by Bryan Davis
Mara laughed. “I wonder if they’re always that pretty.” An echo repeated her words, ending with a quiet, “pretty. . pretty. . pretty.” She glanced around the empty cavern, her gaze finally landing on the dark passageway that led out of her work area. Not a soul in sight. The voice was just a cruel joke bouncing off mindless walls through a heartless underground world. She wiped her dirty hands on her even dirtier smock. Of course no one in the hidden realms would ever consider her pretty.
She untied her smock and sighed. Getting banished to the growth lab was bad enough, but having to do everything alone was the worst. Sure, mining in the trenches was hard, but at least she could talk to the other girls there. Even the boy laborers on the brick level had each other. . or so she had heard.
She shut off the magnets’ lever, silencing the hum, snatched up her vial, and dropped it back into her pocket. After picking up her lantern, she sauntered toward the passageway. Time to venture to the seedling room and get the newest nursling. Maybe Naamah would be in a good mood today and tell her a story about the great giants of old.
As her bare feet padded on the warm, stony floor, she stuffed her hair back up into her coif and retied it over her head. Mardon wouldn’t like it if he knew her hair had fallen loose while excavating, and even though her work was finished, it still wasn’t a good time to take it off. The river lay just ahead.
The tunnel slowly brightened, and as she passed by a stone-framed window in the wall, she winced at the light pouring from it and pulled down the coif’s attached veil. Although she could see through the material well enough to walk, it protected her eyes from the terror that lay beyond the window. She had seen the river of magma at the bottom of the chasm once before, and the image would never leave her mind a bubbling and churning flow crawling toward who-knows-where. She shuddered as she passed by, nearly in tears at the thought of the underborns who had perished in the fiery stream. When she cleared the window’s glow, she jerked off her coif, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into her pocket.
As she continued, the tunnel darkened again, and her lantern’s flame burned green. The familiar sounds of this darkest portion crept into her ears a chorus of squeaks from bats hiding somewhere in the recesses of the tunnel; cascading water from the stream falling into Lucifer’s Pool; the tiny splashes of minnows in their never-ending pursuit of larvae; the incessant pounding of a chisel in the hands of a faraway laborer, probably one of the girls desperately trying to get her magnetite quota from the trenches; and finally. . yes, there it was, the pleasant warble of Naamah’s song.
Mara peeked into the seedling room. A trio of lanterns hung from the high reaches of the cavern, casting a blend of yellow light and crisscrossing shadows. Mara hid her own lantern behind her back. Naamah’s singing meant she was probably in a good mood, but Mara didn’t want to take any chances. Better to wait a few minutes and watch for signs of bad temper.
Her mistress raised a watering can over a tiny potted plant. As always, she crooned in a haunting contralto.
To grow and live, escape the flames
Of darkest nights and endless toil,
O stretch and thrive my precious flower
And drink the rain from fertile soil.
As she sprinkled the plant, it stretched out two stalks at its sides, like a man waking after a long nap. A thumb-sized pod between the two stalks turned its face toward her, two eyelets blinking as drops streamed down its green skin.
Naamah smiled and continued her song, cooing at the pod as a mother would to a baby.
A day will come, my little child,
When roots transform to warrior’s feet
And stalks become tight fists of steel
To grind all men like sifted wheat.
Mara walked in, but a new shadow from the far side of the cavern glided into view. Morgan! Mara stopped and clenched her teeth. What now? She couldn’t run back to the passageway. Morgan would notice for sure. She froze in place and listened.
Morgan stepped into the light and applauded. “The echo compliments your voice, Naamah. It’s more beautiful than ever.”
Naamah spread out her black dress and curtsied. “The male plants seem especially fond of my singing.” She chucked the pod under its tiny chin. “This one is my favorite.”
“Actually, the females are more important right now.” Morgan waved her arm toward Mara. “The most impetuous of the girls seems smarter and more talented than any males in the land above, though she can be treacherous enough to betray even a twin sister.”
