The Survivors

by Dan Willis

  “It’s as if someone burned the world,” Rose said in awe, clinging fearfully to Bradok’s sleeve.

  Bradok thought back to Ironroot and Silas and the believers and all the signs and warnings there he had ignored. “I wonder if there are any other survivors besides us?” he said.

  “Surely there will be,” Jeni said, coming up near them.

  “There have to be,” Kellik said, close behind.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Bradok said, turning to face his little group of friends. “Reorx has led us here, to this place. There’s food and shelter in the cave and timber aplenty here.”

  “And ore,” Kellik said, pointing up to a red-stained rock on the mountain.

  “Right,” Bradok said. “We’ll build a forge, and we’ll make the tools we need, and we’ll build a new home right here.”

  “Can we really do all that?” Kellik’s son Rijul piped up.

  “We don’t exactly have enough people for a city,” Lyra cautioned.

  “We’ll do it,” Bradok said. “It’ll just take time.”

  Rose hugged him close while all the survivors cheered. He knew it would take work, but Reorx had prepared that land for them.

  Six weeks later, Rose shook Bradok out of a sound sleep. Outside the cave, the sun was peeking through the clouds. Since he’d had guard duty the night before, Bradok had slept late.

  “Look,” Rose said, sticking her arm under his nose.

  “What am I looking at?” he asked, groggily rubbing his eyes.

  “Me! It’s gotten smaller,” she said boastfully.

  Bradok studied her arm, staring at the gray patch of skin where the Zhome had first manifested itself. He hadn’t dared to look at Rose’s arm in quite a while, but the affected skin did seem to be smaller than he remembered it, much smaller.

  “How?” he asked, looking intently at her arm.

  “I thought the Zhome was getting smaller, but today I did something and it actually shrunk before my eyes.”

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I got hot,” she said. “So I took off the bandage to let my arm breathe.”

  Bradok stared blankly.

  “It’s the sunlight!” she told him. “As soon as the sunlight hit my arm, I felt it tingling and I saw the Zhome actually shrink.”

  Bradok jumped to his feet and pulled his boots on.

  “Corin!” he yelled, dragging Rose out of the cave into the light.

  A moment later, the skinny Daergar came trudging up the path, shouldering the axe he’d been using to cut fuel for the forge. He had a cloth bound round his eyes to protect them from the sun. None of the Daergar seemed to be able to stand the full daylight without a bandage.

  “I don’t believe it,” he said when Rose showed him her arm.

  “Take off your shirt,” Bradok said. “Lie in the sun and try it yourself.”

  Hesitantly, Corin stripped off his shirt, exposing the gray streaks on his chest with tiny mushrooms growing in them. Within twenty minutes, three of the mushrooms had dried up and fallen off.

  “I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes,” he said, standing up and showing the results to Rose and Bradok.

  “My people thought there was no cure,” Corin added ruefully. “Most Daergar live their whole lives without ever seeing the surface world. How could they possibly guess that the dreaded Zhome could be cured by something as simple as sunlight?”

  “So take your shirt off for a brief time every day when the sun is out,” Rose said. “Not too much. The Zhome will heal, but you don’t want to get sunburned on top of everything else.”

  Corin smiled, slipping his shirt back on.

  “So sunlight isn’t all bad, eh? Live and learn! I’m going to go tell Urlish about this,” he said, excusing himself.

  Bradok raised an eyebrow as Corin hurried off. Urlish was the quiet farmer Rose had brought with her in the trade delegation. She didn’t seem Corin’s type, but they all had been through a lot together, and here and there dwarves were pairing off.

  Speaking of that, Rose sidled up to him. “You know what this means?” she said, her hip touching his and her shoulder pressing into his chest.

  “What?” Bradok asked, looking down into her beaming face.

  She elbowed him hard in the ribs, which only made him gasp a little. “It means we don’t have to worry anymore. We can have children,” she said. “Just as soon as I’m cleansed.”

