Urt's cheeks reddened. He balled his fists and pressed them into the floor. "You bet your ass I'm selfish and angry. This world's not meant for kind and caring greenskins, and it never was. We're in the under mountain. You'd do yourself a favor by remembering that. Giggles and frolics through fields aren't for us. We're diggers, Boil, and no matter how many times you tell yourself otherwise, that'll never change. You hear me? Never. I coddled you about your clan fancies while she was here, but don't think I'll keep the act going when it's just you and me and the rock as witness."
Boil narrowed his eyes. The smug, bitter look in Urt's eyes crawled under Boil's skin. Everything Urt did and said fit wrong, like a slug sleeping in a snail's shell. "You never believed we'd dig out."
Urt laughed as he clapped, rocking back. "Dig out? Look how damned deep we are in the under mountain, you moron! We're so deep the other diggers don't even come around. You might've convinced Ember, but I went grey because I trusted my own instincts and not some obnoxious greenskin barely off his mother's teat."
"But beyond the arch—"
"Oh, there's something beyond it. You and I both know that. I know it better. I hear it, waiting, watching. You won't listen, but I do, and what's there is no good for us. This place should be forgotten, and whatever's beyond that arch should be forgotten with it."
"Freedom's beyond that arch, stupid geezer!"
"You're blind as a bat if you think we'll find sky beyond that arch." Urt growled, swatting at the air. "Bah. I wish Skar killed me and the scarabs had picked me clean."
"Because you're a coward."
"I am a coward. That's a crown I wear with pride, and if you had any sense you'd admit you were too. That's not why I wished for death. No, I've come to see things a little differently in this black room while I study your shimmering book."
Some of Boil's anger dampened. He uncrossed his arms and frowned. "What’ve you discovered?"
"That death's not so bad when you think about it. I mean, look at us!" Urt laughed and swept his arms wide. "This isn't living, and the world beyond the mountain's not going to be any better. In death, though, there's something else. There's a whole new world, and we're whole new things when we go there. Death is the true adventure, Boil. That's where you should dig your dreams."
"You're going insane." Boil tightened his jaw and backed toward the exit. "There is mojo in here, and it's wearing you down like a trickle down stone. I'm ... I'm going to find Ember. When we get back, we'll figure out what to do with you. It's not safe for you to stay here anymore. One day you're all about getting through the arch, the next you're raving about the things you imagine behind it."
The old greenskin snorted. He tapped the black book as he stared at its cracked leather cover. "Death, Boil. We'll only be free in death…."
His voice trailed into obscurity, his finger still tapping the cover in regular beats. Boil paused at the exit. A small piece of him pitied the greenskin. If only the geezer wasn't such a rotten egg, maybe Boil might actually find a way to make amends.
Ember would know what to do about Urt. She always did. He bolted from the room and ascended the gentle slope. The orange glow from Urt's torch vanished, not because Boil turned a corner, but because the greenskin extinguished the flame. That brought Boil no comfort, but he didn't have time to dwell on it.
His keen vision illuminated the tunnel's edges in grey and deepest blue. He came to the main cavern with its enormous, rickety elevator striking through the mountain like a wood and iron backbone. But instead of going his usual way, he headed for Ember's hovel.
Sweat congealed on his palms; he wiped them on his shirt and lingered at the tunnel leading to her den. This was a surefire execution if he got caught. High clans forbid hovels commingling outside of mating season, and he had no idea if her mine masters patrolled the passages nearby.
A muffled squeal perforated a tunnel across the cavern. Boil paused, one foot leading toward Ember's hovel, the other planted in the elevator room.
His ear twitched. Another squeal disturbed the stillness.
Boil nearly ignored it. Curious diggers died the youngest. Yet, he paused. Urt would ignore the sound too. Any good digger would focus on what he wanted and nothing else.
"You’re not a digger, dammit,” Boil said. Boil swallowed the hard lump in his throat and headed toward the cries.
He slipped back into the main room and followed the muted shrieks down another tunnel. Each step he took, they increased in volume and fear. He reached the tunnel's exit where it opened to a ledge overlooking an underground lake. Somewhere in the distance, rushing water sighed in the depths.
