The Descent

His  own  watch  had  been  ruined  in  the  destruction  of  the  fortress,  so  he  took  this one.  It  was  January  14  at  0240  hours,  not  that  time  had  relevance  anymore.  The altimeter  read  7,950  fathoms.  They  were  over  nine  miles  below  sea  level,  deeper  by miles  than  any  recorded  human  descent.  That  in  itself  was  significant.  For  the  depth itself held promise of a hadal ark, or stronghold.

Much the way  Ali and  her  handlers  –  that  Jesuit  and  his  bunch  –  had  hypothesized a centralized hadal  warlord  through  sheer  deduction,  Ike  had  been  piecing  together  a primary  refuge  to  closet  all  the  vanished  hordes.  They  had  to  have  gone  somewhere. It  wasn't  likely  they  had  scattered  to  multiple  hiding  places,  or  armies  and  colonists would  have  been  straying  across  them.  He  had  seen  a  rendezvous  of  several  clans once, a  matter  of  a  few  dozen  hadals  squatting  in  a  chamber.  The  meeting  had  lasted many days  while they  told stories to one another and exchanged gifts. It  was  a  cyclical event,   Ike   had  figured   out,  part   of   a   nomadic   seasonal   round   dictated   by   the availability of food or water  along an established route.

He'd  learned  in  the  Himalayas  that  there  were  circles  within  circles.  The  circle,  or kor, around  the  central  temple  in  Lhasa,  for  instance,  lay  within  the  kor  around  the whole  city,  which  lay  within  the  kor  around  the  whole  country.  He  was  more  than ever  convinced  that  hadals  adhered  to  some  ancient  kor  down  here,  a  circle  that

revisited  some traditional asylum or ark.

The  fortress  had strengthened  his  theory  with  its  antiquity  and  its  obvious  purpose as a way  station  along  a  trade  route.  Above  all,  the  assault  on  the  fortress  had  sealed his  hunch.  Against  such  a  small  group  of  human  marauders,  the  hadals  had  mounted an attack  in unusually abundant numbers. More important, they  had attacked  with  an extraordinary  variety  of  clans.  Haddie  was  massing  down  here  in  a  place  they  meant to keep  secure, a place as old as their racial memory.

And so, rather  than return  to the sea and try  to track  Ali's captors at  a  disadvantage of  weeks,  Ike  chose  to  keep  descending.  If  he  was  right,  they  would  all  be  meeting sooner  rather  than  later,  and  now  he  wouldn't  be  showing  up  empty-handed.  In  the meantime,  whether  it  was  days  or  months  or  years,  Ali  would  need  to  use  her  wits and  inner  strength  to  survive  without  him.  He  could  not  spare  her  from  what  he  had suffered  at  the  beginning  of  his  captivity,  and  he  could  not  afford  despair,  so  he  tried to make his memory  blank. He tried to forget Ali altogether.

One  morning,  Ike  woke  dreaming  of  Ali.  It  was  the  girl,  though,  her  arms  bound, straddling  him,  kneading  him  through  his  pants.  She  was  offering  herself   for  his pleasure,  her  body  ripe,  chest  high.  Her  loins  moved  sinuously  in  a  figure-eight,  and Ike  was tempted,  but only for a moment.

'You're  a  good  one,'  he  whispered  with  genuine  admiration.  The  girl  used  every advantage,  every  means.  And  she  utterly  despised  him.  That  had  been  young  Troy's downfall, his inability to see past his infatuation. The  boy  had  succumbed  to  this  same seduction, Ike  was sure, and that had meant his end.

Ike  lifted the girl to one side. It  was not her blatant manipulation or her menace that gave  him pause, or his dream of Ali. Rather,  the  girl  was  familiar  to  him  somehow.  He had  met  her  before,  and  it  unsettled  him,  because  it  must  have  been  during  his captivity  and  she  would  have  been  a  young  child.  But  he  couldn't  remember  such  a child.

Day  by  day,  they  plunged  deeper.  Ike  remembered  the  geologists'  belief  that  a million years  ago a bubble of sulfuric acid had blossomed from the mantle and  ravaged these  cavities  into  the  upper  lithosphere.  As  they  wended  into  the  vast,  uneven  pit, Ike  wondered if this might  not  have  been  the  very  avenue  that  acid  bloom  had  cut  in rising up from the deeps. It  appealed to the mountaineer in him,  the  physical  mystery of it. How deep could this pit be? Where did the abyss  become unbearable?

The  girl finished the arm bone. Ike  located a nest of snakes, and that gave  them food for  another  week.  A  stream  of  water  joined  their  trail  one  day,  and  thereafter  they had  fresh  water.  It  tasted  like  the  abyssal  sea,  which  suggested  the  sea  leaked  into this pit as it was fed by  higher rivers.