“What am I supposed to do?” Edan said quietly as he stood to face Grefstan and Scur. Their eyes shone with victory in the faint light from the hidden moon.
“You have two choices: you can choose to do what we did,” Grefstan said. “Wait. Watch. Remember. Become an unseen observer, a recorder of Aldhagen’s silent history.”
“And the other choice?” Edan asked, considering the discomfort of the first option.
“You can forget all of this ever happened. We can give you some of the ‘clean’ food from the Hall and immediately wipe away your memory of ever being in this forest tonight.”
“That’s been an option this entire time?” Edan shouted.
“It has,” Grefstan said calmly. “But before you embrace it so readily, think back to the night Depthcarver Wyand leapt into Wracandyr.”
“All right,” Edan replied tiredly.
“Do you remember his fall?”
“Even though I still think it was a dream, yes.”
“Do you remember who else fell with him?”
The visions returned to Edan’s memory, and he noticed more details now than he had before. There was someone else, someone that Wyand was chasing.
“It was a Feller, the one that insulted Wyand, but I never knew his name.”
“His name isn’t important,” Grefstan said as he stepped closer. “It was his crime that we must remember.”
Edan could see the entire scene in his mind now—the approaching storm, the night rain hissing against the fallen Venerate’s staff, the shouts of panic, outrage, anger.
“He killed a Venerate,” Edan said in shock.
“Yes,” Scur replied softly. There was silence for a few moments as Edan thought through the events over and over, each time discovering the same outcome. Wyand hadn’t cast himself out, he had stopped a murderer.
“Wyand’s sacrifice deserves to be remembered,” Scur said at last. “You told us that, Depthcarver, just after his fall.”
“It was a dream,” Edan said shakily. “It had to be.”
“You also said, in his honor, we must choose to rise to new heights,” Scur continued.
Edan’s breath immediately froze in his throat. “What did you just say?” Edan asked. Scur was clearly intimidated by the intense focus of Edan’s gaze.
“Rise to new heights…?” the Tailing stammered, unsure of what had sparked Edan’s excitement. Edan smiled for an instant, as he was all at once certain there was some truth to what Grefstan and Scur had told him.
“‘Sometimes you have to descend into the lowest depths in order to rise to new heights,’” Edan quoted. “It was something the Stonecaller said to Wyand and me after we were called to be Depthcarvers, and there’s no way you could know that phrase unless I actually said it.” The boys looked at one another with small grins and wide eyes.
“So, what does that mean, Depthcarver?” Grefstan asked carefully.
“It means I am willing to observe and form my own conclusions for now,” Edan replied. “If there ever comes a point where I wish to escape, I know that I have options.”
“You won’t regret this, Depthcarver,” Grefstan promised. “This is a new turning, for all of us.”
15
Keltin and the nysk eyed each other with matched levels of exhaustion and stubbornness; neither wanted to keep fighting, but they were both unwilling to concede to the other’s wishes. The hammer shook in Keltin’s grip as he stood upright and brushed the most recent layer of beige sand off his chest with his free hand. Though the sun was obscured behind a layer of cloud, Keltin’s coarse robe clung to him after so many hours working in the hot, thick air of the canyon
“Again,” Garam said as he tossed Keltin the guiding pin from where it had landed. “And this time, anticipate the animal’s movement before a tendril knocks your feet out from under you.” Keltin nodded tiredly to the Handler and prepared himself to attempt to climb atop the juvenile nysk once more.
This was the third day Keltin had spent with Garam, learning how to care for and tame the nysks, and so far this latest task had proven the most difficult. In order to utilize a nysk on one of the transport carts, the creature first had to be fitted with a stout metal rod known as a guiding pin. Keltin had been horrified by the concept at first—using a hammer to drive a metal spike into the nysk’s shell—but then Handler Garam had shown him just how thick a nysk shell truly was by demonstrating on a plate that was shed during a recent molting. Though the metal spike was almost the length of Keltin’s forearm, it barely passed halfway through the dense backplate before it was deep enough to be seated for use. With the pin in place, the great wooden beam that tethered each nysk to its cart could be driven onto the pin, and from that point the nysk was considered guidable.