Terror clawed up his spine, and his heart galloped into his throat as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Skar had Ember pinned on the ground. His long, flat tongue raked up her neck. His hooked nails prodded her clothes. Ember's hair curtained her face, her tight braid torn apart.
"Quit struggling," Skar hissed. "I claim you. You're mine, little digger. You do exactly what I want. We're gonna have a little fun, you'll see. It'll be a night to remember."
She squirmed in his hold, but his massive hand flattened her against the rock. Scarlet rimmed Boil's vision. His body shook. And then, he launched himself at Skar. Nails cut flesh. The mine master howled. Skar's fist slammed against Boil's temple, and he wheeled toward the precipice.
Boil slid to the edge and tumbled over. His feet swung into open air. His fingers caught the lip and yanked him to a stop, saving him from the fatal drop to the dark waters below.
"Boil!" Ember screamed. She tore from beneath Skar and sprinted to him, grabbing his wrist as he lost his hold. Her face contorted in a grimace as she heaved him up. "I won't let you fall. Pull. Hurry, pull!"
He clutched the cliff with his other hand, and with her help fumbled onto the ledge. "We've got to get out before—"
A black silhouette swallowed them. Skar plucked Ember from the ground, wrapping his hand around her neck. "Disobedient wench. I'll pound some lessons into her; she'll see. But you...."
Skar's eyes glittered. A gash raked from his brow to his chin glistened with the blood oozing from it. Boil slapped his hands on the ground and bounded to his feet. "I don't care. Do whatever you want to me. Why don't you, uh, fight me? You afraid of a little digger? Put her down and fight me!"
The mine master guffawed. "I don't need to fight you. I'm just going to kill you."
"So you're afraid? Figures. Everybody talks about how you ended up in the under mountain. Probably lost to a grandmother in the high halls, didn't you? She beat you with her cane, mighty Skar?"
A low growl rolled from Skar's lips. "Now you really will die, Boil the Digger."
"Don't you hurt him!" Ember yelled. She spat in Skar's face, the spit rolling down his jaw. "You filthy, good-for-nothing, warty freak!"
Skar sighed, and it was a sigh that bloomed a deep kind of terror in Boil’s heart. The mine master held Ember in one hand. With his other, he pinched her wrist and twisted. A sickening crack echoed over the lake, carried on her tortured scream.
"Ember!" Boil clawed at Skar, but the mine master backhanded Boil, swatting him to the ground. Before Boil could react, Skar's heel dug into Boil's belly with excruciating force.
Boil gagged and coughed. Ember wept, her tears rolling down her cheeks and over Skar's knuckles. The mine master cocked his head and leaned to Boil. The warts on Skar's nose twitched as his nostrils swelled. "Ember? What is this name Ember?"
Ember's chin trembled, and her eyes grew to the size of scarab queens. "Oh Boil..."
"No." Boil writhed beneath the heavy heel. "Please—no—I meant—"
"You meant to lie to me," Skar said. "To me?" Rage rippled through the mine master's cheeks. He squeezed Ember's neck, and her eyes bulged. "She's not a friend of yours. You two were digger lovers, weren't you? 'That Skar must be such a fool,' you would say. 'We'll make up this little story and laugh when he's not looking.'"
"It's not that way," she sobbed.
"Sh
ut up!" he roared, leaning over Boil. Spit rolled from the wall of his pointed teeth and dripped on Boil's collar. Each breath reeked of ale. "You diggers think you're smarter than us mine masters. I see it in your eyes. You're not smarter. You never were. It's why you belong in the under mountain."
Ember raked her nails across his cheek, drawing blood. "Then what does that make you?"
Skar shivered, then flashed a cold smile as he straightened and brought his glare to her. Boil tried screaming, but the heel on his stomach choked the voice from him. The mine master licked his lips and flashed his brows. "That makes me your god."