Mara balled her hands into fists. She wanted to stomp her foot and shout a defense, but that would just prove Morgan’s “impetuous” comment. She breathed deeply and buried the insult in the pit of her stomach along with all the others. Still, heat rose past her cheeks and inflamed her ears. She hoped Morgan wouldn’t notice.
Morgan glared at Mara. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I. .” Mara swallowed and took a tentative step forward. “I’ve come for a new spawn. My growth chamber is ready.”
Morgan raised her eyebrows. “Has Mardon checked the magnets?”
“He taught me how.” Mara withdrew her vial and held it up. “The magnets are perfect.”
Morgan’s frown slackened, but her brow stayed taut. “Very well.” She turned to Naamah. “Is number four of suitable size?”
“Yes.” Naamah pointed at a plant near the passageway, close to where Mara stood. “It’s almost too big for the pot already.”
Morgan nodded at the plant. “Get it and be on your way. I’ll be by to check its growth soon enough. Your chamber had better be perfectly balanced, or you’ll take the next step past banishment.”
Mara tried not to flinch, but she couldn’t help it. She knew what that meant. As she thought of the terror in Acacia’s face, her lantern flickered weakly, as if sympathizing with her pain. She gathered the pot in one arm and hustled back into the passage, but her lantern winked out, leaving her in darkness except for the light from the seedling room behind her. Mara halted. Could she go all the way through the dark part of the tunnel without a light? Would the bats notice her? She turned back and leaned against the wall, peering at Morgan and Naamah. She didn’t want to ask for light, not while Morgan was still around. Maybe she would leave soon through the other tunnel, then Naamah might help her. Naamah was always the more patient of the two, though that wasn’t saying much.
Mara breathed a quiet sigh and set her lantern on the floor. Being banished had one advantage. Nabal wouldn’t be waiting with a whip. In fact, no one would notice her absence until bed check. She could just watch and listen, and maybe learn more about the land above.
Morgan crossed her arms over her chest. “As I was about to say, the females will never be giantesses; at least according to Mardon’s genetic analysis. But we need more laborers than Nephilim candidates right now. Once the hive is complete with thriving giants, we’ll keep a few of the strongest and stupidest females for laborers, then throw the rest in the chasm.”
Mara gulped. She probably wasn’t supposed to hear that. Who would be chosen to live? She rubbed a finger along her toned bicep. She was strong, but not the strongest of the female laborers, and far from stupid. Crouching low, she hugged her plant close.
Naamah carried her pot to a dimly lit wall and set it on the end of a shelf of identical pots. Each one held a human-like seedling, some barely poking up from the soil and others as tall as the breadth of her hand. She turned the pot so the plant could see her. “I began to wonder what happened to you, Sister. You’ve been gone for weeks.”
“Months, actually. Time shifts in strange ways between the upper and lower worlds. I’m beginning to think time is slowing down here, since the older spawns have slowed their aging.”
“Did you bring more produce?” Naamah asked. “We ran out of fruit days ago.”
“It’s in the pantry. Nimrod’s farms are producing well.”
Naamah dipped her finger into the potting soil, then pulled it ou
t, examining the mud on the tip. “Is there any other news from above?”
“Yes. It seems that Mardon has a solution to why our hybrids aren’t thriving.”
“They need more light, don’t they?” Naamah wiped the mud on a cloth hanging on the shelf. “I always said that plants should be out in the sun where they ”
“No,” Morgan interrupted. “Almost the opposite. It seems that the flood did more than simply snuff out innocent lives and scrub the planet. All light is harsher now, brighter than before, so the seeds I took from Samyaza are too pure, even when we dilute them with Canaan’s genes. They make a plant that grows poorly when exposed to any kind of light, even lantern light and magneto radiance down here.”
“How can Mardon fix a problem like that? Even he isn’t smart enough.”
“You might be surprised. Mardon and his scientists are confident they can do anything. Right now they’re working on a tower that already reaches past the clouds.”
Naamah’s eyebrows shot up. “Past the clouds?! May I go above and see it?”
