Neither could have said how long their journey through the labyrinth of narrow tunnels lasted. At least a day; perhaps more. When seconds seemed to last minutes and minutes hours, it was impossible to say. It felt like an eternity. They crawled until they had the strength to crawl no farther, then they rested, sharing the last of their dwindling supplies; dry mouthfuls of food moistened by sparing sips of water.

They wasted no precious air in conversation. What was there to say? Either they would succeed or they would die, here beneath countless tons of rock, crawling in the pitchblack until the last of their supplies were gone and their strength failed and there was nothing left to do but lie down and die.

When the sound of human voices filtered into the tunnels, faint and distant, Dani thought at first that he had slipped into a waking dream; or worse, fallen into madness. Such a thing had been known to happen. Men had gone mad in the desert from an excess of sun, wandering dazed and speaking of things that did not exist. If light could cause such madness, surely darkness could do no less.

It was hard to make out words, but from the broad tone it seemed the voices were speaking the common tongue, which was irksome. Not since Gerflod had he used the hard-learned language, and after days upon days with only Uncle Thulu’s company, Dani found it hard to comprehend. If he were going mad, he thought, he would prefer to do it in Yarru. Even a worm deserved that much.

He crawled toward the voices, a vague notion in mind of complaining to them.

“Dani!” Behind him, Uncle Thulu called his name. “Slow down, lad.”

Dani paused, touching the clay vial dangling from his throat. It was solid and reassuring beneath his abraded fingers. What was he doing? “Uncle.” He tried his voice, finding it hoarse and strange. He had not spoken in any tongue since they had first begun crawling, however long ago it was. “Listen.”

They listened, breathing quietly. “Voices,” Uncle Thulu said. “I hear voices.”

In the blackness, Dani wept with gladness. “You hear them, too!”

“Aye, lad.” His uncle’s hand touched his ankle. “Go toward them, but slowly, mind. Whoever it is, they’re not likely to be a friend.”

Dani crept forward forgetting his aching knees and torn hands, the lingering pain in his shoulder. The tunnel continued to twist and turn, forking unexpectedly. He followed the sound of the voices, backtracking when they grew fainter. The path sloped upward, emerging gradually from the bowels of the earth. Turn by turn, the sound grew steadily louder.