She looked to Boil. Her lips pressed together, then parted in a sad smile. "See the sun, Boil. I love—"
The mine master snapped her neck, and her head flopped to the side. Boil cried and wailed. He thrashed and writhed and clawed. He watched in horror as Skar flung Ember over the ledge. Her small, beautiful body careened into the darkness. A few heartbeats later, it splashed into the lake.
Boil sobbed until his tears dried. He fought Skar's weight until his strength failed. In the end, he stared blankly at the tall ceiling and waited. Skar's face slid into view, wearing an amused grin.
"Just get it over with," Boil said.
"What? Kill you?"
He nodded.
Skar chuckled, playfully slapping Boil's cheek. "And let you go to the emperor's throne with her? Why would I ever do that, Boil the Digger? No, you'll not go off into the world's heart so soon. I'm going to make you into a lesson—no, a legend—no digger will soon forget."
Boil went limp. Urt was right. No matter how hard he tried or how much he dreamed, he would always be a digger. Trying to be something more only brought others tragedy. Now, it would bring him a kind of pain he never thought possible. It didn't come from cuts or scrapes or scratches, but from a deep place within his soul. That pain hollowed him out, hopes and all.
"Time to get some sleep," Skar said with a yawn, lifting his foot from Boil. "Are you going to be a good digger and walk back to the hovel, or do I need to force you?"
"No." Boil blinked. He rolled to his knees and stood. "I'll be good."
"Excellent." Skar sauntered into the tunnel, whistling an old greenskin tune.
Boil drifted in the mine master's wake, thoughts of freedom swallowed by the numbness in his heart.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Trollish Tantrum
Grump admired his garden. It swelled nearly as full as Teacher's now, and the vegetables and fruits it produced made meals just as mouthwatering as hers. He even started cooking most of their meals each night while she smoked thimbleweed and regaled him with the legends of fair folk and the mighty wizards of old.
Dirt coated his overalls from his ankles to his knees. The dark soil gathered in crescents under his nails and filled the tiny ridges on his palms. He wiped his hands over his chest and gathered a few vegetables for Bah. She particularly enjoyed his coriander and tomatoes, so he gathered plenty to keep her bleating down.
He plopped the armful of fresh food before her, and she danced excitedly in circles before burying her head in the grub. Beside her little fenced world, his compost pile reeked of fresh fertilizer. Teacher hated the smell. For some reason, Grump loved it. It was solace, security that his plants would never hunger so neither would he.
Bah crushed a tomato, and it squirted juices that dribbled down her jaw. He chuckled and shook his head, turning to the gorge—his home, his pride, his peace. Trees thrust their limbs over tall granite or slipped long roots over the edge, the only hint of the world beyond.
A stream of fireflies wandered in an undulating band over the gurgling brook. Toads croaked to one another while crickets chirped a song in practiced unison.
Grump nodded and grinned. His steady gaze scoured the verdant canyon, prying into each nook and cranny and deep shadow. Once he assured himself Teacher wasn't hiding in them, he retreated to the back of his cave and lit a small fire.
Once the flames washed the walls with their amber light, he sat cross-legged before them, feeling the heat lick his shins. He clasped his palms together and cleared his throat.
His ribs vibrated with the note welling deep within his belly. The note worked its way into his mouth, then pressed against his lips.
Grump closed his eyes and hummed the song in his heart. Each note flowed into the cave in a rolling wave that untied the angry knot of his memories into smooth, joyous lines. Whatever Hunger rippled through his blood faded. There was only him and the fire and the peace of impenetrable stone.
His imagination swam as he hummed his song. He soared above the gorge and flew beyond Farlain's canopy. In the distance, the colossus blackwoods shadowed the swamp beneath them. But that was his past. Grump wanted his future. He pivoted and faced the Grey Plains, vaulting through the sky.
The tawny grasses swayed in an unhindered wind. Long stalks tickled his palms as he passed his hand over them. Soon, those plains ceded ground to realms of humans and their kingdoms of stone and steel. Fires dotted the landscape, built before a patchwork quilt of farmland connected by a web of roads leading to mighty castle-crowned cities.
