With bated breath, Rannek watched the man in his bone suit mount the tusk and slide down to its midway point on his bottom. It was all he could do not to throw up again. An acetic taste still lined his mouth from his own crossing, and then Pen’s, and her near-slip-up that had catapulted the mesh of cooked blue moss out of his mouth and nostrils.

He felt pathetic. Oiji was the seventh of eight to cross, yet to him it was no better than when Ibiko had first conquered the twelve-birk tusk. They’d taken all the precautions they could, had driven knifes into the rock to stretch a rope across the precipice one could hold on to, had secured each of them with an emergency line tied around their bodies, but that did not erase his fears. It should not work, a voice told him. If that voice could sound aloud, he was sure it would resemble Wellan’s to a T.

The head of the Guard stood stiffly next to him, as did Pen, and Ibiko, and Kysryn and Staen, all quiet. Only the scraping of bone on bone echoed in the cave coming from the midway point between the two purple camps. The tusk was a good deal longer than the abyss, yet it thinned out evenly toward the peak. Their maneuver steering that peak over to the other side had reminded him of a ship taking sail, only without a sail, or a hull, or anything besides the prow-like curvature of the tusk and the taut ropes holding it steady. Over it had sailed, and one by one they’d crossed, each time fearing the bridge would give out. It didn’t. It swayed left and right, and confronted them with a reflux-inducing sight of the dark below, but budge it would not.

Considering his circumstances, and all those before this crossing, Rannek thought it not that unreasonable a notion that his nausea was the result of too much luck and misfortune being thrust upon a man in such quick succession. Only that begged the question: why had none of the others even retched once?

”Hey there,” Oiji said. Rannek spied around the tusk’s peak to find him not far from the edge. He sat upright on the tusk again, an uneasy sight, and had his eyes fixed on a hand-wide circle of spindly arches sitting before him. Rannek squinted. It was a spider, a big one, the kind that dwelled high up in the jungle catching bugs and butterflies and sometimes even small birds in its webs. He grew restless for the young man despite an utter lack of distress in his voice. ”Would you mind moving?” It did mind, from the looks of it—sixteen legs, not one of them stirring.

”Get on,” Wellan grumbled.

Oiji shrugged. ”Break a leg or two,” he said before swatting the spider off the tusk. For an instant, Rannek raised his hands fearing the swat was misplaced and would propel the tangle of darting legs in his direction, but it just fell into the abyss leaving him to feel ever more pathetic.

The others pulled Oiji onto the ledge by his bone-covered arms. Ibiko patted his back and smiled at him. He’d taken to the stranger during the long, winding process of carrying the tusk through caverns and tunnels before it could set sail; many a mining story they had hushed to each other, and Rannek had listened as best he could hoping to learn more about the origins of these realms. Instead, he had learned the story of how Oiji had come to live down here, and was stricken with sadness.

He and his brothers had died in a collapse much smaller than Ibiko’s. He insisted on that word, ’died’; his body may have survived, he said, but his life before had been crushed just the same as his brothers. Pain was still vivid in the hermit’s face recalling the event. He really hadn’t talked to anyone since, it seemed. His parents had been long deceased, he told them, and he and his brothers had shared everything; living, working, drinking, and all the pains and joys of the simple life that mining allowed them to lead.

Thus, when death claimed his brothers, the then-young Oiji had decided that there was no point in going back—a decision he admitted to having rued many times after. Two years in, he had finally tried to ween himself off the life underground, ascending as high as he could by the same way they were bound. And he had learned a rule so important, even Rannek knew by now.

You have to cook the marimoss.

At that point of his telling, Oiji grew silent. He hadn’t faltered talking about his brothers, so for him to not want to relive the depressions of the withdrawal from the blue plant told Rannek plenty. Neither Ibiko nor him probed further, and Wellan’s shushing soon ended the conversation.

