Instead of replying, Artem handed the archeologist the chest without uttering a word; he just pointed to the ornament on the lid.
“All right, so what does this have to do with the map?”
“It’s right here! You can see for yourself!”
“You mean this ornament?”
“Yes, this ornament, and none other! This ornament is the map Pronis mentions in his message. It’s like a maze, you know. Just have a closer look; it’s terribly simple!” Three heads leaned over the lid of the chest. Six eyes began examining the intricate pattern of lines on it, exchanging occasional agitated remarks. Dmitro Borisovich was distrustfully tracing the groove of the main line with his finger. Lida went into raptures, uttering words of praise; Ivan Semenovich nodded his head in contentment.
As for Artem, he had completely lost control. He rushed up to Diana, grabbed the head of the astounded dog, turned it this way and that, pushed her over, and rolled her over onto her back. Diana did not offer any resistance as she was quite accustomed to such expressions of feelings in the effusive young man. And in spite of the fact that today’s expressions were especially violent, Diana only gently pressed her teeth into the man’s hand.
Artem pushed and pulled, patting the dog’s back and sides. His happy voice rang out triumphantly in the room: “We’ve got the map! We’ve got the map! We’ve got it!”
.
Ivan Semenovich stopped before the entrance to the cave and turned to his companions. He looked everyone over thoroughly and meticulously checked their gear. As was always the case before, this time, too, Ivan Semenovich took upon himself the leadership in the expedition in spite of the fact that now it was of an archeological nature rather than a geological one. When Ivan Semenovich had drawn Dmitro Borisovich’s attention to this circumstance before leaving home, and suggested that the latter assume leadership of the group, the archeologist dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand:
“Of course I won’t, my dear friend. Going through a cave is not an archeological venture; it belongs rather to a realm of which you, as a geologist, have much better knowledge. If we’re lucky enough to come across some ancient artifacts which would concern archeology, then, yes, I’m at your service, and will gladly take up the leadership. But now… no, and once again no. Don’t talk about it any more. You lead us! You give the commands!”
This time they did not overburden themselves, since they planned an expedition of only a short duration. What they had set out to do was to investigate some of the passages and corridors in the cave. If the predictions and expectations came true, then they could always come back to the cave, bringing along diggers and all the necessary tools and equipment for carrying out steady, purposeful work.
“Is everybody in good shape? All right, all right, you don’t have to prove it, I can see that you are. Do you have the dynamite charges, Artem? Good. What about the map? Do you have that with you, too, Artem? You haven’t left it behind, have you?”
The young man grinned broadly: Ivan Semenovich must be joking!
“Good. Has everyone got something for lunch? Lamps? Pickaxes? Everything’s in order? All right then, let’s go. Dmitro Borisovich, please lead us since you already know some part of the way through the cave.”
The day, bright, sunny and warm, was left behind. Eternal night, damp and portentous, reigned supreme inside the cave. Lida realized that she was even slightly nervous. She felt quite different now than the time she and Dmitro Borisovich had explored the cave. She wondered why she was so apprehensive — what was the cause of her nervous tension. It was just a reconnoitering trip like the previous ones in which she had taken part. Had she been so affected by the fact that they were now following the route indicated in the ancient parchment that existed no more?… But did it make much difference what kind of a map they used — the ancient one or copy they had made?
Artem was — or seemed to be — more relaxed. He was constantly checking the route they were following against the one on the map copied from lid of the chest. Every so often he would look up at Dmitro Borisovich, Lida, and Ivan Semenovich. The geologist was reserved as always; he did not seem at all affected by their present unusual circumstances. There was probably nothing special in it for him since he seemed unaffected by the romance of archeology; rather he regarded everything in terms of geological prospecting.
Dmitro Borisovich, on the contrary, was quite understandably excited. For the first time since their arrival at the Sharp Mount, the entire group had set out on an almost purely geological venture which, in his opinion, was promising. Promising, yes, but what results would it yield? Hadn’t Dmitro Borisovich been bitterly disappointed many times before when seemingly promising beginnings had fallen through without justifying the hopes of the archeologists?… Could it happen this time as well?.. It shouldn’t, actually. The main thing was not to miss a single detail, not a single feature: everything here could be of importance, provided, of course, Pronis’s map and text were genuine.
That’s why Dmitro Borisovich was constantly on the alert, afraid of missing any other instructions Pronis could have left on the wall in addition to the ones indicated in the text. The archeologist was lighting the way with his miner’s lamp very carefully, and the patch of light thrown by it moved in front of him in an erratic pattern, revealing jagged protruding rocks, unexpected turns or steep rises.
The light from the lamp of Artem who was walking in the rear of the party, produced even more phantasmagoric effects. It gave the figures in front of him giant shadows which moved along the walls, jumped one over the other, curved up to the ceiling, and broke into phantasmagoric shapes which assumed the weirdest of configurations.
For some time they walked in silence. The archeologist was the first to break it:
“The head of a Scythian!” he called out solemnly, pointing to the representation of the head carved into the rock, with sharp severe features of the face in profile. Despite its rough, crude lines, the carving’s expressiveness revealed the dexterous hand of an ancient artist. The face, with its short nose and small beard, must have captured the distinct features of a warrior from the very remote past.
