The Shore of the Still

Cass walked for a long time, or it felt long. There's no clock underground but your own legs, and his had begun to ache in the good, dull way that means you've come a real distance and can't turn back without doing it all again. The long way under went down. Not steeply. It fell the way the river fell beside it, patiently, a little at every step, so that Cass never once felt he was climbing down into anything and yet knew, in the soles of his feet, that he was going deeper than any drain or cellar in the town above. The ledge ran smooth and dished under his shoes. The Wend ran loud and quick on his…