“Drakis?”
He turned at once toward the sound. He sat on a slab of stone about the size of the tombs where the bones of the Rhonas dead were so often placed. There were two more of these slabs set around the floor of the curved room, but only one of them was likewise occupied.
“Mala,” he replied as evenly as he could manage. “I’m here.”
Mala sat with her legs pulled up tight against her chest as she rocked nervously back and forth. “Please, Drakis. Is it you?”
Drakis smiled ruefully, gripping the edge of the stone bier with his hands as he leaned forward. “I might ask the same of you. Are you all right?”
“I. . I don’t know.” She raised her face toward the light. Her eyes were red from crying and still filled with tears. The beautiful shape of her head was now covered with a bristle of rust red hair, nearly obscuring the dark stains of the House tattoo. But there was something in the heart-shape of her dirt-streaked face and her wide mouth that called to his heart. And her eyes. . those emerald eyes. . called to him still.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“I. . I don’t know that either,” she said, her voice quavering. “I’m frightened.”
“There’s nothing to be frightened about. .”
“Have you seen the walls?”
Drakis turned his head around, pressing it closer to the reddish brown surface. “I don’t see what. .”
He stopped.
The wall was composed entirely of enormous cockroaches. Their legs were linked together, forming a thick pattern so dense that it was impossible for Drakis to tell if there was anything beyond the mass of roaches or whether they alone formed the wall. He reached out gingerly to touch it.
“No, Drakis! Don’t. .”
The wall of roaches reacted at once to his touch, a clattering, chattering sound engulfing the cell as the walls around them contracted inward in a violent spasm. Drakis leaped off of the stone slab with a yelp, reaching without conscious thought for his weapon and only then realizing that it was no longer at his side.
Mala screamed hysterically, pulling herself into a tighter ball as the size of their confined space grew rapidly smaller.
Then, with equal swiftness, the surrounding cockroach wall stopped and receded, though, to Drakis’ eyes, not quite so far back as it had been before.
Drakis concentrated on bringing himself under control. His breath was too quick, and he could feel the heat of his flushed face. He had no idea where they were nor how they had gotten here, but he was certain that anywhere else would be better for them. At once he turned his face toward the overhead grating and was again surprised. What had appeared to him to be a thick grillwork he now saw was constituted entirely of large snakes, their bodies woven to cover the opening. He could not discern much of anything in the light beyond the snakes, but he held little hope it was much better than where they were now.
Drakis looked down at the soft, fine-grained floor under his feet. Various skulls protruded from the deep white grains along the wall’s peripheral base; the sand was composed of crushed bone.
“It will be all right,” Drakis said, as much to himself as to Mala.
“How will. . will this possibly. . be all right?” Mala asked through gulping sobs.
Drakis turned. He longed to go to Mala, to take her in his arms and comfort her. He took a step toward her, and then he stopped and stood awkwardly in midstride, watching her.