The Elemental Jewels (Book 1)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  “Maybe we can see the sunlight sooner if I dig our way out this end,” Grange said with a grin, though his friend couldn’t see it in the darkness.

  “You keep telling yourself that,” the other laborer said. “We’re years away from seeing this tunnel completed.”

  The two men left with their loads of stones, and Grange resumed working.

  Did you like the jewels? A voice asked as he swung the pick.

  “Who said that?” he asked in astonishment, looking around in the darkness. There was no one present.

  “Who’s there?” he spoke again, holding his pick in front of him, as he stood with his back turned towards the stone wall. There were a few feeble rays of light that penetrated to his position from the nearest lantern, but the light revealed no one else present.

  “I must have imagined it,” he muttered to himself, his head still swiveling as he tried to find any sign of movement, any evidence of another person’s presence, without success.

  Dissatisfied, but convinced that he could see no one, Grange turned back to the wall, raised the pick, and struck the mountain’s innards once again. More stones flew loose, then crumbled casually as he raised the pick for the next blow. His arms were tiring from the grueling task, and he began to slow his work as the burn increased in his muscles.

  Grange’s mind wandered as he remained alone in the darkness. He thought about Lurinda, and he thought about Hockis. He remembered the strange dark creatures he had glimpsed back in the city of Fortune, and he wondered what they were. He let his mind circle about, until he heard Garrel’s voice hail him.

  “Here’s dinner,” his fellow prisoner told him. “We’re done for the day.”

  Garrel arrived with a candle in one hand, a pair of buckets of food in the other, and a pair of blankets thrown over his shoulder. The two friends settled down among the stones and ate their meal, as Garrel described the other prisoners he had worked with during the day. Grange listened, and kept quiet about the voice he imagined he heard. The candle eventually guttered out, and they curled up with their blankets in the absolute darkness and silence, and went to sleep.

  They were awoken the next morning by the sound and light from other workers arriving in the tunnel, and they received loaves of bread that they ate for breakfast, before resuming their work once again.

  The day was a long one, interrupted for Grange after several hours of labor, when a bright flash of green sparks reminded him once again of the ill-fated jewels he had tried to steal. In his memory the jewels were bright and shiny and desirable – he wondered if he would have kept them, or given them to Matey, if he had happened to acquire them.

  The jewels are lovely. Would you keep them? Would you care for them? A voice asked.

  “Who said that? Where are you?” Grange cried out.

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?” he asked.

  There was silence once again, and he stopped working to look around, just as Garrel and another man came with wheel barrows to haul away his progress.

  “Were you two talking?” Grange asked. “I thought I heard someone talking.”

  The two looked at one another in the darkness.

  “We weren’t talking,” Garrel replied. “There was probably just an echo from somewhere in the tunnel. I’ve heard some strange echoes back where we transfer the rubble.”

  “It seemed like the voice was talking to me,” Grange began to explain, then decided not to pursue the topic.

  He heard no more that day, and he listened quietly as Garrel spoke while they ate dinner that night. “No one is really trying to build this tunnel. You work harder than anyone else I’ve seen,” Garrel told him.

  “The other prisoners say that the officers and the guards are making so much money here that they aren’t in a hurry to move the canal project along. And the top dog prisoners like Matey are doing well, so they keep the rest of us in line,” Garrel explained. “The officers are mostly noblemen, who just make a lot of money by keeping extra pay from the Tyrant’s government, and then they go home after a year or two, and more noblemen come in.”

  Grange shook his head at the preposterous notion that anyone would want to prolong the existence of the labor camp, and the two companions soon went to sleep.

  For the next several days, the work in the tunnel remained the same. Garrel hauled stones, while Grange worked in solitude, and every day he heard an imaginary voice question him about the jewels that continued to weigh on his mind.

  “Who are you? Am I going crazy?” he asked questions every time the voice spoke, but never received an answer.

