After the World

by Maire Brophy

  I went back to the alarm chamber. There were no alarms, except for the rattling of the unhitched mechanism for the main entrance alarm. Well I knew where they were. But I didn’t know who they were. The mountain remained unresponsive, but I got the impression it was too preoccupied with what was happening outside to care about the little orc inside. I needed more information ― I needed to go outside.

  I walked back up the steep tunnel to the hidden door. I even greeted my friend, who had listened to my stories. I assured him that I wasn’t leaving; I was merely going outside for a little wander. He wasn’t to worry. I slowly opened the springy door and was greeted by the cool night air. Just as well, because I had forgotten that it might be day. I stepped outside quickly and shut the door behind me. The sky and the land mirrored each other with stars and fires. It was as I remembered it before. I climbed down to the pathway that ran above the mountain pass. It sloped inward, so orcs might run along it in bended fashion without being seen below.

  I moved slowly, listening for anything that might tell me more, and all the while fearful of the attack that might come. This secret path ran all around the mountain, but it still took me some time before I found the action. Concealing myself behind a rocky outcrop, I observed them. They weren’t being quiet at all. The trees were parted and had let in a horde of day creatures ― mostly men, but among them at least one wizard.

  I had not seen such a group together since my last battle. The world spun again. I struggled to breathe. The tension and fear were so overwhelming that I almost wanted to run toward them to break it. I cowered back behind my rocky protection, waiting to be discovered and for the inevitable to finally happen. They would find me, and they would tear me to pieces.

  Somehow, I kept on breathing and managed to open my eyes again. They were not coming after me. Not yet. I could hear the crashing sounds of metal against stone. As I suspected, they were trying to tunnel back into the mountain.

  I peered over the rocky edge and realized I could actually see very little. I moved further up the path to get a better view. Those clever orcs had left several spots where guards and lookouts could view the entrance. Men and a handful of dwarves were hammering at the rocks and moving rubble out of the way. Dwarves were a bad sign: They were good tunnelers. Not as good as orcs but not bad. I watched them sweat for a while. It wasn’t easy work. The wizard stood looking over them, his crumpled, green cloak flapping in the wind. All wizards are lazy bastards ― you’d never catch them moving a rock. This one stood there muttering. Not a good sign.

  They pulled a large rock out. I held my breath. I thought they would eventually break through, but then several rocks fell into its place. The wizard raised his muttering to a shout, and I realized who he was chanting at. He was trying to control the mountain. My lovely, unruly mountain. I understood why the mountain was preoccupied. It was fighting back. It didn’t want to let these corrupters inside ― these orc killers. But why did they want to come inside? They had killed all the orcs. I didn’t think they were here for me. It had to be something to do with the door.

  I watched them for a while longer. Despite their wizard and the dwarves, they made little progress. The mountain pushed more rocks down on them, making them more and more exasperated. Mountains are like that. You’ll never have more patience than a mountain. They got careless in their annoyance and failed to take a precaution. The next rock fall caught a dwarf and a man. As they started to move the rocks to get the bodies, the wizard declared they would try again in daylight. I slipped back down the path in case their attention turned away from the fallen entrance.

  Back inside the hidden entrance, I patted the walls of the tunnel. The mountain hugged me back, all our arguments forgotten. I thanked it for keeping me safe. I knew I needed to get through the door. I went back down through the great hall and the mills cavern, all the way back to the door. Everything was as I left it. The tools were lying on the ground. The blood had dried on the handle of the hammer. There was no point in trying that again.

  The mountain seemed exhausted. The wizard was no pushover, and the mountain had defied him at every turn. I asked the mountain to help me again. It told me that the door would open for the chief orc of the mountain. This was not very helpful. The chief was dead. I considered dragging the orc remains down from the great hall. Perhaps one of them was the chief and the door might open if I waved his bones in front of it. I ran back up to the great hall.

