Slowly, I began my ascent up the slimy wall.
“Wha ish som’ens up there?” I grumbled, jaw clenched on the SPARX stone to illuminate the gap as I climbed. “Wha ish I shlip and fall?”
“I told you I’ll catch you,” said Kabor. His voice echoed in the chasm. “I won’t let
you fall past me. Don’t worry, there’s nothing down here but you and me… and her.”
“Wha?” I lost my foothold. Kabor’s hand caught the sole of my foot; he was straddling the two walls just beneath me. Lucky for me, his hands were huge. They cupped around my foot as he gave me a boost.
Kabor laughed. “Be careful,” he said.
“Vewy shfunny,” I said, and took another step.
“That’s good,” said Kabor, cheering me on, “you’re doing it. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
When I reached the high cave, I peered into the opening. It was a sizable chamber, an empty chamber.
“That’s right,” said Kabor, “find a hold; a good hold.”
I located a hold and pulled myself up and in. The grade sloped up and the floor was slippery. Slowly, I crept in, crouched on all fours. Rubble was everywhere, and the ceiling was high and dome shaped. Water poured in from above just two or three steps in, creating the stream and splashing into the crevice. A passage cut across the cave. It ran roughly parallel to the crevice. That tunnel was tall with smooth, straight walls – very different from anything we’d seen up until then.
I yelled back, over the edge to Kabor. “ALL CLEAR. And…”
Kabor was already right there. I grabbed his arm. “Man-made,” I added. Bracing myself, I gave him one last pull to bring him up and in.
“You’re not a bad climber,” I said.
“I just followed the light. Did you notice the walls on your way up?” he said.
“What about them?”
“The other side is limestone, and this side is something else altogether. I can’t quite place it.” Kabor, like most Stouts, had an eye for structural detail, even half-blind and in near-darkness, it seemed.
“It all looks pretty much the same to me,” I confessed.
Kabor’s eyes were all over the new cave. He waved me over to a spot along the wall. He stood in front of it, eyes inches away from its surface. I brought the light down close to where he was crouched. Every flicker revealed something new.
“You’re right, it’s man-made,” he said. “But this isn’t mine construction – that’s for sure,” said Kabor. He pressed his index finger into a groove and ran it along the wall horizontally, then vertically. “There are bricks underneath the dirt and grime, and there’s no such thing as a brick mine.”
SPARX Incarnation: Mark of the Green Dragon (SPARX Series I Book 1) Page 18