Now, Rannek began to notice the toll of walking and climbing and sweating and retching. As they waited for Dhav to join them, his stomach let out a growl whose melody went up at the end as if to ask a question. It was up to Wellan to choose the right time to answer, but Rannek doubted they’d camp while still in sight of the other side. The guards had thrown across whatever luggage was throwable, and carried that which wasn’t. They’d erased every trace they could of their passing; all of them, nearly, except for one. »We need to destroy it,« Rannek said.

Wellan shook his head. »More than that, we need a way back. The way out might have collapsed, your new friend said about the same, didn’t he? Long as we don’t know, we stay safe.«

»We’ll never be safe with the Liberation at our heel. This is our shot to thwart their plans. If we don’t, they’ll follow, and what then? What if they find us?«

»Dying of thirst with nowhere to turn is worse.«

»Than fall into their hands? I don’t think so.«

For a moment, Wellan said nothing. Only when Dhav arrived and was pulled up did he turn and pull Rannek back by his collar until they were out of earshot. »You want me to spell it out for you? Honestly?«

Rannek was flustered. »… I don’t know what—«

»The TLA’s evil, and cruel, and they torture, I know. But that’s us soldiers. Unlike us, you are worth something. So is the girl. If we get caught, you’ll have a decent chance of living long enough to be rescued or traded—hells, she’ll probably be treated like royalty. Now I would gladly let you pick holes in that theory, but the problem is that my men aren’t in the best frame of mind to hear me argue in favor of them being tortured to death.«

Rannek tried to withstand that iron gaze of Wellan’s, but couldn’t. He had been unwilling to consider his position being a factor, yet like all other luxuries, the mountain had stripped him of it. Looking down, he caught a movement behind Wellan’s back, and stepped aside. Bright eyes. He opened his mouth, but Pen just turned on her heel and stormed back to the others. Wellan held him back before he could even take a step forward.

»This isn’t easy for any of us,« he said, much calmer now. »Give the girl some space. You know her anger fades fast.«

Rannek sighed. »I’m not so sure it’s just anger anymore.« But even if, it made no difference. Whenever she listened, he realized while speaking that he’d run out of helpful things to say ages ago.

The two of them walked back, gave orders and encouragement, and embarked on the journey away from the edge. The ground proved more obstructed the deeper they ventured into the cave, but they moved well. Walking for days on end seemed to have instilled some lessons in him at last, Rannek realized as he swung forward on his cane across the rubble, relying on no man but himself. He felt perpetually out of breath, but that feeling he had gotten used to, too, just like the pains from his injuries. At fifty-three years of age, having forever been estranged from physical education, he wondered if that was all fitness was: getting used to the pains and inadequacies of your body to the point where they ceased bothering you.

When they encountered the wall, Wellan turned to the eighth member of their outfit. ”What is this, bone man? You spoke of stairs.”

Oiji nodded upward, and waited until Wellan focused his candle. Up and up the rock it went until the wall ended. The purple beam followed an uneven edge spanning far to both sides, and when they moved back, it discovered another one just like it further up, and a faint third one.

”A giant’s stairs,” Wellan said morosely. ”You tricked us.”

”Stairs are stairs,” Oiji said. ”Best keep moving, we’re lucky they’re still intact.”

”… I don’t like this.”

Rannek put his hand on Wellan’s shoulder. »It’s either climb or go back. Whichever path you think is best, we take it.«

He consulted his watch after to find that Wellan’s silence had lasted nearly four frags. But despite the time he took to make his decision, it was with nothing but diligence and speed that he guided their climb onto the first step. Like the bridge, it was conquered first by Ibiko, and once he pulled up Dhav, they made quick progress. There was no uncertain dark below this time, yet Rannek lost what little confidence he had gained in a heartbeat when his feet left the ground, and accepted himself for what he was. Luggage. Like the backpacks and blankets they had to pull him up, rope searing into his stomach after it had so very shortly before been vacated. Dangling, feeling pathetic, he made himself a promise: he shall not retch again. All he was asking for was a shred of dignity to keep after this. May the Allfather concede, he whispered to himself.