It was the very head Artem had seen yesterday, but now they had to turn in a different direction since the route Artem had taken the previous day was only a dead end. Artem looked at the map to see if it were accurate on that point, and in fact, the passage indicated that the way to the walled section was a dead end — the first proof that the map showed the actual layout of the passages.
Dmitro Borisovich walked on without hesitation and without consulting the map. He knew the way. They turned left, then began descending. The floor of the passage turned to soft ground quite different from the rocks they had been treading on just a short while ago. But the walls remained as rocky as before.
“That’s the sediment from the water that once flowed through here,” Ivan Semenovich commented in a low voice, writing something down in his notebook. “It must have been a sort of subterranean river. Hm, a curious point: it flowed not lo llie surface but the other way round, into the depths of the mount…”
“Hold it!” Dmitro Borisovich called out. He stopped at the new fork. “Artem, which way should we turn according to the map?”
“To the right,” Artem said with conviction.
“And what’s this?” Ivan Semenovich said, lifting his lamp high into the air.
Immediately above them, the representation of a horse was carved into the rock. It was a surprisingly good image: the steed seemed poised to jump, its hind legs slightly bent.
“Aha, the horse!” Dmitro Borisovich said triumphantly. “The first horse of those mentioned in the text. There should be two more somewhere on our way. Forward, forward!”
They saw the second horse at the next fork; Artem, after consulting the map, announced that they should take the right fork. Then he continued with an irrefutable conclusion at which he had just arrived:
“The horses mean we should take the right fork, and the heads mean we should go left. Besides, the arrows under the carvings point in the proper direction.”
At first, as was her habit, Lida expressed her doubts as to the validity of Artem’s hasty conclusion, but soon enough, she saw for herself that again, Artem’s hypothesis was correct; at the next fork, the carving of a human head appeared on the wall, and sure enough, they had to turn left. Artem beamed with satisfaction. They had been right in entrusting him with the map!
Dmitro Borisovich had not yet found much to rejoice in. They were already several hundred meters from the entrance, but he had not yet come across anything directly related to archeology, with the exception of the carvings, of course. But they, valuable enough in themselves, were not a phenomenon previously unknown to science; similar representations were rather well studied. Besides, these heads and horses had not yet taken them anywhere in particular.
The archeologist realized though, that it was much too early to jump to conclusions, but nevertheless, he couldn’t help remarking grudgingly:
“Imagine: it looks like no one has walked here since ancient times. Surely we’ll find something, won’t we?”
Ivan Semenovich was somewhat disappointed at the fact that no ore veins could be seen in the walls. In spite of this, he tried to remain cheerful. “We’ll see what lies further ahead,” he kept telling himself. “So far, we’ve been going steadily downward. We must be at least a hundred and fifty meters below the surface.” Ivan Semenovich made another note in his book.
The third and fourth horses were a short distance away, and as before the horses indicated right turns, and the head, a left one. The expedition continued deeper and deeper into the bowels of the mount. Now they were two hundred meters underground.
“Which way had the water been flowing?” said Lida, who was evidently thinking something over. “If it was downward, maybe we’ll find ourselves on the shore of an underground lake in the end. Right, Ivan Semenovich?”
The geologist did not reply straight away. He scrutinized the walls, the ceiling, and the ground of the underground passage. Artem was eagerly awaiting his reply. It would be great to discover an underground lake!
“Nothing can be said with certainty at the moment,” Ivan Semenovich replied at last. “At first, to tell the truth, I also thought that the underground river flowed downward. But now I’m not so sure.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you understand? Shame on you — a future geologist who should have observed and analyzed all the evidence concerning the rock bedding and layers. If you’re going to blush, Lida, don’t, because it was what I thought myself at first. Let’s look more closely into the matter. If the water was indeed flowing downward, where was its source? Remember, the entrance to the cave is rather high up on the slope of the mount. One could assume that the water first ran down the slope and then entered the mouth of the cave. But in that case, it couldn’t possibly have cut such a deep track in the rocks.”
“In other words you want to say that the water was flowing upward?” asked Lida in surprise.
“That’s not impossible. Let’s assume there was a large underground lake inside the mount into which water trickled down from the upper layers and got trapped there. At the point of overflowing, the water would begin finding a way out through the cracks. Don’t forget about the atmospheric pressure: that’s quite a significant factor. The water would begin eroding the cracks, making them wider and turning some of them into veritable river beds — similar to the one we’re walking on — in the course of thousands upon thousands of years. Oil or water geysers provide us with a similar phenomenon, after all.”
“Now I understand,” Lida said in a low voice.
“In the process I’ve described, at some point in time, the inflow of water could have been reduced for some reason, and the underground lake then would run dry, leaving a large empty space, polished inside with water — what we call a cave. Yes, I’m of the opinion that the water was in fact flowing upward.”
But neither Artem nor Lida had time to comment the geologist’s hypothesis. Dmitro Borisovich cried out something unintelligible, overwhelmed with surprise. The rest uttered inarticulate cries of amazement simultaneously.
