The Stolen Child(83)

ceiling.

"What happened?" Speck asked.

"They're trapped," Luchóg said. "Smaolach thinks he heard voices on the other side. The roof came

down all at once. We'd be under there, too, if I hadn't the need for a smoke when I woke up this

morning."

"Onions and Béka are already out. We saw them outside," I said.

"Are you there?" Speck asked the rock. "Hold on, we'll get you out."

We dug until there appeared an opening big enough for Smaolach to stick his arm through to the

elbow. Energized, we pounced, clawing away stones until Luchóg shinnied through the space and

disappeared. The three of us stopped and waited for a sound for what seemed like forever. Finally

Speck shouted into the void, "Do you see anything, mouse?"

"Dig," he called. "I can hear breathing."

Without a word, Speck left abruptly, and Smaolach and I continued to enlarge the passageway.

We could hear Luchóg on the other side, scrabbling through the tunnel like a small creature in the walls

of a house. Every few minutes, he would murmur reassurance to someone, then exhort us to keep

burrowing, and we desperately worked harder, muscles enflamed, our throats caked with dust. As

suddenly as she had disappeared, Speck returned, another torch in hand to throw more light upon our

work. Her face taut with anger, she reached up and tore at the stone. "Béka, that bastard," she said.

"They've gone. No help to anyone but himself."

After much digging, we made the hole wide enough for me to crawl through the rubble. I nearly

landed on my face, but Luchóg broke my fall. "Down here," he said softly, and we crouched together

over the supine figure. Half buried under the ruins lay Chavisory, still and cold to the touch. Covered by

ash, she looked like a ghost and her breath smelled mortally sour.

"She's alive." Luchóg spoke in a whisper. "But barely, and I think her legs are broken. I can't move

these heavy ones by myself." He looked stricken with fear and fatigue. "You'll have to help me."

Stone by stone, we unburied her. Straining under the weight of the last debris, I asked him, "Have

you seen Ragno and Zanzara? Did they get out okay?"

"Not a trace." He motioned back toward our sleeping quarters, now buried under a ton of earth.

The boys must have been sleeping in when the roof collapsed, and I prayed that they had not stirred and

went from sleep to death as easily as turning over in their bed. But we could not stop to think of them.

The possibility of another collapse urged us on. Chavisory moaned when we removed the last rock off

her left ankle, a greenstick fracture, the bones and skin raw and pulpy. Her foot flopped at a sickening

angle when we lifted her, and the blood left a viscous slick on our hands. She cried out with every step

and lost consciousness as we struggled up to the tunnel, half pulling, half pushing her through. When he

saw her leg, bone piercing the skin, Smaolach turned and threw up into the corner. As we rested there

before the final push, Speck asked, "Is anyone else alive?"

"I don't think so," I said.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then issued orders for our quick es-cape. The most difficult part

involved the exit of the mine itself, and Chavi-sory awoke and screamed as she was pinched through. At

that moment, I wished we had all been inside, asleep next to one another, all of us buried for good and

out of our own private miseries. Exhausted, we placed her down gently on the hillside. None of us knew

what to do or say or think. Inside another implosion shuddered, and the mine puffed out one last gasp

like a dying dragon.

Spent and confused by grief, we waited for nightfall. None of us thought that the collapse might

have been heard by the people in town or that it might possibly draw the humans to investigate. Luchóg

spotted the dot of light first, a small fire burning down by the treeline. With no hesitation or discussion,

the four of us picked up Chavisory, our arms linked in a gurney, and headed toward the light. Although

worried that the fire might belong to strangers, we decided it would be better, in the end, to find help.

We moved cautiously over the shale, causing more pain for poor Chavisory, yet hopeful that the fire

would give us a place to stay out of the creeping cold for the night, some-where we might tend her

wounds.

The wind creaked through the bones of the treetops and shook the up-per branches like clacking

fingers. The fire had been built by Béka. He offered no apologies or explanations, just grunted like an old

bear at our questions before shuffling off to be alone. Onions and Speck crafted a splint for Chavi-sory s