“Shadowling,” Tavra growled.
“Silverling,” the strange Gelfling replied, with a casual but equal distaste. He hopped down, his sparkling black cloak ballooning around him. He landed silently and effortlessly among the sharp rocks and pebbles that littered the walkway.
Pulling back his hood, his skin was pale like moonlight, with silky silver hair like Tavra’s, shaved on one side and falling to his shoulder on the other. Had Kylan seen him aboveground, he might have mistaken him for a Vapra—except for his eyes. With his face hidden by the shadow of his hood, Kylan had at first thought he had no eyes at all. Now he could see two, large and black, with no whites in them. It was like looking into one of the inky ponds that dappled the cave’s basin floor.
He had to be Gelfling, based on the shape of his face and body, but he held himself differently. Like a river plant, Kylan thought, or maybe even an eel or fish, eerily graceful as he gazed down at them with an unreadable expression. His movements were as fluid as if he were underwater, slow and seamless.
The whispers hushed. The Grottan boy—for that’s what he must have been—took his time, turning his dark gaze from one of them to the other. Tavra gripped the hilt of her sword, though Kylan hoped she wouldn’t draw it. If they were headed toward a conflict, he didn’t want them to be the ones to start it.
Naia understood this, at least, and held her empty hands away from her knife. “We’re here in peace. We’re looking for something. We need your help. I’m Naia, from Sog, and this is Kylan of the Spriton. That’s . . . Tavra.”
She left out Tavra’s title, which Kylan thought wise. He was not at ease with the way they were being inspected, but the Grottan’s animosity toward the Vapra seemed particularly thick. Knowing that Tavra was not only a Vapra but also the All-Maudra’s daughter might be too much, and much too soon.
Naia’s introduction was met with an unblinking stare. Just when Kylan thought no reply was coming, the boy headed up one of the stairways that ribbed the interior wall of the cavern.
“Well, come on, then.”
The voices in the cave had settled into curious murmurs as they followed their guide up the basin, weaving along the paths that rose above the still water. The stone walkways stretched between tunnels that burrowed deeper into the mountain, their undersides overgrown with moss and luminescent flowers. Kylan jumped when a school of leather-winged hollerbats burst from one roost to another, interrupting the quiet with their whistling screeches before going silent again.
Kylan looked up as they passed through the center of the cavern, losing count of the tunnel entrances and walkways. Now that the silence had been broken, he saw silhouettes of other Grottan Gelfling stepping out of the shadows, gathering in groups of twos and threes on the ledges to watch them pass. They were all ghostly, clothed in black cloaks like their guide. Only their faces, hands, and bare feet showed, slipping in and out of the shadows like starlight.
“This really is the home of the Grottan clan, then?” Naia asked their guide. “The Caves of Grot?”
“Indeed. Though we call it by its birth name: Domrak.”
Kylan rolled the word in his mind, picking it apart. The meaning was there, like pips in a fruit.
“Place-in-Shadows?” he asked.
Their guide looked back with raised brows over his black eyes. Kylan told himself the eeriness of the expression was a trick of his imagination, but the way their guide had no pupils made it difficult to see which direction he was looking. Instead, it seemed he gazed at everything at once.
“A fair translation in the common tongue. Others have called it the Cave of Obscurity. Land-in-Darkness. Hole in Ground. Either way, grot means crypt. Though in truth, nothing has died here.”
They could not argue with that. Plant and animal life was all around them, just as plentiful in the dark as it was above in the light. Voices of children echoed from deep inside the caves, laughing. The word Domrak did not just mean place, but home.
They followed the carved stairway on a long spiraling ascent. Like every other surface in the cavern, it was textured with dense dream-etchings. It was hard to make out all the shapes and letters in the dim, mixed with pictographs and symbols too eroded by time to read. Kylan caught only pieces of the countless stories inscribed—some about the cavern itself, others about Thra. Yet others described creature life, the passing of seasons, and the medicinal qualities of certain mushrooms.
Their guide turned when the stairs met a tunnel opening larger than the others. The triangular archway was carved to look like a colony of hollerbats, round bodies hanging by the feet, some with wings folded and others outstretched. The intricate carving continued along the wall and ceiling of the tunnel, lit by glowing moss that grew like fur on the stone creatures. The ground cover and other plants thickened until they completely blocked the end of the tunnel in a mass of vines and ferns. There, Kylan waited with the others while the Grottan boy stepped through, enveloped in the plants.
“Maudra Argot? Visitors . . . yes, from above . . .”
