by Maire Brophy
The mountain still wasn’t telling. It was disarming, like a chattering bird that goes silent. A part of me expected to be attacked. I patted the mountain, anyway. I thought it would tell me eventually, but after I had figured out most of it first. There’s no point in running after a mountain. They have a way of becoming distant without ever moving that’s intractable.
I took a moment to consider what I know. I was probably in one of the Iret Mountains. Not commonly known to have anything special, despite some of their orcs being magical. These mountains were deep enough in our territory to have not been considered vulnerable, but our forces were so shattered that they did not protect this part of the land at all. The day creatures scoured the lands and hunted down every one of my kind they could. They set fire to tunnels and burned the bodies. That seems to be something they would have done to all the mountains if they could. But something extra happened here. This mountain was, or believed it was, cut off from its range. On the surface silent, threatening trees surrounded the mountain, but what was happening at the roots?
I needed to figure out what was special about this mountain and explore the roots to find out what happened there. It was time to go through tunnels again. There had been no maps of the mountain in the chief’s things. Of course, the chief would know his own mountain, but it was no help to me. I would follow tunnels downward.
Into the deep earth I went.
Travelling through orc spaces was both better and worse. There have been times in my life that I was alone without other orcs, but they were in places of wilderness or raiding the lands of the day creatures or elves. Sometimes, I would spy quietly alone for weeks. But these were not orc places, and so the lack of them was not strange. Here, everything was orcish. The deeper I went, the more I saw things that were orc-made. For the most part, they were broken or burnt, but occasionally there was something that survived intact. It was rending. An orc place without orcs was all wrong.
The orcs here were makers. The place was littered with bits of machinery. Most of its function was unclear to me, but sometimes there were bits I recognized. I was still looking for the forge. I wandered through tunnels, chambers, and halls with no clear sense of where I was going. I tried to move deeper into the mountain, but this wasn’t always a clear path, and I started to feel like I was going in circles. I picked up a white rock; it was time to start marking where I had been.
I walked on, marking the walls each time I chose the tunnel that headed deeper into the ground. And yet, somehow, I kept looping back on myself. Each time when I thought I had chosen a different path, I would find myself again in a chamber with my telltale marks on the wall. I kept going but the marks increased, always heading downward but never getting any deeper. Out of perverseness, I headed up an incline and still found myself back in the same place. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I shouted at the mountain. It continued to ignore me. It still wouldn’t talk to me. I wondered if I would be able to make it back to the other rooms, or if I would be stuck in this loop forever. Bloody mountains!
I slumped to the ground. Without my puzzle, I would be at the mercy of my memories.
“Take pity on me, Mountain, please.”
For the first time in days, I felt a reaction from the mountain. Orcs don’t plead very often, so that probably got its attention.
Unbidden and without warning, my mind filled with images of orcs pleading. They were begging for their lives, pleading to those that killed them, to the spirits that surrounded them, and to the mountain itself, that had always protected them. But no mercy came, not from the fire or the steel or the silver, and not from the mountain, even though the mountain heard all the cries. The mountain, which knew every one of them from cub to grown warrior, could not protect them. Fire coursed through the tunnels, mutilating and melting anything that was not destroyed entirely by the heat. The bodies of orcs fuelled the fire, and the last living orcs were caught by the smoke. Long after the fire scorched the upper levels, there were still noises from the barred room, but the mountain could not open the door.
Orcs cannot cry, at least not tears. I understood what I saw. It was not a torture device of my mind; it was what the mountain saw. I wished I could cry tears. I wanted the loss to leak out of me, to go away. For this was too much to bear, to hold inside, even for a mountain. I took pity on the mountain. This was all my doing, anyway.
At least the mountain was talking to me again. We both sat in silence for some time and then, unasked, it began to tell me the rest. The mountain had been angry. It was an orc mountain after all, and it had been one for many thousands of years. It was not quick to act. The mountain was sorry it could not protect its orcs, and the grief had given way to anger. Even with the orcs gone, the pass remained treacherous. The mountain sent unexpected rock falls and mudslides. Howling winds pushed day creatures off its cliffs. It trapped travelers and toyed with them, forcing them in circles until it ended them.
The other mountains were displeased with this. They considered it unmountainly behavior. It seemed they considered shunning to be more mountainly behavior. I guess it’s not like they could run away. So the other mountains faced away. The mountain continued to make trouble. Lots of creatures came through the pass. Some even tried to get into the tunnels, but the mountain didn’t let them in. It had resolved to keep the orcs it had, holding them close as they withered away to bones.
Over time, more and more elves and day creatures came through the pass. The days were getting brighter, and it was harder and harder for the mountain to keep them away. They swarmed the mountain range oblivious to the terrain, the weather, and the unpredictability that had kept them away before. They colonized the lowlands and the plain. And they began to understand the land. But for some reason, they wanted the mountain. This mountain. When I asked why, the mountain ignored my question. It was not ready to tell me.
