Mists of Dawn (79 page)

On
and
on
they
went,
with
Tlaxcan
as
sure-footed
as though
he
were
trotting
through
an
open
field
for
exercise.
He
twisted
and
turned,
following
a
trail
that
Mark could
not
see.
The
damp
heaviness
in
the
air
increased, almost
as
if
all
the
weight
above
them
were
pushing down
on
it
with
physical
force.
Far
in
the
distance,

Mark
could
hear
what
sounded
like
the
gurgle
of
running
water.
That
was
all.
There
was
no
sound
to
alarm him,
and
he
noticed
nothing
that
was
the
least
suspicious.
And
yet
the
feeling
of
dread
stayed
with
him, seeming
to
seep
through
the
very
air
itself.

The
Neanderthals
were
gone
as
though
they
had never
existed,
and
Mark
did
not
believe
that
they
could have
followed
them
all
this
way
without
once
betraying themselves.
Either
they
had
gone
back
to
the
dead mammoths,
or
else
they
were
waiting
for
them
at
the mouth
of
the
cave.
Neither
Mark
nor
Tlaxcan
was
in any
hurry
to
go
back
and
find
out
for
sure,
so
they kept
on
going
down
into
the
depths
of
the
cave.
Undoubtedly,
Mark
figured,
Tlaxcan
knew
of
another
exit to
these
caverns
than
the
one
by
which
they
had
entered.
Otherwise,
they
were
trapped
more
certainly than
they
had
ever
been
outside,
and
Tlaxcan
was
not dull-witted
in
any
respect.
If
the
Neanderthals
knew of
that
other
exit,
too,
however
.
.
.

Fang
kept
drawing
back,
afraid
to
go
on,
and
then hurrying
madly
to
catch
up,
afraid
to
be
left
behind. What
was
the
matter
with
him?
Mark
knew
that
the wolf-dog
was
used
to
caves,
and
he
had
proved
his courage
many
times
over
on
the
mammoth
hunt.
He didn’t
scare
easily,
and
if
he
was
scared
at
all,
there was
a
reason
for
it.
Such
thoughts
did
little
good,
however.
They
could
not
possibly
go
back
now,
even
if
they knew
for
sure
that
danger
lurked
in
the
black
depths of
the
cave.
They
could
only
go
forward,
down
into the
earth.

“Not
much
farther
down
now,”
Tlaxcan
said
suddenly,
the
unexpected
sound
of
his
voice
startling
in the
hush
of
the
cave.

“Let’s
hope
not,”
Mark
answered,
keeping
his
voice cheerful.
“It
should
start
getting
hot
any
minute
now.”

Tlaxcan,
of
course,
did
not
catch
Mark’s
reference, but
he
did
not
question
him.
“We
have
lost
the Mroxor,”
he
said
instead.

“Are
you
sure?”
Mark
asked.

“The
Mroxor
will
not
follow
us
here,”
Tlaxcan
assured
him.

“Why
not,
Tlaxcan?”

“This
cave
is
not
a
good
cave,”
Tlaxcan
said
quietly, summing
up
all
Mark’s
vague
thoughts
in
a
single
sentence.
“We
are
very
far
from
the
sun.”

The
second
torch
burned
down
to
a
mere
twig
with a
vanishing
flame,
and
Tlaxcan
hurriedly
lit
his
last dead
branch.
Mark
was
grateful
for
the
light,
as
was Fang,
who
wagged
his
tail
in
relief.
Light
very
decidedly
made
a
difference,
and
Mark
did
not
even
like to
think
about
being
lost
in
this
underground
maze
in total
darkness.
He
still
had
three
branches
of
his
own, but
he
realized
that
that
was
none
too
many.
The
dead wood
burned
fast,
and
not
even
Tlaxcan
could
find his
way
to
the
surface
again
without
a
torch.
There must
be
fresh
air
moving
through
the
cave,
Mark thought,
since
the
torch
seemed
to
be
blowing
very slightly.
It
could
not
be
much,
since
he
could
not
feel it
at
all,
but
its
presence
was
encouraging.

Abruptly,
the
cave
floor
leveled
out
underfoot.
The steady
downward
grade
vanished,
and
Mark
had
been walking
so
long
on
a
slanting
surface
that
for
a
moment
it
was
difficult
to
adjust
his
stride
to
more
normal conditions.
He
had
a
distinct
impression
of
open
spaces all
around,
as
opposed
to
the
pressing
sensations
that sensitive
individuals
always
felt
in
narrow
caves.
In the
uncertain
light
of
Tlaxcan’s
torch,
he
could
not even
see
the
walls
of
the
cave,
and
the
roof
was
lost in
the
shadows
above
his
head.
The
gurgle
of
water was
quite
close
now,
and
it
echoed
with
surprising loudness
against
the
distant
rocks.
They
were
evidently in
a
huge
underground
room
of
some
sort,
far
beneath the
surface
of
the
earth.

Tlaxcan
did
not
break
his
stride,
and
Mark
had
to hurry
to
keep
up
with
him.
But
the
strange,
oppressive smell
was
even
stronger
in
the
vast
chamber,
and
Mark found
that
it
took
quite
an
effort
of
will
to
keep
from looking
back
over
his
shoulder.
The
smell,
he
was
now able
to
determine,
was
not
one
smell
but
several,
all mixed
up
together.
One
of
the
smells,
unless
he
was very
much
mistaken,
was
that
of
dead
fish.
At
first thought,
this
seemed
strange,
but
then
he
remembered the
fish
caught
in
Mammoth
Cave
in
his
own
day
and age.
There
was
a
stream
here,
and
therefore
there
could be
fish.
The
other
smells
he
could
not
yet
identify,
but there
was
one
question
that
needed
answering
in
a hurry.