Page 74 of Across an Endless Sea

With nothing left to do but follow them, I take my first cautious steps along the tunnel.

I’ve barely been walking for five minutes when the first rumble happens. The whole passage shakes, and I grab a wall for support. My foot hovers inches above the trip wire Maeve pointed out—the third such wire we’ve found so far. Thankfully, it passes quickly, and I hasten to pass the trap before I pause, waiting to see if it comes again.

It does. This time, it doesn’t stop as quickly. All around me, the earth seems to shift and crack, and I wait for the ceiling to cave in on me.

Long minutes pass where I can’t do more than cling to the rocky walls and pray.

Then it’s over, with barely an echo of a rumble to indicate anything happened in the first place.

Do the earthquakes have something to do with the tunnel wyrms? Even if they do, I have no way of knowing how far away they are.

Still, I suppose it doesn’t matter. The only direction I can go is onward, and if I die at the hands of the mysterious beasts… at least I’ll see my other Guards again.

I keep walking, dutifully dodging every snare, and managing to impress Mab when I spot a snare on the ground that all three of them had missed. Still, the triumph doesn’t last long. How can it?

The passageway has gotten wider and taller, and I still haven’t seen another living thing—not even an insect—and my gut is grumbling. What small part of my mind isn’t consumed with hunger has started to fall prey to exhaustion. My clothes are still dripping wet, and the damp air isn’t helping.

If this keeps up, I’ll freeze and starve to death long before I see a tunnel wyrm.

At least the bitterblues still periodically light the way. This would be so much worse in the pitch dark.

Turning a corner, I come to a halt.

This isn’t a tunnel. It’s a room—or what’s left of one. The passage I’ve come through has broken through one of the walls, and it continues through the one opposite me. Fallen rocks have spilled in around whatever carved through this place, and the walls and ceiling are cracked with the force that’s ripped through here.

On the walls which haven’t been destroyed are the remains of a complex carved mural that stretches from floor to ceiling. Beneath it, the bitterblues have grown in a huge swarm, lighting the stone figures from below.

Carefully, I pick my way across the floors, noticing as I do that there are flagstones here and fragments of pottery that crack under my feet. Amidst the piles of rubble, I can make out a stone table and a fire trough, not dissimilar to the great feasting halls in Fellgotha above, but far older.

What was this place?

The figures in the mural are obviously Fomorians, and there are drakes too… the wall depicts them as… slaves?

They’re chained together, heaving heavy tools beneath the mountain as huge, bald figures floating above them glare down from clouds carved into the ceiling. Their faces are thin, with no noses, and eyes that stretch around their skulls in an echo of their wide fang-filled mouths. The carvings are so good that just looking at them sends shivers down my spine.

I’ve never seen such creatures.

I follow the wall, letting Mab and Maeve watch for traps as Titania and I trace the story.

There’s Balor—I recognise his one-eyed, scarred face and the large medallion on his chest from the sculptures Caed showed me—driving his pickaxe into the eye of one of the great shadowy creatures. Then, the Fomorians fleeing into the mountains.

The rest of the carving has fallen prey to an enormous crack which widens as the tunnel shakes again.

“They were slaves…” I whisper, clutching the wall for support. “And Balordidlead them out of it…”

The next visible piece of the carving shows Balor again, but this time he’s beside a huge gate, urging more Fomorians through it.

That’s all there is. The rest is destroyed by whatever carved the tunnel through the room.

I don’t understand half of it, and another huge rumble shakes the hall, reminding me that I don’t have time to ponder the intricacies of Fomorian history right now. With a last, curious look at the wall, I scurry back into the tunnel.

A moving target is harder to catch, right?

Twenty-Four

Rhoswyn

I’ve just dodged another trip wire, and am mid-way through skirting around a nearly-invisible snare, when the next quake hits.

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