I had for some time suspected that this mountain was not ordinary, and not just because of its personality quirks. Mountain talk is often muzzy and hard to understand, but the more I talked to the mountain, the clearer its thoughts were. They rang in my ears like crystal bells. Something had changed inside this mountain; something had been brought forward by the scouring and the scorching. This was an unusual mountain. Or perhaps my loneliness was making me experience things that were not happening. Maybe the mountain was silent. I hugged the mountain, anyway. It was good to have a friend, even one that might be imaginary.
I wandered the tunnels again. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. I was mostly waiting for the mountain to tell me the rest of the story. It let me go my way now. If it was trying to keep me from something, it was doing it much more subtly. I wandered through tunnels and chambers, rooms and halls, places where orcs slept and ate and worked. Places where they kept their cubs but not the still room. I knew with certainty that I would never be ready for the still room. Much better to be where orcs lived than where they died. Sometimes I would find toys or devices, and I would tinker and play with them. These were clever orcs. They made things that were true, solid, and strong. Sometimes, I tried to rebuild smashed things. Cogs and gears would fit together with smoothness and ease, as if they wanted to be together. I would try to see the whole of the thing, to know what it was supposed to be. Mostly, it eluded me. As a leader, you’re more concerned with outcomes than with mechanics. Obviously, I was bad at mechanics, as well as outcomes. But I sat and played with shafts and pulleys like a curious cub. These neat little puzzles were good tasks for me. I felt I was there in the small lives of everyday orcs. And for a time, I was comforted.
Not since the cave had I fallen into a routine. But a big orc city inside a mountain provided me with such an opportunity. I made myself a home in one of the abandoned chambers. Each day, I wandered about scavenging and discovering more about the orcs that lived there. When I tired, I would retreat to my little bed and occupy myself with an orcish toy, a scroll, or some mechanism before sleeping. All day long, I chatted with the mountain. W
e mostly didn’t talk about anything substantial, but like a little cub, I felt the urge to tell it everything I was doing, even though it’s impossible to hide from a mountain. I went such a long time without speaking that it was liberating to hear my own voice again. Sometimes, the mountain even answered me in my voice. The first time it happened, I was very concerned that I was mad, but after a while I reasoned that it probably didn’t matter because I was the last orc. If I was mad, then all orcs were mad, and surely that had just become standard. It made me feel better to chatter away to the mountain. At least we had each other.
I could still smell orcs, which made me feel less alone and made it much easier to sleep. In my wanderings, I found stockpiles of food and weapons. I ignored the weapons but dug around for tasty things ― more cubbish behavior. It was unlikely I would run out of food in such a place.
Then one day I found the mills. The mountain had many underground lakes and rivers. Streams ran through most places where the orcs had lived. But there was also a large cavern with a lake and several waterfalls. It was beautiful. Each stream of tumbling water had its own wheel, which attached to gears and cogs. I understood that I found the place where the work was done. This place had not been touched, and the wheels still spun in the water. So perfect was the workmanship that even though they were unattended for several years, they still spun effortlessly. The whole cavern whirred rhythmically, as the cogs and levers worked together. I sat and watched it for hours ― clever orcs.
Even if I hadn’t indulged this way, it was still too big to explore in one go. The machinery didn’t even end in the cavern, but powered devices all through the mountain. I found several smithies and foundries for making things in all shapes and sizes. I spent hours in the one with the tiny tools ― they made the most intricate contrivances. I did not really understand, but I was fascinated. Of course, there was the armory, which held the least interest. I had been very familiar with the tools of war, and they held no charms for me now. It was much more enticing to try to figure out how gears were made.
I’m still not sure if these rooms naturally held and fascinated me or if the mountain was trying to distract me and keep me away from something. I suspect it was a bit of both. As long as I was discovering their lives, the orcs would still live with me. I had begun to fear a day when the whole mountain was entirely discovered. I would no longer be able to be lost in curiosity and would have to look at the world once more ― not a good prospect. So I took my time and savored it. I suppose I had the sense that I had nowhere to be, that there was nowhere to go to from here. All orc homes would be like this one, although likely they would be more completely ransacked. If I continued searching, I would likely just find more acute pain. It was easier to watch a millstone spin with no purpose, and marvel at the skill of the orcs that made it.
But I was not going to become fossilized like the other orcs here. I suppose it was inevitable that I would find it, or maybe the mountain got tired of having a secret from me. One day, I wandered past the smithies and the workshops without getting distracted. I kept on walking. Above my head, shafts and rotors clicked and whirred. I walked down a deep tunnel that was new, but warm and inviting. I followed the markings in the walls. They told me I was going to a special place, mainly by telling me that most orcs weren’t allowed to go there.
I turned a corner and my path was abruptly blocked by fallen rocks. It looked impassable, so I went to take a different turn. But the mountain could not cope with the suspense anymore. Without asking, the rocks crumbled and fell to rubble at my feet. They revealed a stone door. I knew it was an important door because it had no markings. Everything about this door said “do not look here.”
