by B. T. Narro
When the rope was secure both around Andar’s waist and the hard mound, Rolan picked up a pickaxe from the ground and seemed unsure how to give it to Andar.
“I want you to have use of your hands.” He looked to be in thought as he glanced up and down Andar’s body, making him painfully aware of his tattered clothing. “Put this in between the rope and your body.” Rolan handed over the pickaxe. “See if you can maneuver enough to climb down.”
Andar slid the pickaxe between the rope and his body behind his back. It pressed tightly against him, hurting his spine, but at least it was secure as he made use of his arms and hips.
“Good, then are you ready?” the commander asked with dire seriousness.
“I’m ready.”
“This is dangerous, so you must be careful.”
Obviously, Andar refrained from saying.
He approached the hole, where he and the commander tested the rope a few times. It certainly would hold, so long as it didn’t slip off.
“You’re to descend until your feet reach the dirt below,” Rolan said. “I was told that it’s not that far to the ground below yet, perhaps ten yards. Your task is to keep digging. This is expected to take months, but you must be careful the entire time. Are you paying attention?”
“Yes,” Andar said. He knew he should put all of his focus on his task, but he could barely tear his eyes away from the rift. The man in the long robe seemed to be doing something, probably something with Artistry. His arms were extended toward the rift, his shoulders tense. His fingers stretched out as if trying to pull something from the dark realm.
Andar realized the commander was waiting for him to say something. “What will take months?” he thought to ask.
“Your job,” Rolan said. “We know that Artistry comes up from below the ground, but no one has figured out its source. Something down there creates Artistry.” He pointed to the hole. “It might be something enormous that spreads across the underside of our world, or it might be a separate entity. Whatever it is, I want you to find it.”
“Why?” Andar asked out of curiosity. “What good would it do to find it?”
“If we study it, we might learn how to make Artistry ourselves. You might not understand what that means for us, but trust me when I say that it would change the world.”
Yes, but would it change the world for the better? The army would be even more powerful.
“Why dig here specifically?” Andar asked instead.
“Because this is a Tisary.” Rolan extended his arms.
“Commander, sir,” one of the men near the rift called.
“I’m almost done with the new digger,” he said back. Then he asked Andar, “Do you know what I mean?”
“No.” He was honored to be given enough time for his questions to be answered. He would try not to take advantage by asking too much.
“Tisary is short for the word Artisary—a place where lots of Artistry is made and usually trapped. They are most often in caverns like this. The rift that you see there requires a lot of Artistry from our realm and a lot of Esitry from the dark realm. We dig here because we know that a lot of Artistry is coming up from the ground here. The source is likely to be closer to us than if we were to dig anywhere else.”
“Esitry?” Andar asked, having never heard the word.
Andar worried when he saw the commander sigh. Andar needed to know everything he could about Artistry, and clearly this was the man to ask. He couldn’t already be tired of answering questions. Andar had so many.
“I don’t have time to get into it at the moment. I need to finish here with you. Are you good with your hands, Andar Litxer?”
“Very,” he said, disappointed he would find out nothing else at the moment.
“Good, because you will descend into the hole with a lantern in one of your hands. I’m sure it will be quite difficult, for the lantern is hot. But you must have light down there. It is too dangerous, otherwise. Keep one lantern below the surface and another above. At the end of each day, you will bring out the old lantern for its oil to be refilled. At the start of the next day, you will bring a new lantern down. All will be supplied to you. Are you afraid? This is the time to change your mind about all of this if you’re going to.”
“I’m not scared,” Andar insisted, though he certainly felt as though he should be.
The commander leaned down to look into his eyes. “Either you’re the bravest boy I’ve met, or something is wrong with you. You’re not expected to spend the whole day in the crevices of the cavern. Even if you are not afraid, the dark solitude is not healthy for the mind. Take breaks when you wish. You can even walk all the way out of the cave at times and give your legs a good stretch. You have to bundle the rope to ensure it is taut the whole way down. A longer rope will be supplied to you when you have dug far enough for this rope to no longer reach the bottom.”
Rolan paused for a breath. “That should be everything you need to know for now.” He took a pair of thick gloves out of his pocket and handed them over. “They should fit. Just be careful when you work, and do not ever stand near the rift.”
Andar tried on the gloves. They were a little big, but they would do.
“What about lunch, sir?” Andar asked.
He expected the commander to laugh, but instead Rolan seemed irritated by the question. “I told you that you will be provided with the meals you require. Someone will come by around midday. If you have any other questions, you can ask her.” He walked toward the men near the rift and started speaking with them, but he stopped to look back at Andar.
So Andar bundled up the rope until the portion holding him to the mound was tight. He carefully crawled backward into the hole. It was a struggle to ensure he would not fall with only one hand on the rope and the other holding the hot lantern away from his body, but he managed to get his feet against the stone below the surface. He descended with careful little steps, letting the rope slide through a briefly loosened grip of his hand when it was time to move. It would be very easy to make a mistake here, but it was even easier to make a mistake while picking pockets, and Andar had yet to be caught. This, he could do.
