After a dreary day of trudging along, buried under miles of rock with no fresh air, no sky, no change in terrain, we came to a graceful bend in the tube we followed, and set into the wall at its apex was an immense stainless-steel door, polished to mirror brightness. Various mechanical gadgets adorned our side of the door, along with a massive hinge, replete with reinforced mounting points. In the center of the door was a grate, similar to what would cover a car’s speaker, and a large steel wheel.
“We should rest here,” said John.
“Why?” demanded Meuhlnir.
“Because dangers exist on the other side of this door. Things like the ‘lectrics and plasms in the Fast Track Travel Network, and far, far worse. There are…well, I don’t know what to call them, other than guardians—things like the silver creature that cleaned up the spilled food in the first stronghold. They are things of metal that move about on their own and speak in a twisted tongue. If you don’t answer them with the right set of sounds, they get nasty. It’s best to be fresh and well-rested.”
“We will be sleeping on stone, John. None of us will be well-rested after much time on this cold floor.”
“Is it dangerous to be so near the door?” asked Jane.
“No, the guardians inside never venture—”
“I was thinking more of the Dark Queen.”
“Oh. She would never think to look for us here. Not with her sister farther back in the tunnels.”
Jane only raised her eyebrows.
“I’m willing to sleep here,” John said. “And I’m the one who will suffer the most if she catches us.”
“I doubt that,” said Meuhlnir. “But your point is well-taken.” He stood from his resting squat with a groan and went to inspect the door.
As if that were the secret cue, everyone dropped their packs and stretched. Of course, there were no logs and no detritus on the ground to soften it, but that couldn’t be helped. We sat in a circle anyway as if there was a campfire in the center. Yowrnsaxa made a face as she passed our stale bread and strips of dried meat. “This is no way to eat,” she muttered.
“You’ve been inside before?” asked Veethar with a nod toward the door.
“Once,” said John. He held the dried meat in his hand as if it was a snake. The bread he’d set aside.
“Go on,” said Sif. “Eat it.” Her voice was as hard as diamond.
He glanced at her impassive expression and brought the dried meat to his mouth, making a face that any parent of a two-year-old would recognize. He opened his mouth the barest of slits and slid a strip of dried meat into his mouth. His expression worsened, and his eyes watered like a Florida thunderstorm, but he worked his jaws methodically, grinding and grinding. His throat spasmed and his eyes opened wide, but he kept his mouth closed with grim determination. When he swallowed, it resembled a contortionist mimicking a snake.
“That’s a start,” said Sif. “Have a mouthful of water to wash it down and after you have, have a bit of bread.”
John looked at her with horror painted on his face. He repeated the whole process with a sip of water, then sat there breathing hard as if he’d run a marathon.
Sif cocked her head to the side and pointed at his portion of bread on the ground beside him. “Bread.”
“I… I don’t think I can.”
She nodded, face stern, eyes hard. “You can.”
“You’d better,” growled Mothi.
John’s gaze darted between mother and son and sought mine. “I feel I know you,” he said. “Isn’t that strange?”
“Bread,” said Sif.
“Trust me, John. You’d rather do what she says than have her concoct some vile brew to fix you.”
Sif gave me a flinty look devoid of amusement, then returned her gaze to John. “Eat.”
“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had anything from a plant inside my mouth? Do you—”
“Eat!” roared Mothi.
John tore off a minuscule piece and slipped it between his lips, grimacing. A total body shiver overtook him as he squeezed both his eyes and lips shut. He didn’t chew.
“Now, water,” said Sif.
He gulped at his water, eyes still closed, and the muscles in his throat knotted as he choked the bread down. John sat very still, eyes closed, barely breathing, hands pressed to his thighs. He looked like a drunk fighting to keep the swill on the inside.
“That’s enough for now,” said Sif. “Each day, take a little more. As long as you stay away from human meat, the foul change to your body will eventually reverse itself.”
John cracked his eye open while she spoke, body still rigid. He tried to nod, but an expression of pure misery stole across his face, and he bolted away from the circle, running around the bend of the lava tube. The sounds of retching drifted back to us.
“It’s a start,” Sif whispered.