SOON the floor of the cavern was slippery beneath their feet.
“The waters came up to here,” Gunnar said. “Now, take a deep breath, Nors-King, for the air gets worse before it gets better.”
He was right. The stench of dead things came crawling upward to meet them. Soon the floor was littered with the things from Opal’s sea that had crept here to die. Huge, fanged saurians, lizards, toads, snakes. The cave was strewn with their carcasses, some half-decayed, others drying into hardened shells, others already reduced to stinking bones and sinew.
Gunnar kicked several out of the way as he made a trail for Odin to follow.
The short man did not tire. He went on and on at his steady shuffling gait which left the miles behind, while Odin’s pack and rifle grew heavier and heavier. But Gunnar did not stop. So Jack gritted his teeth and stumbled after him, while the dead things grinned at them from the dark.
At last they saw a reddish light ahead.
Gunnar paused and pointed with a gnarled forefinger. “Opal ahead. All that is left of it.”
They came out upon a narrow ledge high up in the cliff wall. Odin filled his lungs with clear air and gasped at the changes. Above them the little sun had dwindled to a red coal. The crimson-flecked clouds of Opal steamed and boiled beneath it. The sluggish sea was black now, and the long low waves were crested with bloody foam.