Soon he was completely below the surface. The sound of his own breath echoed around him. The stone wasn’t slick or smooth, but there seemed to be very few places for him to grab hold if he were to try to climb up without the rope.
He tested the rope with hard jerks. It felt secure. Most of the places he could grab onto were big slits in the rock. Some were wide and deep enough for him to dive into if he was mad enough to try. There was an especially wide one that seemed to be filled with dirt, though this dirt was loose as if it had been dug up.
That’s exactly what happened, Andar realized. The previous diggers needed somewhere to put the dirt, so they’d stuck it in these crevices. Andar would have to do the same.
The farther he went, the more he was certain that these really were two enormous rocks on either side of him. They each curved at different degrees, though usually the rocks were close on his front and back side.
He was glad he didn’t have to squeeze through anywhere, for he wasn’t sure he had the courage to risk getting stuck down here. But there was one place where the rock he used as a foothold came to a ledge. He tried to find a place below it to put his foot, but it seemed as if it had disappeared.
It took some leaning and maneuvering for him to look down under the ledge, but he did see that the rock came out toward him again. It was just that there was a gap where he wouldn’t be able to put his feet. He had to hang from the rope to get his feet against the rock again.
The surface was just below him now, he saw. He set down his lamp first, then came down with one foot to test his weight. This dirt was hard. It seemed to hold him well as he let down his whole weight onto the circle of ground that was only twice his girth. He jumped a few times just to make sure he wouldn’t fall through. It would hold.
He took the pickax from his back, thankful for the relief to h
is spine, and started to chip away. It had been a difficult climb down, but it would only get harder the deeper he made this hole. That thought didn’t scare him, though. He feared only one thing, and it was finding the source of the Artistry.
It wasn’t so much that he feared what might happen to his body when he found it. He was only scared of what the army might do with it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Andar worked for what felt to be hours. Eventually someone called down to him.
“Andar Litxer?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Yeah?” he shouted up.
“I have food for you. Come up.”
“That’s going to take a moment.”
She didn’t reply.
The climb was difficult but manageable. The hardest part was getting up the gap in the stone where he had to hang past it on the way down. There was no place for his feet. The only way up, it seemed, was by pulling his full body weight with his arms. It would’ve been easy if they weren’t so tired from using the pickaxe. Even through the gloves, his hands felt raw.
Eventually he made it out. The woman was not anywhere near his age, as he had secretly hoped. Even worse, she seemed displeased to be here as she handed him a cloth sack that he figured contained his meal. He wondered how anyone could be displeased to be here when the rift was right by. It vibrated as streaks of white and red exploded into one another across the surface of the sphere. Andar couldn’t take his eyes off it, as if it were a furious beast looking for a victim. The man in the long robe was still there, continuing to bend his fingers into a claw shape that showed he clearly wanted something.
Andar’s meal was cured meat of some kind and fresh bread. It was better than any meal he’d received on the farm. The woman, who might’ve been his father’s age, set down a pitcher of water as well. Andar was so thirsty he started to drink from it before she might tell him that he’d have to share so he’d better wait for his cup.
To his surprise, she said nothing. It really was all for him, apparently. It was a good thing, for he’d covered the pitcher in dirt already. The water was warm, probably from sitting in a barrel that was stored within the cavern. But it was fresh and clean, the opposite of his clothing. He looked forward to visiting the bathing house when he was done for the day, especially as admittance would be free when he showed his badge that the commander had given him.
“I’ll be back later with your supper,” said the woman as she left.
Andar sat and ate, watching the man he deemed to be an Ascendant in training. The man took only a single break that Andar saw, but it seemed to be out of frustration rather than to rest, for he had made a fist and grumbled something to himself. He didn’t look tired at all, in fact, while Andar felt as though he could sleep right here.
When Andar was done eating, he approached the man. Andar was told not to be near the rift, but he figured he could at least be as close as this man was. The rift produced a strong windy sound as well as a crackle, like wood burning.
The man glared at Andar as he came up to him and asked, “What have you been doing here all this time?”
“I don’t have time for you,” the man snapped. “I’m paying for this. Leave me alone.” He turned his attention back to the rift.
Andar walked away. He supposed he wasn’t going to learn anything else about Artistry from this man. Andar decided to lie down and drift off for a bit. He awoke just when he was starting to dream about the rift opening around him as if it had jaws.
He spent what he figured was the afternoon and evening down in the hole, but it was difficult to tell. His arms ached. His back felt aflame. It was just as difficult to dig as it was to grab the loosened dirt and shove it into the crevices of the rock. But at least while digging, Andar’s curiosity could be satisfied by what he found in the next layer.
The dirt changed, becoming more moist and easier to get through. He wondered if he might be close to something.
