The Bitter Kingdom

27

AFTER being on the open road for so long, it feels deeply wrong to be closed in, to see only as far as the torch’s meager splash of light will allow. We will be in these tunnels for days, according to Waterfall. But we can only see as far as the next few steps.

We walk in silence, ears pricked to detect what our eyes cannot see. So far there is only the scuffing of our feet against fallen gravel, our heavy breathing, and distantly, an echoing plink-plink of water. I dread the moment I hear anything else.

These tunnels were not created for comfort. Their sole purpose, at least at first, was to penetrate the mountains as quickly and deeply as possible in search of the zafira. So our path twists and curves to take advantage of natural caverns and fissures. The floor is rough, and we step carefully, wary of a twisted ankle. When the tunnels narrows to a crevice, we remove our packs to squeeze through sideways, one by one. Even the packs don’t fit—we are forced to unload them, hand the larger items through, and repack them on the other side.

I’m one of the last to go, and I squeeze through, back and breasts scraping rock, worrying what will happen if we encounter a place too tight to get through.

When I reach the other side, I find Mara crouched over, hands on knees, breathing heavily. I start toward her, thinking to offer comfort, but Belén gets there first. He grabs her hand and pulls her against him, wraps his arms around her, and whispers something.

I back away, feeling like an intruder.

Twice we encounter branched corridors that appear as gaping black holes to the left. We stop so Waterfall can study them. Runes, like the ones we saw in the Temple of Morning, are carved into the wall beside them. Both times, Waterfall makes the decision to pass by.

It’s impossible to mark the time here. I’ve no idea how long we’ve traveled or how far we’ve come when I consider calling a halt for the day. Maybe it’s too early. And we have a lot of ground to make up after being stuck in the storm. But my legs tremble and my lower back aches from the weight of my pack.

It is Belén who decides for me. He stumbles, ramming his shoulder into an outcropping. He doesn’t cry out, but I’ve so rarely seen Belén be clumsy that it stops me cold. Thinking of the night he fell asleep on watch, I give the order. “Let’s camp.”

“Oh, thank God,” Mara says.

We drop our packs and plop to the ground. Mara starts pulling cooking utensils out of her pack, but I put a hand on her forearm. “No need, Mara. We can eat cold food tonight. Just rest.”

“Please, Elisa? I need to . . . do something.”

“Oh. I see. In that case, I would love some tea.”

She smiles gratefully.

Red drags a toppled wood beam toward the center of our tight camp. She and Mara attack it with ax and handsaw. It falls apart a little too easily. They get a fire going, and the light is so much brighter than that of a mere torch that we all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

We don’t need a fire for warmth—though the tunnel is chilly, it is considerably warmer than the outside wintry air—but I decide that so long as we can find wood, we should have a fire every night. Just to force a little normalcy on this strange journey.

Hector settles beside me. “Only two approaches to guard,” he says, pulling a whetstone and oilcloth from his pack. “We’ll only need one person on watch at a time.” He starts to whisk the dagger against the whetstone, and I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes to absorb the familiar sound. For the rest of my life, however long that might be, hearing blades being sharpened will remind me of Hector and Belén.

“No watch tonight,” I tell him. “I know it’s risky, but we’re desperate for rest. I need everyone sharp.”

“We’re just trading one risk for another,” he says. “But in this case, I think it’s a good trade.”

Red squeals, and we both jump in our seats. Hector is on his feet in an instant, with me not far behind. Her form is barely visible in the shadowy blackness just outside the range of our firelight. She crouches down, staring at something.

“Skinny Girl?” Belén says. “What is it? Are you all right?”

She turns to glare at him. “My name is Red Sparkle Stone.”

“Of course. Apologies.”

She picks up something off the ground. “I found this. It crawled across my food. I stomped it. At first it was glowing, but not anymore.”

She hands it to Belén, who nearly drops it. He holds it away from himself, as if it might bite him. It’s the size of my fist. Even in the gloom I can make out segmented legs. Lots of them.

“A deathstalker,” Hector says. “Larger relative of the common cave scorpion. They glow when frightened. Their sting is painful and mildly poisonous but not usually serious. The problem is when they swarm. Multiple stings can be lethal.”

“Ugh,” I say.

“Yes. I agree they are ugh,” Storm says.

“Let’s hope we never see more than one at a time,” I say.

“I’m going to have nightmares,” Mara says.

“Too bad we don’t have a small cage,” Hector says, and we all look at him in puzzlement. “We could trap them. Use them for light.”

Warm affection wells up inside me, and I feel a silly grin spread across my face.

“What?” he says.

“It’s just . . . I like how practical you are. Willing to use any tool at your disposal.”

He studies me a moment. “I’m like you,” he says.

We’re still staring at each other when Belén clears his throat. “I suggest we keep our packs closed and our bedrolls tied tight whenever they’re not in use.”

The thought of slipping into my bedroll and finding a deathstalker by accident gives me a shiver. “Agreed.”

“My cousin got stung by a deathstalker,” Waterfall says as she flips out her bedroll. As she slips inside, she adds, “He died.” She closes her eyes to sleep.