  Before entering the hall, I tried to listen for more tunneling noises, but my breath and heart were pounding in my ears. I took a moment to try to calm down. The piled bodies of the orcs were right in front of me. If they still had flesh, I probably wouldn’t be able to find their leader, but with just bones I had no hope. I knew in that moment that I could not carry all of them down to the door. There were too many, it was too far, and the whole thing was futile anyway. Even with the right bones, the door would probably not open. This plan was all I had to go on, so I asked the mountain which one.

  The response was sluggish. That wizard must be something. I asked again, which is the chief? The mountain managed a chuckle. It reminded me of what I had said when I found the chief’s room ― that I was the chief now. But the door wouldn’t open for me. The mountain was gone. I hoped it would recover before the next assault, but it looked like I had to figure this out for myself. I stumbled my way back to the door, my legs complaining about the exertion all the way.

  I stood in front of the door with no handles. A door that had defied whoever had killed the orcs and that would not be opened by tools or my hands. I thought about the clever orcs of this mountain, with their complex machines and puzzles. I thought I might chance it.

  “Open?”

  The door swung open. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. I stepped in, and the door shut firmly behind me.

  Part Three: The Cavern

  It was a strange room. Odd and out of place in a homely mountain. In some ways, it mirrored the mill cavern, as it had a vast ceiling and a shimmering floor. But it wasn’t a lake cavern. Water didn’t cover the floor uniformly, but was gathered in neat, circular pools. It looked like each pool was held in by an invisible wall or that they were just on the verge of spilling over. The liquid inside them was black, and each had a slightly different colored sheen. They pulsed in time with the heartbeat of the mountain. They were as integral to the mountain as the rock. I understood that they were magical without understanding how or what that could mean.

  I walked through the pool cavern, looking for something that would explain. At the far side was another door. It was shut like the first one but opened obligingly when I issued the command. The room was a library, but it wasn’t for general use. There was one table and one stool, and the rest was the home of tomes and tomes of books. Their spines covered the walls. Several were stacked on the floor, and one was open on the table. I looked at the page. It contained a message for me.

  The last orc standing is chief of the mountain. I return to the fight. The losing battle, the last battle.

  We are orcs of this mountain before all else. I failed because I forgot this. I let too many of our orcs go to the war. The war has come to us, but there is no one left to fight. They brought the war to us.

  Whatever orcs are left in this mountain, it is your solemn charge to defend and protect this cavern from the outsiders. Let no one pass the door that does not have the blessing of the mountain.

  I didn’t get much further. All the accusations that I feared were here. They all knew what I had done. I couldn’t decide if it were better or worse that my accusers were dead. Although if they were here, I wouldn’t be surprised if they tortured me to death. I flicked through the tome. I avoided reading the more recent entries. More accusations would not help me. I needed to find out about the pools. I pulled another book out of the wall and turned the pages. They were brittle and yellowed. I needed to be careful with them. Every so often the angular scrawl changed, which I assume meant the passage of different chie
fs through the mountain city. Mostly they recounted battles or conquests, but here and there were marking that I didn’t understand. I changed to a different book, more of the same.

  Balancing my need for speed with due deference to the orcs of the mountain who had preserved the heritage, I scoured the books for something that would help me. I found all sorts of interesting things. There were records of all the orcs born here. I knew of no other orc city where this was practiced. It meant something to be an orc from this mountain. The mountain belonged to the orcs, and the orcs belonged to the mountain. The Iret orcs have never belonged to me, no matter what I thought.

  I could see from the crumbling tomes that this library had been here for many generations, but what about the pools? If they were powerful, it wasn’t the kind of power that could be used to fight off the day creatures. But perhaps it was something the day creatures wanted. I returned to the pool cavern and watched them. The one nearest to me sparkled. The black water was edged with a sickly pink sheen. I peered closer, and the surface swirled as it pulsed. I reached out toward the water, and I felt an acute sense of fear.