From the perspective of luggage, their ascent was a rather dreary process. The second, third and fourth step proved similar to the first; a wide, but shallow bank of more or less steady ground, here and there blessed with a boulder that helped Ibiko get a head start on the next wall. Each time, Rannek had to wait until they deemed it safe for him. He didn’t even bother taking off the loose harness of rope around his torso in between pullings.

Looking around at these most peculiar monstrous steps, he failed to find the solace in studying them that he’d found at the pools, in the bone caverns, and when first facing Oiji. Only the young Bitaabi’s voice rung in his head, stammering the truth of it. Past time to stop asking questions. A truth Rannek had more trouble acknowledging than he cared to admit. He did already have enough questions stored up to occupy his mind until the Great Rain and after, but to stop asking, stop wondering…

If he couldn’t contribute any other way, he felt, the only option was to learn, and remember what they saw. He could be their journal. Keep the details sharp in his mind. When they hoisted him over the edge of the fifth step, he thus decided to take a stroll with a candle of his own as Ibiko vaulted up the rock yet another time. There was sparse vegetation on the steps, some shreds of moss, lichen, and a few malnourished slugs. The step itself was not as even as he could have wished for, and riddled with small holes. He inspected the dark above him, careful to stay away from the edge, and spotted the spider-thin ends of a few stalactites jutting out from the hidden ceiling. They hadn’t spotted any ones longer than two, maybe three birks. An actual giant matching the size of these steps wouldn’t have had nearly enough headroom, he reckoned. Any Gralinn architect worth his flynts would have laughed at workmanship as shoddy as this.

He stared longer than he needed to. Something struck him as peculiar. Half of the thin spires wore a hue that was kind of purple, but kind of not, brighter, like the artist that drew them had added a tinge of white. It was the half that faced the rising staircase.

He scrambled to the side, and looked up ahead. Black, black, black, not so black, black—he moved back and spotted a spiky point of rock whose edges wore the same tinge. White. Not purple. Moving on, he discovered more edges drawn in the foreign light, and spots, and blots, and—

»Rannek!« Wellan shouted.

His heel stopped, and Rannek looked back to find it hovering over darkness. He threw himself forward, onto his knees, losing his crutch and gaining a harsh pain from his right ankle. The sight of the edges above had made him lose sight of the one to his back. The fall would have done more than a fracture. It would have crippled, killed him.

When the pounding on his wrists slowed down enough to assure him he wasn’t having a heart attack, Rannek found himself being raised up by his shoulders. Wellan and Oiji looked at him with concern, though different kinds of it.

»No more exploring,« Wellan snarled at him.

Oiji sighed. ”I’ve been there many times. Beware the falls, they’re everywhere.”

”You’re… hah… right,” Rannek said, panting. His shock seemed to somewhat soften the expression on Wellan’s cut face; he nodded, and turned to go back to the climbing site. Rannek held him back. ”But look.” Breathing in and out, he raised his finger, and pointed at that small pool of faint white, of gray, shining down on them from the top step of the giant’s stairs, a sight so tempting to imagine he had forbidden himself from doing so.

They had made it.

They were working up to making it. But it was in sight, more and more of it, a flood of daylight shining through the spikes and crags and stalactites of the uneven ceiling as they moved on two members short. Wellan had sent Oiji and Dhav back to fell the tusk. A smart move, deemed Rannek, having seen both men’s prowess at climbing rope. Keeping Ibiko up here with them would allow for steady progress, and in time, the two would catch up. Kissed by the faint warmth of the sun, Rannek was filled by nothing but good spirits when Wellan took him aside on the eighth step and whispered to him, sharply, »He’s lying to us.«

Rannek felt his spirits fading, and couldn’t but feign ignorance. »Who?«

»The hermit with the good manners. It doesn’t make sense, look up there. You’re telling me he never mustered up the guts to break out? I saw him talking with Dhav and Kysryn, and Staen, joking with them, laughing. He’s making pals left and right—shouldn’t that make you think a little?«