The passage came to an abrupt end as though it dissolved into nothing. Like a river emptying into the sea, the underground passage emptied into a huge cave, pitch-black dark and menacing. The bright light from their miner’s lamps was not powerful enough to win from the darkness even a small part of this immense cave. The light reached only the parts of the walls closest to them, and against the overwhelming blackness, the lamps seemed to have been reduced to feeble candlelights. The thick unbroken darkness hung before them like a coarse black carpet. Everyone stood in silence, overcome by the new discovery.
“Aha,” Ivan Semenovich uttered at last, and slowly continued: “That’s really rather a big cave… I never thought there could be such things in this area… What do you say to that, Dmitro Borisovich?”
“What can I say? This is not exactly my cup of tea, Ivan Semenovich. This cave comes as a great surprise, but remains a fact. And there’s something over there that baffles me… Look over there at those shadows — they’re columns but a bit too thick for columns as far as I’m concerned. Artem, let’s go and have a better look.”
Artem could make out the outline of the first column about ten meters away. It rose high into the air and disappeared into the impenetrable darkness above. The column seemed to get thinner the higher it went. But in the tricky light and enveloping darkness, it was impossible to tell for sure. There were dozens of columns around, so Dmitro Borisovich and Artem examined the bases of several ones in the light of their lamps, and Artem tried unsuccessfully to climb one of them.
As Ivan Semenovich and Lida joined the two men, the combined glare of the lamps increased the illuminating power, but not enough. Dmitro Borisovich suddenly called out, pointing upwards:
“Look up there! There’s something over there, too!”
The columns were situated a short distance from one another. They shone in the light of the lamps, their surface uneven but glossy. And high above them, apparently on the ceiling of the cave, something glittered, too. But what was it?
“It’s not the continuation of this column that’s glittering up there,” Ivan Semenovich said, peering into the darkness. “It’s something to the side… Aha, my good friends! The enigma is solved. As a matter of fact, it also solves the last riddle in Pronis’s text. Now everything’s clear!”
The rest were looking at him in bewilderment. What was Ivan Semenovich driving at? The archeologist asked then:
“What ‘last riddle’ do you have in mind?”
Without answering, Ivan Semenovich pointed to the nearest column with a broad gesture of his hand:
“Do you see these layers of deposits? Aren’t they fairly typical? Lida, you surely can tell us what natural formations are made of layers of limestone.”
Lida replied immediately:
“Stalagmites! Of course! What a shame I didn’t guess earlier! It’s so obvious!”
“And in this case, what’s glittering up there?” the geologist went on, breaking into an open grin.
Now it was Artem who responded:
“It must be the stalactites, nothing else. It’s amazing we didn’t guess right off.”
“Nothing so surprising in it, my dear friend. No one expected to see stalactites and stalagmites inside the mount. It doesn’t look like a geological formation that might have them. And secondly, this darkness could mislead anyone. So, there’s no reason whatsoever to be ashamed. And now — who can tell me what ‘last riddle’ of Pronis I had in mind?”
Nobody ventured an answer.
“My good friends, it is so easy to guess. Don’t you remember what the text says? ‘Beyond the torches pointing upwards and torches pointing downwards he will find…’ Here you have torches pointing upwards,” and he pointed to the stalagmites, “and torches pointing downwards, stalactites.
Isn’t this what Pronis wrote about? Ah, Dmitro Borisovich, you should have figured this one out!”
“Didn’t you speak of the obscuring effect of this darkness just a short while ago, Ivan Semenovich? Besides, these things are not at all my field of study. It is geology that deals with them, not archeology.”
“All right, all right, don’t start arguing; it won’t help you anyway. Let’s not waste time on idle talk. And this is
Artem was crouching by the lamp reading the map at the moment. There were so many turns one could take indeed, wandering among the stalagmites that choosing the right one seemed quite impossible. The situation was further aggravated by the darkness! But Pronis’s map once again proved very reliable: the way through the stalagmite cave was indicated as perpendicular to the wall where the passage that had led them to it opened. The map also showed clearly that after a turn to the right at some point ahead of them, they should arrive at the end of the cave.
“Let’s get moving then,” Ivan Semenovich ordered after consulting the map. “It seems we’re on the right track. Time’s pressing!”
It was an exciting trip. The chimeric shapes rose high on all sides. They seemed to be growing from the ground, rising higher and higher, tapering and dissolving in the darkness. At some stretches, the ceiling of the cave seemed lower, or perhaps the ground rose; but which of the two things was extremely difficult to say. Anyway, at such places the light of the lamps reached the stalactites as well. These long glossy, uneven cones of fantastic variety were hanging from the ceiling with their tips almost meeting those of the stalagmites.
Artem was drinking in this phantasmagorical display put together by nature, so generous in its ingenious creations. Elongated snow-white cones gave way to glittering greenish formations like icicles that seemed liberally studded with shining precious stones; they in turn were replaced by large and thin sheets of limestone that seemed to be fluttering in a strong wind. These limestone sheets were so thin it made one wonder how they had come into being — one gentle touch seemed enough to shatter them into bits.