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Message delivered and received, Kit took his lamp and walked back along the tunnel leading to the main passage and the gallery of animals where he had seen the Skin Map pictograms. He followed the twisting, turning corridor of stone and came to a divide and paused. He had not remembered that junction, but then coming from the other side he would not have seen it; he took the larger path and continued on. After a few steps, his decision was rewarded by the sound of water dripping into a pool-a solid, almost metallic clink echoing along the stone corridor from somewhere just ahead.

Kit resumed his slow progress along the passage. The plinking sound, however, seemed to move with him, remaining just a little ahead of him. Sometimes it seemed to be closer, and other times farther away, but curiously, the sound seemed to remain just a little way ahead. Against all reason, he picked up his pace-as if he might overtake the sound somehow. He felt a breath of air on his face-the merest touch of flowing air, nothing more than a sigh against his cheek. But it halted him once more. The tiny breeze ceased. Must have imagined it, thought Kit, moving on. He had taken four or five steps when he felt it again-a feathery light touch of warm on his skin.

He pushed on. The single-flame lamp gave off little light, but drawing closer to the metallic clinking sound Kit imagined he saw a movement in the darkness just out of reach of his puny lamp-a low, sinuous motion close to the floor. It was there-just a flicker of shadow in the deeper gloom-then it was gone again. Yet the metallic clinking sound continued, a little louder than it was before.

Now air flowed over and around him-fresh and clean, not the stale, still stuff that filled the cave. At this, Kit felt the first flutter of worry: had he taken a wrong turn somewhere? Kit stood for a moment, frozen by indecision. Should he go back and try to find where he had gone wrong, or continue on? He felt the air on his face and decided to go forward. If nothing else, he reasoned, following the fresh air would eventually lead him out of the cave. He lurched ahead. He heard the plinking sound again and sensed a rush of movement just ahead of him. He glanced up to see a dark shape moving against the deeper darkness. In the same instant, his foot snagged something loose on the floor. He felt a jerk, lost his balance, and went down. The clamshell fell from his hand and clattered against the stone floor. The skull lamp’s fragile flame snuffed out.

Absolute darkness-intense, complete, and impenetrable-descended on Kit. It felt as if the weight of the earth had collapsed upon him. The darkness was so oppressive that for a moment he felt as if he might suffocate.

Relax, he told himself. Take a breath. Your light’s gone out, that’s all. It is only darkness-you won’t smother.

With these and other thoughts he comforted himself as he lay on his side trying to decide if he was injured or merely unnerved. Other than utter blindness, he seemed to be intact. His best, if not his only, option was simply to keep following the fresh air until he came out of the cave and then wait at the entrance for Dardok and the others, who would eventually emerge to discover him. Rolling over onto all fours, he climbed unsteadily to his feet and heard the clinking sound echoing off the rocks some distance away. Turning his head towards the sound, he glimpsed a faint glow of pale light ahead-a ghostly gleam so weak it might have been imagined. Kit closed his eyes and counted to ten, then opened them again. The light remained. He looked away. Looked back. The pale cast of radiance persisted- along with that maddening rattling clink.

Kit pushed himself along with one hand on the wall beside him, stumbling towards the distant glint of light. After a few dozen steps the light seemed to grow brighter, showing grey-white from an unknown distance ahead. The sound was moving that way too, it seemed. Then again, perhaps the source of the plink-clink emanated from there. Given the reverberating nature of the cave, there was no way to tell. He shuffled forward, holding the glow in the centre of his vision. The shimmering radiance grew accordingly larger and brighter until Kit realised he was looking at sunlight reflected off the stone sidewall of the passage ahead.

A few more steps carried him to the place where the tunnel twisted sharply to the right. Kit rounded the corner, and the light grew brighter. He worked his way along the uneven floor, scrambling over rocks and loose rubble. Up ahead, the passage turned again. The plink-clink sound stopped.

As he rounded the corner, he saw the cave mouth. Brilliant white streamed in through the irregular opening. To Kit’s light-deprived eyes it was like looking into a blazing furnace or a miniature sun. He squeezed his eyes shut; then, putting his hands over his face, he allowed the light in a little at a time until his pupils had time to adjust. He looked again. The opening was still there, still ablaze with radiance, and sitting in that warm sunlight was the unmistakeable, larger-than-life form of another cave lion; looking more than anything like a grossly oversized housecat, it sat on its haunches, licking a forepaw the size of a soup bowl.

Kit was already in midstep and could not stop himself in time. His foot came down on a loose bit of rock, which tipped and skidded under his weight. The resulting clatter startled the beast, and it turned its head towards him. Seen entirely in silhouette, the animal appeared smaller than the one the hunters had killed earlier in the day-a young one, perhaps-but still big enough to fatally maul Kit with a single swipe of its rapier claws. Kit could not see the creature’s eyes, but it was looking right at him. He held himself perfectly still in the hope of being downwind, of being invisible in the darkness. The cave cat simply watched him for a moment, then rose.

Slowly, slowly, Kit bent down and felt on the floor for a rock. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his neck. His sweaty hand closed on a ragged stone, and he gripped it tightly. At least he would not go down without a fight.

He straightened again.

The cave lion took a step towards him, and Kit drew a breath and shouted. He ran forward, screaming like a crazy man. The big cat halted, turned tail, and fled. As it leapt from the cave opening, Kit glimpsed something in its flash of movement that almost made his heart stop: the cave cat was wearing an iron chain. As the beast bounded away, the chain swung out. Standing in the cave mouth, Kit saw the trailing links clearly in the light. The end of the chain struck the rocks- clink-plink, clink-plink.

Time telescoped. How long had he been with River City Clan? How long since he had seen a fully evolved human being, conversed in a modern language, worn real clothes? His mind reeled as he tried to place himself in an altered perspective, for Kit knew this cat; he knew it from another time and another place, another reality. This cave cat was the property of the thugs known as the Burley Men. This cat had a name: Baby. And the last time he had seen Baby, that chain had been in the hands of a Burley Man named Mal.

Stunned, Kit hurried to the cave entrance and looked out. The gorge was gone, the snow vanished, and winter with it. Instead, he gazed out on a scrubby green hillside. The slope fell away steeply, and at the bottom far below, he saw the cave cat streaking for the wide silver arc of a river and, just beyond the river, a two-lane blacktop highway.

CHAPTER 13

In Which an Assault Is Launched

Sunrise was Cassandra’s favourite time of day in Sedona. The air was fresh and cool from the previous night and the sky pale pink, the rising sun still hidden from view behind the rim of towering red rock stacks that formed the horizon in every direction. Cassandra put the key into the ignition of one of the small white utility vans, started the engine, and eased out of the parking lot of the King’s Arms motel. There were few cars on the road, and she made the familiar drive out to the dig site in good time. She pulled into the site staging area and parked behind the mound of rubble bags so the van would be less visible from the highway.