Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  Dust swirling behind him, Wyand raced down the path to the Hall. Edan appeared beside him, steps synchronized. They exchanged no words, just a nod of understanding as they began to run faster. The joy of physical activity pushed Wyand’s concern for Keltin to the back of his mind; he found himself smiling between breaths as the pace increased again. It was seen as honorable to arrive at Last Calling drenched in sweat with barely enough strength to stand—Wyand took this as a challenge to burn off any remaining energy after working the mines all day. Normally, this was an exhilarating ritual for him, but apparently the news of the Kingdomturn offering had driven Wyand harder than usual today because he found it exceptionally difficult to keep up his normal stride. At least it seemed that Edan was struggling with exhaustion as well, so they were able to remain side by side. More workers joined them, some travelling faster, most slower.

  The Hall entrance came into Wyand’s view as the first bell for Last Calling sounded. The darkened sky vanished as he and Edan passed through the crowded doorway and began descending the long spiraling hallway to the Last Calling chamber. “Congratulations, Carvers!” several familiar voices called out as Wyand and Edan passed. Word of the Kingdomturn offering had already spread through the other tasks, it seemed. This kind of recognition will take a while to get used to, Wyand thought.

  The schedule of Last Calling was far more relaxed than any other Calling during the day. Workers could arrive shortly after the final bells had sounded, but it was generally viewed with disdain as a mild form of laziness. Wyand, Edan, and Keltin had agreed long ago to strive to be the first workers to enter the chambers each night so the Venerates could see their enthusiasm and dedication. The familiar sound of flowing water grew louder as Wyand approached the chamber door. The second bell sounded for Last Calling, its echo reverberating up and down the long corridor. The air was thick with steam; it blurred the mysterious light windows that the Venerates controlled here in the depths beneath their Hall. Wyand had tried many times to figure out how the light windows worked—could the Venerates have somehow used their magic to capture and store the sunlight for use down here in such a darkened place? He had entertained many theories, but ultimately always decided to just remain faithfully fascinated by the Venerates and their wonders.

  Wyand and Edan entered the Last Calling chamber and looked around hopefully. They were not the first workers to arrive this evening, unfortunately, but they were still among the first dozen. This was no reason to feel ashamed, though Wyand still felt he had failed himself and Keltin as well. He would succeed tomorrow, to honor his friend. Edan’s expression spoke of the same thoughts.

  The Great River flowed through the Last Calling chamber faster than Wyand could run. Carefully carved stone arch bridges spanned the impressive distance between riverbanks, and light windows shone with a slow pulsating rhythm on each bridge. High vaulted ceilings held rock outcroppings that hung down like long, pointed fingers of stone; these too were dotted with light windows along their length. The cavern walls opposite the entrance were much dimmer, even dark in some spots, but no one had reason to venture that far from the river. Wyand felt particularly at home during Last Calling since the setting mirrored the mine in many ways. He wondered on occasion if the chamber itself had once been a mine, during the founding days of Aldhagen. Someone had carved those bridges down here, after all, so it stood to reason that the walls of this chamber had taken shape under a pickaxe sometime in the far-distant past. On both sides of the Great River, there were steam pump stations for cleaning off the dirt and sweat of a long day’s work. These stations stretched for many hundreds of strides both upstream and downstream to accommodate the droves of workers that would soon enjoy the cleansing ritual of Last Calling.

  Wyand arrived at one such station, Edan approaching one slightly farther downstream. Wyand placed his folded nightclothes on a stand next to the pump station, and then removed his work clothing. He opened a small compartment at the base of the pump station and tossed in his stained clothes. The chamber was filling up rapidly now, and Wyand waited eagerly for the final chimes of Last Calling to sound. At last, the steam shivered and swirled in the air as the familiar resonating notes signaled the start of Last Calling. Wyand untied the sima that held back his hair, then pulled the pump handle and stepped over the steam vent.