  Bradok put his arm around her and kissed her.

  Whatever else their new life brought him, he doubted he could be happier than at that moment.

  Bradok opened his eyes in the predawn darkness. Something had roused him from sleep, and he lay awake, listening. After several minutes, he’d resolved to go back to sleep but knew that he had to get up in an hour anyway.

  With a sigh, he swung his feet out of bed and stood, pulling on his robe. Moving as quietly as possible, he crossed the wood floor and stepped out on the balcony outside his room. In the distance the first light of the sun could be seen painting the lowlands a pale gold.

  He’d watched the sun come up almost every day for six years, rising on the little community they had named Kresthorn, which meant “Journey’s End” in the Elder Tongue. Below him, he could see the wheel of Much’s mill turning relentlessly in the little stream.

  Smoke rose from the chimneys above Kellik’s forge, and Bradok knew Hemmish and Rijul were up already, getting the forge prepared for the coming day’s work.

  Below them, in the bowl of the valley, Corin and Urlish were tending a neat little farm with orderly fields of vegetables and grains standing all in rows.

  Tal had married Starlight Anvil, the eldest of the Anvil grandchildren. Despate the difference in their ages, they seemed perfect for each other. Tal tended his gardens and the small apple orchard they had planted, serving as doctor whenever the need arose.

  Next to the orchard, Xurces and Corin had put up a small brewery that wouldn’t go into full-scale production until the apple trees matured.

  Xurces married Lyra, and they seemed happy just to be together and brew ale and raise Jade and little Bradok.

  Even Thurl found a place, putting his knowledge of foul chemicals to better use as the town tanner.

  The only person who had not stayed in the new dwarf community was the human Perin. They all had grown fond of him and missed him.

  He had disappeared in the middle of the night one week after they arrived there, taking the metal book from Starlight Hall with him. Nobody minded, but Bradok couldn’t understand why the human would want a book of stories about Galoka and his people. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing that would interest a human.

  A hand touched Bradok’s leg, and he looked back to see a little red-haired girl looking up at him.

  “Teal,” he said, picking her up and setting her on the railing in front of him. “What are you doing up?”

  “She heard you and insisted I know about it,” Rose’s sleepy voice answered as she joined him on the balcony.

  She wore a simple robe, like the one Bradok had, though hers barely concealed her bulging middle.

  “It’s all right,” she said as Teal snuggled into Bradok’s shirt. “Your son was kicking me anyway.” She put her hand on her belly and smiled. “I think he wants out.”

  “You’re sure it’s a boy?” Bradok asked.

  Rose smiled. “Of course,” she said. “He’s way too jumpy to be a girl.”

  “Then I’ve decided,” Bradok said. “I don’t care if Corin likes it or not; if it’s a boy, we’re calling him Omer.”

  Rose put her arm around Bradok, and little Teal let go of her daddy in favor of nuzzling her mom.

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Rose said.

  CHAPTER 26

  Official Reports

  The Journeyman stood on a stone parapet overlooking the courtyard in front of the anvil chamber. He wore a light woven robe and sandals bound with a simple belt. The wind chill
ed him, cutting through the plain garment as a slushy rain fell over the City of Lost Names. He didn’t know when the Aesthetic would arrive, but he watched a few minutes anyway, staring out into the gray pallor of the stormy sky.

  It didn’t matter, he told himself. He wasn’t likely to see that particular Aesthetic coming.

  Shivering as the wind blew the rain over him, he turned and made his way back inside. The wet leather of his sandals slapped the stone staircase as he passed down a level to the snug chamber he had made his residence.

  As he opened the heavy door, a wave of heat rolled out of the room, enveloping him. He stood there in the door for a moment, allowing the feeling of warmth to swell within him before he entered. He’d been cold for so long that he relished the warmth, savoring it like lingering over a fine meal.

