Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.’
Spike could barely contain his impatience. They were packed, they were ready; he wanted to hit the trail now. Now. Buffy’s signal was coming through loud and clear. He wanted to be with her so badly, make sure that she and the baby were safe. It was time to go.
Breakfast had been little more than a gulp and a quick bite, black coffee and a couple of granola bars, consumed in fits and starts, crammed in around the garbled recapping of his nocturnal expedition. If Faith had been surprised by the tale of his out of body excursion, she didn’t show it. Instead, a determined gleam had lit up her eyes, and she’d shovelled equipment into bags in an even greater hurry.
Finally they set off, Spike leading the way down along the rope marked trail. Confidence and a renewed sense of purpose lengthened his stride and strengthened his bounds, and Faith was there with him every step of the way. The pits, tunnels and narrow meanders sped by under Spike’s calm direction, but the journey still seemed frustratingly slow after the turbo pace of the night’s astral trip. Even so, only three hours had passed by the time they reached the goon’s camp. After a quick break they were off again.
The going immediately became more difficult; as a lot of wriggling and squeezing and cursing accompanied their transit through the narrow, twisty meanders that forked off the main shaft. At times the tunnels would open up somewhat, enough for them to be able to crawl or even stand, making progress along the windy crevices at little more than a shuffle. At least he was able to confidently ignore the various tunnels and nasty little side passages that branched off the central path and lead Faith in the right direction.
It was slow, tedious, exhausting work though, travelling hundreds of metres along the twisty tunnels as they zigzagged back and forth through the base of the Arabika Massif, more than a mile below the surface of the earth. Their downward progress was less impressive, with barely another 200 metres of depth gained since the enemy camp. Still, Spike knew they were gaining on the trio, the scent of their passing increasingly fresh as the day passed.
It was late afternoon before they finally reached the long awaited fork. A careful check confirmed what he’d anticipated; the thugs had taken the marked trail, obviously following the ropes left behind by the Ukrainians. Hope flooded Spike’s chest as he led Faith on, down the narrow, windy unmarked tunnel that he’d traversed the night before. He knew the girl must be exhausted, her muscles tight and burning from the hours of crawling and crouching. But they’d reached the critical point, come to the one place that they could slip past their adversaries and reach the meeting point first. And on top of that, being so close to Buffy that he could almost taste her, Spike was adamant that they had to push on.
But finding themselves in another narrow crawl space was almost enough to tip the pair of them over the edge. As Spike dragged himself down the corrugated surface of the tunnel, he could sense what a struggle it was for Faith, utter fatigue limiting her descent to mere yards at a time before collapsing in a gasping heap. He knew she wanted to stop, needed to, but they were too close to the main path for it to be safe, and besides, they needed to find somewhere more comfortable to set up camp for the night.
Slowly, agonisingly, they descended another 600 feet of tunnel. Most of the last 300 feet was reasonably perpendicular, allowing for a vertical descent, with some sections even requiring ropes. Spike lowered a harnessed Faith down where he could, before scrambling sloppily after her.
Finally they reached a long, low, flat section of rock, the intersection of three tunnels. Faith collapsed on the first slab of reasonably smooth ground and immediately fell into a light sleep. Spike dragged her pack off and tossed her sleeping bag over her before heating up a cheese and salami pasta dish and making two large mugs of sweet, milky tea. Waking Faith was no easy task, but fluid and calories were as vital as sleep in order to repair aching muscles and replenish her energy stores. Groggily she ate and drank whatever Spike placed in her hands, then without a word, crawled into her bag and dropped into a deep sleep.
Spike was no less worn out than Faith, but the siren call of his girl drew him further down the tunnel, the need to know how far off they were outweighing his exhaustion. He left his pack behind, and after fixing a bolt into a surface crack and fastening one of their ropes to it, he threw himself down into the pitch-black shaft. The way was still narrow, but fairly smooth and on enough of a steep angle to be able to abseil rapidly down. There was still a short section that he had to crawl through, but it wasn’t nearly as convoluted as the sections they’d already navigated that day.
About 300 feet below their camp, Spike came to the submerged tunnel. Buffy’s proximity gnawed at him, the need to be with her, to hold her in his arms an agonising ache in his soul. But he knew that going on would be foolhardy. There was at least 250 feet of water to negotiate, the dammed outlet to unblock, the vast pit to descend and then the length of the cavern to traverse before he made it to his girl’s side, and no doubt they’d have to throw a pitched battle in there somewhere for good measure. He was exhausted, and neither prepared nor equipped for either the journey or the likely fight. Still, turning back so close to his goal was a bitter pill to swallow.
