Maia strode forward with her left hand touching the wall on that side, eyes trying to memorize the lay of the hallway before — Then it happened. The last flicker died. Plunged in sudden, total darkness, she slowed but grimly kept moving, fighting an urge to shuffle. Instead, Maia lifted her feet high to avoid making unnecessary sound.
Abruptly, her fingertips lost contact with the left wall, setting off a wave of vertigo. Don't panic. It's just the next doorway, remember? Move ahead, keep your arm out, you'll meet the other jamb.
It took ages … or a few seconds. She must have turned to overcompensate, for the next physical contact came when she banged the far side of the entrance with her elbow. It hurt, yet restored touch felt reassuring. So did getting beyond the doorway. In pure blackness, it was even easier than before to fantasize monsters. Creatures that had no need for light.
The true Stratoins, she thought, trying to tease herself out of a panicky spin. There were silly tales that older siblings told their sisters, about mythical, primal inhabitants of Stratos, driven long ago from sight by the hominid invasion. Once shy, innocent, they now dwelled below-ground, far from the open sky. Bitter, vengeful . . . hungry. It was a fairy tale, of course. No evidence existed, to her knowledge, for anything like it.
But then, I never heard of hundred-meter craters gouging out the middle of mountains, either.
Another doorway swallowed Maia's hand, making her jump higher than the last time, convincing her susceptible imagination that vindictive jaws were about to close, all the way up to her shoulder. When the wall resumed, this time striking her wrist, she let out a physical sigh.
Stop it. Think about something else. Life, the game.
She tried. There was plenty to work with. The speckles that her visual cortex produced, for lack of input from the eyes, created a panorama of ephemeral dots, flickering like Renna's game board, set to high speed. It was alluring to think there might be meaning there. Some great secret or principle, found among the random, background firings taking place inside her own skull.
Then again, maybe not.
Maia grimly picked up the pace, passing another door, and another. Before long, she felt certain the sounds had grown louder, more distinct. Soon she knew her first suspicions were right. It could only be the surge and flood of tide-driven water. I must be all the way down, near the sea.
She caught a scent of fresh air. More important, Maia could almost swear that up ahead the awful darkness was relieved by a faint glimmer. A dim source of light. Even before she consciously made out the floor, it became easier to walk. Faint distinctions in the murky dim gave her more faith in her footing.
Soon they were more than hints. Up ahead, she saw what could only be a reflection. A wall, faintly illuminated by some soft source, out of direct view.
Maia approached cautiously. It was the face of a T-bar intersection, lit from one side. She edged along the right-hand wall, sidled to the corner, and poked around just one eye.
It was another hallway, terminating after about twenty meters in a large chamber. The source of light lay within, though not in view. As she began stalking closer, Maia saw that strange, rippling reflections wavered across the ceiling of the deep room. The plinking sounds were louder, an unmistakable dripping of liquid onto liquid. In the distance, a rolling growl of waves pounded against rock.
So that's it. Maia paused at the entrance, whose once proud double doors now sagged toward the walls, reduced to mold-covered boards bound by rusty hinges. Within, there stood another table, on which lay an oil lantern with a poorly adjusted wick. Beyond, half of the broad alcove descended to a wide pool of seawater. After ten meters, the placid surface passed under a rocky shelf, part of a low tunnel that led toward darkness and finally — judging from the muffled sounds — the open sea. A small boat lay tethered to a dock, mast down, sail furled but ready.
Maia gripped her wooden stave in both hands, ready to swing it, if necessary. She looked left and right, but no one was in view. Nor were there any other exits. The emptiness was more unnerving than any direct confrontation.
Where is she?
Maia approached the table. Next to the lantern lay a boxy case, open to reveal buttons and a small screen. She recognized a comm console, attached to a thin cable that led into the sea-tunnel. An antenna, presumably. Or perhaps a direct fiber link to another island? That sounded extravagant. But over time, it might prove worthwhile, if this prison-trap was used frequently.
The screen was illuminated with one line of tiny print. Perhaps the message would reveal something. Maia put the stave on the table and leaned forward to read.
THERE IS A PRICE FOR NOSINESS …
Oh, bleeders …
