mouth of a giant beast.
“Don’t move,” Marrok ordered as he examined the floor.
Shadows danced on the pockmarked walls as Marrok searched for signs. Deep wells of blackness indicated other tunnels, and small puddles of water peppered the floor. Dripping and running water filled the air with a pleasant hum that countered the unpleasant wet mineral smell mixed with a sharp animal musk.
Moon Man hunched his shoulders and short breaths punctuated his breathing.
“Is something wrong?” I asked him.
“The walls press on me. I feel squeezed. No doubt my imagination.” He went to mark the tunnel to the surface with red paint.
“This way,” Marrok said. Amplified by either the stone walls or by fear, his voice sounded louder than usual. He showed us a series of ledges descending down a chute.
The smell rising from the chute turned sharp and rank. I gagged. Tauno climbed down. The ledges turned out to be large chucks of rocks stacked crookedly on top of one another. In certain places he hung over the side and dropped down. We followed and with some mumbling and cursing we caught up to Tauno.
He waited on the last visible ledge. Beyond him, the chute ended in a pit of blackness. Tauno dropped his torch. It landed on a rock floor far below.
“Too far to jump,” Tauno said.
I pulled the grapple from my pack and wedged the metal hooks into a crack, glad I had decided to bring it along. Tying the rope onto the hook, I tested the grapple’s grip. Secure for now, but Moon Man braced himself and gripped the rope when Tauno swung over the edge and descended.
Moon Man’s forehead dripped with sweat despite the cool air. His uneven breathing echoed off the walls. When Tauno reached near the bottom, Moon Man released the rope. The grapple held Tauno’s weight. He jumped the last bit and picked up the torch, exploring the area before giving us the all-clear signal. One by one we joined him at the bottom of the chute. We left the grapple in place in case we needed to return.
“I have some good news and some bad,” Tauno said.
“Just tell us,” Marrok barked.
“There is a way out of this chamber, but I doubt Moon Man or Leif will fit.” Tauno showed us a small opening. The torch’s flame flickered in the breeze coming from the channel.
I looked at Leif. Even though Marrok was taller than him, Leif had wide shoulders. How had Cahil and Ferde fit through? Or had they traveled a different way? It was hard to judge size based on a memory. Perhaps they hadn’t encountered any trouble.
“First explore the tunnel. See what’s on the other side,” I instructed.
Tauno disappeared into the hole with a quick grace. Leif crouched next to the opening, examining it.
“I have more plant oil,” Leif said. “Perhaps we can grease our skin and slide through?” He stepped back when Tauno’s light brightened the passageway.
“It gets wider about ten feet down and ends in another cavern,” Tauno said. Black foul-smelling muck covered his feet. When questioned about the mud, he wiggled his toes. “The source of the stench. Bat guano. Lots of it.”
Those ten feet took us the longest to traverse. And I despaired at the amount of time we used to squeeze two grown men through a narrow space. It might be impossible to catch up with Cahil and the others. And Moon Man’s panic attack when he had become wedged for a moment had set everyone’s mood on edge.
Standing ankle deep in bat droppings, we made for a miserable group. My dismay reflected in everyone’s face. And it wasn’t due to the putrid and acidic smell. Leif’s shoulders were scratched raw and bloody, and the skin on Moon Man’s arms looked shredded. Blood dripped from his hands.
Moon Man’s breathing rasped. “Go back. We should…go back.” He panted. “Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.”
I suppressed my worries about Cahil. Connecting with the power source, I gathered a fiber of magic and sought Moon Man’s mind. A claustrophobic fear had pushed logic and reason aside. I probed deeper into his thoughts to find the strong unflappable Story Weaver, reminding him of the importance of our journey. A Sandseed Story Weaver would not let himself panic. Moon Man’s breathing settled as calm reclaimed his emotions. I withdrew from his mind.
“I am sorry. I do not like this cave,” Moon Man said.
“No one does,” Leif muttered.
Keeping my thread of magic, I focused on Moon Man’s arms. Large chunks of his skin had been gouged out. My upper limbs burned with pain as I concentrated on his injuries. When I could no longer endure the stinging fire, I used magic to push it away from me. I swayed with relief and would have fallen to the floor if Leif hadn’t grabbed me.
Moon Man examined his arms. “I could not lend you my strength this time,” he said. “Your magic held me immobile.”
“What’s this?” Leif asked.
He raised my hand into the light. Blood streaked my skin, but I couldn’t find any damage. When I had helped Tula, one of Ferde’s victims and Opal’s sister, Irys had speculated that I had assumed her injuries then healed myself. I guessed it had been the same with Marrok’s crushed cheek. But seeing the physical evidence turned Irys’s theory into reality. I stared at the blood and felt light-headed.
“That’s interesting,” Leif said.
“Interesting in a good way or bad?” I asked.
“I don’t know. No one has done that before.”
I appealed to Moon Man.
“A couple Story Weavers have the power to heal, but not like that,” he said. “Perhaps it is something only a Soulfinder can do.”
“Perhaps? You don’t know? Then why have you led me to believe you know everything about me?” I demanded.
He rubbed his newly healed arm. “I am your Story Weaver. I do know everything about you. However, I do not know everything about Soulfinders. Do you define yourself strictly by that title?”
“No.” I avoided the title.
“Well then,” he said, as if that settled the matter.
“Let’s go,” Marrok said through his shirt. He had covered his nose and mouth to block the smell. “The Daviians’ trail through this muck is easy to follow.”
With Marrok in the lead, we stepped with care. About halfway through the bats’ cavern, I sensed an awakening. Sending a thin tendril of power, I linked with the dark minds above me as they floated toward a collective consciousness. Their need for food pushed at me, and, through them, I felt the exact location of each bat, of each wall, of each exit, of each rock, and each figure below. They launched.
“Duck!” I yelled as the cloud of flying creatures descended.
The drone of beating wings reached a crescendo as black bodies flew around us. The air swirled and filled with bats. They deftly avoided knocking into us or each other as they headed toward the exit, seeking the insects and berries of the jungle.
My mind traveled with them. The instinctual exodus of thousands of bats flying through the tight tunnels of the cave was as organized as a military attack. And like any well-planned event, it took time for all the bats to leave.
The muscles in my legs burned when I finally straightened. The flapping and fluttering sounds echoed from the tunnels then faded. I looked at my companions. No one appeared to be hurt, although a few of us were splattered with dung.
Marrok had dropped his torch, and his arms covered his head. He puffed with alarm.
“Captain Marrok,” I said, hoping to calm him. “Give me your torch.”
My order pierced his panic. He picked up the unlit stick. “Why?”
“Because the bats have shown me the way out.” I cringed as my hand closed on the muck-covered handle. “Leif, can you relight this?”
Leif nodded. Flames grew. When the torch burned on its own, he asked, “How far to the jungle?”
“Not far.” I led the group, setting a quick pace. No one complained. All were as eager as I to exit the
