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Wrapped in a net, carried by jeweled crabs, Srivasi and his companion traveled through dark passageways. They angled down for a ways—then up, in what felt like tight spirals. Once, the whole bunch swayed like seagrass in the tide, clicking loudly, then the journey resumed—back the way they’d come. No turning, just walking the other way.
“Can we just get this over with?” Dasid groaned.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Srivasi said, as the crabs picked up speed in their new direction, though the longer they went unharmed the more he was inclined to believe the creatures meant no harm. Why else capture them in a net, after all?
“To feed us to their crablings,” Dasid said when Srivasi pointed that out. He was so young to be so cynical!
A few crabs brought out glowing rocks, and Srivasi and Dasid were carried through a corridor that caught and split the light, refracting and multiplying, until the colors danced and swam about them and even Dasid gasped in wonder.
Then they passed through a grey stone arch into a tunnel so low that Srivasi’s whiskers brushed the roof. It was remarkably uncomfortable until he turned his head. His nose, luckily, was not as long as the whiskers.
From the close tunnel, they passed into a great chamber of rock and columns and connections, arches and spirals. The crabs headed straight for the edge of the rock, for the empty air in the middle of the huge chamber.
“They’re going to throw us off!” Dasid yelped, flailing.
“No—ow! Stop kicking me! Of course they’re not!” Why would they? It would only make a mess. If they wanted to kill—
“Going to die, going to die…” Dasid chanted as the first crabs went over the edge. He grabbed fistfuls of Srivasi’s clothes as if hanging onto him would help as the whole crowd went after.
It was a spiraled column, the spiral cut deep enough that the crabs ran in a groove with rock on three sides of them, but their burden was held whimpering over empty air. At least, Dasid was whimpering. Srivasi might have joined him once or twice.
The bottom of the cave was so far the light of the glowing stones didn’t reach it, but tiny figures moved there with their own lights.
The crabs ran down the spiral of the column, carrying their captives wrapped tight. After a few curves Dasid stopped whimpering, though he kept his grip on Srivasi. Srivasi stared about him at what seemed an entire city of creatures he had never known existed. That perhaps no one knew existed? He had never read so much as a hint of such wonders, and there were many, many crabs and dancing lights as they climbed spirals or exited tunnels or—
“…down to the river,” Dasid was muttering. “We’re going down, so they mean to drown us in the river, feed our dead bodies to the natural crabs…”
The boy was hopeless, with no eyes for the wonder—he was a child, Srivasi reminded himself. Despite his frequent bravado, Dasid was a very scared child, and Srivasi was all the protection he had.
“It’s going to be all right,” he murmured. “You’ll see.”
“Shan’t see nothing, river will be dark and deep…”
Their procession straightened out, off the spiral column and onto a bridge. Into another tunnel, rushing noises in the dark.
“…crablings,” Dasid moaned. “Back to crab food…”
“I won’t let them,” Srivasi promised.
“How will you stop them? Call lightning on them?” Dasid demanded.
“I’m better at defense,” Srivasi muttered.
“Better at nonsense,” Dasid grumbled, but at least he’d stopped moaning about dying.
The crabs ran into an open space and light blazed, white light from every direction. Dasid yelped. Srivasi closed his eyes and white dazzles danced behind his eyelids.
“Trakna,” a voice boomed, “volch ka vekna nek lovesk?”
“What did he say?” Dasid whispered as the voice faded into echoes. “Are we—”
All the light went out, and black pressed on Srivasi’s eyelids. The language was—
“Trakna,” the voice boomed, “volch ka vekna nek lovesk?”
“What did he say?” Dasid yelped.
Was it Ikontra? Some of the words were, possibly, but—
“Trakna,” the voice boomed, “volch ka vekna nek lovesk?”
Pincers that had merely held now poked, prodding for an answer. Srivasi shook his head.
“Trakna,” the voice boomed, “volch ka vekna nek lovesk?”
“Will you answer him?” Dasid squealed. “They’re going to throw us off something or eat us if you don’t answer whatever that voice keeps yelling at us can’t you tell it’s a question?”
“Trakna,” the voice boomed, “volch ka vekna nek lovesk?”
“TrakNYA,” Srivasi shouted. “volch kYA vekna nek lovYEESK?” and in Syntari, “The accents are not decorative!”
“Trak…nee-a?” the voice asked, and switched to Syntari. “Are you certain?”
“TrakNeYA,” Srivasi said, spreading out the syllable. “The tra above the vowel changes—”
“Nek cholka chen–cheeyen,” the voice said. Well done. Crabs tapped and clicked, and Srivasi felt himself, Dasid, and the net lowered to cold stone floor. In Syntari, the voice said, “Well done, indeed. Welcome.”
“Welcome?” Dasid yelped. “After all—”
“You’re very kind,” Srivasi said over him. “Now may we—”
The world spun as the net was yanked from under Srivasi. Dasid yelped as Srivasi rolled over him, then Srivasi’s clothes grew tight as he was lifted by them and thrown—he landed on mesh. Another net, he knew that feel, this was a net of woven grass, stiffened with reeds—somewhere nearby Dasid was yelling. Ropes creaked and the net moved, swinging through cool damp air. Somewhere nearby Dasid was still yelling. Under his voice was a rushing, churning sound. The river?
“Are you all right?” Srivasi called.
“For how long?” Dasid demanded.
“Dasid!” a voice called. “Dasid! Where are you?”
“Gerda?”
A light flared. A tiny light, in a flat rock, held in the hand of a wide-eyed farm girl. She, like Srivasi, knelt on a reed mat holding a net open, hanging from somewhere dark far above. Like Dasid’s and Srivasi’s, her woven cage swung gently. Dasid reached a dirty hand toward her.
Over Gerda’s shoulder as she held the lamp high, the light glinted on scarlet and gold.
“Jhi Bo!” Srivasi flung himself against the net. “Jhi Bo!”
The Fwen warrior turned her head to give him an exasperated stare.
But it wasn’t his fault! And he’d found the boy!
“Dasid!” The girl, Gerda, lay on the floor of her cage, her hand outstretched through the net. “My brother! You are a delight to my eyes! You’re alive!”
“Gerda, you fool, what are you doing here?” Dasid growled, though he stretched his hand to brush her fingertips.
“Chasing my fool of a brother!” The girl scrabbled, trying to catch his hand as her net swung away. “How many times have I told you—”
Light danced down Jhi Bo’s armor as she lifted her leg that dangled from the net and pushed against a column, giving power to the cage’s swing. Normally Srivasi would have translated the Syntari softly, but he didn’t like to do it so obviously, especially when she didn’t look like she cared.
“Yes, here’s the mighty warrior Jhi Bo,” Gerda snapped, sinking back on her heels. “Stuck in a cage just like the wizard I found! I’d have done better asking the goats for help!”
“At least Dasid is found!” Srivasi snapped. Ungrateful children! Jhi Bo was right, they should have ignored her tears. “I could have left him in the cushion room—”
“Where we would have quickly found him!” Gerda answered. “And then we could have left the first time we found our way to the daylit world!”
“You wouldn’t have found your way without—”
“Wait, you found a way out?” Dasid demanded. “And then you came back?”
“For you!” Gerda tossed her head. “And for him. And now here we all are—”
“Tell the girl,” Jhi Bo growled in Fwenye, “to put out the light before it comes again.”
“It what?” Srivasi demanded, but he translated. Gerda’s eyes widened and she blew out the lamp.
From below came the sound of a creaking chain.
“Too late,” Jhi Bo said.