Wearily he turned and made his way back up the tunnel. The trip back took twice as long, the sorrow, frustration and sense of failure a heavy weight on his shoulders. Only a strange discovery near the end of the trek lifted Spike’s spirits any. It was at the base of the final slope up to the camp that he came upon it; a long roll of ancient cracked leather. It was jammed into a narrow crevice between two rocks, its dusty, lined surface a visual match with the slabs of stone either side of it. Even with his headlamp on, Spike would have bypassed it had he not, by chance, placed his hand upon its face to steady himself, the leather giving beneath his fingers in a way that rock never would. That, and the little jolt, almost like a buzz of electricity, that its touch sent along his arm.
Intrigued, despite himself, he examined the anomaly. It was about two feet long and five inches wide and fit snuggly into the long vertical crack. Taking hold of either end, Spike gently tugged, jiggling the cylindrical item back and forth to work it free. Slowly, he managed to gain some leeway, and with a concerted wrench, the object lurched forward, delivered from its ageless prison at last.
It was much bigger than Spike had at first assumed, having not only length and width, but also depth. Of a rectangular shape, and with two long straps keeping a front flap in place, he could see that it was a large holdall, fashioned somewhat like a modern messenger bag. The leather was old and dry, cracked in places and thin and threadbare in others. However the bag seemed not only intact, but also still fit for the purpose it was crafted. Judging by its weight and shape, it was far from empty, and whatever had been deposited within its leather sides was still in residence. Whether the contents were in any sort of condition to be serviceable or even recognisable was another matter, but Spike decided the grand opening would have to wait until he’d made it back to camp.
Needing both hands for the final climb, he unzipped his oversuit and shoved it down against his wetsuit. Once he’d re-zipped the jumpsuit and wound a short length of strapping around himself, the bag was secure. Climbing was pretty awkward, what with the bag lying almost groin to neck. Nevertheless, he scrambled up the steep slope with a renewed burst of energy.
Faith was dead to the world when he finally made camp. Spike sat down on his sleeping bag and quietly lay the leather container down on the ground before him. The first task was to get the bag open. Two worn leather thongs wrapped around the bag, holding the front flap closed and he plucked impatiently at the knots, eager to unearth the long buried treasure. Over time the leather had dried out and the knots had slackened, and with a bit of effort he was able to untangle the ties and unroll the bag.
The flap had been folded around the entire bag before being fastened in place. Carefully, Spike unfurled the soft leather and spread the bag out on the ground in front of him. He pulled the pouch open gingerly and peered inside. The light of his headlamp lit up the interior, and glinted back at him as it bounced off various metal objects. He felt a tug, a draw, as something in the bag called out to something in him. Reaching in with his left hand, Spike seized the first object he touched and drew it out.
It was a weapon, a short sword. He unsheathed it, and looked down in astonishment and delight at the short, straight, double-edged iron blade he held. A frisson of instant recognition shot through him. He knew this weapon and it knew him. He turned his hand over and unfolded his fingers, revealing the ornate, gold decorated hilt, the very same whose likeness was inked on his arm. Reflexively his fingers grasped the handle once more and a flood of heat and power flared up inside of him.
Emotions drifted close to the surface; wild aggression, fierce pride, boundless courage, quiet humility and profound gratitude. Shot through them all, like a rich vein of gold, was a joyous sense of inevitability, of synchronicity; as if right here, right now, the stars and the planets had aligned at last, and the bloody fates had finally got their arses into gear and granted him this weapon, his very own.
The blade itself had been searching for him, waiting through the dark, endless eons for its master to seek it out. Spike could feel its joy now, triumphant and pure, as he held it in his grip. ‘Mine’, his soul whispered, and the blade sang back, a melody of such sweet simplicity that it brought tears to his eyes. Suddenly, the words of advice that Atar had pressed upon him during the blessing ceremony sprung to mind. “Be ever watchful William, for your weapon will be forthcoming.” And indeed it had been.
Despite his earlier exhaustion, Spike felt almost too euphoric to sleep. But the thought of the long journey ahead, and the coming battle forced his head upon his pillow. After packing the bag away, curiosity about the remaining contents shelved for the meantime, he slid into his sleeping bag, and quickly drifted off to sleep, blade still in hand. The comforting hum of his connection with Buffy, and the warm caress of his blade in hand settled him more quickly than any sleeping aid could ever manage. He felt a sense of anticipation, of righteousness, wash over him and lull him to sleep.