»It did, but I’m afraid we’ve come to different conclusions.«

»Damn right we have.« Wellan’s men never spat, but he had recently picked up the habit. »It doesn’t add up. He evades people, he says. Didn’t evade us.«

Rannek observed Ibiko pulling up Kysryn, and Staen getting ready below. He searched for Pen, and found her sitting on a rock with her satchel, looking up at the lights. »Oiji wants to help us, I don’t find that so hard to imagine. Besides, there is no hope of escape for him. He’s been feeding on the moss, Wellan, for years now. He would go mad from the withdrawal. Ibiko said so.«

»Ibiko’s eating out of his palm, and the girl, too. They’d give him any excuse.« He scoffed. »Doesn’t take too much to buy their sympathy.«

Rannek turned, and took a good look at his man. Two times now he’d taken him aside, and each time he sounded less composed. Was Pen right to doubt him? It couldn’t be. He knew Wellan best of any man under his command, knew how he would get anxious and concerned, but never unreasonable. They were so close. »I’m not sure what you’re saying.«

»I’m saying he called us ‘gojas’. You boast your knowledge of their language—remind me, what does it mean again?«

»Little big men. Still, that was the bony king speaking. He was playing a part.«

»Not much of a leap to assume he never stopped playing.«

»Wellan, don’t you think it may be time to stop wondering so much and just keep our eyes on the prize? It’s right there. We’ve all but made—«

»Are you shitting me, old man?«

The face accompanying the offense didn’t flinch when Rannek dropped his smile. »I can excuse that, so I will.«

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

»You don’t get to say those words. Three years I’ve held your fort, and not one day you’ve done much else but wonder, and now I am the one who’s deluded?« He stopped, and sighed, and lowered his voice. »I won’t let it slow me down, we’re getting out, you’re right. But I do not trust him, and neither should you.«

Rannek nodded, distinctly. »I will take that into account.«

Wellan turned and left him without so much as a glance. Rannek’s concerns had not at all been put to rest, yet he knew better than to protest. There would be plenty of time to discuss this after they got out. After Wellan’s promotion. He’d make it happen regardless, and put that pin up on his shoulder, and smile. Perhaps a freshly baked captain Sersynin would apologize for these mishaps all by himself. He relished the thought of dismissing that apology with the mildest, kindest words. Naught but a quarrel, captain. That’d teach him.

The pool of light only grew wider and brighter as they made their way up the stairs. With it grew anew his curiosity. Rannek explored each step, finding more cause to doubt the architecture of giants. Once, he even discovered an outright safety hazard—a huge rock had fallen and crushed the step ahead, allowing Ibiko to climb up more easily. Wellan retained his sober expression, but the looks on the others’ faces mirrored how Rannek felt himself. Invigorated.

Oiji and Dhav caught up with them on step eleven, surprising everyone. They hadn’t been gone long, and Rannek hadn’t heard a peep, yet the hermit assured them the tusk was no more. ”Skilled man you got here. Gave it just the right push.”

Rannek watched him punch private Dhav’s shoulder hesitantly. ”Is normal,” the muscular young guard tried in Tahori. Pen chuckled, and smiled.

”But to hear no sound…” Rannek said. ”It’s that deep?”

Oiji shook his head. ”Deeper. Caves down there make these look like ants’ work.”

”You said you have not been,” Wellan said, fastening his safety rope.

”Never went far, seen enough to know better. They are down there.”

”They?” Pen asked.

Oiji nodded, but then looked around with a look of shame. ”You’ll think me a fool, and I can’t blame you.” He sighed. ”Things I’ve seen you don’t just see. They change you. Change how you look at things. I’d never try to explain your world to you, trust. This is mine, though. It makes sense. Just not in the ways we’re taught.”

”I’d love to learn,” Rannek said. He thought he’d seen Wellan roll his eyes just then as he started up the rope.

For a while, Oiji said nothing. ”There’s gods in these mountains.”

”Cursed?” Rannek asked.

