Chapter 1
“I didn’t steal it. It was so beautiful, I just wanted to touch it.” The latter was true at least, Ulan thought to herself.
Shimmerbeetles flared their bellies from where they had suctioned themselves to the cave wall, filling their transparent exoskeletons with blue-green light that carved through the milky depths of the precious stone and enrapturing her with its beauty. Tryn, overseer of the mining operations and general spokesperson for the sab, remained unconvinced of her innocence, judging by the terse frown drawing down his long forehead. He held out an expectant hand, long, veined, and disturbingly pliant.
Those who look upon the moon for guidance must first prove their merit.
Ulan almost answered the voice aloud, then thought better of doing it in front of Tryn. She considered escaping into one of Sabalham’s many natural and manmade burrows, but he would find her anywhere.
“Surface dwellers,” Tryn said the words as though they were a distasteful medicine, rolling them through his mouth syllable-by-syllable, “are to remain in the guest accommodations until trades are concluded. You were informed of this upon your arrival.”
His upper body curved like a question mark as he stooped over her; his yellow-rimmed eyes, sunk deep into an egg-shaped head, silently admonished her. If it hadn’t been for the precious stones and rare metals found in the mines, many people would’ve forgone trade with the sab because of their ghoulish appearance. Ulan wasn’t entirely certain how Tryn saw her, apart from a meddlesome, pitiful surface dweller.
But she was prepared to withhold judgement.
Is the water cold? Can we go swimming?
Mom never did like the mountains.
Because of her madness, people looked at her with fear and curiosity in equal measure.
“I respectfully request that you return the property of the sab.” Tryn emphasized his t’s and his s’s, making Ulan feel as if the words were cutting through her skin.
It occurred to her she ought to say something instead of trying to decipher what her internal voices were talking about. She looked at the crystal in her hand. How could she ever part with it? No one seemed concerned with it when she found it abandoned on the aged, peeling lid of a muka cask.
Perhaps diplomacy might work. “Can’t I keep just this one? There must be many more you can mine!”
Where does the road end?
The other people thought we were crazy.
“And besides,” Ulan continued, rallying her concentration, “your trade master hasn’t met with us in three days! How much longer do we have to wait?”
If she could show this stone to her uncle, it would prove once and for all that she’s a true thief who can take initiative. Her place among them might finally be secured, and she would be considered something more than their packrat.
A few nearby sab halted their rummaging through baskets of second-arm wares to watch the exchange between her and Tryn. The nosy audience somehow wielded command over her body and ushered blood into her cheeks. Ulan reminded herself that stealing secured her own survival. Getting caught would remain her secret.
“The trade master is considering the worth of your pelts and of your character, as this is your first trade with the sab.” Tryn reminded Ulan of the slugs that used to invade her mother’s garden, attacking her plants with leisurely zealousness.
“It’s fur shorn from animals! What is there to consider? Who gave you the right to judge whose trade is worthy? Other cities would be more than happy to buy our pelts. Not a one of you will go hungry for parting with one stone!”
Tryn’s bloodless hand snapped out with surprising speed and snatched the gem from her, but only because Ulan made it easy and instinctively lifted her arm to defend herself.
“You surface dwellers double-cross your own kind and don’t care for anything but yourselves. You are liars and cheaters,” Tryn hissed. “The sab may be slow, but we will not be conned.”
Tryn stalked off with the crystal, leaving Ulan staring after him in surprise. He had to have guessed, or maybe his own partiality about surface walkers brought him to the conclusion. No one outside her uncle’s band knew how they acquired the pelts. Now she had no choice but to return to her uncle’s company empty-handed. The nearby spectators whispered at her passing as she wound through the quiet din of the sab’s market.
Look at all the pebbles!
“I guess I’m lucky he let me walk away at all,” Ulan muttered to the voices, feeling wronged.
Growing up, she never thought she’d spend her life thieving or even working for Uncle Kilan. Her father’s brother wasn’t appropriate dinner conversation. Kilan’s traveling band ransacked small villages, accepted murder contracts for gold, and hexed people who crossed them just because killing them would be too quick. Like a snake poised to strike, Kilan didn’t tolerate halfwits. Running with them afforded her protection from all kinds of perils on the road, the Madam’s houses, and orphanages.
And he expected her to earn her keep. What else could she do? She was forever indebted to her uncle for taking her in, burden that she was.
Baskets brimming with cloying overripe fruits, fabrics in quiet colors, and other oddities from the surface, like handmade dolls, further narrowed the corridors. The subterranean river breaking through the eastern side of the cave humidified the air and turned it clingy. From a neighboring manmade tunnel, the clang of a pickaxe rang out, rising above the quiet laughter of a group of three children playing a game of stick-stacking on the dirt floor.
The sab had manually dug out the mining tunnels that ran laterally to the cave. For all the goods they received from the surface world, even if most were of questionable quality, their gems and metals were all they had to offer of value. As far as Ulan was concerned, they had no horse to climb on and couldn’t judge her decisions.
Oh no! Where has she gone? Quick! We have to find her!
An icy, wet finger tapped Ulan’s head and interrupted her step. She looked up but couldn’t make out the tiny pores in the cave ceiling from whence the raindrop must’ve come. It must be night on the surface.
Hurry! Hurry! Get her dry.
Come back! You’re lost!
“I know where I’m going!” Ulan only realized she’d shouted the words when three sab, mending a torn tent, stopped their needlework and gaped at her like she had sprouted another limb.
She shrank from their gazes and startled at the craggy voice sniggling behind her. “The mad should not fear the sane. One’s silent anguish is more terrifying than their words.”
An old crone sat on a plain rock behind her. In the sparse light provided by the shimmerbeetles, Ulan could make out wisps of wheaty hair clinging to a doughy face and an arthritic hand clutching an equally gnarled walking stick. Periodic enthusiastic gusts from the western skylight whipped the broken flap of her tent.
“I’m not mad!” Ulan instinctively responded. “I was talking to...to...”
“The rodents? They’re good company. Better than most we keep.”
Ulan couldn’t explain why the voices had grown so loud ever since they entered Sabalham. It’s gotten worse in the permanent dusk of the underground city.
“You talk to the rodents?” Ulan asked, wondering why the old sab woman spoke to her at all.
“I speak to creatures and crooks, legends and peasants. In the great sea of life, they all end the same, don’t they? I sniff not at the likes of outsiders. I was a thief like you once.”
Something otherworldly moved behind the glaze of blindness covering the crone’s irises that made Ulan’s skin tingle. “I’m... I’m not a thief.”
“Oh, I’m not judging.” The crone grinned, obviously reveling in Ulan’s embarrassment. “Sometimes the Messenger’s warnings aren’t enough. Then I have to take matters into my own hands. The tables turn then.”
Ulan was about to ask what she meant when an ear-piercing drone resounded in the corridors. A black cloud of insects rushed after it and, to Ulan’s horror, assailed the crone. The old woman screamed and swatted at the insects circling her head. Quickly, Ulan grabbed a nearby broom and swept it through the dark mass.
“Help!” Ulan called out to the other sab. Their small mouths had fallen open, flabbergasted by her behavior. But they made no attempt to help and hurried away, abandoning the elderly woman to her fate. “What are you doing!”
“Get out, I said!” The crone shouted, making wild gestures.
Suddenly the insects were gone as if they’d never been there at all. Ulan saw the crone’s eyes whitening, somehow becoming blinder, and realized she was now speaking to her.
“Out! Get out of my face!” She hissed, baring uneven teeth in hostility.
Ulan dropped the broom and staggered back. Had she lost her mind?
“Filthy creature! Out!”
