Turlough hadn't stopped shaking since they had taken her. The tremors wracked up and down his body as he paced the tiny prison, ceaseless in his nervous, panicked movement. It was almost as if he had been observing himself from outside his body in the moments after the concrete door closed above him. He'd thrown himself at the hatch until he'd dropped down in exhaustion. He'd bellowed, and cried, and begged the darkness for her return. Things no self-respecting Trion would ever allow themselves to do. And now all he could do was pace and shake and try not to imagine where Lusa'qi was or what was happening. The only sound that bounced around his stone tomb were the harsh gasps of his own breathing, too heavy and too quick.
What did they want from him? Why were they putting him through this? Why did this dirty, violent, cruel little world crave his and Lusa'qi's misery? It wasn't fair! It's not like he'd done anything to this place. He had, as far as he knew, not slighted even the smallest spirit. No tree nor stone here had reason to wish him ill as he saw it. Although he was beginning to think he had plenty of reason to wish ill on the land for its treatment of him!
He almost winced as he suddenly imagined his mother shooting him a steely glare for such an ungracious thought towards the spirits. "We do not demand or expect anything from the Mother Spirit or her children. For we are her children as much as the sand and the water and the trees are. She feeds from our faith in her and we in turn feed from her offerings. Do not let me hear another foul thought towards her children. It is a foul thought towards yourself in turn." As an often ill-tempered child who found blaming the things around him for his sufferings to be a most convenient outlet, he had heard the speech many times. He supposed even now it hadn't quite sunk in. Besides, what trust did he owe an alien planet and its clearly twisted, cold-hearted Mother Spirit. For if she truly fed from the faith of her children she must have very little to feed on indeed except cruelty and hate. He resolved to feel no kinship with the stone spirits that imprisoned him and the sand spirits that starved him and the people that hurt him and kept him.
His feet hurt from the ceaseless pacing on the rough, stone floor but he did not dare stop. As silly as it was, some part of him felt as if the physical energy put towards his sickening fear and worry for the child was somehow the thing that would bring her back to him. What else was he to do? What did he have power over in this whole cursed circumstance except the workings of his own body? If he allowed himself to dwell on that thought too long he knew he would discover its folly. And so he did not think about it, but instead kept up his pacing, wondering how long it would take him to wear his soles down to the bone. How long did his body have to shake before it shook him apart at the seams? How many futile scratches at the hatch would it take for him to scrap all the flesh from his fingers?
All at once, the great rending, scraping sound of the hatch shattered the deadness in the air. Turlough stopped, his feet felt fused into the ground beneath him. He could not run away from the people dropping down into his stoney domain, he could not even shrink away. He could not pass up a chance to reunite with Lu'saqi. Yet he could not bring himself to willingly move any closer to the people that had taken her from him. The people that held all power over him, that could give him a swift or agonising end, or simply leave him forever in this dead pit. So he made the only compromise he could and stood still as the rocks around him, watching silently as the woman Mit'te and the large man from before reached the bottom of the ladder, haloed by the light from above.
For a short moment no one spoke, and then Turlough coaxed his tongue to move. "Where's Lu'saqi? You cannot keep her from me," he demanded, before adding "please" as he lowered his head and averted his eyes. The woman and the man looked at each other for a moment before the man stepped forward and took hold of Tulough by his upper arm.
Turlough's face lost all its colour and he bit down a cry as the man's meaty hand closed over his bullet wound. His body instinctually spasmed at the painful contact and jerked away but this only served to jar the injury as the man did not let up his hold. Breathing slowly, and trying not to go faint from the pain, Turlough gritted his teeth and allowed the man to drag him to the ladder. He was shoved into the first rung where finally the man let go. Turlough gasped with relief, simply clinging to the bar and taking a moment to regain his senses. That is until the man gave him an impatient push, shoving Turlough ribs right up against the ladder.
"Okay! Okay!" Turlough snapped, jerking the hand off his shoulder. "I get the picture, next you'll be snapping at my heels!" and with that he began to climb. The man followed after and finally Mit'te. For one dizzyingly exciting moment, Turlough thought of making a break for it at the top of the ladder. It would take his guard another few seconds to climb out after him and by then he could have already made it to the stairs up to the shop. But the idea turned to ashes as climbing the last few rungs and he found another three men waiting at the top; grim-faced with knives sheathed at the hip. Turlough's shoulders fell. The men did not move; they simply watched as Turlough and the others emerged fully.
Finally the slightest of the new men turned to his guard. "This is him?"
His guard gave a quick, sharp nod.
A second man sniffed. "He has an ill look about him," he said in the tone of one who has already settled on an idea and is pleased to find evidence that fits his convictions.
"Yeah it's called being stuck in a hole for days," Turlough sniffed back, tired of being ignored and tired of the fear that had been dulled by such constant exposure.
The second man gave a baleful glare in reply before turning away with an ambivalent wave of his hand. "Let this be done with," he spat.
Mit'te pushed past them all to the other side of the room. "And let your tiresome malcontent be done with in turn."
