Fall; or, Dodge in Hell - Neal Stephenson Page 0,384

to arouse the curiosity of Corvus, who had already supped on raw flesh. He flapped into the air and then beat his wings powerfully to gain altitude, heading back north.

“The raven thinks we are being followed,” said Burr.

None of the others seemed to think that this was news. Fern paid no note at all. She had been inspecting Prim since the latter had revealed her nature. Tiring of the attention, Prim met her eye.

“I wondered,” Fern said. “Just being a princess isn’t enough to get you invited on something like this.”

Prim was doubly offended. She hadn’t even thought of herself as a princess at the beginning; she’d taken Brindle at his word when he’d said that Quests were just a thing that Calladons did. A sort of birthright. But she was too tired and hungry to enter into a dispute with Fern just now.

“Could you kill any soul in the Land?”

“According to the legends, I killed Egdod,” Prim reminded her. “I have to be close to what I’m killing, though.”

“Could you kill El?”

“I don’t know. The opportunity has not presented itself. He might have ways of killing me sooner.”

“Spring made a creature for that purpose,” said Querc. “Or so Weaver told me, the night before she died. It is made of chaos and adamant. It is called the Chasmian, and it waits under the Broken Bridge for any who makes it that far.”

“And did Weaver have anything to say about what additional hazards we must pass through in order to be in a position to be menaced by the Chasmian?” Lyne asked.

“First, the army of Beedles that Spring ensnared and converted to her services,” said Querc. “They’ll be dug in on yonder slope.” She stood up and drew their attention to the rampart of rocky ground that rose up out of the forest south of them. This had become visible as the weather cleared. It was markedly closer now than when Prim had looked on it yesterday. It seemed much higher and steeper than her earlier view of it had led her to expect. Details could now be made out that hinted at its being inhabited. Not in the sense that structures had been built atop its surface. No, this had been burrowed into. If there was any truth to the old myths, the Beedles that Spring had brought into her service were miners. They must have been very accomplished miners now. Mile-wide fans of spoil spread away from pinhole-sized orifices in the slope. Every one of those stones had been hacked out of the bowels of the earth by one of those Dug—as the converted Beedles were called. For they had dug and dug and dug until Dug was all they were.

“And second? Third? Fourth?” Lyne prompted Querc.

“Between the Dug and the Chasmian—which is to say, along the Shifting Path that goes across the top of the glacier—nothing except for, well, you know, Lightning Bears.”

“Good to know,” Lyne said.

“But I don’t think we are going that way,” Querc added. “Corvus said something about a cave.” She looked toward Edda. “Is that where we are going, my lady?”

“It is where we are headed,” Edda corrected her. She did not meet Querc’s gaze, or anyone’s. She was standing a little apart from the others, who were clustered round the fire in the hopes of drying out their clothes. She seemed content to gaze upon the vista opening up to the south as the weather continued to clear off. Some of the high mountains leading into the Knot were now revealing themselves. They were the grandest thing Prim had ever beheld. But Edda’s gaze was fixed low, toward a green plateau that was difficult to resolve distinctly, as clouds and rain still swirled close about it. It was a small shelf that looked to have been cut into the eastern extremity of the Dug-infested rampart that blocked their way. Indeed its shape and situation were so convenient that one could easily imagine it had been purpose-built by Dug with picks and shovels. High and remote though it was, yet it seemed to exist at the bottom of a well of golden light, the overabundance of which made the swirling veil of mist into a blurry glow that dazzled and befogged the vision.

“Is that the Eye of the Storm then?” Querc asked.

“Yes,” said Edda, “that is the Eye of the Storm.” And not until she pronounced it thus did Prim’s childhood memory produce in her mind an illustration from a storybook she’d enjoyed