The elders said to stay away from the hole in the mountain. They called it a mouth--a gaping, dark thing that boded ill for those who disobeyed. Those who strayed. But the elders remembered a different age, a harder age, and they lacked the gifts of the young.
Mirelle waited for the rope to go slack; she heard Opan's boots scuff on the stone below before he said, "Alright!" Mirelle tested the rope--though it'd already withstood four people--and dropped herself down. Even a foot or two below the lip of the mouth, the air here was heavy and still. Dust swirled around Mirelle as she twisted her way down the rope. She landed with the same scuff of feet as Opan. His torch burned in the feeble light that managed to enter past the mouth's ragged opening; their friends were already glimmers in the distance.
"How big is this place?" Mirelle asked. Opan shrugged. Even that small gesture sent dust twisting in the dim sunlight. Mirelle sneezed once, and then twice, and they both cringed at the echo.
"Mirelle!" said a voice. "I about dropped my light!"
"Sorry!" she called to the glow in the darkness. She lit her own torch off of Opan's, and they followed their friends. "Lot of empty room here," she said. "For a built place."
"You think everything was built, but you don't ever say how anybody could work stone." Mirelle played her torch over the sharp angles and unreadable marks on the stone.
"Yeah." A split in the path emerged from the shadows; Mirelle jerked her head left, Opan tilted his right, and after a moment they each took their chosen path. "Whatever," Mirelle said. She followed the narrow hall as it sloped downward; thin slits in the stone overhead let channeled slightly-fresher air that played havoc with her torch. Mirelle paused with bated breath each time the light wavered, and with each sneezing fit she clutched her torch and hoped that the darkness in her screwed-up eyes wouldn't be there when she managed to open them.
This far below ground, this turned around--she had to go back. Why were they here, anyway? They meant to bring anything they found back to the village--but that was an admittance of trespass, wasn't it? Mirelle paused. There was nothing here. Nothing here to find but transgression and disobedience.
She turned--and then found herself turning back, continuing on, her feet slipping on the dusty stone. Mirelle's pace increased almost to a run as the incline steepened. She glanced off a courner protruding into her current hall, and fell head-first as the hall--the ramp--became stairs. Mirelle landed flat on her stomach, striking her face on the cold stone, and her torch clattered on the floor. The flame guttered, and went out.
"No!" Mirelle remained where she lay; each breath scraped her ribs against the muscles of her chest, and each blink made colors burst across the darkness. She had no way to measure how long she waited, but eventually the pain faded. Mirelle shoved herself to her hands and knees. She crawled this way until her fingers brushed and then fastened onto the torch. She levered herself to her feet to survey the situation.
Musty darkness. A useless torch. Ribs that ached whenever she moved. Wetness on her temple. Mirelle put a hand to her head and took uneasy steps forward; she held the torch out before her like a divining rod. Divine a way out. The only way out was up, but the thought of those stairs made her chest twinge.
Mirelle cracked her shins on a stone wall too low for her torch to find; she yelped as she fell chest-first against it--and then yelped again when she nearly fell off of what wasn't a wall at all. She scrambled for purchase on the smooth stone. Her fingers clenched against a seam; she hauled herself up and gasped against the pain in her chest. Louder than her own breath--stone on stone. Her fingers traced the seam, which was now a gap. This was... a box? She'd pulled on some kind of lid, and now her fingers dipped into the hollow. Maybe there was something here, after all--to be in a box. Something to show Opan, something to show the elders. Mirelle put her hand inside and felt something cold, but soft. Something with give. A flat, smooth surface... something softer, two-fold, with another seam... she pulled back from the box so sharply she stumbled; pain flared hot through her shins.
The darkness, the isolation, and the age here no longer mattered. Mirelle raced for the stairs. She hit the wall palms-first and slid until she found the doorway. She began taking the steps on her hands and knees, ignoring the pain in her chest. Ignoring the throb in her head. Those had been lips, and something licked Mirelle's bloody hand.
Over the sound of her own gasps, over the slowly-increasing distance, stone rasped on stone. Mirelle clawed her way up the steep, dusty stairs. A mindless, animal fear stabbed her heart and made her limbs water and weak, but she kept moving. It was quiet down below, now; maybe she'd heard things, or accidently shifted the stone herself. Even so, she didn't stop as she neared the top of the stairs. Her hands reached the beginning of the incline at the same time as something shifted in the air. She felt a shape in front of her before she stood--something colder than the stagnant air. Mirelle cried out and turned to slide or plummet back down the stairs--to do so was better than whatever blocked her path, that animal fear told her.
Whatever blocked her path grasped her ankle in an iron grip. The sharp stairs struck her hard in the ribs, and her bones snapped anew. Mirelle began to speak with a shout, and ended with a whimper. Her pursuer hauled her back bodily upward with hands on her legs, on her waist, and then hauled her upright against itself. An arm went around her throat, and Mirelle flailed upward and behind her, despite the wheezing pain in her chest. Mirelle's attacker caught her fist with its own free hand; its strength forced her hand flat. She felt that tongue against her palm again, and then a sharp pain on her wrist.