A quiet voice replied, too masked by the foliage at the entrance to be understood. After a moment, the vines rustled, and the boy poked his head out.
“She says you two can enter. The Silverling stays here.”
Tavra snorted through her nose, and Kylan wished she hadn’t. If they wanted to gain the trust and alliance of every clan, they would have to be respectful, even if they did not get the same respect in return. Shouldn’t a daughter of the All-Maudra know better diplomacy? Huffing, she turned away and crossed her arms.
“I have no interest in paying respects to a Shadowling bat, anyway,” she said, turning her nose up. “Be quick about it.”
“Don’t start any fights,” Kylan said. “Please.”
Kylan closed his eyes to keep from being poked by the leaves and tendrils as he passed through them. Though they were soft, there were so many and they grew so densely that by the time he finally exited, he was covered in leaves and spores. Naia was in the same condition, and picked a piece of greenery out of her mouth.
The Grottan maudra’s chamber was large enough for a dozen Gelfling to stand in, the walls smoothed by carvers so that it hardly resembled the rest of the rocky, jagged caves. The smoothing exposed thick crystal veins, which cut through the seamless wall like still lightning. The veins filled the room with a gentle light, glowing more brightly where writing was etched in narrow curving shapes. The crystal was still clear and pure, the way it was meant to be.
Seated on the stone floor, cross-legged, was an old Gelfling woman. Her wings were sheer, almost completely transparent, draped out behind her like a crystalline pool. Her eyes were black, like all the Grottan, but bore the mark of time. Her kind, wrinkled face might have seen more than one ninet—if the greater seasons even affected the Grottan clan, so deep in the earth.
She did not rise when they entered. Instead, Kylan knelt before her, and Naia followed.
“This is Naia, of the Drenchen of Sog, and Kylan, of the Spriton,” their guide said. “Naia, Kylan. This is Maudra Argot, the Shadow Bender.”
“An honor to meet you, Maudra,” Kylan said, taking the lead. Naia had gotten them here with boldness, but the old maudra’s chamber begged a softer talk.
“An honor,” Naia agreed.
When she spoke, Maudra Argot’s voice was old and deep.
“It must be important, indeed, for daylighters to bother making the journey into the so-feared Grot. Amri here tells me you have a Vapra with you as well. Has the great Mayrin finally invited us to the Silverling capital? Ho ho hoo! Don’t answer that. I know it is not true. So tell me, children, why do you stray from the daylight?”
Their journey into the caves had been so quiet under the watch of the Grottan in the main cavern, the sound of the old woman’s laugh was a welcome relief. Amri, their guide, leaned against the wall behind them, hands clasped loosely at his hip.
“We’re looking for a firca,” Naia said. “One made of a special bone. Kylan?”
Kylan cleared his throat, hoping to sound as reasonable as possible in case the firca was nothing but a daydream. He was ready for Maudra Argot to laugh in his face and tell him the thing had never really existed, but at least then they’d know.
“It’s the firca made by Gyr the Song Teller during the Golden Age. I read in a book that it was entrusted to the Grottan and kept here, in . . . in Domrak.”
Maudra Argot thumbed the whiskers on her chin in thought and took a long time before she answered. Too long, Kylan thought, and prepared himself for the worst, before the maudra coughed and snapped her fingers.
“Oh yes! That. What do you want with Gyr’s bone firca?”
“You have it here?” Kylan cried, forgetting all formality. “It’s real?”
“Of course it’s real. How else did you think all that dream-etching got on the walls? All of us can read here, of course, but it would have taken a whole ninet to do just half the caves the regular way. We don’t have time for that. Yes, yes, the firca is real. It is in the Tomb. Ho ho! But I’m not going to just hand it over to you younglings without an explanation first. Why do you need it? What will you do with it? And so on.”
An explanation would mean revealing what they knew about the Skeksis. What if Maudra Argot was loyal to the lords? They were so deep in the mountains, there was no way they’d escape, not if the Grottan decided to take them prisoner to hand over to the Skeksis. He didn’t want to think that way, but it was what had already happened when the All-Maudra had sent Tavra after Gurjin and Rian the first time. Maudra Mera would likely not hesitate to do the same, and of course, Maudra Fara had been quick to get them out of Stone-in-the-Wood, even if she didn’t turn them over directly to the Skeksis. They had no idea where the Grottan maudra fell on the line of allegiance, and there wasn’t time to find out.
