The Sword of Retribution

The Caves of Shanathin - Part 4

     “I wonder if this is the same river that carved the tunnel the amoeba is in?” said Shaun to himself.

     “Not the same river,” said Douglas, “since the first tunnel opened out on the surface and this one goes, ultimately, to the Darksea, but the same water, certainly. Runoff from the mountains, trickling down here through a million tiny cracks and tunnels, only a few o’ which are large enough for us to use.”

     “The slaver said something about a Darksea,” said Thomas curiously. “What is it?”

     “A vast underground sea,” replied the trog, “hundreds o’ miles across, maybe larger, and permanently shrouded in complete darkness. It's even further down than the Underworld and every underground river in this part o’ the continent runs into it. It's said to be inhabited by a terrifying race o’ giant, blind fish creatures called Bhoth Aglars, although since no living trog has ever actually reported having seen one, such tales must be taken with a pinch o’ salt. The Darksea is miles deeper underground than we trogs normally go, so fanciful tales are bound to grow about it.”

     "But that doesn't make sense," protested Thomas, his fear forgotten as the mystery took hold of him. “The World Below is miles below sea level, and you say the Darksea is deeper still. If water is constantly flowing down into the Darksea through underground rivers like this one, why hasn’t the entire World Below become flooded ages ago? Water must be constantly leaving the Darksea as fast as it arrives. Where does it go?”

     “A very good question,” replied Douglas, smiling, “and one that has exercised the minds o’ many generations o’ trogs. Obviously, all that water must end up on the surface again, but how it gets there, no trog knows. Maybe your friend the beastie knows.”

     Thomas looked ahead, to where the slaver was striding along like a king in his palace. Unlike on the surface where, despite its vast power, it had seemed a little unsure of itself, down here it was utterly in its element. Sure, confident, completely at ease. Secure in the knowledge that there was nothing in the World Below that would dare to challenge it. The cthillians were said to be the dominant race in the World Below, as humans were in the World Above. Even the fell men treated them with respect, and that was perhaps the greatest testament to their power. Ctharliwun was back in familiar territory, where his kind ruled, and every aspect of its bearing, the way it walked, the way it held itself, told how much it knew it. It had been frightening and intimidating before, but now it was awesome and terrifying. The thought of going up to it and interrupting its incomprehensible, alien thoughts with casual questions was not one that appealed to the wizard.

     Still, it had tolerated his curiosity before, and now that it was back where it belonged it might well be more amenable to casual conversation, rather than less. After some thought, therefore, he decided to risk it, and he quickened his pace until he was walking alongside the creature. The monstrous, alien face turned to look down at him, and he felt its slimy, repulsive thoughts seeping into his head again, turning into words. “You have another of your inane questions,” it stated flatly.

     “If you’d rather not be disturbed at the moment, I quite understand,” said Thomas hurriedly, fear rising in him like a long, sharp spike of ice.

     He slowed his pace to fall back behind it again, but the slaver grabbed his arm with a flaccid, tentacle fingered hand and pulled him level with it again. “We have nothing better to do, and conversation helps pass the time,” it said amiably. “Ask your question.”

     Thomas’s heart beat wildly in his chest, the iceberg of fear melting in the fiery blasts of excitement. The creature’s response had been better than he’d dared to hope. It must be in a pretty good mood to be underground again, he presumed. Fighting to control his stammers, therefore, he asked the same question he’d asked Douglas.