It seemed that no sooner had his eyes closed, than they were open again. Spike shook himself wearily and looked around. He was back in the cavern, the self-same one that he’d found Buffy in the previous night. His heart leapt at the thought of seeing his love again, of holding her in his arms. Peering carefully at his surroundings, he noticed that he stood directly beneath the domed ceiling of the cavern, the one he and Faith would somehow have to negotiate in order to reach the cave floor.
The distance was truly daunting, far beyond anything they’d attempted on their way down, and with the breadth of the dome to also take into consideration, they’d be abseiling through open air for well over 600 feet. That not only made the descent difficult, but it also left them exposed and vulnerable for much longer than he was comfortable with. Even in the dark of the cavern, it would take astonishing luck to make it to the cave floor without being spotted. They’d have to eliminate that risk somehow.
Shelving those concerns for the meantime, Spike looked around, using his awareness of her to seek out Buffy’s presence. She’d shifted since the night before, was somewhere over in the furthest corner, hidden in the dark shadows. In his current form, he knew he could soar rapidly across the huge chamber, be at her side in a jiffy. But he also knew that he’d been granted this added visit for a reason, that he needed to carefully pace out the quickest, safest route and determine the best cover, in order to prepare for the morning’s raid.
Silently, Spike made his way towards that far off corner, sticking to the sides of the cavern, taking cover where he could. It made for a much longer journey, however caution needed to take precedence over swiftness when Buffy’s safety was at stake. But it didn’t sit well with him. Patience was hardly his strong suit.
Finally, her proximity dancing a salsa up and down his spine, Spike neared the site of Buffy’s current whereabouts. The stone formations in this corner created a circular basin, two rocky arms thrust out from the cavern walls to almost totally enclose the area. A small gap formed a doorway between the outcrops, and the guard dog had made his bed across the entrance. Although he could have undoubtedly passed through the rock, in the morning he and Faith would have to obey the laws of physics, so silently, deftly, he clambered up the rock face at the point where it met the cavern wall. The barrier was only about ten feet high, and with a multitude of cracks and crevices that acted as hand and footholds. Within minutes Spike was at the top of the wall, peering down through the darkness, lit up with both vamp vision and his astral light source.
What he saw stabbed icicles of fear into his heart. Buffy was laid out on a natural slab of rock, the shelf thrust up from the cave floor in the very centre of the circular chamber. With his golden girl motionless upon its surface, chained there by the looks, it appeared like nothing less than a stone altar. What’s more, it seemed to match, to a tee, the description she’d given them of the setting of her baby snatch nightmare. The kidnapper’s purpose became clear, they had taken his girl in order to steal their child, just as he had always feared.
Spike cursed his incorporeal state; the hands and feet that could do nothing to dispatch the fiend who dared to touch his beautiful girl, the body that could only watch on as she lay like a sacrificial lamb on this ghastly underworld dais. He howled and screamed his rage and frustration out, the power of his wrath sufficient to shake the very walls of the cavern, to strike the villain down in a flood of boulders. But even his voice lacked substance, and the eerie silence endured, an unspoken mockery of his powerlessness and futility.
Leaping down to her side, Spike’s hands hovered over Buffy’s pale, inert form. Guilt and despair ate away at him, and with a wail of defeat, he turned away and flew back across the cavern and up the long shaft towards the camp. The return journey was over in a flash, and the jolt as his ethereal self slammed back into his physically body shook him from sleep. But there was no peace on awakening, just a sense of horror and desperation. Panic driven, he scrambled out of his bag, anxiety rattling him so hard that he seized up.
Blindly, Spike thrust out his hand, the tips of his fingers alighting upon a raised metal surface. Instantly, composure and clarity flooded in, washing away the negativity that had had him in its grip. Ah, his blade! Obviously it had slipped from his grasp as his body had slumbered, but now that he had it in hand again, all was right with the world. Okay, so it wasn’t, but Spike knew it was within his power to put things to right. And he had to start by getting up and getting ready.
He leapt up and started breakfast, throwing together the equipment and weapons they’d need for Buffy’s rescue while the water began to heat. Bags packed, coffees made, food to hand. Now for the difficult part.