  He stepped inside, closing the door behind himself, and crossed the carpeted floor to a high-backed, overstuffed leather chair. Though the Journeyman liked his pleasures, the room itself was simple. A plain bed stood in one corner with a wardrobe and a night table nearby. A washbasin and cloak rack were farther along the wall, just past the space where the door opened.

  Along the opposite wall, the Journeyman had an immense writing desk with many drawers for pens, ink, paper, and other sundries. And in the far corner stood an iron stove with a coal scuttle in front of it and a black pipe on top that carried the smoke out through a hole in the stone.

  The chair sat next to the stove with a cushy footstool resting before it. A small book table stood by the chair, and a magical lantern hung over it, suspended by a curved piece of wood that attached to the back of the chair.

  The Journeyman sat, kicking off his sandals and crossing his feet on the stool. On his left foot, the two little toes were missing, and the wound hadn’t quite healed, causing the Journeyman to ease one foot gently over the other when he crossed them.

  Not by coincidence, the stool stood a mere foot from the stove. On the table, beside the chair, a brandy snifter lay on an angle, cradled in a wood frame that suspended the glass over a lit candle. Below the brandy warmer, there were a number of books, all with bookmarks hanging out of them, attesting to the Journeyman’s usual habit of reading several books at once.

  He picked up the glass, careful not to touch the hot spot. Swirling the brandy absently in his left hand, he reached out and took the topmost book off the pile. That book was unlike its fellows in almost every way. The book had been made entirely of metal: cover, spine, pages, and all.

  Because of its weight, the Journeyman slipped it into his lap before he opened the cover and leafed through the few metal pages to the final one.

  “Comfy?” a mocking voice echoed through the chamber.

  The Journeyman turned to confront a spectral visitor regarding him from just inside the door. He stood only about five feet tall and wore the flowing robe of an Aesthetic, though both body and robe were transparent, allowing the Journeyman to see the planks of the door behind him.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t knock,” he said, clearly intending the comment as a joke. “May I come in?”

  The Journeyman chuckled, perhaps not very mirthfully. “And if I say no?” he asked.

  “Then I will leave until it is convenient,” the Aesthetic said.

  The Journeyman put his glass back on the warmer and shut the metal book. “My, my,” he said. “I see you have developed some manners over all those years.”

  The specter smiled, taking no offense. “I see you brought what I asked for,” he said.

  The Journeyman looked down at the book in his lap then back at the Aesthetic. “Why do you want it?” the Journeyman asked. “You were there when it was found. What’s so special about this book, Chisul?”

  The ghost chuckled. “There’s a name I haven’t heard in quite a while,” the specter said, a wistful smile crossing his face. “Where did you come up with Perin, by the way?”

  “It’s ancient Elvish,” the Journeyman said. “It means ‘Traveler.’”

  Chisul’s ghost laughed. “I see you’re as imaginative as ever,” he said.

  “Don’t change the subject,” the Journeyman said, holding up the metal book. “What’s so special about this?”

  “It isn’t the book that’s dangerous,” Chisul said. “It’s what’s in the book.”

  “That can be said of all books,” the Journeyman said.

  “This is rather a special book,” Chisul said. “You see, Galoka and his people were being taught things by Reorx himself. Things they shouldn’t know.”

  The Journeyman shrugged. “So Reorx was cheating to help his people,” he said. “So what? They all do it.”

  “Not like this,” Chisul said. “Starlight Hall was just a foothold. Reorx meant it as a beacon to unite the dwarf clans and bring them back under one rule.”

  “That would never work,” the Journeyman said. “Most of the clans hate each other.”

  “The other gods didn’t think so,” Chisul said. “They feared a united dwarf nation. They feared the power Reorx would wield if that ever happened. It was a chance they were not prepared to take, so they created the Disir specifically to destroy Starlight Hall and to keep its existence secret.”

  “How could that be?” the Journeyman asked. “The gods never agree on anything.”

  Chisul shrugged. “Fear is a great motivator,” he explained.

