“And tomorrow, I will delve beside you again.” Urkot closed the distance between himself and Jezahal, cupped the back of the thornskull’s head, and leaned their headcrests together.
Jezahal’s eyes rounded, and he tensed.
“I will watch for you, and you will watch for me. As sure as stone is hard.” Releasing the thornskull, Urkot stepped back.
Jezahal brought his forearms together and bowed deeply. “Forgive me, Urkot. Myshar’thaidimmed today, but I shall stoke its flame, that it may burn bright enough to guide youthrough any darkness. Only thanks to you was it not snuffed out.”
Urkot tapped a knuckle to his headcrest, and the two made their way down the tunnel.
The thornskull’s words had been heartfelt and touching, but there was only one light Urkot longed to look toward in the darkness, only one light he longed to pursue.
Callie’s smiling face appeared in his mind’s eye.
He could but hope her radiance would keep those insistent memories shrouded in the shadows where they belonged.
CHAPTER 2
The sun was already beginningto fall when Urkot and Jezahal rejoined Zotahl and the others outside the cave. Deepening shadows dominated the surrounding jungle, and the gaps in the leaves overhead offered glimpses of red-gold clouds against a pink sky that would soon darken to violet.
Though the air was hot, thick, and redolent of plants and decay, Urkot welcomed it into his lungs. Far better than breathing in dust.
Together, Urkot and the thornskulls set out for home, following the base of the rocky hills and cliffs that formed one side of the valley cradling Kaldarak.
Even the falling sun gave better light than the cave’s glowing crystals, restoring some color to the thornskulls’ dusty hides.
While the elder thornskulls showed no signs of having been affected by the rockfall, the younger trio only gradually shed their uncharacteristic quietness. Their voices became part of the jungle sounds for Urkot—no different than the rustling of leaves, the creaking of wood, or the distant calls of beasts.
And none of those sounds could silence those that existed in his mind. The thunderous roar of rocks falling, raining upon a cave floor; strained, anguished, muffled cries…
Not here, not now.
He would not allow those memories to bury him. Could not. He needed to be like stone, steady, reliable, unwavering. His strength would bolster that of the other delvers. No more cracks.
So he strode onward, making himself chitter at his companions’ jests, telling himself there wasn’t a tortured roar building in his chest that he needed to let out.
Urkot knew the trek to Kaldarak was short, but it felt as though a full eightday had passed by the time they reached the base of the waterfall that flowed from the temple atop the hill high above. Mist cooled the air, and the sound of water crashing into the pool overcame all others—save for those from his past.
Tahlken strode to the edge of the pool, where he unslung his bag and set it, along with his belt and tools, on a rock. “Come. Let us wash away the dust and our worries.”
The other thornskulls joined him, shedding their belongings at the water’s edge.
Urkot hung back. His hearts were thumping, and his chest felt constricted. He looked upon these thornskulls, his friends, and all he could see were five vrix who’d nearly been lost on his watch.
“Do you fear you will sink, Three-Arm?” Zotahl asked, glancing over his shoulder as he stepped into the water.
The others chittered good-naturedly. Urkot forced out a chitter of his own, hoping it did not sound as strained as it felt. “Stone has a better chance of floating than I do. But…the cool water does not help my old hurts.”
A dull ache pulsed on his left side as though in response to the lie, and for one brief, cruel moment, he felt the arm that had been taken from him seven years ago.
He barely resisted the urge to cover the scar with a hand.
Though they voiced their disappointment, the thornskulls did not argue. Urkot was grateful for that much. He neededquiet, needed solitude, needed time. Time to slow his hearts, to steady his breaths, and to again bury his memories deeper than Takarahl’s darkest, longest forgotten tunnel.
Alone, he strode to the grand stairway that was Kaldarak’s entrance, offered a greeting to the pair of thornskulls standing vigil at its base, and ascended the winding steps up into the trees. Reaching the platform at the top did nothing to calm him; he had many such platforms and several bridges to cross before he could claim solitude.
As he hurried toward his den, he greeted the thornskulls he passed as kindly as he could. Each such exchange, however short, heightened the pressure inside him, making every breath harder, every heartbeat louder.
His stride faltered when he saw a few of his tribemates ahead—Ketahn, carrying his broodling, Akalahn, accompanied by Rekosh, Will, and Diego. Rekosh’s red markings stood out starkly against his black hide, more so than the purple of Ketahn’s. The two vrix were like brothers to Urkot, sharing a bond so strong that not even the gods could have broken it. Will and Diego were a mated pair, humans from another world beyond the stars, just like Callie, but they had also become family.