  No one knew what great heat gave rise to the steam in the Last Calling chambers; it was yet another example of Venerate magic. All Wyand cared about at the moment was how incredible the steam felt as it soothed his weary body. He opened his small bottle of vandula oil and began scrubbing away at the more stubborn dirt. Oils from the crushed flowers of the vandula plant were incredibly effective at cleaning skin, and their aroma had a calming effect as well. Every worker was given a bottle of this oil, and Riverlains were posted at the chamber entrance with refilling jugs. The pleasing smell now accompanied each swirling steam cloud that filled the cavernous space, and Wyand breathed it in deeply as his tiredness melted away.

  “Rest now, workers of Aldhagen,” one of the Venerates’ voices echoed on the stone walls. “Your efforts are finished for this day. May peace and honor guide you to the next Calling.” The three chimes of benediction sounded, signaling the end of the official portion of Last Calling. Workers began to talk with one another, laughing and recalling the day’s more entertaining events.

  “You’re one of the Carvers, aren’t you?” the man at the pump station to Wyand’s right asked. Wyand turned; he recognized his dark-haired neighbor but did not know the man’s name. He only looked a few turnings older than Wyand, with the darkened complexion typical of a Fieldsman or possibly a Woodsman.

  “That’s right,” Wyand replied. “I am called Wyand.”

  “Peace and honor to you, Carver Wyand. I am Silax, a Feller of Pathshaper Hirst’s Woodsmen,” he said with a nod. “Have you heard the news of who was selected for the Kingdomturn offering?” he asked carefully.

  “Peace and honor, Silax. And yes, the Venerates truly brought their light into the depths this day. The mine belonging to my Stonecaller, Galbrun, will provide the offering this turning,” Wyand said with pride.

  Silax looked away for an instant. When he next spoke, his expression and his words dripped with indignation. “So, you’re from that mine, after all. I knew you would be. Tell me this—why is it that, after countless turnings, the Venerates have chosen for the offering to come from a simple group of rock breakers? What can you possibly provide that is worthy of Kingdomturn?”

  Wyand was stunned by the insult; to accuse someone’s task of being inferior was tremendously inappropriate and bordered on blasphemy. It took Wyand several speechless moments to sift through his racing thoughts and finally form a response. “Each has his task, all serve a purpose. That is what the Venerates teach us. Are you questioning their guidance?”

  “Of course not,” Silax responded quickly, dismissively waving his hand. “But just because you serve a purpose doesn’t necessarily make it as important as someone else’s. Let’s be realistic—everyone knows that if the mines all shut down tomorrow, Aldhagen would still function as though nothing had happened. I believe that the Kingdomturn offering should come from a task that has a real impact on Aldhagen’s people, that’s all.”

  Of all the core teachings that the Venerates passed on to every worker, avoiding conflict was emphasized the most. Even in his earliest memories, Wyand had known that disagreements should be solved through compromise and understanding. To be faced with such blatant disrespect, however, tested the bounds of his self-discipline.

  “It pains me that you don’t understand why the Woodsmen were not chosen for the offering this turning,” Wyand said, measuring each word, “but it is not our concern to understand the decisions of the Venerates. We must simply abide by them and have faith. They have guided the workers of Aldhagen since its founding, and never once have they failed us. Your words walk a narrow line between disappointment and sacrilege; don’t let your jealousy carry you any fu
rther away from the path of peace and honor, Silax.” Instead of giving Silax time to reply with more harsh words, Wyand shut off the steam and pulled the other handle at his station. Immediately, a warm drying breeze replaced the steam from the vent at his feet. Wyand shut his eyes as the blast of air rushed past his ears with enough force to mute all the other sounds inside the Last Calling chamber. Even if Silax had continued talking, Wyand would not hear it.

  Wyand opened his eyes a short time later and glanced to the station at his right. Silax had already gone, thankfully, and a few stations farther downstream Edan was almost done dressing in his nightclothes. Wyand shut off the drying vent and immediately sounds of the chamber rushed back into his ears. He breathed out deliberately, determined to forget about the Woodsman’s comments. After dressing and retrieving his now-clean work clothes, Wyand joined Edan in walking back to the chamber entrance.

