Where the Line Tightened

The tether tightened at the first bend.

Kharos stopped so abruptly that Aren nearly struck his spear. The pale seam beneath their boots continued down the passage, but the blue line through Kharos’s chest had drawn taut. It pointed east, back toward the Returning Step.

“Is it worse?” Aren asked.

Kharos pressed his palm to the stone wall. “It is pulling harder.”

No one moved closer. They had agreed that this would be Kharos’s decision, and Aren kept his hands at his sides while Kharos tested the tether with a slow turn of his shoulders. The line held. It did not ease.

“Can you go back?” Seraphine asked.

“Yes.” Kharos looked down the passage. “I can try the next stretch. I have not reached its end.”

Jorren adjusted the pack strap cutting into his shoulder. “If you turn back, we turn back. We’ve walked worse ground for less useful answers.”

Kharos glanced at him. “You speak as if the answer is already known.”

“I’ve seen men keep walking because they don’t want to admit they’ve reached their limit.” Jorren tapped the chipped whetstone at his belt. “I’m offering you the chance to be smarter than them.”

Kharos considered this, then started down the passage again. Aren followed several paces behind. The route descended in a tight spiral, each turn cutting away the daylight until the lantern cast the only clear light. They passed a run of grooves in the wall, too regular for natural breaks in the rock. Seraphine traced them with her eyes but kept her hands off the stone.

At the third turn, the pull slackened slightly. Kharos took another dozen steps before it tightened again. He paused, waited, and went on.

They reached a narrow opening where the mountain fell away on one side. A stone lip ran along the edge, no wider than a cart track. Beyond it, a shallow bowl of rock sat exposed beneath a cleft in the ridge. Seven low pillars stood around a ring set into the floor. The passage continued on the far side, marked by the same pale seam.

Seraphine set down her tablets and crouched beside the nearest pillar. “Another station.”

Jorren looked over the edge. “At least this one has a floor.”

“Mostly,” Aren said. The far half of the bowl projected out over open air, held by slabs of stone that did not quite meet. Through the gaps, he could see the lower slope far below.

Kharos had stopped on the lip. The blue tether shone through the gaps in his armor. Its line ran past the station, eastward behind them, then seemed to pull toward the passage ahead. His spear tip rested on the rock.