  All of a sudden, I wanted nothing to do with these pools. I wanted to get away, but I was transfixed. I couldn’t pull back from the water. The pulses became more pronounced. There was no longer a gentle ripple, but the water rose and fell as if it was sprouting further with every wave. Disobeying the normal rules of water, it reached out toward me, like a fist that opened to reveal a hand with a hundred long fingers. These fingers stretched for my face; they pushed into my eyes, up my nostrils, and down my throat, coating every surface inside my head and out. I felt them spill all over my body; they coated my bones and filled every sense. I wanted to scream and scream. I have no idea if I did or not, because I knew nothing but this water that had found its way into my very marrow, coursing through every part of me, burning like molten stone. It was clear to me that soon would be my end. My body would not be able to bear this heat and pressure, and I would evaporate into nothing. The pain was all encompassing. And then, all of a sudden, it left me.

  I woke with the cool, damp floor of the cavern against my face. I was surprised to still be a corporeal being after that ordeal. Indeed, I seemed to be as bodily intact as I had been before. Sitting up, I realized I was close to three pools. I wanted to be as far away from them as possible. I had no desire to experience that again. The pool that had attacked me was closest, and I slowly edged away from it. The library was the nearest escape route, but I would be trapped. The egress back into the mountain seemed much further away than I remembered. The incident was so fresh in my mind that my first sense was to get to safety. I crawled along the floor and then made a run for it. I hit the door of the library so hard, I nearly bounced off it. I fumbled and stumbled my way inside and shut it carefully and firmly behind me. I slid to the floor with my back against the door and covered my face with my hands. It seemed like things couldn’t get worse. Perhaps I had died, and this was my eternity of torment for all the mistakes I had made.

  Eventually, I found the strength to take my hands down from my face. I looked up at the stacks of books and paper. They sat there as before but they looked different. It seemed like my vision was tinged with the same color as the water; everything was darker but rimmed with the pink color of guts. For a while, I thought the water was still inside me, and I panicked and started scratching at my face and eyes. I did nothing but hurt myself. I tried to get my breathing under control again. When the world slowed, I could look again, and I saw that not everything was uniform. Now, certain books stood out from the others. They glowed as the water had pulsed. I gathered myself, for I had led many orcs into battle and was not one to cower on the ground in fear. Mostly.

  I stood up and walked to the books, taking one of the glowing ones in hand. I had already leafed through this one before, but I saw that it was both the same book and one that was totally different. The words and markings I had read before fell into the background, and in the foreground new words and symbols glowed. Something I had not seen before. It was what I had been looking for: the story of the cavern of pools.

  The Cavern of Isknaga

  Long ago, when even the world was young, there was a great orc mage called Isknaga. She grew up an everyday sort of orc, was handed a club as a cub and told to go out into the world hitting things. Like all young orcs, she was told that her club was an extension of herself, and she took this quite literally. The club did as she bid it, but it wasn’t always in her hands when that happened.

  Orcs had no magic, and so Isknaga simply understood that her club did her bidding in the same way as her arm or her leg would. She tumbled and jostled along with the other cubs in her mountain and, despite her small size, won many fights. When the time came for the choosing of cubs to train as warriors, Isknaga held her own and was chosen to be among them.

  In those times, orcs were not seen as a great threat. Great and evil wizards battled for power over all the land, and all the other creatures tried to survive without incurring their wrath. The orcs from Isknaga’s mountain sometimes had skirmishes with elves, but it was mostly over small pieces of land, lakes, and rivers. Isknaga’s first mission outside the mountain was to spy on the elves.

  Her orders weren’t exciting enough, so with the boldness of youth, she ventured further into elf territory until she found an elf camp. She watched them play with the forest, talk to the trees, and draw pictures in the air, and she understood that she shared a quality with the elves that she did not share with other orcs.