  “The weather is getting colder outside,” Garrel told him one day. “People say it’s starting to show signs of winter up in the mountains. Maybe we’re doing okay to be here inside,” he tried to make the best of the situation.

  “I’d like to feel warm, really warm,” Grange replied. The air in the tunnel might not reach the extreme chill of the outside air, but it never felt warm. Even when he exerted himself, with the pick, the sweat on his back quickly evaporated away, leaving him cool once again.

  After a fortnight in the tunnel, as Grange questioned his own sanity, there came a day when the questions arose once again, as they seemed to every day. Do you admire the jewels? the unknown voice asked.

  “Yes, I admire them. They’re beautiful to look at,” Grange snapped a reply, the first time he had actually answered the unseen questioner, instead of asking questions of his own.

  Would you treasure them and keep them safe? The voice asked.

  “I’m a prisoner in a labor camp,” he answered cynically. “I can’t keep them safe from being stolen.”

  If you went free, would you value and protect your gems? The voice pressed the issue.

  “If they were as beautiful as those green jewels, I would protect them as well as possible,” Grange agreed.

  And you would admire them, always? the next question sounded in the tunnel air.

  “I always thought that we should love people, not things,” Grange answered. “But I’ve never seen jewels up close before. Yes, I would admire them – they’re beautiful, just pure beauty. They aren’t tainted with evil or jealousy or pride; they’re just pretty for the sake of being pretty.”

  Ah, the voice said. You truly are the one – she chose well, it asked no more questions.

  Grange didn’t tell Garrel about the strange conversation when they had dinner that night. It was evidence that he was going crazy, suffering from being isolated in the darkness, he realized. He simply listened to Garrel talk about the other prisoners and the gossip that came from the camp outside the tunnel.

  The next day, he was working alone once again. His arms were no longer sore from wielding the pick; he’d grown inured to the strain, as his muscles strengthened.

  Are you ready? The voice in the tunnel asked.

  “Ready for what?” Grange asked.

  You’re about to reach the jewels. You’ll set them free, and claim them for the time being, the voice replied. You will be allies with them.

  “What jewels are you talking about?” Grange asked, perplexed.

  Keep digging, and you’ll find out, the voice assured him.

  It was a terrible thing to go crazy in the dark, Grange told himself. He lifted his pick and struck the wall again, and as he did there was a peculiar sound, a hollowness to the mountain, and a sudden glowing light that emanated outward from fine cracks that he could see in the wall.

  You’ve done it! You’ve awoken them, the voice said triumphantly, and as he looked at the light, Grange realized that he perhaps was not going insane.

  Go gently now, with your hands, the voice ordered.

  Grange dropped the pick in astonishment. He knelt by the light, and pulled with all his strength at one of the rugged outcroppings in the vicinity of the light, where a pair of fine lines intersected. The stone came free with an unexpected release, and he flew backwards, landing on his seat on the floor of the tunnel, a large chunk of
stone in his hand. As he looked, the light that shone from the new opening began to fade.

  Grab them, quickly, before their light goes out! The voice spoke urgently to him.

  Grange threw the lump of stone aside as he lunched forward. He banged his knee against a loose stone, a painful impact, but he ignored the pain, motivated by the extreme urgency he heard in the voice of his unseen companion. His hand fit into the hole he had created by pulling the stone loose, and he bent low to peer into the hole around his hand as his fingers entered the small cavity that rested behind the wall.

  His fingertips touched something cool and smooth, then something else. He looked down and saw that he held two small jewels, a red one and a blue one. There were others still resting on the chamber floor – a black one, a white one, and a green one. The light was fading quickly now, as his nimble fingers snatched up the others, and he tried to look for any others before the light in the pocket disappeared completely.

  “I got five. Is that all of them?” he asked the voice.

  That is all, the voice concurred.

  “Who are you?” he was suddenly worried about who – or what – was directing him in this unfathomable occurrence.