”There’s no Tahori Cursed anymore. Besides, which one do you know of that could do this?” Rannek followed the many bones of Oiji’s arm pointing around the steps, up and down the giant’s staircase. There was only one he could think of, but that man was accounted for. The Chancellor had made a point of it. ”These are the gods of old,” Oiji went on. ”The kind of gods not from flesh, but rock, plant, waters. The ones who take our form out of curiosity, walk around their own creation to see what it’s like for us small folk.”

”You think the mountains themselves took form? That’s…”

”Twisted, no doubt. I had powers like that, I’d have better things to do, trust. But I’ve seen their traces. Hands and feet, two sets. They shaped these stairs, and everything else. The boneyard? Their zoo. At least it was, until they lost interest in all these parts, and went deeper. You sometimes hear them digging down below. Every time I go to sleep, I pray. Please, don’t return. I might be foolish, but not so foolish to think they don’t know I’m here. Seem to not care though. Not even the collapse got their attention. Thought for sure they’d rage and end us all.”

”You don’t think the collapse was them.”

”It was us. We think we’re the only ones shaping the earth. We’ve lost sight of our place, drilled too deep, and paid the price.” He furrowed his brow. ”Not long after the collapse, there was another explosion near mine four. Doubt we’ll ever learn.”

”An explosion?” Pen sounded worried. ”I thought all mining activities had been shut down.”

”They have,” Rannek said. ”It wasn’t us, I assure you.”

Ibiko scoffed. ”Thought so. Mine four is manned with prison inmates. Bastards don’t know rock from karst. Remove the wardens and watch ’em go wild. Probably got cut off and found some of that fabled powder.” He smiled a dark, merciless smile. ”Only upside is, they likely blew themselves up before they could do more damage.”

Neither Rannek nor Pen could object. The more they learned about these mountains, the more fragile his surroundings seemed to him. The rock felt solid, but was it, really? Wrapping his head around the size of the underground realm was still an insurmountable task. Before, he couldn’t even have imagined caves this size existing for years, decades, eternities without a collapse. If anyone had attempted to further jolt this lithic house of cards, he had to agree that their demise was fortunate

Still, he couldn’t but pity those inmates too. The Bitaab Prison Complex was only one of fourteen GMC-run facilities in his prefectures, but Rannek had read up on it back in Koeiji. Letting inmates work to reduce their sentences was losing the favor of the Gralinn people, but Tahor wasn’t Grale, and the Ore didn’t mine itself. The reservoirs that presumably lay underneath Bitaab were deemed far too large for only the villagers to mine. From what he had gathered, the relationship between the two workforces was chilled at best; both the prison and Bitaab had sent their own requests for help to his office, neither mentioning the other so much as once.

”So much for that,” Oiji suddenly said. ”Now, Rannek, lil’ Pen, I do have some questions about your ’troop’.”

Rannek opened his mouth, but hesitated. Oiji had clearly been trapped down here longer than five years. He wouldn’t know about Koeiji politics, and only little about Faroe Kyetana. Certainly not his daughter. They could decide freely what they told him. Therefore, Rannek waited, until Pen began spinning her own tale mixing reality and fiction.

It was a tale free of her father. In it, she hailed from Bitaab, from parents alive and well even after the collapse. ’Cousin’ Ibiko had brought her along to Koeiji to plead for the Empire’s help. After giving a convincing tourist’s account of the city she knew like the back of her hand, she expressed gratitude for the ’pale, but gracious’ prefect, who’d agreed instantly to send men and resources to mount a rescue for the trapped survivors. Rannek had barely tasted the sweet nectar of flattery before he learned his own place in her tale. He was a lowly Gralinn diplomat traveling in said prefect’s place, as his knowledge of their culture ’supposedly’ allowed him to negotiate between locals and soldiers. ’A scholar of our people.’ He felt slighted, but knew he couldn’t object. He’d called himself that more than once.