  Isknaga left the mountain and went on a quest to find out everything she could about this quality, and it wasn’t long before she learned of magic and of wizards. She wanted to learn how to use the gifts the spirits had given her, but no wizard would apprentice her because she was an orc, and everyone knew that orcs were not magical. The wizards were fierce and foreboding, and most would have feared to ask, but Isknaga was an orc and she was brazen as only orcs can be. She sought out every wizard she could find and asked to learn from them. They were unimpressed by her club and confused by her request. Dismayed and disillusioned, Isknaga wandered the world, wondering why the spirits had given her magic but no chance to learn about it. The spirits heard Isknaga’s questions and led her gradually to the Iret Mountains.

  The spirits were angry with the wizards. They had given Isknaga wizarding powers and sent her to them, but the wizards had ignored the orc and defied the spirits. The spirits cursed all the wizards that had refused Isknaga. When they died, their souls would not escape this world but come to this cavern in the Iret Mountains and impart knowledge to those that asked for it.

  Isknaga had made a home in Iret, and more orcs had joined her. Their numbers grew, and a city grew throughout the mountain range. Isknaga reigned as chief of the mountain: every orc was her cub, and she looked for magic in the cubs as they grew. More than one of them had the skill ― some from her line, and some from the other lines.

  The wizards continued to fight with each other, but as they died, each one found its way to the cavern of Isknaga, each trapped in its own pool. She was finally able to ask them her questions, and they were compelled to answer her. But they were wizards in death as well as life, and wizards are cunning and vicious when crossed. For everything that was taught, a price was exacted. But Isknaga was as cunning as any of them, for she was an orc as well as a wizard, and more often than not, they did her bidding.

  While she lived, she bade the wizards teach the young magical orcs, and much though they complained, they were forced to comply. These magical orcs helped Isknaga to build the city of Iret. Orcs would grow and flourish here, and they would be the most learned orcs. Isknaga lived longer than any orc and when she died, she became the mountain and would forever have dominion over the wizards.

  After her death, the wizards became harder to manage, and only the cleverest and hardiest of orcs could get anything out of them. Only those who come to the cave with the blessing of Isknaga could leave it alive.
As you entered the cavern, Isknaga blessed you, and you were compelled to protect the orcs of Iret above all, or else she would bring her wrath upon you.

  You have faced the wizard Aklakratan to gain the knowledge to read this book. Be warned that Aklakratan was the kindest of the wizards and his demands the least severe. The other wizards exact higher prices, and since Isknaga’s death, they have taken many lives and many souls.

  That was the least severe price? I did not want to meet any more of these wizards. Each shimmering pool had knowledge but also a world of pain, and I was no magician. I had never had the slightest ability with magic, though I knew plenty of magic users. I understood how to use those with magic, and I understood what a powerful force it could be, but I could never master even the simplest spell. I knew who I was, unfortunately, and I knew I would be no master for these wizards. It sounded like it had been a long time since anyone had been strong enough to control them. But their mere presence would change the orcs of the mountain. That could be seen all around.

  Was the mountain really Isknaga? It seemed doubtful. That was just the kind of thing orcs say in stories. And the mountain must be millennia older than her. But certainly, the Iret orcs differed from other orcs. They were no great mages, but they must have great allegiance to the clan for this to have been kept secret from me throughout the war. There were great wizards on our side too, although I suspect they were no longer in these lands. They would surely have wanted this mountain for themselves, had they known about it.

  The listing of all the births was strange too. Like all creatures, orcs care for their young, but so many die when they are still very little. Orc cities usually assume there will be more orcs without counting individuals. Orc commanders count warriors, but no one counts all the orc cubs, except here. I wondered what secrets were hidden in other mountains and tunnels. Perhaps there were no typical orc homes. Iret or Isknaga still kept track of all her children. Maybe she was still looking for the great orc mage. Maybe the next Isknaga was in the still room, lost forever, along with all the other counted cubs. No wonder this was the saddest of mountains.