  “How did you find out about all this?” the Journeyman asked. “You didn’t seem to know anything about it when Rose found the book.”

  “That was the past,” Chisul said. “I’ve learned many things since that time. Being an Aesthetic helps, too.”

  “So why is this book so important?” the Journeyman asked. “Starlight Hall is gone; no one even remembers it.”

  “That’s right,” Chisul said. “The only evidence that Starlight Hall ever existed is that book.”

  The Journeyman stared down at the gleaming book in his hands. He’d read it twice. It was very interesting, containing everything about the founding and building of Starlight Hall. Their fantastic machines and their alchemical metals were all detailed, as was their faith and their unification goals.

  “So this book is dangerous,” he said.

  “If the gods knew it existed, they’d kill anyone who had touched it,” Chisul said.

  “So you sent me on that little walk to keep this from getting out into the world,” the Journeyman said.

  Chisul nodded. “That, and of course to witness and help.”

  “Just so,” Chisul continued. “If Bradok and those who survived had kept this book, word of its existence would have spread, little by little. By the time the gods learned of it, thousands could have been contaminated, maybe tens of thousands.”

  “It could have triggered another Cataclysm,” the Journeyman gasped.

  “So you see why it’s better off being lost,” Chisul said, putting out his hand.

  The Journeyman looked down at the book, running his hand over the smooth steel of the cover, then he handed it to Chisul. The specter grabbed the book, supporting the metal with his transparent hand. The Journeyman decided he would never get used to that.

  “I’ve got a very safe place picked out for this one,” he said, slipping it inside his robe.

  “Is there something else?” the Journeyman asked when the specter didn’t leave immediately.

  “I did wonder,” Chisul said. “What happened to Bradok and the others?”

  “They made it out,” the Journeyman said. “You can read all about it,” he added, gesturing around the room at his table and writing supplies, “eventually.”

  “I always felt sorry for him,” Chisul said, nodding. “Because he was in love with Rose but she had the Zhome.”

  “She got better,” the Journeyman said with a smile.

  Chisul cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Sunlight,” the Journeyman said. “It kills the Zhome. Didn’t you know that?”

  Chisul laughed, sha
king his head. “Something as simple as that,” he said.

  “I’ve got a question for you,” the Journeyman said. “Why did your spirit linger? You told me you didn’t learn about the dangers of this book until after you died.”

  “I lingered for quite a different reason,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I’m not dead.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not dead?”

  “My body never died,” Chisul said. “It’s still alive somewhere, shambling around in the bowels of Krynn. So long as I’m alive, my spirit is bound here, even though it has taken leave of my body.”

  “That’s monstrous,” the Journeyman said, shuddering.

  “Just so. But I’ve made the best of it,” Chisul said good-humoredly. “I’ve spent quite a lot of time figuring out how to get my hands on this.” He held up the book, chuckling.

  “Do you remember the first time we met?” the ghost asked.

  The Journeyman nodded. “After the first time I used the Anvil,” he said. “You were with the group of Aesthetics who came to see me.”

  “That’s not the first time we met,” Chisul said, shaking his head. “The first time we met was in my father’s shop, after you convinced him to let you be his apprentice.”

  The Journeyman opened his mouth but stopped. “But that can’t be. I hadn’t gone back in time yet then,” he said finally.

  “Time doesn’t work like that,” Chisul said. “When I saw you here, at the Anvil, I recognized you. I knew then that I had a job for you and that it was you I would send to get the book.”

  “Time is complicated,” the Journeyman murmured, musing on his words.

  Chisul just nodded.

  “What will you do now?”

  Chisul shrugged. “I’m sure I can find something to occupy my time.” He turned and drifted toward the door. “Perhaps I’ll look in on you again,” he said, pausing at the door. “We’re old friends now. And I’ve come to find your exploits most amusing.”

  “How did you manage to become an Aesthetic, if you don’t mind my asking?” the Journeyman queried as Chisul turned to leave.