The process was explained as being very simple, though Keltin had learned quickly that the Handler had hidden several important details. Most obvious, and most painful, was the discovery that nysks do not inherently trust people who try to climb on top of them. No amount of foul-smelling slurry gladly eaten by the animal could distract it thoroughly enough to permit someone to crawl onto its shell. Instead, the nysk’s enormous eyes grew large and its powerful limbs would flick and thrash the instant Keltin came close enough to even touch the creature. Invariably, one of those limbs would strike the air out of his lungs and send him spiraling into the sand.
Keltin had actually made it past the tendrils and onto the edge of the backplate twice in the hours since First Calling, but he had immediately been flung off both times. This was the second detail omitted by Handler Garam: there was an infuriating level of difficulty encountered when trying to mount a nysk with a hammer in one hand and a heavy spike in the other.
“Work with me this time,” Keltin muttered to the nysk as he fetched another hefty bucket full of slurry. Even after spending this much time exposed to it, the unimaginable stench of the slurry still made him want to be sick every time he emptied it onto the ground. With the animal occupied, Keltin crept into position behind it with hammer and spike in hand. Thankfully, the nysk did not spin to face him or dart away as it had many times before.
That’s right, Keltin urged the creature in his mind. You just enjoy that pile of stink and ignore me completely. He put his hammer hand down lightly on the nysk’s shell, and it immediately swung one of its massive tendrils back to swat him away. This time, though, Keltin felt the animal’s weight shift as it moved, so he was able to easily dodge the flailing tendril. As the nysk readied its other limb to strike out, Keltin leapt onto its shell and landed as gently as he could.
The nysk snorted, spraying sand angrily with its breath once it noticed Keltin on top of its back. The tendrils couldn’t reach this high, but the creature could still shake its entire body forcefully to try to dislodge unwelcome occupants. Using his elbows and knees for balance, Keltin shifted his own weight to counter the nysk’s movements with perfect synchronization. In the midst of the violent shifting and heaving, something new happened—the nysk stopped flailing.
Bewildered, Keltin looked down to make sure the creature was all right. To his surprise, its eyes were fixated once again on the expanding pool of slurry and its two enormous tendrils slid idly back and forth in the sand. Not wanting to miss this chance, Keltin positioned the guiding pin in the middle of the nysk’s central back plate and struck it three times as fast and hard as he could, just as Garam had instructed.
There was a brief moment where Keltin studied his work and was proud to say he had helped prepare a nysk to serve Dism Slyde. Then he noticed the animal’s piercing black eyes as they grew enormous with rage and stared directly up at him; in the next instant Keltin’s feeling of victory was gone. The nysk bellowed from surprise more than pain as it sped across the sand directly towards one of the walls of the canyon. Keltin clung to the guiding pin with his free hand, pulling back on it with all of his might as the animal continued to surge forward. Keltin shut his eyes and prepared for a painful ending to the short journey.
An instant later, Keltin could sense that the nysk had stopped moving. I didn’t feel it hit the wall, he thought, then he risked opening his eyes to see what had happened. Garam stood by the nysk’s head, slowly dumping yet another bucket full of slurry into the sand for the animal to enjoy.
“Not terrible work,” Garam called up to Keltin. “But next time, don’t drop your hammer.” With that, the man flung the heavy hammer directly at Keltin, who was in no position to catch it. Pushing up to his knees as quickly as he could, Keltin managed to grab onto the hammer before it could strike him with the full force of the throw. The speed and mass of the chunk of metal was so great, however, that even though Keltin caught it, he toppled backwards and off of the nysk’s shell.