“Only if you go after dark and in your winged form.” Morgan looked up at the cavern’s high ceiling. “There’s a full moon tonight, so you should be able to see the tower.”
“Even if I can’t, being a bat for a while is better than being stuck in this cave.”
“Patience. Just a few more weeks. One of the craftsmen is building a home for us on the surface. It still has to be in this dimension, but at least you’ll be able to go there whenever you wish.”
“Not as a bat?” Naamah asked.
“As long as you’re in the circles of seven, you can be yourself.”
“Good.” Naamah fanned her face with her hand. “The air down here gets stuffy, and flying makes me tired.”
“Don’t worry. The house will be on a lovely island, and I planted apple trees and gardenias all around. Soon the air on our island will be saturated with the scents of wisdom and life.”
“Will we have any company up there?” Naamah asked.
“The circles are filling with the souls of humans who wander in the land of the dead, but the serpents I put in the waters around the island will protect us from their interference.” Morgan caressed Naamah’s delicate arm. “Still, we have a boat, and you will be free to stalk the shores and sing a victim into your clutches whenever you wish.”
“Perfect. I’ve been practicing a song just for that purpose.” Naamah smiled, and for a brief second, a pair of fangs appeared over her bottom lip.
Mara nearly fell backwards. What kind of creature was Naamah, anyway?
“If you keep your mind on your work,” Morgan said, “I won’t care how many men you capture. Just remember to collect what we need from them.”
Naamah twirled her dress. “Have you begun to doubt my charms, Sister?”
“Not your charms, just your prudence. Our mission is more important than fun. Canaan has aged more quickly than I expected, so he’s already useless.”
“We have the hybrid embryos in the vault. We could always use their genes.”
Morgan propped up one of the wilting plants. “The hybrids are stronger than the purebreds, but not strong enough. We have to keep experimenting until we get the right combination for survival in the world’s new environment.”
“What about your other plan?” Naamah asked. “Any luck finding homes for the spirits?”
“Perhaps. The dragons have birthed several younglings in quick succession. The spirits have repeatedly visited the eldest son at night, and he believes he is merely dreaming. He is already showing signs of giving in to the songs.”
“You decided to use dragons as hosts, after all? I thought you decided you wanted them dead.”
“I do, but I have no way to kill them. . yet.” Morgan plucked a wrinkled leaf from one of the plants, making its little green face wince. “Still, if my plan works, we will eliminate every dragon, release the Watchers from the abyss so they can live in a dragon-free land, and have an army of Nephilim to conquer the world.”
“I see.” Naamah stroked the stalk of the injured plant. “Home-grown Nephilim instead of dragon-born.”
“Exactly. The Nephilim spirits should eventually break through the dragons’ minds and secure them as hosts, but even if the spirits someday lose their scaly bodies, it will be a small price to pay to create our paradise.”
“I keep hearing about this paradise. When will we get to enjoy it?”
“That’s the hard part, Sister. We have to be patient. I still have to find the abyss. Then, I have to raise up a champion for our cause, a dragon slayer, you might call him. I’ll mold him like putty in my hands, and place him in circles of authority. We also have to conquer the minds of the dragons one by one. Such a scheme can take millennia to accomplish, but we can afford to wait as long as necessary.”
Naamah picked up a plant and gazed into the tiny eyelets of the blinking pod. Its emaciated stalk could barely hold up its oversized head, and it finally keeled over as if gasping for breath. “And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime” Morgan strangled the plant and ripped it out of the soil “we cultivate, sow, and water until our army is ready to uproot and march.”
Mara gagged. Nausea boiled in her stomach. Still crouching as she cradled her new spawn, she picked up her lantern and tiptoed through the dim tunnel. With so little light, she could easily step on a sharp stalagmite. . or worse. As the passage grew darker, she slowed, standing straight and probing the blackness, listening to the squeaks of awakening bats. Her spawn’s prickly pod nuzzled her cheek. It was scared, too.
