The Burning Shadow Read Free Page B

concentration, while Bat tucked crumbs in cracks for the tunnel mice. Spit ate nothing, flinching at the dark.
    Under his breath, Hylas asked Zan what snatchers did to people.
    â€œSometimes they whisper in your ear and follow you like a shadow, till you go mad. Sometimes they reach down your throat and stop your heart.”
    Hylas swallowed. “And they live in the rocks?”
    â€œRocks, tunnels. They’re spirits, they can go anywhere.”
    â€œ
Sh!
” hissed Beetle with a furious scowl. Aboveground, he’d been almost friendly, but down here he was silent and subdued.
    Zan peered at Hylas. “You been underground before?”
    â€œOnce,” said Hylas. “There was an earthshake.”
    Zan whistled. “What’d you do?”
    â€œI got out.”
    Zan laughed.
    Hylas asked if they had earthshakes on Thalakrea, and the older boy shook his head. “Cave-ins, smoke from the Mountain, that’s all.”
    â€œ
Smoke?
From a
mountain
?”
    â€œGoddess lives inside. The smoke’s Her breath, and from the fire spirits. They live in cracks in the ground, all spiky and hot.”
    Hylas considered that. “Does She ever get angry?”
    â€œI dunno. But it’s only ever just smoke.”
    At that moment, an overseer ordered them to haul greenstone from the eighth level.
    A shudder ran through the pit spiders.
    â€œNot so deep,” moaned Spit. Beetle shut his eyes and groaned, and even Zan looked scared. “Right,” he said. “Everybody stay close.”

    Zan led them down a web of tunnels to the fifth level . . . the sixth . . . the seventh.
    It grew hotter and more airless. Hylas brushed past a pile of leaves and something furry and dead. He guessed it was an offering to the snatchers.
    He caught an uprush of foul air, and the ground beneath him creaked. He was on a log bridge spanning a cavernous shaft. Far below, he glimpsed lamplight and toiling bodies. A face peered up at him: the man with the broken nose.
    â€œFlea! Stay close!” warned Zan.
    Hylas got off the bridge fast. “That shaft, is that—”
    â€œThe deep levels,” said Zan.
    â€œBut there wasn’t a ladder. How do they get out?”
    â€œThey don’t. You’re sent down the deep levels, you stay there till you die . . .” Zan’s voice faded as he rounded a bend.
    Hylas was appalled. To be trapped in darkness forever . . .
    His empty sack caught on a rock. He freed it, bashed his head, and hurried after the others. “Zan! Wait!”
    No reply. He must have taken a wrong turn.
    As he backtracked, he heard the sound of hammering, and made for that. He fell down a drop. No, this wasn’t right.
    He reached a place where the walls bulged inward. This wasn’t right either, but he could still hear hammering, and hammering meant people, so he squeezed through.
    The hammering dwindled to one: tap tap tap.
    He was in a low cavern lit by a sputtery stone lamp on a ledge. He couldn’t see anyone, but the hammering was closer. Tap tap.
    He edged forward.
    The hammering stopped.
    â€œWho’s there?” he said.
    Someone blew out the lamp.
    Silence. Hylas sensed a presence in the dark.
    He felt breath on his face: earthy and cold, like wet clay.
    He fled. His sack snagged. He tugged it free.
    Something tugged back.
    Jerking the sack loose, he blundered against the wall. It seemed to move beneath his palm. Was it rock, or flesh? His fingers touched what felt like a mouth—and above it, a ridge. He recoiled with a cry.
    The darkness was so thick he could touch it, he had no idea where he was going. Then the sound of his breathing changed: He was back in a tunnel.
    Somehow, he reached the place where the walls bulged, and squeezed in sideways.
    A hand grabbed his ankle. He kicked. His foot struck cold earthen flesh. In panic he kicked again. The grip on his ankle crumbled like wet clay. He burst