  I am a Spirit, one of the powers of the world, created by the Creator at the beginning, helping to guide as His laws allow, the voice replied.

  “Are you good or bad?” Grange wanted to know. It was a stupid question, he knew, because he had no way to judge. There would be no proof.

  I and the Creator believe I am good, the voice sounded amused.

  “What happens now?” the boy asked.

  You will go out. You will do good things; the world is going to need you, for you are uniquely qualified. You will learn many things from these jewels. And I hope that you will survive and succeed, for your sake, and for the sake of all the peoples of this land, the voice answered gravely.

  “I’m not even allowed to leave this tunnel,” Grange said. “The guards won’t let me.

  “What does the world need for me to do?” he asked.

  You will discover the needs of the world in time. And you shall go out through the end of the tunnel that the guards are not watching, his instructor explained.

  “There’s only one entrance, and the guards watch it all the time, don’t they?” Grange wanted to know.

  You will create a second entrance. With the jewels, you will drive the tunnel all the way north through the mountain, as it is planned to go anyway, and in the direction that you need to go for now, in any event, the voice spoke confidently.

  “Drive the tunnel? You mean these stones can dig the canal tunnel? How long with that take?” Grange asked in disbelief.

  You measure time in hours? the voice asked. Yes, hours. A few hours to go to the other side of the mountain. From there you can go north to escape this place, and commence the rest of your education.

  “None of this makes any sense, except as a dream,” Grange stammered. “I must be dreaming.” He sat down on a large lump of stone, disturbed by unfathomable events that he seemed to be experiencing. “This must be a dream.”

  The jewels, they must bond to you, the Spirit told him.

  “What do you mean?” he asked the incorporeal voice.

  The stones must bond to you, to draw from you, to obey you, to teach you, to protect you, to help you, and to always be with you, the Spirit explained. Where do you wish to have them?

  “I have no idea,” he replied.

  Turn your arm over, and place them on it, the voice commanded.

  Grange pulled his sleeve up, and did as instructed. He extended his left arm, then carefully deposited the unseen jewels in a line up the inside of his forearm, unable to discern the colors of the stones as he placed them atop his skin in the darkness.

  Now hold still. No matter what you feel, don’t move, the Spirit said firmly.

  His arm suddenly felt warm. The stones began to dimly glow, tiny sparks inside the heart of each gem twinkling and slowly growing. The warmth began to rapidly escalate, turning to heat, then to a painful roasting.

  “It hurts,” Grange exclaimed. “Make it stop.”

  You must have the strength to withstand and wait, the Spirit said. Be steady. It is the bonding, and it is a test.

  The pain increased, and so did the light in the jewels. They suddenly flared with a bright illumination while they inflicted their hot pain upon his flesh. He felt his arm starting to quiver, and he closed his eyes tightly as he concentrated on holding the arm still, resisting the temptation to shake it free of the painful stones that were hurting him for no reason he understood.

  Hockis had always told Garrel and him that patience was the supreme virtue, that sometimes a good pickpocket would have to wait for hours to see the best opportunity to make a heist, and that even when the conditions were cold or rainy or crowded or otherwise terrible, a successful practitioner would have to stand their duty, even in the most unpleasant but useful place, in order to reap the rewards. Grange focused on that cynical, self-serving message and tried to apply it to the otherworldly experience he was enduring.

  The jewels seemed to give one brilliant flare of light, so bright that he experienced it through his shut eyelids, and then suddenly the pain, and the heat, and the light were gone. Grange stood still in the darkness, breathing heavily in relief from the cessation of the pain for several seconds.

  “Grange? Are you okay?” Garrel’s voice echoed along the tunnel, the words difficult to understand as they reverberated atop one another over their long, ricocheting journey towards Grange.

  He heard the sound of footsteps behind him. When he turned, he saw a torch light bobbing towards him, as Garrel came running.

  Hide the jewels, the voice said. It is not time to reveal them yet.

