“She’s right,” Daja said. “You look like old cheese.”
“Thanks ever so,” Tris retorted, her voice dry. “Let’s walk. Outside the wall if we can.”
“Let’s,” said Briar. “It’s not like we’ll get that earthquake or a tidal wave. Niko said we wouldn’t.”
Outside the gardens, Sandry let the pup go. He led the way through the south gate, shying at weeds and sniffing at pebbles. Suddenly he froze. A mouse nibbled on seeds in the grass between the road and the cliff. The four saw it just as Little Bear did.
“No!” yelled Briar, lunging at their pet. The mouse bolted, the dog in hot pursuit. Yelling for him to stop, the four gave chase, over the road, down the path, and into the cave. Little Bear kept going, into the depths of the cliff. His yapping struck echoes from the stone.
“I will skin that animal,” Daja said, hunting for the lantern she had brought here weeks ago. She found it.
“We need to catch him first,” grumbled Briar. “Little Bear, get your behind back here!”
Fumbling with the flint and steel kept beside the lamp, Daja struggled to produce a spark. Finally, the wick sputtered, then flamed.
Tris noticed that Sandry was staring at the lamp. “Are you all right? We have to go find him.”
“I’m fine,” replied Sandry, her voice harsh.
They followed the pup deeper into the cliff, where they’d never gone before. The light, reflected from polished brass behind the wick, ran across lumps and curves in the cave, without touching a rear wall. They’d never realized it was so deep.
“We’re sure about the quake and the tidal wave?” whispered Tris. The others looked at her. “I don’t feel well.”
“Niko was positive they wouldn’t reach us,” Briar insisted. “Stop worrying. Little Bear, come back here!”
Daja halted. Something in the wall caught her eye, a glinting layer in a bed of clay. “Sandry, take the lamp?”
“All right.”
Daja handed the lamp over and picked at the shiny material with a fingernail. “Trade winds’ blessing,” she remarked. “I wonder if Frostpine knows there’s coal under the temple.”
Briar came over and laid his palm on the rock. Closing his eyes, he stroked it. “Rosethorn’s right. It is made of really old plants,” he said, awed.
On they walked, losing sight of the cave’s opening when the tunnel curved to the left and down. Daja kept one hand on the seam of coal. It broadened as they went deeper. “Why does the Fire temple pay high prices for Summersea fuel when we could start our own mine right here?”
“This whole place is like what’s in my shakkan’s pot,” Briar explained. “Rosethorn says when they built the temple in a crater, they put in pipes and layers of gravel and things like magic boundaries, so we don’t flood when it rains. I bet they’re scared to move anything underneath, high prices or no.”
Little Bear galloped into their midst, tongue lolling, white showing all the way around his eyes. Sandry knelt to look at him, putting the lamp on the floor beside her. “Bear, what is it? What’s wrong? He’s shaking like a leaf,” she told the others.
“Is he—” Daja began to say, and stopped. The warmth in the ground was burning through her shoes. Under her palm the wall heated so quickly that she yelped and snatched her hand away.
“Don’t look now,” said Tris weakly, “but I think the tide’s coming in. Again.” She stumbled and went to her knees. Little Bear howled, the air wailing as he set up echoes from the stone.
Briar gasped, pressing his hands over his ears. There was screaming in the ground, green voices shrilling their agony—
The floor jumped—or rather, it tossed them up, like toys on a sheet. A falling chunk of slate crushed the lamp. With a cry, Sandry collapsed on top of Little Bear. Daja leaped to help her. Staggering as the floor pitched, she fell over Sandry and the dog.
The ceiling dropped, halting only inches over their heads.
The ground rolled, heaved, and twisted for what seemed like forever. At last it slowed and stopped. For a moment there was nothing to hear but the grate of stone, Little Bear’s whimper, and four throats that rasped with each breath.
“It’s dark.” There was a shudder in Sandry’s voice. “Don’t leave me in the dark, please! I’ll be good—”
“Saati,” Daja croaked, tears rolling down her cheeks, “please don’t talk like that.” Something pressed on her back. She was arched, palms and feet holding her off the ground. Little Bear and Sandry were jammed under her belly, holding her up and being shielded by her. The long shaft of Sandry’s drop spindle was digging into her breastbone. “What has happened?” asked Daja. “What’s on top of us?”
Cloth rustled; gravel rolled. A questing hand almost hit Daja in the eye. “Sorry,” Briar said. “Black as pitch—” He groped the surface at Daja’s back.
“The dark,” whispered Sandry. “Not the dark!”
Tris felt the area around her. “I have two big rocks here,” she said. “One’s at an angle. It keeps anything else from dropping on me from overhead—for now, anyway.”
“Feels like coal on top of you, Daja,” said Briar. “I got dirt on one side of me and rock on another.”
A hand felt around Daja’s wrists. “Just me,” Tris said. “Little Bear, c’mere.” The puppy yelped as she grabbed one of his legs and yanked. “Sorry,” she muttered. Pulling gently, she dragged the dog over to her.