  “I recognize that expression,” Edan said with a furrowed brow. “What happened?”

  “Just some Woodsman who thinks our task is inferior,” Wyand said disgustedly.

  “Oh. Wait, what? He said that?” Edan asked.

  “He…well, no, not those exact words. It was implied though.” Wyand struggled to remember the conversation, but it escaped him. “Forgive me,” he said. “My thoughts are still shaken from it all. Ultimately, his opinion was that we are unfit to provide the Kingdomturn offering. Can you believe that?”

  Edan’s eyes grew wide and he pulled Wyand to the side of the path away from the main flow of workers. “Wyand, men have been cast out of Aldhagen for less than that. If he openly disrespected our task, it’s our duty to tell the Venerates about it.”

  Wyand struggled with the idea for a moment. “You’re right, I know that. Maybe I misunderstood him though. My mind is exhausted almost as much as my body, so perhaps I interpreted his meaning differently than I should have. Let me think on it during Reflection—hopefully then the solution will come to me while I sleep.”

  It wasn’t the answer Edan expected, but it would suffice for now. He was too tired to think clearly as well, so he respected Wyand’s wish to have time to collect his thoughts. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.” They walked back to the main path out of the chamber and began the uphill journey to the Hall’s entrance.

  After returning to his quarters, Wyand only briefly contemplated what he should do next. Many nights, he spent Reflection walking a short section of the wall surrounding Aldhagen. The practice allowed him to think while still actually doing something; he didn’t like trying to process thoughts without some form of activity to occupy his body at the same time. Tonight, however, he would make an exception. Wyand put down his wooden bed frame, unrolled his mattress, and collapsed into its familiar embrace. Once he was settled, he thought only briefly about the day’s events before sleep began to tug at the corners of his mind. His excitement over Kingdomturn gave way to concern for Keltin, then that too was replaced with frustration when he considered the Woodsman’s comments. At last, rest became Wyand’s only focus as it washed over his body and mind. He slept, preparing for tomorrow’s challenges, as the gentle tone signaling the end of Reflection echoed quietly through the living quarters.

  3

  Wyand’s pick gained purchase on another large fist of stone, and in one swift rotation he leveraged it out of the wall. Pausing only momentarily, he reveled at the size and quality of the iron vein he’d just exposed. The Venerate guide had been correct, once again.

  “Good instincts, Carver,” Stonecaller Galbrun’s gritty voice called out as he walked up to inspect the iron vein for himself.

  “Peace and honor, Stonecaller. I wish I could claim this find as my own, but the Venerate showed me exactly where I should strike,” Wyand said, wiping his brow. “He’s been right six times in a row so far today.”

  “You expected anything less?” Galbrun asked incredulously. “Look around, Wyand—the Venerates themselves are working with us. Anything is possible these days.” Excitement flickered behind the Stonecaller’s eyes before he turned to walk away.

  Wyand nodded, and grounded his pick to observe the amazing scene before him. The lower depths had proven to be vaster and more impressive than he could ever have imagined. Vaulted tunnels connected massive columned caverns that made the Last Calling chamber seem insignificant by comparison, and a surprisingly strong breeze flowed through the entire area. Torches struggled to light each space, barely brushing the ceiling with their glow. Sudden shifts in the air currents forced the flames to flicker and dim, then burst into full brightness once more. Wyand watched as the picks of six other Carvers in this chamber were directed by a Venerate guide, and without fail they struck ore each time. He could feel history being made with every passing minute—the story of this offering would be among the most legendary of Kingdomturn tales.

