The chamber beyond the limestone fissure smelled of hot iron, wet moss, and scorched sugar.
Ysabet stood up slowly on the basalt shelf, brushing chalk from her knees with her left hand while she unfastened her coat to return the mouse box to Pip’s care. Below the shelf, the floor of the cavern was split by three slow-moving channels of molten mineral. The sluggish orange currents were crusted with grey slag along their banks, throwing a steady, oven-like heat up toward the vaulted roof without a wisp of woodsmoke.
Spanning the channels were pale, braided bridges that looked at first glance like frosted rope. When Chaska held up her small navigation mirror to catch the orange glow, Ysabet saw what was building them.
Hundreds of translucent worms, each as thick as a man’s thumb and long as a forearm, hung from cooling stone ribs above the channels. As the draft swung them from bank to bank, they paid out glossy white threads of liquid silicate from spinnerets under their chins. The threads hardened in the cooler air six feet above the magma, braiding over older strands until they formed arched footbridges three feet wide with raised, cable-thick rims.
Down on the lower gravel wash, Lilt emerged from the culvert mouth, her wings rustling softly as she shook muddy water from her tail-fold. Tern, Siv, and Moth trotted up the stone ramp behind her. Even with his sore jaw, Siv paused at the edge of the nearest silicate bridge, sniffing a…