The second man scoffed and rather petulantly crossed his arms as Mit'te ignored him and seemingly began to pick at a tiny gap between bricks in the wall. It became clear that the mortar fixing this particular brick in its place was not mortar at all, but rather a soft clay that could be easily scratched away with a little patience and accuracy. Sure enough, a few moments later Mit'te had cleared enough clay to get a grip on the brick and she carefully slid it out of place, leaving a black hole in the otherwise unblemished wall. She slid a small hand into the hole and with a quick pull and a click, a door-shaped portion of the wall swung open as easily and innocently as if it hadn't been pretending to be a wall a few moments before.
"Please follow," she said with a sheepish glance over at her prisoner. Turlough was expecting dragging hands on his arms or at least a rough shove. The polite summons and the allowance to walk under his own power (albeit escorted by her entourage of hostile, scary men) was a sharp contrast to the previous days of threat, trickery, and imprisonment. Yet despite the politeness and the absence of bruising fingers, it was still very clear that the request was an order, so Turlough put one tentative foot in front of the other and entered the hole in the wall. Behind it he found a space that could only generously be called a hallway. More accurately, it was a gap between the brick wall and another wall of sandstone that stood about as far away from the bricks as Turlough's wrist was from his elbow. He felt the terror rise in him again. The darkness swallowing up the "hallway" looked just as dark as his prison of stone had been, and much more claustrophobic. The thought of the cold stone pressing into his back and the rough bricks pressing into his chest as he forced himself through the gap was almost too much for him to bear. But the simple fact remained that Lu'saqi could be through there. And so with barely a moment's pause, Turlough found himself forcing one shoulder and then the other into the passageway. The light from the room behind him didn't penetrate very far into the passage as he pushed and dragged and squeezed himself along. He could hear the sounds of the men behind him as they pushed themselves along as well. Their shuffling footsteps sounded much more sure and silent than his own. As Turlough stumbled and shimmied his way along, it became evident that this passage continued far beyond the size of the cellar. The bricks in front of him soon changed to sandstone as he pushed farther and farther, no longer bothering to try and see where he was going. There was no light at all this deep in. Good thing there was no way to get lost, he thought sarcastically. Was it a good sign he was still capable of sarcasm? Or was it proof that he would never escape his nature for mockery and insincerity?
The question remained unanswered as he gradually became aware of the smallest pinprick of brightness up ahead. Almost like a switch flipping, Turlough began to feel sharp aches in his shoulders and neck and a deep longing to be free of the weight of the stones embracing him. He picked up his pace as best he could. How many more steps to the opening now? 5, 4, 3. Turlough nearly fell flat on his face as the gap suddenly opened into an actual, honest to gods room. The light had come from a single, dim lantern hanging on the far wall. He simply stood, gasping deeply, sucking in air that felt somehow richer and clearer. In truth, the room was really a very small one. 5 steps deep and perhaps 2 steps wide, but in comparison it felt like a cathedral. There were three doors on either side of the foyer-like room for a total of 6 doors, all pressed together, made of metal in stone frames. The guards slipped deftly into the room from behind, making sure they were in arms length of their escort and looking to Mit'te for cues. Mit'te had busied herself at the farthest of the doors on the left. She was using a small set of roughly carved stone keys and quickly beckoned Turlough inside. His guards herded him in without a word.
Turlough couldn't suppress the gasp as the light of the room assaulted him. His arms flew up to cover his eyes, protecting them from the burning. After such gloom, the room blazed like a power grid in comparison despite only boasting a handful of fluorescent light fixtures.
There was a squeal and a shuffle of movement from farther in the room as Turlough blinked, willing his eyes to work. Gradually it started to come into focus, an unfurnished, well-lit sandstone room with a long table.
Turlough stared, gaping in disbelief. "Lu'saqi?"
Lu'saqi let out another squeal and leapt off the lap of the man who had been bouncing her softly on his knee. "Tirr'low!" she cried in her little voice and wrapped her arms around his legs.
"L-Lu'saqi" Turlough stuttered as he sank to the ground, running his hands up and down her arms as if he didn't quite believe she was real. His eyes felt wet and his voice caught in his throat as he drank in her appearance. She was here, still here. Alive, unhurt. This skittish, alien girl who had nothing to do with him, whose presence had led to endless struggle and pain, and who really wasn't his problem at all, and yet he felt like melting at the sight of her. The relief felt like a spring of sweet mountain water washing over him.
"I thought… I-I thought," he croaked, trying to form even a single coherent thought.
Lu'saqi wiggled out of his shaking grip and grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards the far end of the table and the man sitting there. "They have Ghjukk," she whispered excitedly. Turlough noticed that her hand was sticky in his, and her mouth was smeared with a kind of dark brown viscous substance.