“Faith, wake up!” The dark haired slayer came to groggily, lines of discomfort and weariness etching their story on her face. In a reverse of the previous morning’s routine, Spike waited for her to sit up stiffly, ignoring her protests as he thrust a hot coffee and an oat bar in her hands.
“Hell, what’s the rush Billy? And did you get any sleep?” she grumbled as she sipped on her coffee.
“Yeah, I slept. Eventually. But not for long I’ll grant, and precious little rest came of what I did get.”
Faith eyed him sympathetically. “Had another little sleep trekking episode did you?” she asked softly. At his terse nod she roused herself and began rolling up her bag.
“Leave that,” he said, “Only gonna take the essentials. We’re not far from the cavern now, and I don’t plan on staying longer than it’ll take to sneak in, kick some ugly henchman butt, rescue a precious damsel and get out. Oh, might wanna check out the leather bag though. Courtesy of a little reccy run I made last night. It’s half full of various ancient weapons and artefacts. Mainly Rupert’s kettle of fish I’d wager, but there might be something that takes your fancy in there.” He paused and stroked the sheathed blade strapped to his left thigh. “I’ve got mine.”
“Okay, sounds like another crazy adventure I’ve missed out on as I whiled away my hours on sleep,” Faith said, shaking her head at the impetuous vampire. But curiosity got the better of her and she flipped back the flap and peered into the open bag. It was half full of … stuff, the dim light mainly veiling the identity of its contents beyond the odd gleam of metal or flash of gemstone. Most of the objects were dark, fashioned out of leather or wood, or partially concealed behind those that lay closer to the top of the pile. But something caught her eye almost immediately.
Made from a light hued metal, maybe silver, and with rubies set into its handle, Faith reached into the bag to grab it. Her fingers traced over the cool metal, and a warm wave, as of recognition, washed over her. As she closed her fingers around the hilt and drew the weapon out, a feeling of euphoria lit up her synapses.
“Holy shit,” she gasped, her eyes wide with awe and confusion as she gazed down at the sheathed dagger. It was about six inches long, and both the handle and the sheath were ornately engraved and inset with deep ruby red gemstones. “What the hell is going on here?”
Spike chuckled. “Yeah, its pretty freaky shit ain’t it?” He paused, suddenly unsure if it was excitement he could hear in the slayer’s voice or alarm. “Good though, right?” he asked hesitantly.
“Fuck yeah,” Faith grinned. “I don’t know what this is, but whatever it is, I’ll take a double. To go!” She turned the dagger over, frowning as she investigated the wide silver band welded to the back of the sheath. Engraved with the same arrangement of patterns that embellished the front of the dagger, and set with a curving arch of tiny rubies, the band looked much like an arm cuff. Had her arms not been smothered in layers of fleece, neoprene and cordura, it would have looked wicked adorning her toned biceps. What with all the bulky fabric though, she doubted it would even fit around her wrist.
But as she fingered the cuff thoughtfully, the metal seemed to warm and soften, unfurling and becoming quite pliable in her hands. Curiously, Faith placed the dagger against her left biceps. Instantly the wings of the cuff wrapped themselves around her arm, clinching her biceps firmly, but without pinching or squeezing unduly. In fact the cuff felt light and comfortable, as if perfectly moulded to her bulky arm. She wondered how much better it would work, and how much sexier looking the effect, if her arm were bare. Nevertheless, the result was perfectly functional. The handle lay just above her left elbow, and with a quick right handed grasp and yank, she could smoothly draw the dagger out of its casing.
Eagerly Faith tried the blade out. She stood, loose and at ease. Then suddenly, with a burst of deadly intensity, she twirled around, sweeping into a vicious spin kick before whipping her dagger out and slicing it through the air in a nasty, diagonal slash cut. The move was executed perfectly, with enough leeway between her fully extended leg and the cave walls that the manoeuvre should have been completed contact free. But instead, sparks flew as the dull clang of metal on rock rang out around the small space.
Startled, Faith froze. She stared down at the dagger. Its razor sharp edges, its gleaming, unblemished metal grinned back at her cockily, as if to say ’Can I help you?’ Bemusedly she took the two long strides needed to reach the rock wall, her left hand reaching out, her fingers tracing the shallow incision that diagonally scored the stone across its face. Faith swept her palm across the surface, dislodging the tiny slithers of freshly cut rock that clung to edges of the cut, brushing them carelessly to the ground like leftover breadcrumbs.