I touched the surface. It was smooth, unlike the walls around it, and yet it blended in. There was no handle and no obvious way of opening it. I gave the mountain a questioning look. It had removed the rocks; surely it could open the door. No response. I pressed my hands against the door and listened deeply. These orcs loved their mechanics; maybe there was a hinge or a hidden button? The door would tell me nothing. I ran my hands along the surface and then the edges. A faint line was visible where the door met the tunnel walls, but I could get no purchase in the groove.
I stood back for a moment and pondered the door. This was a part of the mountain that I could not enter. The mountain itself was not keeping me out, although it had purposefully kept others out before me. What was behind the door? I turned this question around in my mind as I walked back to the nearest smithy. None of the chief’s scrolls had mentioned anything hidden in the mountain, although it was likely that anything of information had been taken. I knew of no rumors or myths about anything hidden in the Iret Mountains, despite the numbers of clever or magical orcs from there. It couldn’t be a weapon, because we would have used it in the war, and if not in the war, they would surely have used it to protect themselves in those last days.
I reached the nearest smithy and looked through the tools. I needed something with a very fine edge that could get into the groove, but would also allow me enough leverage to force the door. In the end, I decided to take a number of things. There was an axe ― the most axiest of axes. Simple and unadorned, unlike a dwarf axe, but hard and deadly like an orc weapon. Good for felling trees and men, like my sire used to say. Its blade was both wide and thin. I also took one of the finer chisels, as well as a large hammer. It was a blunt tool, but I always enjoyed a bit of brute force, and it was probably worth a try.
Back at the door again, I placed the tools on the ground and regarded it one more time. I had a feeling the tools would be useless. This wasn’t an ordinary door. In the absence of any other options, and in the absence of any word from the mountain, I decided to try. I tried every edge, but I could not get the axe or the chisel to fit into the groove. I pushed on the chisel until it slipped and nearly severed off a finger. Bleeding, I cursed the stupid door. I picked up the hammer and slammed it against the door. The noise boomed around the mountain, but the door did not move. This only made me angrier, and I pounded the door again and again with the hammer until the blood made the handle slip out of my hands in mid swing. I cursed the door once more.
I got the impression the mountain was laughing at me. This was a test, and I was not passing it. I turned my back to the door and sat on the ground in a sulk. The main problem with living inside a mountain is that it is hard not to hear the mountain, especially when the mountain is laughing at you. I gave the mountain a filthy look, and it stopped for a few moments. I noticed my bloody hand and went to take care of it.
I was not talking to the mountain as I walked back to the mill cavern, and I made sure the mountain knew by pointedly ignoring its remarks and cajoling. It suggested I go a certain way, and I chose the opposite. Eventually, it outfoxed me by telling me not to go into a room with running water and cloth for bandages. Outfoxed by a mountain. Would the indignity never end? I washed my hand and bound it up. Still not talking to the mountain, I headed back to my bed, where I stayed for twice as long as normal. I buried my head in the skins and continued to ignore the mountain.
By the time I finally got out of bed, my hand had almost healed. The mountain was silent. At first I assumed it was sulking. I knew I couldn’t judge on that front, but the mountain was much, much older than me, so if either of us could be excused for behaving like a cub, it should be me. But then I heard a sound, and it became clear to me that the mountain’s attention was elsewhere. Several clanging and banging sounds were coming from near the great hall. I knew what they were; we’d had several in my own home. They were intruder warnings. I wondered how far they had come.
The warnings were still clanging when I got to the alarm chamber. Above the chief’s rooms, but in easy reach by a connecting tunnel, the alarm chamber housed the warnings and had a view of the great hall, where most of the entrance tunnels converged. I knew that all the main entrances were collapsed, and as far as I knew, the only remaining entrance inside was the hidden one I had entered th
rough. I don’t believe I would have found it if the mountain had not showed it to me. But that doesn’t mean the intruders did not have more knowledge than me. After all, someone had ransacked the chief’s room. Perhaps they had even taken a map of the mountain. Maybe they had figured out how to enter by now.
I asked the mountain what was happening. It paid me no heed. So I stood there trembling in the alarm chamber. I looked down at the great hall, trying to make out the hidden entrance tunnel. Perhaps they were already inside. I tried to examine the hall to see if anything had moved. I couldn’t remember how every body lay or how each of the tunnels looked. The alarms all went silent; this meant that they had passed the outer edges of the mountain. For some time, silence reigned. I couldn’t think through the fog of fear.
It seemed like an eternity without sound but too quickly another alarm went off. Main entrance. Orc homes were well protected, although the brittle skeletons reminded me that this one was not protected well enough. It took me a while, but eventually I gathered myself. This was helped by the absence of an elven horde bursting into the hall. The alarm did not stop until I undid the mechanism. I knew where they were, and I needed to think without the ringing in my head.
I left the alarm chamber and went down to the great hall. I was not set upon immediately, which I took as a good sign. I walked toward the tunnel that led to the main entrance. It was still collapsed. I climbed up on the fallen rocks and got as far as I could into the tunnel. It was solidly closed. I put my ear to the rock and listened. At first there was nothing, but then in the far distance, I could hear movement. This wall of rock was solid, although not quite as solid as pure mountain. They knew enough to find the mouth of this tunnel. What else did they know?
