Isabella was no longer in the air, she was on the ridge, looking down at them, and when Miles' eyes met hers, she pulled away, moved back.
Was she afraid?
It didn't make any sense, but it seemed that way, and the three of them pressed on, moving up the slope, over the rough, obstacle-laden ground until they ran across the remnants of an ancient trail that led them directly on to the lip of the ridge.
A flash of flesh disappeared into the blackness of the cave entrance.
Had they chased her back into the cave? Or was she luring them on? He wasn't sure, but they were going in. He moved forward, peering into the dimness but seeing nothing. What little light there was in this overcast world died instantly upon entering the cave. They should have brought flashlights. What they needed was... a lamp.
He turned to Claire, handed her the jar, took the kerosene lantern from her.
'Good idea,' Hal said.
'Let's hope it works.' Hal had matches, and Miles used them to light the lamp before shoving it into the opening in the wall before him.
Just inside the entrance, Isabella screeched at the sight of the light, a horrible sound like the cawing of crows and the breaking of glass.
She retreated deeper into the cave, scut fling backward on legs that were impossibly formed and far too agile. Within seconds she was past the perimeter of the lamp's light. Though the screeching had stopped, Miles heard the clattering sound of hard claws on stone receding into the darkness. 'Whatever you do,' he told Claire, 'don't drop that jar.' 'Don't worry. I won't.'
They walked into the cave. Claire's bracelet and his own necklace were glowing, giving off a greenish illumination that would enable them to find each other in the blackness but that shed no usable light on their surroundings. They were entirely dependent on the flame of the lamp.
Claire latched on to his belt, holding tight as he moved slowly forward.
There were no stalactites or stalagmites, no columns or rock formations. The walls were smooth, black and glassy. Ancient symbols had been painted on the roof of the cave, pictographs in faded white that shifted and changed with the flickering of the lamp and seemed somehow hideous.
The cave narrowed, and they found themselves in a downward-sloping tunnel, a passageway not wide enough for them to walk two abreast.
'Maybe I should get in the front,' Hal suggested. 'I have the gun.'
'I'll stay in the front,' Miles told him. 'You protect the
They passed alcoves and indentations, offshoot passages, but this was clearly the main tunnel, and Miles moved slowly forward, keeping an eye out for any sign of movement, any An arm shot out of the darkness to his right, clawed fingers grabbing his shoulder. He screamed, squirmed, lashed out, but the hand retreated immediately, as if scalded by something hot, and Miles knew it was the necklace that had protected him. The grunting commotion behind him was Hal laying to shove his way around and past Claire, but Miles said, 'It's nothing. It's over.'
'What happened?' Claire demanded.
'Something tried to grab me.'
He lifted the lamp and shone it toward the area from which the hand had come, but there was only a shallow alcove, empty.
'Let me in front,' Hal demanded. 'I'm not letting you be a target.
You're the one who needs to stay in the mid die You're the one who needs to be protected.'
Miles did not even bother to answer but, with Claire's fingers grabbing his belt, started forward again, holding the lamp out and clutching it tightly, hyper aware of the fact that if it slipped from his grip or was knocked from his hands, they would be trapped here in total darkness.
He saw more symbols carved on the walls, shapes that he did not recognize but that spoke to him somehow and filled him with dread. The tunnel curved to the left
--and Miles was looking into a room. Not a cave or
a chamber or a tunnel but a large square room with slatted wooden walls and wooden ceiling. A single candle the size of a tree stump, placed next to an open black doorway in the opposite right corner, provided sickly illumination.
'Jesus,' Hal breathed.
The room was filled with dolls. Dolls that looked like clumps of asparagus, dolls that looked like scarecrows and kachinas, dolls that looked like a selection of children's toys ranging from the Victorian era until now. They were made from a variety of materials and appeared to be of all ages, the newest a genderless factory-pressed piece of plastic, the oldest a carved piece of driftwood with an oversize male organ. They were arranged upon the floor, placed together on shelves and ledges, suspended by hooks from the walls. Vines grew over and between the figures, impossibly green for having grown in the darkness.
In the center of all this stood the corpse of a dwarf, an eyeless, mummified creature with brown skin and rotted clothes and barely discernible features. The corpse held forth one outstretched hand, palm up.
Claire let go of his belt, grabbed his arm. Her hand was cold and sweaty, and he could feel the tension in her fingers as she painfully squeezed his ann muscles. 'Let's get out of here,' she whispered, afraid even to speak aloud. Her whisper echoed, grew, became other words, other sounds in the strange acoustics of this room. 'I don't like it.' She breathed deeply. 'I'm afraid.'
Hal nodded, whispering himself. 'She's right, Miles. This is out of our league.'
'Stay there,' Miles told them.
He pulled away from Claire and, holding the lamp in front of him for additional light, walked slowly forward, careful not to step on any of the dolls. Glass eyes stared blankly up at him as he passed. The flickering flame of
This close, he could see that a vine had wound around the dwarf's feet and disappeared up the faded, rotted mated al that had once been clothes. The vine emerged once again on the underside of the arm and ended in the dried, outstretched hand. The vine was mint, he saw now, though mint did not ordinarily grow in a vine, and the way it came to an end just beyond the tip of the mummified fingers made it appear as though the small dead man was offering him a branch of newly picked mint leaves.
He remembered his dream last night, the old man with the mint spoon.
'A dwarf gave it to me.'
Not knowing if it was the right thing or not, Miles picked the end of the vine, the branch of mint leaves, from the dead dry hand, and put it in the pocket of his shirt. 'It keeps the head fresh.'
Cool, clean air beckoned him from the dark doorway in the corner, and Miles turned back toward Claire and Hal. 'Come on,' he said, and his voice had no echo but died dully. 'We're going out that way. Make sure you don't step on any of the dolls.'
He needed to say no more. Claire came first, and she stepped gingerly between the figurines, following almost the same path he himself had taken. Hal gave her a moment's head start before doing the same. Miles waited for both of them to reach him then, single-file, they crossed the rest of the room to the doorway.
Once past the massive candle, darkness closed in again. They entered another rock tunnel, only this time the wails were rounded, as if bored by machine. There were no alcoves or side passages, just this one straight tunnel. Holding his lamp high, Miles led them forward. The ground began to slope upward almost immediately, and soon he
was being forced to take smaller steps just to maintain his balance.
The passageway continued upward, as steep as stairs. They were all breathing heavily, and Miles was about to suggest that they stop and take a break when he saw the sky up ahead.
Storm clouds.
He hurried forward, coming finally to the end of the rock.
They were out.