Dumbfounded, she stood there, her eyes darting back and forth between the slash mark and the dagger she was holding. She just couldn’t grasp the connection between the two, the six inch blade in her hand, and the slash that had appeared at least eight feet from where she’d been standing. Suddenly a grin broke out on her face. Who the hell cared how it worked, all she knew was that this pretty little blade, this knife that was hers and hers alone, could somehow extend its range by more than ten times its actual length. Awesome!
“Okay Rogue, if you’ve finished playing, can we hit the trail now?” Spike asked good-naturedly. He’d stood by quietly as Faith had been introduced to her weapon, forged a connection with it and become acquainted with its talents. The play of emotions across her face revealed a tale too astonishing to ignore. They echoed the very same passions and sentiments that had been visited upon him during the night.
“The weapon’s yours right?” Spike said. “Know the feeling,” he added, a slight sentimental lilt to his voice. “Right,” he snapped awkwardly, “Put the toy away, get your gear on and lets go.”
Less than two minutes later they were scrambling swiftly down the first shaft. Spike paused at the bottom to show Faith where the bag had been wedged in between the rocks, the empty space now a faintly accusing, gaping maw. They moved on quickly, reluctant to dwell where the sense of hostility lay so thickly in the air.
Before long they reached the flooded tunnel. Faith stripped her pack off and sat, staring at the water lapping at their feet gloomily. Spike had described the route, but it didn’t make the reality of the drowned passageway any less daunting. “So what’s the plan of attack for this little blockade?” she asked. “I’m hoping you’re about to reveal some ancient ancestral connection to Moses.”
“Can’t help you there, and I’m not one of the Five Chinese Brothers either. But if I can get the blockage undammed, the water should drain away of its own accord, leaving you with just a regular tunnel to negotiate.”
Faith nodded, “Are you sure you don’t need me helping with the unblocking?” she asked pensively.
“No pet. There’s not really enough room for the both of us down there. Sides, need someone up here to haul up the pack full of rocks once I tug on the line. You just get the gear packed up and be ready to move once the water recedes.”
Faith sighed in relief. She would have gone with Spike if she’d had to, but water was not her favourite thing. She’d never learnt to swim during the course of her fucked up childhood, and although she could keep herself afloat, just the thought of diving into that dark, icy cold, narrow underwater passageway had her on the verge of a panic attack. Not the coolest of things for a badass slayer to admit to, but cool or not, she was pretty delighted to be staying behind for now.
Spike in the meantime was getting ready to set off. He peeled off his hiking boots and Cordura oversuit, which left him clad in only his thermal underwear, wetsuit and neoprene socks. He left his helmet on; the waterproof lamp would be vital to his journey down the dark tunnel. He clipped his harness back on, attached it to one of the last two lines they had left, and clipped the other to his empty backpack before settling it onto his back.
Finally, after strapping his blade to his left thigh, and the plastic bottle to his harness, Spike activated the oxygen sponge, donned his facemask and waded into the black water. The chill hit him immediately; even the layers of polypropylene and neoprene weren’t enough to ward off the effects of the icy water. Checking the facemask’s effectiveness, he took a deep breath and sunk down beneath the water.
Slowly, legs kicking lazily and hands crawling along the tunnel floor, Spike began to propel himself through the water. Although he’d travelled the passageway before, being corporeal altered the experience hugely. The tunnel seemed darker, more eerie, and the silent world closed in around him, cutting him off from the rest of life. He was alone down there, both literally and metaphorically. It was an unsettling feeling.
Having to physically swim the route was also considerably slower than his night time journey had been. It was also more boring. The landscape, like many of the other tunnels, was monotonously regular, the shaft walls worn smooth by the passage of time and water, almost uniform in their symmetry. The only difference between this and so many of the other descents he’d made over the last two days was that he was floating above the floor of the channel instead of crawling on his hands and knees. So that was an advantage, no question.
It seemed to take forever, the darkness and isolation stretching the minutes out endlessly. So it was surprising that his watch had marked off only thirty of them by the time he arrived at the rock choke. Immediately he dragged off his backpack and started work, picking up rocks one at a time and cramming them into the bag. He’d only cleared a small mound by the time the bag was full. Fastening it, he tugged firmly on the line and felt an instant response, Faith tugging back, and then the bag zipped away from him as the slayer began her recovery job.
