II

Deep below the thud of feet on Ahskra’s streets exists a world entire, a subterranean realm of vast limestone caverns, twisting passages, long-forgotten temple crypts and the hulks of leviathan machines, their ancient forms caked with patinas of rust and manifold varieties of moss.

Sperks padded along one such corridor, breath hissing from his grey lips as his three-toed hyrax-like feet slapped against the pitted and damp floor. He was not alone: three pack-fellows followed his lead, all younger, all reeking of musk expelled in eagerness on their first great hunt. Utter darkness was the pack’s realm, with them having no trouble moving through a world rendered monochrome by their beady black eyes.

Along the riffled walls they went, the tallest being Sperks himself at little over four feet. They were broad beings with wiry fur mottled grey-brown, their stocky heads of a vespertilionine cast except for the expansive chins and toad-like lips which stretched beneath their piggy snouts.

Suddenly, Sperks’ finely-fleshed ears twitched as they sensed something moving ahead. He hissed his pack to a halt, his thumb and three fingers tightening around the femur club in his left paw, the sensation of claws digging into bone keeping him alert. Setting his shoulders, he stalked forward, ready to swing and tear at the first sign of peril.

Six paces away from the pack the tunnel leveled out into a small cave, stalagmites near twice Sperks’ height almost touching their kin suspended from the ceiling. It was from behind one of these pillars that the gnarsh rushed, a thing two yards long and near half that height, a beast with a great ratty body, compound eyes and a chitinous beak from which writhed six pale tentacles. No doubt having tasted the pack’s musk, the gnarsh made good its gurgling flight into one of the many twisting tunnels flowing from the cave.

Sperks relaxed, signaling with a snort that his pack was to move up—this hunt’s prey was still a fair journey away and no time could be wasted chasing gnarsh, even if their tripe was oh-so-sweet. Sticking out his broad tongue, Sperks tasted the air, feeling out the ebb and flow of what little current existed so deep beneath Krask’s crust.

He stood like that for a fair while, staring at the passages winding their way through the bedrock. At last Sperks' lips smacked shut. He was certain that a tunnel to the right was one which lead upward, the one which would take them to the great emptiness. Still, he made no move, instead turning to Sgres. Two quick hisses flowed from his lips, asking her which was the way to go.

Sgres cocked her head, then tasted the air as he had done. It took her longer, yet her conclusion concurred with his; this quickened his heart. Surely, Sgres would prove a capable alpha once age claimed their mother. Still, there was much she did not know in her youth, and this hunt was the most important lesson of all. Again Sperks set off, his pace quickening now that he had a fair grip as to their heading. Occasionally he would pause and taste the air, such stops becoming briefer as the tunnels started to slope at a steeper angle, broadening out and becoming damper.

The journey proved relatively uneventful—always a welcome state of affairs—and some hours later they reached a great cavern with pools of viscous oil stagnating around jutting metal pillars. The cavern stretched high, with its dripping roof being too distant to see with clarity. This space Sperks knew well; he had first been here on his second ever great hunt. Navigating past the pools and careful not to snag his fur on rusted iron, he led his pack all along the leftmost wall, picking up pace when, at the cavern’s far end, he sighted a megalith carved from the rockface glowing with a pale orange nimbus.

The statue stood twenty yards tall, a helmeted great grey furless giant with two clawless paws resting on the head of a parashu. Despite Sperks’ revulsion toward the smooth-skinned things of the roofless world, this behemoth always managed to fill him with a strange feeling, part awe and part dread. Sperks despised this, always promising to scornfully ignore the statue the next time he would find himself standing at its bare feet—yet now, as always, he merely stared. He could sense the same discomfort in the others: Grosk and Vrug nervously shifting their feet every few seconds, Sgres seeming calm but for the telltale twitching of her nose.

Deciding to break this tension, Sperks moved onward along the wall, coming to the crevice he knew so well only to find it blocked. The tip of a great stalactite had at some point broken from the ceiling to fall square across the opening. There had been no tremors of late, none that the tribe had sensed at least, yet the truth was stark: the way was barred. Frustrated, knowing that the surface was nearer than ever, Sperks sniffed the air.

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There was the coppery-sweet tang of musk and the stench of whatever foul liquid pooled about the cavern; lume moss, water and... and... yes! Not knowing the scent, Sperks followed its trail, for reeks unknown tended to be from the above. He was sure that, with the gap so tightly closed, it came not from the blocked passage, nor from his right or rear... the statue!