When she approached the magma window, she didn’t bother to put on her coif; she just rushed past it as quickly as she could and slowed again as the tunnel darkened once more. Soon, a flickering beam revealed the oval entryway into her workroom. Clutching her spawn even more tightly, she ran the rest of the way, stopping at the opening and holding her hand on her chest as she caught her breath. She pressed her lips together, trying not to cry. She was such a failure! She had to be the only underborn in all of the below lands who was scared of the dark.
“Is there a problem?” a deep voice asked.
Mara dropped her lantern and twisted to the side. A man stood next to her, only inches away. “Mardon!” she cried, her hand on her chest again. “You startled me!”
“My apologies.” Mardon’s egg-shaped head tilted as he held up the scroll she had been reading. “Mara, isn’t it?”
Mara sniffed and nodded. “Yessir.”
Mardon cupped Mara’s chin and turned her head from side to side. Under his closely cropped brown hair, a pair of thin eyebrows arched downward. His coal black pupils seemed to breathe, swelling and deflating as he probed her eyes. “Number fourteen, correct?” He released her chin and combed through her hair as if searching for bugs in her scalp.
“Yessir. Number fourteen.” She hated being called by a number, but at least he remembered her name this time.
“Did you cut your hair again?” he asked.
“Weeks ago, but only because it got caught between some rocks.” She ran her fingers through the tangled ends. “Paili had to slice off a bunch to get me loose, and then I had to cut the rest to make it even.”
“It’s acceptable. Just remember to tuck it in your coif while you’re working. I’m just checking for signs of biological degradation, and hair loss would be a big concern, as would loss of muscle tone.” He laid his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Pain ripped through her body, and she couldn’t hold back a tight grimace.
Mardon quickly lifted his hand. “Did that hurt?”
Mara squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. “Nabal’s whip. It’s an old wound, but it never seems to heal.”
Mardon pushed the collar of her dress to the side, exposing her shoulder. Shaking his head and whispering “Tsk, tsk,” he covered her wound again. “Make sure you scrub that out tonight, or it could be dangerous.”
Mara opened her eyes, hoping she wouldn�
�t cry. “I will.”
“Your muscles are quite firm,” he said, grasping her other shoulder. “Actually, overall, you’re a very lucky girl. Have I ever told you what happened to the first twelve females?”
“Yessir.” She smoothed down her hair. “But you talk to so many underborns, it’s no wonder you’ve forgotten.”
“Not so many. There are only twenty-one surviving females at my last count. Morgan has a habit of tossing the insubordinates into the chasm when she gets angry, including number thirteen, an excellent specimen.” Mardon tapped his head with his finger. “Actually, I’ve been so busy, I seem to be getting a bit absent-minded. I don’t remember everything I tell people.”
“Yessir.” She sniffed hard. Thinking about lost underborns was sure to make her cry, so she tried to change the subject. Steadying her voice, she nodded at the scroll. “I was just borrowing that. I hope you don’t mind.”
Mardon stared at the scroll, his eyes widening as if startled that it was still in his hand. “Oh, you mean this.”
“Yessir. Your library isn’t forbidden, so I thought it would be okay to read it.”
“Of course. I was just wondering why it was in the hearth. I didn’t think mice could read.”
Mara pointed a thumb at herself. “But I can!” She immediately felt stupid for saying it. Being smart wasn’t exactly cheered among the other laborers.
“Yes, yes, I have heard. You’re the only one who can, aren’t you?”
“Yessir. I kind of taught myself how.”
Mardon cupped her chin again and gazed into her eyes. “Remarkable!”
Mara swallowed and lifted her plant. “My spawn is ready. Do you want to check the magnetic field?”
He tucked the scroll under his arm and headed toward the alcove. “I already have. Your workmanship is flawless.” He held out his hands for the potted spawn. “Please don’t ever cross Morgan. I can’t afford to lose you.”
“Don’t worry. Making her mad is the last thing I want to do.” Mara handed him the spawn and smiled. That was the first kind word she had heard in weeks. As Mardon grasped one of the spawn’s stalks, she propped her hands on her knees and leaned forward. She didn’t get to see implanting very often. “Is this a good spawn?” she asked.
