“I just smell dust,” Ōbhin said.
“Exactly,” grunted Fingers.
“Come, come,” Dualayn said. “That door should lead out to a street, hopefully.”
Ōbhin reached the collapse in the floor, the cement slab broken. A pile of rubble lay at the bottom along with a pool of dirty water. It had a thick consistency, a soup of dust. He skirted around it, Avena on his heels. He swept more cobwebs out of the way. Rats, or other vermin, scurried through the detritus before them, claws clicking on stone and fur whisking over decay.
Avena squeaked behind him.
He whirled around to see her eyes wide. “What?”
“On your shoulder. There’s . . .” A shudder of revulsion spilled across her expression.
He glanced at his shoulder and flinched. A spider sat perched there, body milky white, eyes black and reflective. It was the size of a child’s hand, legs spindly and hairy. With a bark, he smacked it away, flinging it off into the dark. Revulsion spilled down his skin, every hair on his body rising.
“Elohm’s Colours, that was big,” Fingers groaned. “Spiders shouldn’t grow that big. Ain’t natural.”
“They grow bigger in the Kon’veyth Depression,” said Dualayn. “Hopefully, these are not venomous.”
“Venomous?” groaned Miguil. “Wish I’d brought a prism.”
“Yeah,” Bran said, his voice tight.
“Just a cave spider,” Dajouth said, his voice light and carefree. “Only the rats have to be afraid of ‘em. And Bran, since he’s so small.”
“I don’t want to end up like that,” Bran said, pointing at another rat caught in thick cobwebs. It was the size of Ōbhin’s hand, its black fur looking fresh. Lurking in the shadowed recesses near it was something pale and spindly.
Ōbhin beat down the disgust and animistic fear spilling through his veins. He pressed on, sweeping through more of the cobwebs as they worked past the collapse and through the rotten shelves tumbled around them. He felt a thousand faceted eyes watching him, salivating for his flesh. He could almost hear their legs as they scurried around them.
The deeper in they went, the less sunlight came from the hole. Soon, only their lanterns shed illumination. It was bright and steady but traveled only a few cubits before falling off, swallowed by the darkness around them. Memoirs of those terrible moments plunged into mines beneath Gunya filled him.
True black had a weight. A suffocating pressure that squeezed around you, crushing you as surely as a bug beneath a Ka’voyith elephant. The scant lantern he held before him provided little protection against it, a fragile nimbus straining against the mammoth bulk lurking all around them.
He peered at the umbral portal. His light didn’t seem to penetrate beyond it, like the doorway swallowed everything. A glacial waterfall poured down his spine, the melt chilling him. What if his lantern failed?
You found your way out of the mines, he reminded himself.
Taim didn’t, another voice accused, harsh and cold.
Not because of the dark or spiders.
He felt Avena behind him, her warmth and light spilling around him. He wasn’t alone. He had his friends, even if one was a traitor. He even had Dualayn. He didn’t face the crushing weight of umbral black alone. He wasn’t a single bug beneath the elephant’s massive foot.
He reached the portal. His light spilled through. The room beyond was wide. His light had nothing to reflect upon. No unnatural barrier was swallowing it. The illusion must have been fear’s work. The confusion caused by dread, like a morning fog spilling off the high peaks and transforming the world alien.
He stepped through it. This room held tables and chairs, some rotted to the point of collapse, others gnawed by the hungry teeth of the devouring rats. The ceiling had collapsed on the far side, the floor tilted at a sharp slope to the right.
They advanced to the buckled flooring. He hunched his head, the cracked ceiling descending. Remnants of tarnished wires ran across the concrete, some leaving stains of decayed metal behind. Others vanished into fixtures, perhaps made of silver or some other shiny metal. All were now black with patina.
“There’s a diamond in one,” Dualayn said. “They must have used them for light like we do. The others must be lost in the debris, popped out when the ceiling half-collapsed. Remarkable.”
“So there’s a small fortune buried beneath the dust,” Fingers said.
“Not why we’re here,” Ōbhin said as he stepped onto the sloped floor, his boot’s sole gripping the concrete. “Once we find the antenna, feel free to loot this place all you want.”
“Maybe I will,” Fingers said.
“Imagine what else we’ll find down here!” exclaimed Bran, his voice echoing back a moment later.
“ . . . down here . . .”
“ . . . ere . . .”
“And keep your voices down,” Ōbhin hissed, glaring behind him at the boy. “Whisper.”
Bran winced. In hushed conciliation, he said, “Sorry. I forgot.”
Ōbhin ducked his head lower. He scrunched down, half-crouching on the slanted surface. The collapsed ceiling was held up by some sort of crushed plinth that may have once held a bust. A doorway lay in the wall. He placed his free hand on the stone floor, his body a low angle. He almost had to slide across the slanted floor.
“Why couldn’t the floor and the ceiling be slanted in the same direction?” muttered Dajouth.
Bran gasped. Boots scrambled. The youth floundered, his feet struggling to find purchase as he slid on his side. His hand had grabbed a crack in the floor. Dust spilled down towards the dark shadows at the bottom of the collapse.
He held tight and managed to get his foot beneath him. His dust-streaked face burst with relief. “Didn’t want to find out wot’s down there.”
“Spiders,” Fingers said, low voice rumbling. “Nest of ‘em. I can feel ‘em watching us, Black-cursed bastards.”
“Don’t