Oiji asked more questions, about Koeiji, the collapse, a few elders of Bitaab Pen had to pretend to know or know of or know to have died. There was an air of politeness about his reactions though, a hidden disinterest. He was making smalltalk. As Dhav tied him to the rope hanging off the upper stair, Rannek wondered if the hermit had read a hidden meaning into Pen’s words. A scholar—someone who pays attention. Who listens. As the rope dug into his stomach and his feet and crutch left the ground, he forgave Oiji his potential distrust. Before he was a dead man, he’d been a Tahori. That gave him plenty reason to be wary of the Empire.

Only his forgiveness couldn’t subdue the nagging voice suggesting that perhaps, Pen had not chosen those words by accident.

Once settled on the next step, Rannek informed Ibiko about his new cousin, and bore Wellan’s short, but piercing stare. They found a groove as they conquered step by step, spurring each other on, smiling, delighted by the light growing up ahead. It was not the full brightness of day, despite what Rannek’s cracked watch told him. A face of rock most likely, shone upon through a hole above. It looked sacred to him nonetheless. His body ached for sunlight, he realized. He wouldn’t ever take it for granted again. As soon as he got back to his office, he’d rip down the heavy curtains and bear the heat, welcome it. Humans were not made to live without the sun.

His mind soon turned to Oiji again, and the circumstances that trapped him down here. Who knew when the Liberation would leave again. Despite his knowledge of the caves, he wasn’t save from their numbers down there, not over the long term. Rannek knew next to nothing about withdrawal; his only vice was smoking, and he had long ago stopped trying to give that up. But somehow, he insisted, there had to be a way.

When he started ripping strips of moss off the stairs well in the shadows, Pen joined him, donning a look of confusion. ”What are you doing?”

For an instant, he considered lying, until he realized she had just proven herself quite skilled at that. ”… We can’t let Oiji go back down there, not until the TLA’s cleared out. It’ll be easier if he doesn’t go into detox.” To his surprise, she nodded, sat down beside him, and started gathering moss in a blanket. ”Penroe of Bitaab,” he said, thoughtlessly.

”That’s not the title of my book,” Pen said. ”You’re right, though. He acts calm and all, but he’s not stupid. I think we can convince him to come with us.”

They filled what little space they had in his light backpack and the rolled-up blanket with the soft blue mesh. The ascent of this step proved a bit more perilous. Ibiko had to stand on Dhav’s shoulders to reach a proper hold on the rock. Rannek sat down on the ground, rubbed his leg, and watched the young miner climb.

”… Pen, do you resent me?”

”What?” Her surprise put him at ease, though the look she gave him wasn’t friendly. ”Don’t ask me things like that. Not now.”

”You’re right. I’m sorry.” He was being stupid. His only job in regards to her was to keep her safe, and the only part of that duty that wasn’t covered by Wellan or, formerly, Glane, was to give her a sense of safety. A sense of stability. She could whine to him, though she rarely ever did, but the other way around was foolery. With Wellan occupied and the guards hardly older than her, it suddenly occurred to him with painful clarity how much he needed to make friends his own age.

She rolled her eyes, and leaned against the wall. ”I’m pissed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

”Why?”

”Why? We’ve just seen a thousand dead monsters, and caves you could fit Koeiji into. Glane is dead and so are Mallaslyn and the others, the Liberation Army’s after us, and the next piece of moss is likely gonna make me throw up.” She shook her head and puffed, trying to get a strand of hair to un-stick to her forehead. ”… So can I be pissed?”

He failed to suppress a guilty smile, and felt relieved when she returned it. ”This wasn’t in my job description either, you know.”

”Can’t imagine what was.”

”Something about beaches and jinoas. Not that it’s untrue; Koeiji’s a nice place, those are nice things.”

”You can see none of them from your office.”

”I can’t get killed in there, either.”

There was a silence, during which Rannek noticed how long he had not thought about the attack on his life just before they’d left the city. The trial of the attackers still needed his go-ahead. He took a swig of fountain water from his bottle. It might have been due to his recent meetings with death, but right then and there, he pondered if he shouldn’t at least talk to the boys beforehand.

”Do you resent me?” Pen suddenly asked.