  In just three days, the lower depths had yielded over forty carts of quality ore; that was more than most mines could produce in a month. This was thanks, largely, to the help of the Venerates. Wyand had no idea how they did it, but the Venerates could somehow look at a face of stone for a few seconds, shift their position slightly and study the wall for a few seconds more, then tell the Carvers precisely where to swing in order to strike rich ore veins. Simply amazing. All of the Tailings could barely keep up with the amount of raw material being extracted. Their carts were in continuous motion, their faces drenched with sweat despite the chill wind of the lower depths. Adlig and Scur had visited Wyand’s area several times in the last three days, but they had neither the strength nor the time to say much beyond “Peace and honor, Carver Wyand.” He always offered words of encouragement, reassuring them that their efforts would make this offering something Aldhagen would talk about for hundreds of turnings. They would produce faint smiles in reply as they hurried once again to the cage at the mouth of the lower depths.

  Edan was working in a separate chamber, and at the moment Wyand had no issue with that arrangement. They had barely spoken since the day after Wyand was confronted by Silax the Woodsman. Edan had finally convinced Wyand to speak with the Venerates about Silax’ disrespect, but Wyand was uneasy about directly labeling someone as a heretic. Instead, he had been very vague when addressing the issue with a Venerate, asking if the Venerates would please speak with Pathshaper Hirst about the opinions of his Woodsmen toward the other tasks. The only response he received at the time was “We will investigate this.” Feeling he had done his duty, Wyand returned to Edan expecting approval for his actions, but instead he was met with disappointment for speaking in such general terms. This sparked an exchange of heated words that ultimately left Wyand and Edan in silent disagreement.

  Wyand returned to his work, seeking refuge from the multitude of thoughts that vied for his attention. I wonder how Keltin is faring? The pick swung down, the thought was removed. I wish Edan could see things from my view. Another swing, another thought gone. It was very soothing for Wyand to feel each concern flow out of his body to the rhythm of his work; he ultimately reached a state of thoughtless focus by using this technique.

  “Carver,” the Venerate guide said, touching Wyand on the shoulder. Wyand froze, and followed the Venerate’s gaze. A sizeable pile of both ore and gangue stone had built up behind Wyand as he worked in his focused state—it was large enough that the mine carts were making a third trip to his area in the same time it had taken the other Carvers to fill one cart. How much time had passed? Wyand looked back to the Venerate, half astonished and half embarrassed.

  “That was impressive, Carver. Kingdomturn needs the efforts of men like you,” the Venerate said. “In fact, I’d like you to join a select group of your fellow miners in a special task. There’s great honor to be had if you perform with the same dedication I just witnessed.”

  Wyand fell to a knee and bowed instinctively. “I will serve Aldhagen as you see fit, Venerated One.”

  “Of course you will,” the Venerate replied. “Follow me.”

  They wove
down through the maze of drifts, past areas untouched by torchlight. There were no other workers this far into the Lower Depths; the howling wind was nearly constant, its sound replaced solely with brief periods of oppressive silence. The brow of the ceiling suddenly dropped so greatly that Wyand had to crouch in order to continue following the Venerate. How are the carts going to get through here? he thought. The Venerates would find a way, as always. They proceeded deeper, the way ahead lit only by the Venerate’s staff. The stone here smelled strange—it was a faint acrid smell that burned when Wyand breathed it in too deeply. Smooth black walls with a multitude of facets reflected the staff light, creating dazzling patterns with each step. The brief flashes of light felt like eyes blinking to peer at Wyand as he passed, but as quickly as they appeared they lost interest and closed again, receding into the darkness of the stone. It was an unsettling—but foolish—thought that Wyand easily dismissed.

  The cramped tunnel rounded a final bend and opened into a much larger space. Wyand was relieved to at last be able to stand straight and stretch his aching back. He surveyed the darkened cavern and noticed that he and his guide were not alone. Two other staff lights shown dimly nearby on the wall to the left, silhouetting four figures. It was easy to distinguish that two of the group were Venerates with their unmistakable robes and staves. The other two were obviously workers, though Wyand did not immediately recognize them. He followed the Venerate guide closer, wondering what sort of task lay ahead.