Beyond the land of men, he spied a forest of redwoods rivaling the mightiest cypresses in the Blackwood Swamp. Those redwoods gave way to mountains that ran from one horizon to another and nearly tore the sky in two with their vicious peaks. More kingdoms waited beyond them, the lands of the West where the old kingdoms and old magics waited, where history began and nearly ended in the Wizarding War. This place was too foreign, too strange for a troll's imagination.
His song ended like it did every time he hummed it. Whatever waited beyond the Granite Ridge, he never could quite picture. Eastern Oya was something he could fathom. The West? Shrouded, always shrouded.
Grump doused the campfire, swatting at the smoke stinging his eyes. Teacher waited for him with her meal and thimbleweed; better not keep her wondering why her apprentice was late.
He waved at Bah as he strolled into the night. Just beyond his garden, Grump came to hers. Her rosebushes tickled his nostrils with their sickly sweet aroma. He swallowed a sneeze and held his breath, trotting quickly beyond the scarlet tongues dotting the olive bushes.
Grump paused at the last bush and frowned when something caught his eye. Trying his best not to inhale, he went to a knee and prodded the lowest branches. Chickweed leaves sprouted around the bushes. He grimaced and ran his fingers over the invading plant. He would have to tell Teacher her garden needed a good weeding or it would kill her flowers. Grump stood, brushing off his knees, and continued on his way.
Teacher waited at her cabin, a bowl of steaming soup already poured and placed beside her. He took a seat, and together, they watched the stars.
"What do you think they are?" he asked her, motioning to the sky.
"What stars are changes depending on who you ask. Sailors will tell you they're guides. Priests will tell you they're gods. Farmers will tell you they're calendars while mages will tell you they’re prophets."
"You tell me what these human folk believe they are. What does Teacher think they are?"
She chuckled and packed fresh thimbleweed into the bowl of her antler pipe. "I think they're all these things and so much more. You learn much by looking at the stars." She inhaled from the pipe, and her shoulders slumped. "Though I'll tell you sometimes the things they teach are better left unlearned. Oh, what I wouldn't give to be an ignorant old fool for the rest of my days, forget what's been and blindly walk into the future."
Teacher passed her pipe to him. He inhaled the bitter smoke, then let it sift from his nostrils. "If I could learn everything there was to learn, I would. I want to know everything there is about the world. Even the world beyond Oya."
"Funny, coming from a troll who's spent his days hiding here from it."
His nose wrinkled into a wedge. "I love the world. Not so much the people in it."
"Ah, but the people make the world, Grump. People work it. The wizards were power
ful enough to raise mountains and tear an ocean, yes, but even something as tiny as a fairy could reshape history in her own way."
Grump passed his tongue over his tusks and locked his hands in his lap. "Let them change it how they like it just as long as they leave me and my plot of land alone."
"I know it's been a hard life for you, my boy, but the world's not all evil. There are good things here, and one day they might need the steady hand and deep patience of a practiced gardener."
"But would they want a troll and his Hunger? I doubt it. You yourself said the world wouldn't understand me."
"I did?" She clucked her tongue, shaking her head. "I can be a mean old fool sometimes."
"You also warned me about smoking too much thimbleweed. You're taking too much I think and forgetting things. I am ... worried."
Teacher flashed her toothy grin and winked slyly at him. "Keen eye, but don't you worry about me. Bones as old as mine tend to ache. The weed's all that keeps my hands working these days."
Grump tucked his legs against his chest and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin between his knees. "This is serious, Teacher. I worry about you."
"I know, Grump. I know." She sighed and clutched her raven staff. Her fingers slid up and down the smooth wood. "Are you ready to sing your song for me?"
"Not yet." His chest tightened at the thought of singing for someone else. His voice would tremble; his breath would catch and he would cough. She would try to hold her snicker, but it would weasel from her lips. Soon, she'd be rolling on the floor and howling tears between breaths.
"Please play it for me soon. I’d love to hear it before the nights darken."
The sadness in her voice crushed his other thoughts. He whipped around, planting his palms on the grass. "What's wrong? Tell me!"
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