A few drops of water burst out onto the rock before Rannek sealed his lips, and swallowed. ”What? No, why would I ever? You saved me, more than once, most likely. Saved all of us!”

”Not because of now.” She looked to the ground. ”I assume there was no part about babysitting in that job description, either.”

Rannek chuckled. ”I’m an old man, Pen. Do you know how many of my classmates from the Academy have retired by now? All but three. Meanwhile, I get to learn things everyday. I learn words. I learn customs. I learn the most peculiar things about Tahor, and more often than not, I learn them from you.” He looked at her, but she evaded him. ”Five years, I’ve been prefect. They’ve been passable years, compared to other prefects—but in the eyes of the public, I’m the odd one out. The pale prefect, they called me, the one whose reign would doom Koeiji a second time. And they may well have been right if it wasn’t for babysitting. I wouldn’t have made it past two years without your advice.”

”Shut up,” she said, and had to wipe her eyes. Rannek ruffled her hair and let his hand be slapped away.”… C’mon, say it.”

”Say what?” he asked.

”You’re never that nice without saying it.”

Ah, that. ”It is the truth, and I’m far from the only one who sees it. Should you ever aspire to a career in politics, I have no doubt you’d—”

”Never.” Like that, she sprinted away, keeping the last word. But she left with a smile, and it was time, anyway.

As they continued, Rannek realized he had stopped counting the steps, but did not mind. They barely needed the candles anymore, and before long, Wellan turned them off. When their eyes adjusted to the bright light, Rannek began to make out details in what indeed turned out to be a broad face of rock illuminated from above. Patches of the blue marimoss were scattered across the rock hanging on to cracks and alcoves.

Looking at the people around him, it seemed like the darkness clung to their backs as they climbed, trying to pull them back by their shadows. The thought gave him a new, more hopeful perspective on the cutting rope pulling him toward the light again, and again, and again. After over a hundred frags, they had to take a break, one demanded not by their minds but their bodies. No man or Pen wanted to camp before reaching the light, so they kept the break short, drank, and cooked up a decent mossy meal with the last of their matches before tackling the rest of the stairs. No one retched. Its steps slowly morphed from a shadowy blend of rises to a number so low, he could count it. They panted, grinned, and pushed on as the count got lower. Seven. Six. Five. Four.

And then, the fourth-last step started shaking. It lasted but a breath, and still halted each one of them. Rumbling sounded somewhere afar. Ibiko jumped back off the wall, and looked around nervously. ”Wh-what was that?”

”Not sure.” Oiji kept his eyes closed, and shook his head. ”Not below us, though. The noise came from above. From outside.” There was a bit of trepidation in the way he said that word.

Wellan calmed his men, translating, and urged Ibiko to continue. Steps three and two they passed with damped anticipation, listening closely for more noise. But the staircase remained silent, and before he knew, Rannek was hoisted over the last vohlforsaken step into what he prayed would be the last vohlforsaken cave he’d ever see.

He limped over rock and moss, his neck arched. There, at a discouraging height many dozen birks above the ground, gaped a small hole in the rock that showed him the deep blue of the afternoon sky. Rannek felt tears roll down his cheeks. He looked around, wary of edges he could have overlooked, but the cavern was even, narrower than it was high, and so, so very bright. Disregarding the occasional advance of tumbled rocks, the layout was circular, and a towering boulder lay not far from the center overgrown with marimoss. He noticed the absence of green, of sun-dependent plants that could have climbed in through the hole. It seemed the vegetation was smarter than he had been.

They looked at each other, hugged, even allowed themselves the odd cry of joy. They had made it, for real this time. They had found a way out. As soon as Dhav was pulled up and they were complete, Ibiko ran to a ragged incline of rock underneath the distant hole, and started checking for a secure path. Rannek observed from the boulder, amused. He left it to Wellan to convince the young miner to take a break. Private Staen limped past him, following Pen, who went around the boulder with her bright eyes darting everywhere.

