—
With a nod from Persephone, Rain pulled his great pickax from the sheath on his back. The tool looked incredibly heavy, but the dwarf handled it with ease. The way he treated it was like the care mothers took with babies. Seeing him prepare to dig, Persephone knew she was about to see the complete version of Rain.
They gathered around him at the place where the rock in the cliff had cracked, where the stratum on the right didn’t line up with the layers on the left. Persephone never would have noticed it, but she imagined Rain had an eye for such things. She had no idea what was about to happen. The trick was in not showing fear. She caught Brin, Roan, and even Moya looking at her. Maybe they looked for signs of panic. No matter how she felt, Persephone had to remain calm and composed. Arion, she thought, was a master at this. The Fhrey appeared relaxed, but the serenity had to be an act. Even Minna was pacing and panting.
Rain looked over his shoulder at her with a solemn expression of expectation.
“Do it,” Persephone ordered.
With a great round swing, the digger brought the pointed end of the huge pick down on the rock. Whether by some magic of the pick, or Rain’s skill in knowing exactly where to strike, the wall that appeared to be so solid broke apart. Huge chunks fell away as if the dwarf were digging through sunbaked clay. Hunks came off in large fragments that slapped the ground and, in some cases, had the force to bounce and roll into the pool. The entire process took so little time that when Rain stopped she was certain he was only taking a breather, but the dwarf flipped his pick around and stuffed the handle into its sheath.
He stepped out of the way to let her see, and Persephone spied an opening in the rock, a jagged crevice that was big enough to pass through.
Rain took out his glowstone and asked, “Would you like me to lead?”
“Please,” Persephone told him.
One by one, they all crawled into the black hole, each following the one in front by feel. The dwarfs did have it easier. Their compact frames appeared born to such travel. Even with his big pickax, Rain scrambled through the cramped crevasse with the nimbleness of a ferret. They went up slightly, then down. The passage grew narrower and narrower. Then with a deep inhale, Persephone squeezed out into a larger chamber. She expected to see a corridor of Dherg engineering—perhaps not the vaulted halls at the entrance, but a more compact version, something akin to the rols in the Crescent Forest. As it turned out, they were beyond the reach of Neith, deeper than the ancient city. And just as dense forest and brambles waited beyond the bounds of Dahl Rhen, here, too, was wilderness.
Dripping stone spikes hanging from a toothy ceiling greeted Persephone. Wrinkled rock formed uneven, sloping walls. Another natural pool—this one larger, with irregular edges—played a lonesome music of plinks and ka-plunks as calcified fangs from overhead let stony saliva slip, making elegant ring patterns on an otherwise glassy surface. At the base of the cavern snaked what appeared to be a woodland deer path of packed dirt. Persephone surmised it was a dry underground stream. She could see all this by the light of luminous lichen whose bluish glow turned the chamber into a strange fairy wonderland. For all its grandeur, the Dherg halls of Neith could not surpass the raw magnificence of this natural cavern. Nor had Neith provoked such a sense of dreadful awe. The world they found themselves in was no longer one of measures and weights, no longer a tamed realm.
They followed Rain’s lead, scooting down the steep slope to the trail. Looking both ways, Persephone saw a long zigzagging path disappearing into darkness.
“Which direction?” Frost whispered softly. The place demanded a quiet reverence.
Rain nodded to the left.
“How far?” Flood whispered even softer.
“A hundred yards, maybe.”
Eyebrows rose as the answer rocked the two dwarfs. They looked to each other, sharing excited expressions.
“It’s like we’re at the bottom of the world.” Moya’s head was up, eyes large, examining the jagged ceiling.
“No, not the bottom,” Rain replied, and Persephone believed him. At that moment, Persephone would have believed anything he told her.
Brin was the last down to the path. The girl had sallow cheeks and shadowed eyes.
“Are you all right?” Persephone asked her.
Brin nodded.
Persephone didn’t believe it. Brin, the once happy-go-lucky girl of Dahl Rhen, had lost her parents, her home, and nearly her life—face first—eaten by a creature from a nightmare. Brin wasn’t all right. None of them were. But like the rest the girl continued to move, still pushing forward. Not a single complaint had passed her lips.
Thinking about it, Persephone realized that none of them had complained. They had suffered sickness on a ship filled with hostile Dherg; faced imprisonment in Caric; volunteered to fight a demon; and nearly drowned while falling through cracks into depths so deep it seemed doubtful they would ever get out. But, not a word of protest had been uttered. No one whined, and there were no grumblings, no tears.
Although men were strong like rocks, any stone could crack. Women were more like water. They nurtured life and could shape the hardest granite through unrelenting determination. Persephone had always felt the women of Rhen were a tough lot, more durable, more resilient than its men. They were the ones who carried on, who picked up the pieces whether the battle had been won or lost. Watching Roan, Moya, Suri, and Brin march down the dry riverbed, Persephone felt an enormous sense of pride.
Rain led them down the path, and when it forked, he stopped. At that point, Persephone saw evidence of Dherg activity. A narrow stair led down to a short path, which ended at a vast wall. In the rock face, a twisted crack ran from ceiling to floor. This great fissure disturbed Persephone in a manner she couldn’t sum up in rational thought. Just a crack and yet, it felt ominous. Some primordial instinct warned her away. The longer she looked at it, the more she noticed how unnatural it was. This gap in stone wasn’t a crack at all; it was a tear. Here, the world had ripped open.
“That’s the Agave,” Rain said, pointing toward the crack.
Frost and Flood stared at the dark entrance in awe. “It’s so close,” Frost said excitedly.
“Rain, do you sense Balgargarath? Can you feel him coming?”
The dwarf put an ear to the ground, and then rose and shook his head.
“Please,” Frost begged. “I have to see what’s inside. To come so close only to turn aside…I’ll surely regret it for the rest of my life. You can start heading out if you want, but I can’t go, not yet.”
Persephone’s curiosity was certainly piqued. And Roan, Moya, and especially Brin looked from the Agave to Persephone and then back to the crack. They were all thinking the same thing. They, too, wanted to know what was inside.
She nodded, and Rain led them down the path to the left.
When they reached the crack, Rain held up his glowing stone, offering it to any who wanted to enter. To Persephone’s surprise, neither Frost nor Flood took it. The two dwarfs hesitated, and in that moment of second thoughts, Moya stepped forward, took the stone, and walked in. The rest followed.
Despite all the anticipation, the interior of the Agave was nothing but a small cave. An uneven stone floor was broken up in several places where minor digging had clearly taken place. What had been excavated was stacked near the center of the cave. Some of the stone was used to make furniture: a chair and a table. Thinner slabs were stacked in a neat towering pile several feet high.