Eventually he felt that he couldn’t go on. If he did, his body would be too sore to make any progress tomorrow. He climbed out just as the lady who’d brought him his lunch was approaching with a tray that must contain his supper.
So this was how he would spend his days from now on. At least there were new people around the rift, and the commander had returned, standing with a woman and a man. Perhaps he might learn a thing or two today after all.
The angry man in the robe must’ve left. Andar had thought much about him while digging in the last few hours. What he’d told Andar, “I’m paying for this,” must’ve meant that he had paid to spend time in front of the rift. He had probably paid the Farmers’ Guild, and perhaps the commander had allowed this Ascendant in training to stay anyway. Or perhaps the commander had taken this man’s payment to the Farmers’ Guild before allowing him to stay. It didn’t matter. The important thing to note was that whoever controlled this Tisary would receive payments from people wanting to use it. That was probably the reason it was so valuable. But what did these people do with the rift?
Andar took his tray of food and set it on the ground, hardly noticing what he would be eating. He walked over to the commander, who was still conversing with the two others near the rift, and strained to hear them.
Upon arriving, Andar saw that the man seemed to be focused on something as he faced the rift and stood where Andar assumed to be dangerously close. But the commander said nothing of his position. He was busy talking to the woman.
“Do you think you’ll feel something tomorrow?”
“Something indeed, but what exactly, I cannot say.”
“Get as much rest as you can so you can try your hardest.”
She nodded. “Excuse me then, commander.”
“You’re excused.”
She walked past Andar. He noticed her clothing then, some sort of official robe. It had the marking of the king on its front. The man who’d snapped at Andar hadn’t had anything on his plain robe. The commander walked over to Andar. He looked back at the man near the rift as if to ensure there was distance between them. In the dark, Andar could only tell that the man wore a robe, not if it had a sigil on it.
“It looks like you’ve worked hard on your first day.” Rolan gestured at Andar’s filthy clothing.
“I did as much as I could, but I won’t be able to do much tomorrow if I keep going.”
“Then you’re done for today. Your goal is to make as much progress as you can over the next few months, not each day.” The commander started to walk off, but Andar stopped him with a question.
“What’s that man doing?” He pointed at the one near the rift.
“He paid to be here for half a day.” Rolan walked back to Andar with a hurry in his step. “I have a few moments before I have to leave. What questions are most important to you?”
But Andar wanted to learn everything there was to know about not only rifts but Artistry and summoning. He couldn’t think of the right questions, so he blurted out the first that came to mind.
“Why is that man paying to be here?”
“He’s a summoner trying to communicate with a creature in the dark realm. It’s easier for summoners to speak to the creatures who have bonded with them when standing close to a rift.”
“Because the rift is a door between realms?”
“Exactly.” The commander shifted his feet. “Anything else, perhaps about your work? I must leave soon.”
Andar wouldn’t waste this precious time talking about digging. “Why isn’t the Ascendant from earlier here anymore?”
“He’s not an Ascendant. He’s a mage in training. He paid for a full day but must’ve become frustrated. That’s common. Many mages think they just need to step in front of a rift for a few hours and suddenly they’ll understand Artistry in ways no man has before. But the Artistry from a rift is no different than the Artistry found in the ground and the air. There’s just more of it here. That does help mages practice, but it isn’t going to alter their skill level on its own.”
Andar wo
uld keep that in mind when he finally had the chance to train. “Who was the woman who just left?” She had looked like another mage of some kind, which—as Andar understood—was a word for anyone who had skill with Artistry or summoning.
“She’s a solider summoner. You will see much more of her because she’s to use the rift for a while in hopes of reaching her creature on the other side.”
“That summoner.” Andar pointed at the man near the rift. “How does he communicate with a creature on the other side?”
“You’d have to ask a summoner that, but don’t bother that man. You’ll see a lot of him as well, for he’s paid for a week of half-days.”
“What exactly will take a week?”
“For him to bring his creature through from the other side.”
So Andar would see it eventually, so long as this man succeeded.
The commander said, “The woman you saw should also bring her creature through sometime in the near future. Make sure you stay back when that happens.”
Andar no longer disliked his work. He would choose nothing else but to do whatever it took to be near this rift. Perhaps soon he could use it himself without anyone knowing.
He wondered what he could ask the commander that would help him understand how he should begin training. Nothing came to mind. He thought instead of Leo and Rygen, who would want to know everything that Andar had learned today. Rygen especially had an interest in summoners. She had been through so much grief recently that Andar wanted to give her the gift of knowledge if he could.
“Can’t summoners bring creatures through from the other realm without being near a rift?” Andar asked as he thought of Celia and her horrible incenfiend.
“Only the most talented,” Rolan answered. “In order to make their own rift for a creature, they must possess some skill over Esitry—the thing I mentioned earlier today. It’s like Artistry, but different. Summoners must grab the Esitry from the other realm and pull it into ours, breaking the wall between the realms to do so, which creates a rift.”