The reality of their final challenge had just begun to curb his joy when Rannek heard a short gasp. He spun around, and ran past the boulder after Staen and Pen. It was only the two of them, he found, alleviated. They were staring at something on the ground. He joined them standing two feet from the reason for Pen’s shock.

A skeleton sat there, its back propped against the boulder. Withered brown clothing and the last remains of spoiled flesh hung off the bones, hinting at a death not quite so long ago. The legs were crossed and the hands laid peacefully in its lap. Rannek knelt down to turn the skull, whose jaw hung asymmetrically, broken at the hinges. A few wispy hairs sailed down to the floor. He traced the bones through cloth that tore at his very touch. He ran his fingers along the foot arches, the ribs. There was reason to wonder. Something about the bones felt peculiar. There were a couple of healed fractures, but the surface couldn’t explain that odd feeling at the fringes of his consciousness. He’d felt this before.

Rannek stood up on both legs, putting weight on his own less-than-healed fracture, groaning, as he attempted to lift up the skeleton. It remained seated, unimpressed.

»What are you doing?« Wellan asked.

He let go and found the other seven standing in a half circle around him, eyeing the dead man. »An old… man,” he said, out of breath. ”Dead years ago. Broke his jaw, from… the looks of it.«

”Why did you lift him?” Pen asked.

Rannek put on a smile. ”Dunno, thought there may be treasure hidden behind?”

She raised a skeptical brow, and took another close look at the skull before walking off. The privates did, too, until only two others remained. »You were checking the weight,« Wellan whispered in his ear.

»I was.«

»Am I right to assume that’s—«

»Yes. Keep it to yourself?«

Wellan nodded darkly. »You too. I’m sick of bones, and mysteries.«

And thus, Rannek was left behind with the skeleton brothers, one dead, the other kneeling and holding his hand. Rannek leaned against the boulder beside them rubbing his leg. He should have asked Wellan to check. He shouldn’t have checked at all.

”What are you looking for?” He asked Oiji.

The hermit studied each finger of the skeleton’s left hand, his own trembling as he held it up. ”Quite heavy, this fella.”

”You’re telling me.” Did he know? Rannek scoffed, and tried his best to steer the man’s attention away. ”Do you think you will ever get sick of bones?”

”Can’t, spent too much time with ’em. Like air to me.” He let the skeleton’s hand drop on the floor with a loud clack. ”And this one’s a fresh breath, trust. Did I tell you there’s none of us down there? Not one human skull, hip, or ribcage. I’ve checked. Y’know, I had a zoo like that, man would be the main attraction. Poor man, rich man, beggar man, king. Maybe that’s what this guy was. Maybe he tried to escape.”

”… My best guess is, he bled out, that, or died of thirst. His jaw is banged up, but his body seems intact otherwise.”

”Some say you don’t have to break bones to break a man’s body.” He smiled, and turned to the skeleton’s other side. ”Others say that actually there is no—”

Oiji jumped back from the dead old man, heaving heavy breaths. He waived the offer to help him up, and Rannek turned to see what had scared him so. He’d been studying the right hand. It still laid on the femur, but something was missing—a finger. The fourth one.

”Everything alright?” Rannek asked.

Oiji closed his eyes, slowed his breath, and stood up. ”Yeah. Sorry, I just had a…” He sighed. ”My brother had the exact same injury. But he’s dead. I saw it with my own eyes.”

”I’m sorry, that must have been hard.” Rannek pointed at the red trickle seeping into the hermit’s beard. ”Your nose is bleeding.”

Oiji wiped it on both bone and sleeve, and smirked. ”Thanks.”

He took off after that, disappearing behind the boulder. Rannek remained alone by the feet of the heavy skeleton. He stared off into emptiness, puzzled. Oiji’s lips had parted twice, once to thank him, and once more without sound, without even thinking, Rannek suspected. But that was too absurd. He had misread it, surely, had misread the tongue closing in on his incisor, the popping of the lips at the end. He must have.

There was no way the hermit had just told his own nose to stop bleeding.