"Please, have a seat Tirr'low." spoke up the man sitting at the head of the table. The man in question really wasn't a man at all now that Turlough took a serious look at him. A boy would be more accurate. Younger even than Turlough himself, with an almost scrappy air and a mess of tangled black hair falling down his shoulders. With a nod and an outstretched hand, the man-boy indicated a chair to his right. Turlough stared in open wariness and confusion at him as Lu'saqi pulled him over to the chair. Stiffly, he sat down. Lu'saqi climbed up into his lap. He shifted awkwardly, trying to make his lap more comfortable to sit on, without quite knowing how. The boy watched with a little glimmer of humour behind his eyes, entirely unbothered by Turlough's suspicious appraisal. Turlough's frown deepened. The boy was far too easy and assured for his age, he thought.
"Would you like some more, Lu'saqi?" the young man invited, pushing a bowl of the brown stuff over to her new spot at the table. Lu'saqi gave a fast little nod, using her tiny hands to grip the big spoon and clumsily shovel the food into her mouth.
"I don't understand," Turlough stated, shifting his gaze between the boy and Mit'te as she took a seat at the other end. Quietly, the guard who had fetched Turlough from his prison joined the table as well. Lu'saqi shrank into Turlough, suddenly fearful of so many people near her at once. Turlough closed himself around her slightly, ready to protect her if anyone wished to separate them again.
Mit'te turned to the two remaining guards. "You may take your leave," she said mildly to them. The youngest of the two, the skinny, angry one fixed Turlough with one more glare before slipping out with the other one. Mit'te turned back to Turlough. "This is confusing for you, I understand."
Turlough snorted. "Yeah that might be one word for it. Being thrown into a lightless hole by a nice old lady and her gang of thugs could possibly make someone a little confused."
Mit'te looked away uncomfortably. "I am sorry for that, but-"
"You don't owe this one any kind of apology, Mit'te. We know nothing of him or his intent." the guard growled.
The boy at the table threw his head back and laughed. It was the kind of laugh untroubled by the fear of causing offence. "Come now, Shelt," he abated with his strange unconcerned air. "My new friend tells us of his virtue, it is as clear as the sand blows."
The guard called Shelt snorted in derision. "The child tells us only that he did not directly harm her in their short time together. We still know nothing of where he comes from or what he seeks to gain from infiltrating us!"
"Infiltrating?" Turlough snapped. Lu'saqi flinched at the sound but he didn't notice. "I haven't done any infiltrating, what are you talking about?"
"You expect us to believe that? You who tricked Mit'te into bringing you here. To the heart of us? You who lied and deceived and caused such violence? How can we trust you?"
"I-I didn't lie!" he cried desperately, "We-we just needed some help and I thought-"
"You thought you could manipulate a little old lady into taking you in instead of the real contacts. You thought you could take their place and leave them out there to be shot like dogs by the Safety Officers!" Shelt concluded, his voice seething with anger.
Turlough buried his face in his hands as frustration and anger fought inside him. "I don't even know who you people are! I don't know whoever or whatever your 'contacts' are! I don't know what you think I've done!" His voice rose with every word until it was all he could do to keep each one from coming out as a sob. "Bloody hell, I don't even know where the hell I am! You think I'd want anything to do with your horrible caves and ratholes behind walls and your angry guards and your stupid bloody war or genocide or whatever it is that leaves streets full of dead bodies rotting in the sun?"
Shelt and the others were staring at him, unmoving. Lu'saqi was beginning to shake in his lap. Turlough was breathing hard, fighting and failing to keep himself in order. "You think I would volunteer to be terrorised by you people, and to let you take Lu'saqi away to Cheika knows where! Or to starve in a bloody hole on this stinking, awful planet? Well? Do you?"
A low, strangled whine came from under Turlough's chin and he looked down. New tears were streaming down Lu'saqi's face, making little track marks in the brown residue on her cheeks. Her eyes were screwed shut and her hands were pressed tight over her ears as she rocked herself back and forth, whimpering like a wounded animal. It was his doing, Turlough realised. His anger and fear was dripping into her like poison, filling her little body with resentment and terror and all the nasty things living inside him. Unconsciously, Turlough recoiled in his seat, fed by the desire to get his poison away from her.
As he sat there, struck dumb and unable to bring himself to even touch Lu'saqi, the boy slipped quietly out of his seat and came to Turlough's side, kneeling down on the stone floor. "Hey now, little one. Hey now little friend." he soothed, stroking Lu'saqi's shoulder up and down in slow, rhythmic circles. "It's Eilan, little one. Remember? You are here. You are safe. Hush now, hush now." Eilan gave Turlough a silent nod as if to say Don't worry, I've got this.
He kept his voice low and calm as he gently gathered her into his arms. Lu'saqi buried her face into his shirt as he brought her back to his chair and sat down again. Turlough stared after him, not stopping him, not doing much of anything.
"Well, I'd say you have gotten your answer." Eilan said to a very stunned looking Shelt, rocking his new charge softly from side to side.
"Yes," Mit'te assented with a strange look on her face. "Yes I would say we have." She turned, for the first time giving her full and complete attention to Turlough. Her deep, brown eyes looked hard as flint within her old and worn face. There was a kind of true, quiet power in those eyes, the kind of power that is well hidden but confidently held. Mit'te stood slowly and bowed her head to Turlough for a single breath before once again looking him full in the face. Unflinching. "Welcome to the Underground."