Subterranean

"Yeah, sure. It may be crude, but I'll do my best."

"Good. They've been acting hostile with us, but from the petroglyphs, they seem normally to be a benevolent society. Communal. Everyone sharing, the weak and lame supported, almost like a big family."

"They did take me in as one of their own," Harry agreed.

Ashley nodded. "Something's shaken them up and put them on edge. If we can discover what that is, maybe we can save our skins."

"And what if we can't?" Ben muttered.

Ashley's voice went cold. "Then we fight."

A gong suddenly sounded from somewhere deep in the village, almost vibrating the very rock. As if on cue, the group was shuffled by the armed guards through a warren of tu

Harry spoke to her from the doorway. "De

"Make sure you're here," Ben said. "I was never good at charades."

Ashley watched as the brothers left. Then she turned to survey the room. Spread around the chamber were yard-wide pillows with folded blankets atop them, each in a different pattern of weave and hue. At the corners of the room, stone water basins dotted the floor.

"I guess this is our cell," Ben said, kicking one of the pillows.

Ashley nodded, her arms folded across her chest. After all the commotion of the day, she felt numb.

Ben put his arm around her. "We're go

"I'm so worried about Jason," she said, leaning into his embrace. "This not knowing is agony. What if-"

Ben laid a finger across her lips. "Shhh. Your boy's fine." Again his words were so firm and plain that she found herself believing him. She looked into his serious blue eyes; no longer were they the laughing eyes of the jester. It would be so easy to lose herself in him, just let those wide shoulders carry her burdens and worries for a time.

Old emotional wounds surfaced, willing her to protest, but before she could utter a word, Ben leaned over and replaced the finger brushing her lips with his own mouth, his lips pressing steadily, refusing to allow her to voice her misgivings. Only a small moan escaped her.

Then his lips slid down to her throat, his stubbled cheek brushing past her cheekbone as he sought the tender angle at the base of her neck. Losing herself in the gentle strength of his embrace, she arched her head back, offering her neck more fully to him.

For just a moment he paused, raising his eyes to look into hers, his ruddy cheeks flushed with passion. She knew this was her last chance. She could stop him now, his eyes said. For a frightened moment she froze, wary of releasing herself so fully to him, opening herself once again to the possibility of pain and abandonment.

Seeming to sense her fear, he pulled back slightly, the fire in his eyes dimming to a warm concern. Never had she encountered a man so passionate… yet at the same time so compassionate. She watched her own hand reach up and tangle itself in his thick hair. She pulled him to her, as if she were a drowning woman, struggling to fight to the surface.

Entwined in his arms, she allowed herself to be lifted and gently lowered to the pillowed floor.

Ben stared at the rocky ceiling, sleep still escaping him. Ashley lay curled at his side, an arm draped across his chest, a leg thrown over his belly. As she stirred in some dream, her tiny motions awakened a thickening heat. He had to resist rolling toward her and seeking once again to explore the depth of their passion. He knew she needed sleep. The next day would hold many challenges. Still… he couldn't resist reaching over and tracing a finger down the curve of her right breast. She moaned softly in her sleep.

Just as he reached to kiss her temple, a blackness suddenly slipped over him like a heavy blanket. He fell back into the darkness, away from the light and Ashley.

Then a voice startled him: "It's about time, Be

The darkness flared into the image of his grandfather sitting cross-legged on a pillow only a few feet away. Groaning, Ben sat up. As he tried to focus on his grand-dad, the figure melted into the image of Mo'amba.

The old one nodded to him. "I've been waiting a bloody long time for you to hear my calling."

Clearing his throat, Ben looked down at his naked self, his body still prominently trumpeting his passion. He covered himself with his hands. "I've been busy."

Mo'amba cleared his throat. "I think three times is more than enough. It's time we talk."

Ben pulled a blanket over his lap. "You're right. I have a lot of questions for you. Like why in bloody hell does your leader want our heads?"

"He and the village are scared. Many have died. The crak'an have increased their forays into our territory, wiping out entire herds of our food animals, surprising our sentries with their sudden appearance deep in our territory, killing many of them."

"So what does that have to do with us?"

"For countless generations, our people and the crak'an have struggled. After the Scattering of our people, they became stranded here with us. When we first sought shelter here in the underworld to escape them and the cold, they followed us down. Eventually a great cataclysm shut off the upper world, trapping all of us down here together."

"How did you survive?"

"We adapted. Where you designed machines and iron tools to help your life, we designed living tools-plants and animals to help us. Through study, we learned to select those aspects of both that would best suit our needs, then propagated them. We learned to grow food." He pointed to the walls. "Even to grow light to guide us. We adapted. But the crak'an did not. They have haunted our periphery, living off the dregs of our work. But don't get me wrong, they are cu

"With all your smarts, why didn't you just make a concerted effort to wipe them out? Be done with them."

Mo'amba shook his head. "We must not. Just as they need us to survive, we need them. Their spoor contains a substance that we need to grow our food. Without it, the plants would die. And then we would die. We actually herd our aging milk animals, those no longer producing well, into the crak'an's territory to feed them."

"You feed those monsters? No wonder there are so many of them."

"We must maintain their numbers to produce enough spoor. It is the main goal of our hunters to collect the spoor and bring it back here."

"Shit collectors," Ben said. "So much for the noble hunter image."

"They are noble. They risk much to venture into the realm of the crak'an. Especially now without the aid of a heri'huti's sight." The old one looked meaningfully at him.

"Let's not bring up that argument again," Ben said, fearful that Mo'amba would again demand that he stay and help this village, a village that right now wanted him dead. "So you still haven't told me why this bloody death sentence hangs over our heads."

"I was getting to that. You see, we have for generations honed our tools to keep the crak'an in check, away from the center of our lives. One of our main defenses is the tin'ai'fori. It-"

Ben waved a hand. "Hold on a sec. What's that?"

Mo'amba pressed his lips together thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing. "You don't have a word for it." He reached behind him and scraped a sample of the glowing fungus from the wall. "It is a special type of this. But it kills. We have surrounded this central cavern with a thick perimeter of tin'ai'fori. It protects our village."