Again he made his way to the towering figure, the complex aroma becoming more poignant. How had he not scented it earlier? The statue looked solid where its legs jutted from the wall, where the parashu’s haft met the floor. Running his claws against the mossy, water-scarred rock, tapping it with his knuckles as he made his way from one five-toed foot to the other, Sperks knew that his first impression had been correct: there was no cleft or hidden hallway.

Locking sight with Vrug, he grunted thrice and motioned his head at the statue. Vrug, the smallest of the pack, tensed, clearly put out at the prospect of scaling the warrior, yet he soon enough set about doing just that after handing his club to Grosk and gathering one of the red arachnid-silk ropes draped across Sgres’s shoulders. The going was tough, the glowing moss slippery, yet the limestone was pitted enough for Vrug to gain sufficient pawholds as he shimmied up.

Up the left leg he went, a great many minutes passing before he was able to hoist himself up and over the arm, coming to a stand there. Sperks studied the statue’s head and shoulders, looking for the telltale lining of a concealed entrance. He saw none, nor did Vrug, and Sperks urged his pack-fellow to climb even higher until he ended up flush against the great crested helm. From ear to ear Vrug moved, again finding nothing, which left only the crest itself.

Once atop, Vrug gave an excited yelp, tied the rope to something and dropped the other end, letting it spiral down between the statue’s arms and over its chest. It came to a rest below the knees.

Sperks took the remaining rope from Sgres, untying the knots along its length. Soon enough those below had tied their clubs to their backs and one by one began scaling the legs. Sperks went first. Upon reaching the knees he grabbed hold of the rope and began hauling himself up, his feet scraping away moss as they braced against stone, hoping that whatever the rope was tied to held strong.

Eagerly he pulled himself over the furless’s chest, then its face, with two baleful stony eyes staring at him from beneath the helm’s slit. And once atop the crest, Sperks saw what had Vrug—and now him—so excited. A grate was bolted into the stone, with well-hewn steps leading into the statue’s skull. The grate was of iridium(not that Sperks knew metals by name) and was intricately etched with runes over its bars and casing. Sperks figured it was like the other furless squiggles he had seen, both in sunken ruins and in the chaotic hive above.

Vrug had tied the rope to this grate, and now the rope was taut once more as Sgres made her ascent. Grosk came last, and as he made his way up Sperks studied the grate. Once all his pack stood atop the helm, he growled at Vrug to untie the rope while he slid the bolts out of the stone. Sperks then strained as he tried to lift the grate, with it finally raising out and clattering to the cavern floor when Grosk added his strength.

Seeing no need for delay, Sperks descended into the warrior’s skull. The hollowed-out space was nothing special, with naught but an iridium sarcophagus set into the floor and worn runes carved into the walls. Such abstract things held no interest for the pack; they hunted only to replenish their grove slaves.

Sperks led them past the coffin, ducking as he entered the narrow passage leading out of the head. The scent wafted down the steep tunnel, growing subtly stronger with each step. Sperks twitched his nose as the smell formed into a sharp bouquet of manurish decay with a hint of fermented sweetness.

The tunnel they moved through was dry, set with oily-black stone panels so smoothly hewn that, had it been dug any steeper, Sperks doubted they would have been able to ascend it. It ran ramrod-straight for near-on an hour, with the pack’s breath rasping out as they padded along.

Not Sperks, Sgres, nor their brothers were prepared for what they found at its terminus.

They stumbled into an octagonal room about thirty paces side to side, the walls smooth and exhibiting ever-shifting facades. There was no central source of light, yet the four yard high walls illumined the space to such an extent that it was almost too bright for the pack’s photo-emitting eyes. It was almost as intolerably bright as when the great fire raged over the above.

Vrug gave a squeamish squeak, and Sperks felt no different in his stomach—not even under the emptiness had he ever seen such a strange sight. Colors blazed from the walls, shifting shapes and forms that held little meaning yet were of such a complexity that they hurt the eyes if stared at for overlong.

Sperks rather focused his sight on the smooth jet-black floor, eyes shifting until they fell on the center of the room and the large metallic half-sphere set into the floor. Gingerly he shuffled toward it, following his nose and opening his mouth. Unlike the walls, the air was stilled in the room, yet Sperks felt a slight updraft tickling his ears and tongue. He looked up to see a circular hole above the half-sphere stretching into darkness. Forcing his eyes to rove over the chaotic walls, he traced their length and concluded that they held no egress, not that he wanted to get any closer to their maddening surfaces.

The way was up, or back.