Without pause, he turned back to the task at hand. The first layer of stone had been reasonably easy to move, but the next layer were more firmly embedded. Thankfully he had a medium length, narrow blade chisel clipped to his utility belt, something he’d put to good use to gouge out holes to hang their expansion bolts from. It made a pretty handy lever, and with a bit of wrenching and prising, he was able to work one of the centre stones free. The surrounding rocks came away reasonably easily after that, and Spike made a small pile to the side of the dam, ready to pile into the empty bag once Faith sent it back down to him.
By the time the backpack came looming out of the darkness, he’d cleared the entire second layer. Eagerly, Spike stuffed as many as possible into the bag and gave Faith the signal, not even pausing to watch the bag go before he started on what he thought might well be the penultimate layer. A lot of sand and grit had been stirred up during the excavation process, and he got underway as much by touch as by sight. He’d managed to prise the centre stone out, and the surrounding five or six, when through the murky water he’d spotted the dull glint of something reflecting the light from his headlamp.
Reaching down into the narrow gap, Spike could feel a small, cube shaped stone under his fingers. Its surface was uneven without being rough to the touch. It was jammed in fairly tight and wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he pushed and tugged at it. He shrugged, ready to give up and start back on the third layer, when he decided to take one last look. With the headlamp focussed directly on the gap, its light shone straight onto the rock.
It was a gemstone. Even through the cloudy water, Spike could make out the deep purple gleam of the stone’s vitreous exterior. He poked the chisel down into the gap and slid it in between the gemstone and the rock next to it. Gently he wriggled the blade, delicately jimmying the chisel to and fro until, with a little shudder, the stone popped free. Spike expected the stone to almost float into his questing fingers, but he still had to give it a considerable yank to pull it out of its home, almost as if someone or something were holding it down, and a feeling of déjà vu washed over him.
Once he had it in his hand, he planted the chisel back into the gap so that he could use both hands to tuck the stone away safely in one of the pouches on his utility belt. By this stage Faith had sent the bag back down the line, so Spike started reloading it, musing to himself about the strange, yet somehow familiar sensation that had occurred as he pulled the stone up.
Suddenly, the association came to him. It had felt just like pulling a plug out of a bath tub. Spike laughed to himself as the irony of the comparison, but his amusement didn’t last for long. Unbeknownst to the vampire, the gemstone had in fact lain at the centre of last layer of stones. Over time that layer had sat wedged into place by the combined pressure of a ring of anchoring stones, thrust out from the sides of the narrow tunnel across whose mouth it lay. These rocks in turn, encompassed several smaller rings of stone, the whole acting as voussoirs for a naturally occurring dome. Capping off its construction was the keystone, the purple coloured gemstone that Spike had just prized out of its crucial position.
The dome had acted as a dam, holding back the hundreds of tons of water that flooded the tunnels above. When he plucked the gemstone out of its cosy little home, Spike found himself staring down through the oculus he’d just created, revelling in the unexpectedly quick and efficient solution to their dilemma. He’d unblocked the dam and scored a pretty little gemstone all in one go. Initially the aperture acted much like a plughole, the water above draining slowly down through the small gap into the dry tunnel below.
But as the volume of water passing through the hole increased, it began to loosen the stones either side of the opening. Within minutes, first one stone, and then another had been washed loose enough to be swept away in the torrent. Hovering over the hole, Spike felt the abrupt increase in suction, and reacted quickly enough to snag the line and clip himself on. But not quickly enough to be able to haul himself up the line and out of the way.
Suddenly, the dam fell away as one, the layers of rock and grit swept down the tunnels by hundreds of tons of water in a roaring, tumbling flash flood. Spike was caught up in the tumultuous surge, washed down through the narrow gap in a roiling, bucking mass of rocks and whitewater. He imagined it was like going over a waterfall, being caught up in the deadly current.
Had the tunnel been wider he would have no doubt been knocked arse over tit. But even so, sliding head first down the black water chute like a bloody customer at a water park, he was dashed against the rock walls and pummelled by stones and the pounding water.
Spike had no idea how long the tunnel was, but he couldn’t imagine it was very long, and before he knew it he was shooting out the end, flying into open air before coming to a halt at the end of his line. The rope attached to his harness snapped taut, flipping him back into an upright position, before it stretched several extra feet to absorb the sudden load placed on it. Finally it came to a halt, and Spike was left there, dangling like a fish on a hook, 600 feet above the floor of the cavern, while the endless torrent of water cascaded all around him.