Kylan frowned. The best way to show Maudra Argot why they needed the firca was in dreamfast, but it had to be from Naia, who had seen the Crystal herself. Kylan’s memories of what Naia had told him would not suffice. She would have to make that decision herself . . . and she did, offering her hand.
“Then dreamfast with me. I will show you what I’ve seen. You can decide whether it’s an explanation or not.”
“So you think I’ll trust your memories, no matter what they are?” Maudra Argot asked, tilting her head in the other direction. When she got a confused, uncomfortable silence in reply, she cackled again. “Ho! Don’t answer that, either. I am not afraid of your dreams, little Drenchen. Show me, and we will see where they lead us.”
Maudra Argot lifted her hand but did not take Naia’s. It was only then that Kylan realized the maudra was blind. Naia caught on quietly and made the connection, grasping the old Gelfling’s steady, tiny hand. Kylan watched as the two closed their eyes in unison, going still as the dreamfast began. He waited for any sign of distress from his friend, but it seemed her time with Gurjin had calmed her heart and mind, and she shared her memories with Maudra Argot in a calm communion.
Memories spoke faster than words. The dreamfast ended soon, but Kylan could tell from how Maudra Argot leaned back, putting her hands on her knees, that Naia had shared everything. The maudra let out a long grave hmmmm.
“You have the gift of dreamfast, that is for certain,” she said. “Never have I seen dreams so vividly . . . It was almost as if I had my eyes back! Ho ho hoo! What a delight you are, my Drenchen daughter.”
For Amri’s benefit, Naia said the rest aloud.
“Kylan read about the firca in a book he received from Aughra. We promised we would find a way to warn all the Gelfling.”
The old Gelfling tapped her chin, blind eyes pointed at the ceiling.
“The Stonewood will be first, until the forest is empty of their tales and noisy dances. Then the Spriton to the south. Perhaps they will go west next, to the Crystal Sea—perhaps north, to take the capital itself. It is only a matter of time before they come for us, I suppose, even if we are the discarded relish on the banquet tray. Ho ho hoo!”
She described an ugly future, but her chuckle was so light, it was almost the giggle of a youngling.
“Nothing but a garnish on top of a Vapra delicacy!” Amri added. The comment sent the old maudra into a new fit, her little body shaking with laughter. Kylan shifted uncomfortably and felt Naia do the same. It was a serious situation, but he had spent so much energy worrying—maybe there was nothing else to do but laugh. Then he thought of the Skeksis raiding his Sami Thicket, and knew he was not ready to laugh yet, even if it was out of desperation. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe the Grottan didn’t care for the other clans at all—even if they did believe that the Skeksis had betrayed them.
“Ho ho ho hooo! Oh, don’t sound so quiet. We’re not making light of the situation. This old maudra has heard many trine come and go. Just when I think I’ve heard it all, the Skeksis surprise me with something new and cruel. I can’t help but think Thra is telling a wicked song-for-laughs . . . Or maybe it is me who is old and mad and laughing when there are no jokes being told.”
Naia kept her hands on her knees, pausing before she spoke. It seemed she didn’t know how to react to the maudra either. Following the Drenchen path, she simply said, “Please let us take the firca to send the warning. I think it’s most important that all the Gelfling come together against the Skeksis. We won’t be able to do anything if we’re at odds with one another.”
“We Grottan have remained out of the affairs of the daylighters; ours was a different burden to bear, here in Domrak. But you are right. The Skeksis will never want the essence of an old maudra like me, but my children . . . even the lazy ones like Amri. We are all Gelfling. I’ll give you the firca. I’ll even give you Amri. He will show you to the Tomb of Relics and then go with you to Ha’rar on behalf of our oft-forgotten clan.”
For the first time, Amri’s voice sounded juvenile, more Kylan and Naia’s age, when he protested.
“Wait! That’s not fair. I don’t want to be surrounded by snooty Silverlings! Maybe if they were going south . . .”
Maudra Argot had already made up her mind. She waved her hand, as if shooing gnats from a piece of fruit.
“I’ll have no more of your disruptive experiments and the smelly ingredients you use for them. I know you sneak out of the caves to gather the stuff, so consider this an extended trip. Take your maudra’s offer, and come back when you are grown.”
Then she turned away from them, picking up a pile of cloth-weaving in progress beside her. The clicking of the weaving sticks was the signal for them to leave, so Kylan and Naia rose and bowed. As they followed a red-cheeked Amri back through the vines to the tunnel, they could hear the maudra talking to herself.
“Damned Skeksis. Your time has come, at long last. Ho ho hoo . . .”