covered by thick fungus, like that in the Meatbringer’s throne room. Purple, purple, thick as a haze and ominous; the room was suffused with the vague glow of the omnipresent growth.
Annelyn barely noticed it.
There was a great tank, too, full of some liquid, and globes in the ceiling that dripped some other substance, and air ducts where ropes of fungus swayed in the hot breeze, but Annelyn took little note of them. He was watching the worms.
Eaterworms. Giants forty feet long, smaller ones like the corpse he had encountered, dead ones, and a million writhing younglings. The chamber was a nest of eaterworms, a breeding tank and nursery for the monsters. But not a prison. Not for creatures that could chew through stone, not for these nightmares with translucent flesh and iron teeth. Annelyn made the sign of the worm, then realized what he had done, and giggled. He was a dead man.
He stood despairing while shadowy shapes slid through the moist purple gloom beneath him.
But at last he began to think again. None of the things seemed to be coming toward him. He had escaped their notice, at least for now, and that fanned his tiny fire of hope. He would use whatever moments were left to him. His eyes strained, as he studied the bowl-like chamber.
Dimly, across the room, he saw lines running up and down the walls, bulging beneath the fungus, crossing on the ceiling, branching from the globes. Pipes, he thought, water pipes. The yaga-la-hai knew water pipes. But the knowledge was useless to him.
Other shapes, made vague and hulking by distance and growth, sat still on the floor. The worms moved over them, between them. Annelyn thought he saw metal, overgrown by purple, but he lost it quickly. No matter; it would do him no good.
On the curve of the right-hand wall, he could make out a gleam beneath a coat of fungus. His eyes followed it. There were outlines. More pipes? No. There was a design. It came clear. It was a theta, with wormholes all around it.
Annelyn touched the golden theta embroidered on his breast. Perhaps that was why the eaterworms had not attacked him. What was it that the Meatbringer had said? That the Changemasters had shaped the great worms and other horrors, that the Changemasters wore the theta, that they were the best champions of the yaga-la-hai and the worst enemies of the grouns . . . . Could it be that the monsters ate only grouns? That they thought him a Changemaster, and thus left him alone?
Annelyn couldn’t believe it. A few strings of golden thread could not possibly stay those things. Annelyn looked at the right-hand wall again, then dismissed the subject from his mind.
He continued his examination of the murky chamber. And, one by one, he found the exits.
There were three of them, one on each wall. A fourth one, perhaps, lay below him, but the angle made it impossible to see. The doors to each were double, and they looked metallic. The one to the right was the closest; it lay just under the theta shape. He could make out its details, very faintly. He saw shafts, thick bars of metal running across the door, blocking it. Bolts.
Rusted in place, he thought. For how long? Impossible to move. Yet, what other answer was there? All the other ways out were wormholes; even those that looked vacant would be groun-black just a few feet away from this chamber. He would risk blundering into an eaterworm in the darkness. Anything would be better than that.
But if he stayed here, eventually he would starve, or the worms would finally notice him. He had to go either forward or back.
He knew what lay behind. The dead worm’s hole was safe enough, but beyond it lay only the vast chamber and the grouns, the infinite empty blackness. He could never find the tunnel that had led him there. He would never get back.
Annelyn sighed. He had been so long in darkness. He was tired, and conscious of a change that lay like a weight on his shoulders. He had forgotten the Meatbringer and the question of
Annelyn barely noticed it.
There was a great tank, too, full of some liquid, and globes in the ceiling that dripped some other substance, and air ducts where ropes of fungus swayed in the hot breeze, but Annelyn took little note of them. He was watching the worms.
Eaterworms. Giants forty feet long, smaller ones like the corpse he had encountered, dead ones, and a million writhing younglings. The chamber was a nest of eaterworms, a breeding tank and nursery for the monsters. But not a prison. Not for creatures that could chew through stone, not for these nightmares with translucent flesh and iron teeth. Annelyn made the sign of the worm, then realized what he had done, and giggled. He was a dead man.
He stood despairing while shadowy shapes slid through the moist purple gloom beneath him.
But at last he began to think again. None of the things seemed to be coming toward him. He had escaped their notice, at least for now, and that fanned his tiny fire of hope. He would use whatever moments were left to him. His eyes strained, as he studied the bowl-like chamber.
Dimly, across the room, he saw lines running up and down the walls, bulging beneath the fungus, crossing on the ceiling, branching from the globes. Pipes, he thought, water pipes. The yaga-la-hai knew water pipes. But the knowledge was useless to him.
Other shapes, made vague and hulking by distance and growth, sat still on the floor. The worms moved over them, between them. Annelyn thought he saw metal, overgrown by purple, but he lost it quickly. No matter; it would do him no good.
On the curve of the right-hand wall, he could make out a gleam beneath a coat of fungus. His eyes followed it. There were outlines. More pipes? No. There was a design. It came clear. It was a theta, with wormholes all around it.
Annelyn touched the golden theta embroidered on his breast. Perhaps that was why the eaterworms had not attacked him. What was it that the Meatbringer had said? That the Changemasters had shaped the great worms and other horrors, that the Changemasters wore the theta, that they were the best champions of the yaga-la-hai and the worst enemies of the grouns . . . . Could it be that the monsters ate only grouns? That they thought him a Changemaster, and thus left him alone?
Annelyn couldn’t believe it. A few strings of golden thread could not possibly stay those things. Annelyn looked at the right-hand wall again, then dismissed the subject from his mind.
He continued his examination of the murky chamber. And, one by one, he found the exits.
There were three of them, one on each wall. A fourth one, perhaps, lay below him, but the angle made it impossible to see. The doors to each were double, and they looked metallic. The one to the right was the closest; it lay just under the theta shape. He could make out its details, very faintly. He saw shafts, thick bars of metal running across the door, blocking it. Bolts.
Rusted in place, he thought. For how long? Impossible to move. Yet, what other answer was there? All the other ways out were wormholes; even those that looked vacant would be groun-black just a few feet away from this chamber. He would risk blundering into an eaterworm in the darkness. Anything would be better than that.
But if he stayed here, eventually he would starve, or the worms would finally notice him. He had to go either forward or back.
He knew what lay behind. The dead worm’s hole was safe enough, but beyond it lay only the vast chamber and the grouns, the infinite empty blackness. He could never find the tunnel that had led him there. He would never get back.
Annelyn sighed. He had been so long in darkness. He was tired, and conscious of a change that lay like a weight on his shoulders. He had forgotten the Meatbringer and the question of
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