The tug of the tether pulling at her waist was a comfort. There was too much freedom in the boundless dark. One might choose any direction and be lost forever. Even when she had followed the rope, Anilitak had felt as if it was one of a thousand strands weaving themselves through the passages, like the braid of a great beast asleep beneath the earth, and she was lost among the tangles. But the steady pull of the tether was gravity, a force to keep her grounded.

The man moved quickly, and Anilitak jogged to keep pace. She ran her hand over the guide line, but more for a sense of balance than for direction.

She heard voices now, indistinct but human. The individual words came to her blurred, as through a fog, but she had come to recognize this as a mark of the place. Until a thing neared, its sounds were distorted as though traveling a great distance.

The tether pulled her to the right, and the hand along the rope smacked into wood. “Ow!”

“Watch you hands. We’re inside the Ring of Albanos. Two more Rings and we’re to the Central Knot—Rodion’s Knot.” He spoke quickly, as if other thoughts demanded his attention. Between sentences, he let out a loud whistle. A hoot to their left answered with a triplet. “Thanks,” her guide said, not to her, but to the darkness. The tether pulled right again, and Anilitak pressed her arms against her body, not knowing what she might hit. The wind of her passage seemed to change as she turned, but only for a moment, and she wondered if she had passed through some short tunnel, or possibly a doorway. A new rope skimmed against her waist.

She had many, many questions for the man, but she felt constrained by his hurry. Still, even if he hadn’t time to explain the workings of this strange place, he could clarify a few things. “What’s your name?” she asked.

The heavy sound of his footfall slowed for a second. “You don’t want to ask that,” he said softly.

“Why not? You have a name, I hope? Mine is—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply. “Not now. Later, perhaps. If you are who you say you are.”

“What’s wrong with a name?”

“A name is the last secret. After the face, a name is the last refuge of the soul.”

“Don’t you know anyone’s name?”

“Two others. My brother’s, and another.”

“But…how do you talk to each other? In the dark….”

“We recognize voices, and we let ourselves be heard when we want to be heard, and when we want to disappear, we disappear. Every year a few become ghosts—cease to talk or make noise of any kind. They travel in bare feet and glide through the various Knots.”

“Did one of them kill….” Kill whom? How would the body be identified? Would his wife feel his face and know it was him? What sort of people hid themselves away, as if terrified to know one another. “Did a ghost commit the murder?”

“No.”

“How do you—”

“I don’t trust you yet. I’ve never heard your voice before, and…well, the ghosts are clever. I don’t know what you want. I need to figure that out first.”

“I just want to get out of here.”

“Out? There is no out. Quiet. Here comes someone.” The man repeated his loud whistle, and it was again answered by a triplet hoot. Anilitak heard them pass the other traveler, his last hoot drifting behind. “When we get there, keep quiet. Do that, and you’ll earn a dollop of my trust. Got it?”

“Yes,” she answered.