The familiar stinging grit of the sand stabbed through his robes in a hundred thousand different places, each grain somehow finding its way into one of the many cuts on Keltin’s back. Even after three mornings spent in cleansing under the watchful eye and sharp rope of Chant Leader Belgram, Keltin knew that he still embodied the term “soft-backed newcomer.” Blood soaked through his robe during every First Calling, and he had learned to wear the garment with pride throughout the day. It was a sign to all who saw him that, though he was new to Dism Slyde, his resolve was strong. He knew eventually the wounds would heal, toughening his skin, but for now their presence was a constant reminder to him that much atonement was still needed.
Embracing the pain brought from the fall, Keltin laughed as he thought through the recent sequence of events. He stood, brushing his robes clean as best he could, and limped to the front of the nysk. The creature’s eyes grew large when it recognized who had come into view, but this time it did not panic or lash out after seeing Keltin. Instead, the nysk calmly continued eating its reward for enduring such a hard day of training. Handler Garam was able to climb the creature without encountering any resistance, and in a matter of seconds he had secured two stout ropes to the guiding pin.
“Now we take it to be with the others,” Garam instructed, passing Keltin one of the two ropes. “Remember—we are not pulling the nysk, we are not pushing the nysk, we are guiding the nysk, convincing her that we know the proper way to go. She is still agitated from the taming, so move with confidence and it will help to alleviate her uncertainty.”
“Yes, Handler,” Keltin replied. This would be the third nysk he had guided with Garam, though the other two animals had been tamed many turnings ago and were accustomed to being led from place to place. The newly-tamed nysk resisted each tug it felt against its guiding pin, testing the boundaries of what movements were allowed before being corrected. Keltin grumbled after the second time of being yanked off of his feet and dragged through the sand.
“Calm and confident,” Garam called from the right side of the nysk. “She’s training you as much as you’re training her.” Keltin ignored Garam’s laughter that followed and attempted to walk with a more commanding stride. The nysk still pulled and tugged, but its eye lingered more and more on Keltin after each correction was administered. As they walked together, the pulling gradually diminished.
The northern wall of Tamer’s Canyon had been hollowed out in a time long forgotten to provide a sheltered place where the nysks could rest. Dozens of openings wide enough for a cart fitted with two nysks to pass through lined the base of the canyon wall, separated by thick, ornate columns fashioned from the living stone of the cliff face itself. Several blue-cloaked Handlers guided carts or lone nysks into and out of these openings as Keltin approached, and he envied the ease with which they controlled their animals.
There was a drastic temperature shift as the edge of the canyon wall passed overhead, and Keltin savored the sudden chill after spending so many hours struggling in the stagnant heat of the canyon itself. Twenty strides in front of him, the Eastern River flowed through the cavern before continuing the journey down onto the plain surrounding the Holy Spire. Its steady current brought cool air with it from an unseen source deep underground, much to the delight of weary nysks and Handlers alike. Despite the Eastern River’s size and speed, the sound as it passed was soothing like that of the Last Calling chamber instead of harsh like the thundering fury of Wracandyr.
All along both banks of the river, Handlers worked with their nysks in the various stages of training. For some of the animals, this was the beginning of their day of service, so they were coaxed away from the comfort of the water by patient Handlers with steady hands and full buckets of slurry. For other nysks, coming to the river marked the completion of their efforts for the day. Once they were freed of their guide ropes, the creatures raced to the water and either stopped to drink on the near bank or glided deftly across the current to seek a comfortable spot on the far shore. The Handlers of these nysks moved on immediately to the next assigned animal, and the training cycle began again.
“He actually got one?” one of the Handlers called to Garam as he and Keltin neared the water. This man wasn’t accompanied by a nysk at the moment, but it was clear his work was not done by the way he slowly uncoiled a guide rope as he walked.
“Barely,” Garam laughed. “They’re both stubborn, so it made for an interesting morning.” The other Handler chuckled at this, then shook his head and continued on towards one of the many stone bridges that spanned the river.
