Like a fool, Tiep opened his eyes. The light was so hot and bright that he couldn't see anything except his bones. Tiep closed his eyes—he thought he'd closed his eyes—but the bone vision lingered. He thought he'd died, thought that he'd gone beyond death, beyond his body, and hoped it would be over soon.
It was. The throbbing ebbed rapidly, along with the light and the heat—which had surely been imaginary because when feeling returned, Tiep found himself entirely unhurt, except for bruised knees and a ringing in his ears. Their luck had held.
"We're alive!" he whispered to Rozt'a.
They didn't have to rub themselves with dust now. The smell of granite was inside Tiep's nostrils and plastered his throat. It threatened to become cement when he first tried to swallow. Desperate for air, Tiep hacked and spat without regard for who—or what—might overhear.
Rozt'a stood beside him. She hadn't said a word, hadn't swallowed, hadn't fought with the gray gunk she'd breathed into her throat. They both flinched at the sound of tumbling rock. The light rising from the central pool was once again pale. It scarcely penetrated the dusty air. Any sound could mean they weren't alone, that their enemies stalked them or that Dru was nearby.
Tiep considered calling his foster-father. If Rozt'a had shouted Druhallen's name, Tiep would have joined her. Rozt'a remained silent, and Tiep did, too. At that moment, Tiep cared little for survival. If enemies moved in the chamber, he'd fight hard and eagerly to his own death.
Nothing emerged from the dust. There were other crunches which Tiep's ears slowly understood as the settling of rocks loosened by the magical eruption. The air seemed clearer after every rock rolled to its final resting spot. It was probably illusion or hope, but it could have been true.
Tiep was glad to be alive. Humans—living things in general—clung to life. It was only natural for humans—one street-raised human in particular—to worry just a bit about the future before he started celebrating the present.
Some of that shaken and fallen rock could be blocking the tunnel to the surface.
Or the one that led back to the egg chamber.
Rozt'a must have had the same thought—at least she started walking toward the egg-chamber passage before Tiep did. There was debris, but not enough to make the tunnel impassible. The dust made it darker, of course, but they were feeling their way slowly, not running. With the dogleg turn uneventfully behind them, they were no more than forty paces from the egg-chamber threshold.
It was very quiet—no moans, no footsteps. Tiep told himself that silence meant nothing either good or bad, but he wasn't really surprised when they came up against a smooth granite wall where the doorway had stood a few moments earlier. Rozt'a beat her fists against the stone, and Tiep did the same. The granite didn't budge, wasn't hollow. Tiep gave up before he hurt himself then put his arms gently around his foster-mother and forced her to retreat from the treasonous wall.
"There's another way in. I saw it just before you shoved me out. We'll find it."
"Too late," Rozt'a replied, her first words, and they left her gagging the way Tiep first words had left him.
He released her and she hurled herself against the rock. Rozt'a could scarcely breathe, but that didn't stop her from putting her fists into the granite and calling Dru's name.
"There's another way," Tiep repeated.
His foster-mother didn't seem to hear him. Tiep found her fists by touch and sound and tried a second time to gently pull her away from the wall. Rozt'a wouldn't yield to gentleness. She shook him off and when Tiep touched her again, she lashed out wildly, blindly with a backhand punch that set Tiep back on his heels.
Black panic nibbled into Tiep's thoughts—there was another way, but they'd have to look for it together. His mind couldn't contain the thought of splitting up without feeding panic. "Rozt'a?" he whispered, barely in control himself. He heard her crash into the wall again. "Tymora, help us? Help me? Rozt'a, please? Mother—?"
In the beginning Rozt'a had wanted Tiep to call her Mother. He'd tried a few times, but he'd been on his own too long. The instinct had died—until the goddess of luck reawakened it. With that single word, Rozt'a stopped her frantic hammering. They found each other and, arm in arm, walked toward the pool chamber.
"How should we start looking?" Tiep asked.
Rozt'a didn't answer. She was beside Tiep, holding him tightly, but that was only her body. Her mind was somewhere else—with Druhallen, inside the egg chamber, or with Galimer, in Weathercote Wood. In the dogleg part of the tunnel, where light was a promise but they couldn't yet see each other, Tiep hugged his foster-mother—his true mother—as he never had and received nothing in reply.
