The walled stop

They didn't all leave together.

In the shelter, an argument broke out around a bag of flour. A man claimed that he had brought half of the reserves. A woman replied that he had taken two owls when he left the relay. He said they belonged to his group; she replied that they came from the common reserves. The voices rose, soon followed by those of two cousins who had not exchanged a word since Veyr.

Zaelyra let them speak long enough to understand that no list would settle the dispute. The bag had changed hands during the flight; several had contributed; no one remembered the exact weight.

"We can share it now," she said. "Tomorrow, we will separate the reserves of personal affairs."

"Why would he have as much as me?" asked the woman.

"I don't know what he has already received."

"Then you can't distribute fairly."

"No."

The man crossed his arms. "Do you want me to return the others?"

"If they are common, yes."

"What if they are mine?"

"Then you can keep them. But the others will know that you have two and will decide if they want to travel with you."

He protested, then put the dotres against the wall. No one took them. The woman divided the flour equally, not because Zaelyra had ordered it, but because it was the only gesture that allowed the group to get back on the road without turning the bag into a trial.

The stop had changed the travelers. In Veyr, the danger was visible: the mercenaries, the doors, the marks of the House. Here, he had the face of a misunderstanding that no one could verify. A road did not only separate the place; it revealed what everyone thought they had the right to take.

Nym remarked that the quantities written on chalk on the wall could be read by pursuers.

"They will know what we don't have left," says Zaelyra.

"And the next group will know what it can take."

"This is the risk."

They had to decide who would continue. The gallery sank into a region that the maps called the Clay Faills, although no one agreed on the extent of the name. The old passage was narrow and fast; the detour followed an abandoned caravan road, longer, but wide enough for the wounded.

Some travelers choose the narrow passage under the guidance of the guard. He had learned the signs of Nym during the night. Others stayed near the stop until the next change of air. Two families preferred to turn around, hoping to find a well-known group.

Zaelyra gave them the map until the next crossing. "After that, you'll have to check."

"You're not coming with us?" asked the father.

"Not today."

"You don't know if this path is safe?"

"No."

The man took the map, folded it carefully and waved to his family. He didn't thank her. It was not necessary.

Nym prepared three starting marks: a green line for the passable road, an empty circle for the place where it was necessary to check, two bars for the prohibited passage. The signs did not resemble the codes of the House. A traveler who finds a map without a legend could not interpret it immediately.

"We make them deliberately difficult to read?" asked Pell.

"Difficult to use against those who did not draw them," replied Nym. "Those who leave with us will have the legend."

"What if they lose her?"

"They stop and ask."

"To whom?"

"To someone else."

The boy seemed to find the answer insufficient. Nym did not claim otherwise.

At the time of leaving, a noise sounds behind the walled door of the shelter.

A shot. Then a second, weaker.

Everyone was silent. Brakka put his hand on his axe. The guards raised their weapons. Zaelyra pushed the children back to the side room.

A third blow struck the stone.

"Is there someone behind?" asked Pell.

"Or something that moves," says Nym.

Dust accumulated at the bottom of the wall. Above, the engraving of the three interrupted lines seemed deeper than the day before.

"Shall we open?" asked the guard.

"No," said Zaelyra.

"There could be people."

"Or a toxic air pocket, a drowned gallery, a collapse ready to fall. We don't know what's behind it."

"We can make a small hole."

Nym shook his head. "Even a small hole changes the pressure."

The guard clenched his jaw. "Then we abandon someone."

"We don't know if there is anyone," Zaelyra replied.

"It's a convenient answer."

"Yes. It is also true."

She asked that we note the door, the draft and the blows heard. They placed a warning mark on the plan, not a sign of passage. Nym added the hours and the direction of the breath. Ithryl wrote a message for the next travelers: do not dig without equipment and without air reserve.

Before leaving, Rhylor put a hand against the stone. He listened. The wall did not respond.

In the corridor, the guard walked in the lead without waiting for him to be asked. The young drow with the chin cut stood next to him.

"I heard the blows too," she says. "I don't know what was behind it."

"Do you think we should have opened?"

"I don't know. But I can help keep the brand visible if we come back."

He nodded his head. It was neither a pardon nor an agreement. It was a way not to turn their disagreement into separation.

The Gallery of the Clay Failles began with a natural bridge, too low to stand on it. Veins of red mineral crossed the walls. The water infiltrated it drop by drop and formed small basins at the foot of the bridge.

They advanced by keeping one hand on the rope. In the middle, the ground sank under the last bearer. The stone gave way with a finger, then with a palm.

The rope stretched. The carrier remained suspended above a narrow ravine. A second person went to bed to hold him; a third hung the rope on a natural piton.

"Don't shoot all at the same time!" shouted Nym. "The edge will give way."

Zaelyra planted herself on the ground and advanced to the lip of the ravine. The stone was striated by water. Their weight had to be distributed on the left side, where the rock seemed more solid.

"A person at a time. Nym, keep the rope taut. Rhylor, show him the fulcrum."

The wearer caught a roughness and slowly went up. Once on the bridge, he remained lying down, his face against the stone.

"I lost a bag," he said.

"What did it contain?" asked Kethra.

"Tools. Nothing worth a life."

They waited for his breathing to become regular again. Nym marked the edge of the bridge with three red lines and recommended distributing the loads before the next passage.

"Do you think we can go back here?" asked Pell.

"Maybe."

"You often say that."

"Because that's often all I know."

"What if you're wrong?"

"Then we will correct the map. If we have time."

The boy observed the void under the bridge. "I prefer when stories say that we always find the right way."

"Me too."

They advanced further to a wider room, crossed by the sound of fast water. On the ceiling, a pale glow dyed the stone gray. It was not the day, but it was the first light that did not come from their lamps.

On the wall, a sign resembled that of the copper box. Three lines were away from an open circle. A more recent mark had been engraved underneath. A name: Saira.

Kethra stopped. She didn't touch the stone.

"Do you recognize the writing? Zaelyra asked.

"No."

"The name could refer to someone else."

"Yes."

The merchant looked away, then took the repaired loop out of her pocket. She asked it near the name, like a question she didn't know how to ask. They noted the location in a separate notebook. Kethra resumed the loop.

Zaelyra did not know if the glow came from a crack, an underground lake or an exit to the surface. She did not write any of these words on the map. She drew an empty circle and noted: observed light; unknown origin.