  He grabbed with his right hand at the stones that sat on his left arm. His fingertips swept over the surface of his skin, finding no stones as they touched upon a series of smooth bumps along the lines of his veins.

  “Where are they?” he asked the voice.

  “Grange, is everything alright?” Garrel asked again as he drew nearer. His running pace slowed to a quick walk upon spotting Grange standing in the tunnel.

  They will be with you for as long as you and they exist, now, the Spirit answered. Hide them. Let them grow used to you. We will discuss more when they have measured you.

  “What was that flash of light?” Garrel asked as he arrived.

  Grange pushed his sleeve back down to his wrist before he spoke.

  “I can’t tell you,” he answered. “But everything is alright now.”

  “That was something! I saw it from halfway down the tunnel,” Garrel said. “But it wasn’t a tunnel gas explosion, or you wouldn’t be here. You didn’t notice anything? You didn’t do anything?”

  “I was just here making rocks for you to haul away,” Grange answered.

  “Well, it’s almost the end of the day anyway. Let’s go get our dinner and settle in for the night,” Garrel suggested.

  Together, they walked down the tunnel to where there was a shift of workers finishing up for the day, the most people Grange had seen together since entering the cave. The two gathered their dinners, Garrel exchanged his torch for a candle, and then they returned to the dead end of the tunnel, where they ate and talked; or rather, Garrel talked a great deal, though Grange said little. His mind was too preoccupied with the extraordinary wonder of his experience with the spirit and the gems.

  When the candle went out and the two of them laid down in the darkness, Grange felt too excited to sleep, and he lay in the darkness for what seemed an interminable time.

  Go to sleep, the voice in the tunnel whispered. Sleep, and let the jewels come to understand you, so that they learn how best to serve you.

  As if on command, he felt himself relax and grow drowsy, and then he began to slumber. As he slept, his mind whirled through what seemed to be a thousand strange dreams. He dreamed of Hockis and Lurinda. He dreamed of Matey and the wom
an with the green emerald brooch. He dreamed of seeing the sun, and of watching the water flow in the river bed, and of the feel of the wind on his skin. His dreams returned to the emeralds, over and over again, surprising him as he realized how many details he had memorized about the stones and the golden brooch that held them.

  And then he awoke, when he heard Garrel stir.

  “Time for another day,” his friend said as he pushed his blanket aside and pulled his boots on.

  “Don’t make any more underground flashes of light to scare me,” the boy laughed in the darkness, and then he was gone, on his way to return to the front of the tunnel where the beginning of the day’s labors waited for him.

  Grange let his right hand drift over to his left arm, and he began to run his fingertips lightly along the inside of his arm. The warm skin of his flesh seamlessly transitioned to the slightly raised small mounds of the jewels, now at the same temperature as his arm, seemingly incorporated into his body.

  Don’t play with them, the voice in the tunnel scolded him. Go to the end of the tunnel and use them to open the way through the mountain.

  “How do I use them? Will they swing the pick for me?” Grange asked sarcastically as he started to stand.

  Do not take these stones lightly. They have chosen to be with you as they emerge into the light, to battle for the light. They have studied you. Now they are about to begin your tutorial, the Spirit’s voice admonished him.

  Grange shivered at the tone of the words as he walked to the end of the tunnel and picked up the pick.

  We will work together, a different sensation touched the tendrils of his thoughts. It was not the voice of the Spirit, he knew. It was not a sound. It was something different – a communication that was something like a feeling, or a perception, or maybe a response. Fire and wind and stone, he felt the concept. Or maybe it was light and air and earth – they were concepts, not words. And yet there were words too – strange, musical words he didn’t understand, from a language he’d never heard before.

  How do you work together? He let his thought form.

  We do this, came a thought, one that was an image, or maybe it was a concept, or perhaps an intuitive leap. He wasn’t sure. He felt unsettled – he couldn’t tell if he was thinking or responding or sensing or something else. There was a blurring of his identity.