Keltin forced himself to smile despite the criticism—Garam was right, it had been an interesting morning. And stubborn is just another word for determined, Keltin told himself with pride. When they reached the river, Garam tossed the end of his guide rope to Keltin.
“Untie them both,” Garam said, and Keltin crept onto the nysk’s back. It shuddered at first, but otherwise the animal ignored Keltin’s presence entirely. In moments, he had both ropes in hand and stepped lightly off the edge of the nysk’s shell.
“At least one of you learns quickly,” Garam commented.
“Thank you, Handler,” Keltin replied with a humble bow of his head.
“I was talking to the nysk.”
Keltin followed in awkward silence as Garam led the way to the next animal. When he looked back, the newly-tamed nysk was almost completely burrowed in the sand at the river’s edge, quenching its thirst happily by using the small tendrils around its mouth to pull in water. I wouldn’t mind vanishing under the sand right now, too, Keltin thought glumly. This was all part of his penance, though, and he knew hardship was to be expected.
As he passed by a pair of Handlers, Keltin was reminded of another oddity of Dism Slyde that had come as a complete surprise. Many of the workers in Tamer’s Canyon as well as many of the attendees of each Calling were women, and it was commonplace for them to work and worship alongside the men. Keltin watched the two female Handlers with fascination as they climbed into place and fixed guide ropes onto one of the nysks. They moved with a grace that could only come from familiarity and confidence, and Keltin found himself envious of their skill.
“Don’t let your eyes linger too long,” Garam said quietly. “To us they are just workers, and they will remain workers until the Venerates call them to serve as Sacred Vessels. When that happens, they are to be revered.” Keltin nodded, but failed to understand what Garam’s words truly implied about the female workers. Whatever Garam meant, Keltin looked away for fear of insulting either him or the two women Handlers.
After arriving at the next nysk Garam selected for training, Keltin climbed onto its back and applied the guide ropes. He had performed this same action several times now, so he was glad to feel his muscles starting to recall how to keep balance without conscious effort on his part. It also helped that this was a nysk that had been tamed many turnings earlier; as such, it barely moved when Keltin leapt into place. With the ropes secured, he and Handler Garam led the animal away from the comfort of the river’s edge and back into the stifling heat of the canyon.
A row of cart stalls extended along the canyon wall just beyond the arched entrances into the Eastern River cavern. Keltin had scarcely touched the gui
de rope before the nysk was already headed towards the cart stalls; it had clearly followed this same route and routine countless hundreds of times. There was nothing elaborate about the wooden stalls themselves—they were designed solely with function in mind and contained exactly what was needed to outfit carts with nysks as quickly and easily as possible. Between the canyon wall and the back of the row of stalls there was just enough space to lead a nysk into position to be coupled to one of the carts using the enormous steering beams. Since it was difficult to force the nysks to move backwards, leading them in through the rear of the stall allowed the cart and its two nysks to exit rapidly from the front opening without any complicated maneuvers.
Chains with links as wide as Keltin’s body were tipped with blunt hooks that held the carts in the air until ready for use. This allowed the Handlers to position each nysk’s guiding pin under its respective steering beam with ease. The unused carts creaked and groaned in an imperceptible breeze, and the vacant chains and hooks of other stalls rattled against each other impatiently. Some stalls were occupied briefly by nysks and their teams of Handlers, who collectively moved about the task of fitting a cart with unbelievable speed compared to what Keltin knew he could achieve.
As Keltin and Garam brought their nysk into place in one of the vacant stalls, another team of Handlers arrived with the second animal required to make this a usable cart. Keltin’s palms began to sweat from anxiety when he realized that it was the same pair of women Handlers he had seen in the cavern. With the other cart fittings Keltin had helped with thus far, he felt pressure to prove himself to the skilled Handlers as they laughed at his inexperience and clumsiness. Now, he felt the added weight of trying to perform an inherently complicated task in the presence of workers that made him feel incredibly uneasy for reasons he did not understand.
Kingdomturn Page 27
