At the bottom of the spiral stair, the iron treads ended suddenly above a vast underground lake of stale, foul-smelling rust water.
Lin Tao stepped down from the final rung, his iron-toed boots sinking ankle-deep into a thick, jelly-like bed of orange-red ferric settled mud. The water was lukewarm, streaming a sickly, stone heat that sent tendrils of rotten-egg vapor curling around his knees.
Above them, the ceiling of the Primordial Sump arched upward into the darkness like the nave of a drowned cathedral. Massive stone columns of carved dark rock, eight paces thick, rose from the stale pool to support the crushing weight of the Central Peak. Every column was crusted with weeping stalactites of iron salt and lime, dripping into the water with a ceaseless, maddening rhythm:
Plip. Plop. Plip.
Lin Tao held the animal fat lantern aloft, adjusting the brass wick screw until the flame burned with a steady, smokeless yellow cone. everyone could feel the smell of wet limestone and damp gravel. But underneath the stone stench stayed a faint, crystal-clear sweetness. The pure spiritual vapor of the uncorrupted deep springs. The yellow flame reflected across the dark, oily surface of the water. It showed a creepy sight scattered across the shoreline.