Mirelle waited for the rope to go slack; she heard Opan's boots scuff on the stone below before he said, "Alright!" Mirelle tested the rope--though it'd already withstood four people--and dropped herself down. Even a foot or two below the lip of the mouth, the air here was heavy and still. Dust swirled around Mirelle as she twisted her way down the rope. She landed with the same scuff of feet as Opan. His torch burned in the feeble light that managed to enter past the mouth's ragged opening; their friends were already glimmers in the distance.
"How big is this place?" Mirelle asked. Opan shrugged. Even that small gesture sent dust twisting in the dim sunlight. Mirelle sneezed once, and then twice, and they both cringed at the echo.
"Mirelle!" said a voice. "I about dropped my light!"
"Sorry!" she called to the glow in the darkness. She lit her own torch off of Opan's, and they followed their friends. "Lot of empty room here," she said. "For a built place."
"You think everything was built, but you don't ever say how anybody could work stone." Mirelle played her torch over the sharp angles and unreadable marks on the stone.
"Yeah." A split in the path emerged from the shadows; Mirelle jerked her head left, Opan tilted his right, and after a moment they each took their chosen path. "Whatever," Mirelle said. She followed the narrow hall as it sloped downward; thin slits in the stone overhead let channeled slightly-fresher air that played havoc with her torch. Mirelle paused with bated breath each time the light wavered, and with each sneezing fit she clutched her torch and hoped that the darkness in her screwed-up eyes wouldn't be there when she managed to open them.
This far below ground, this turned around--she had to go back. Why were they here, anyway? They meant to bring anything they found back to the village--but that was an admittance of trespass, wasn't it? Mirelle paused. There was nothing here. Nothing here to find but transgression and disobedience.
She turned--and then found herself turning back, continuing on, her feet slipping on the dusty stone. Mirelle's pace increased almost to a run as the incline steepened. She glanced off a courner protruding into her current hall, and fell head-first as the hall--the ramp--became stairs. Mirelle landed flat on her stomach, striking her face on the cold stone, and her torch clattered on the floor. The flame guttered, and went out.
"No!" Mirelle remained where she lay; each breath scraped her ribs against the muscles of her chest, and each blink made colors burst across the darkness. She had no way to measure how long she waited, but eventually the pain faded. Mirelle shoved herself to her hands and knees. She crawled this way until her fingers brushed and then fastened onto the torch. She levered herself to her feet to survey the situation.
Musty darkness. A useless torch. Ribs that ached whenever she moved. Wetness on her temple. Mirelle put a hand to her head and took uneasy steps forward; she held the torch out before her like a divining rod. Divine a way out. The only way out was up, but the thought of those stairs made her chest twinge.
Mirelle cracked her shins on a stone wall too low for her torch to find; she yelped as she fell chest-first against it--and then yelped again when she nearly fell off of what wasn't a wall at all. She scrambled for purchase on the smooth stone. Her fingers clenched against a seam; she hauled herself up and gasped against the pain in her chest. Louder than her own breath--stone on stone. Her fingers traced the seam, which was now a gap. This was... a box? She'd pulled on some kind of lid, and now her fingers dipped into the hollow. Maybe there was something here, after all--to be in a box. Something to show Opan, something to show the elders. Mirelle put her hand inside and felt something cold, but soft. Something with give. A flat, smooth surface... something softer, two-fold, with another seam... she pulled back from the box so sharply she stumbled; pain flared hot through her shins.
The darkness, the isolation, and the age here no longer mattered. Mirelle raced for the stairs. She hit the wall palms-first and slid until she found the doorway. She began taking the steps on her hands and knees, ignoring the pain in her chest. Ignoring the throb in her head. Those had been lips, and something licked Mirelle's bloody hand.
Over the sound of her own gasps, over the slowly-increasing distance, stone rasped on stone. Mirelle clawed her way up the steep, dusty stairs. A mindless, animal fear stabbed her heart and made her limbs water and weak, but she kept moving. It was quiet down below, now; maybe she'd heard things, or accidently shifted the stone herself. Even so, she didn't stop as she neared the top of the stairs. Her hands reached the beginning of the incline at the same time as something shifted in the air. She felt a shape in front of her before she stood--something colder than the stagnant air. Mirelle cried out and turned to slide or plummet back down the stairs--to do so was better than whatever blocked her path, that animal fear told her.
Whatever blocked her path grasped her ankle in an iron grip. The sharp stairs struck her hard in the ribs, and her bones snapped anew. Mirelle began to speak with a shout, and ended with a whimper. Her pursuer hauled her back bodily upward with hands on her legs, on her waist, and then hauled her upright against itself. An arm went around her throat, and Mirelle flailed upward and behind her, despite the wheezing pain in her chest. Mirelle's attacker caught her fist with its own free hand; its strength forced her hand flat. She felt that tongue against her palm again, and then a sharp pain on her wrist.
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