by kubasik
J'role wandered through the underground kingdom of Throw.
He discovered that most of the dwarfs lived in rooms that led off from the endless corridors, much the way J'role had lived in his kaer. He saw dwarven men and women walking the corridors. He saw craftspeople working forges in wide rooms with magical fires that produced no smoke. He saw jewel-cutters sitting in small alcoves surrounded by another two dozen or so dwarfs all watching intently, their breathing stilled as the jewel-cutter made the final, precise incision. He saw dwarven miners, picks slung over their shoulders, marching down dark tunnels in the morning, and returning dirty but happy each night.
Eventually he stumbled into large construction sites— huge caverns filled with half-finished towers and halls. The dwarfs sang songs in their deep, rich voices as they worked.
A dwarven foreman saw J'role looking quizzically at the construction and said, "Going to be a new city down here. For the newcomers. We've already got Bathebal, but that filled up faster than we expected." He smiled at J’role expecting some response but J'role only looked at him, his face set and angry. The foreman hesitated a moment, then walked away
Time passed, and one day J'role found a series of corridors where no one seemed to go.
They were so small that eventually he had to duck down to walk through them. Moving in this fashion for a bit he finally saw that the quality of the light ahead had changed, that the tunnel opened into another cavern. A wind began to sweep around him. Reaching the end of the tunnel, J'role peered out, then took a quick step back.
A path of stone, six feet wide and with thigh-high railings on either side, led out from the corridor. The top of the cavern was ten or fifteen feet above the path, and on either side of the railings dropped an immense gulf of space. The floor of the cavern was far, far below.
The echo of the wind filled J'role's ears and the air rushed over his face.
At the base of the cavern stood a large city. Not as huge as Parlainth, but big enough.
From J'role's dizzying height the people filling the streets around the spires and halls and buildings looked like tiny children.
The buildings and streets of the metropolis formed a beautiful pattern, as if designed to be seen from above; an elaborate interlocking of squares and circles, with fascinating textures provided by the buildings themselves. He assumed that below him rested Bathebal, the city that the dwarven foreman had mentioned.
The stone path extended out impossibly across thin air, meeting with other paths at the center of the cavern high above the city. Where the paths met was a huge platform covered with plants, like a garden. J'role noticed that glowing moss, more brilliant than any he had yet seen in Throal, grew under the paths and the garden, illuminating the city below.
Intrigued by the garden sitting above the city, J'role cautiously stepped out onto the path.
He trembled with fear that his extra weight would make the paths and the garden and himself plunge down and down to the city far below. But the path held, and he walked along it, carefully staying in the middle, keeping his gazed fixed ahead, resting his fingertips on the railing for balance.
The garden was much further than it seemed at first, and was also much bigger. When he finally got there J'role saw that it contained glowing red trees with wide leaves surrounded by a thick underbrush of blue-leaved bushes. The life was even heavier than in Blood Wood, all cramped and pushed together, as if wildly overgrown on a plot of land too small. Half-hidden in the dirt and underbrush were the remains of a path. Picking his way carefully through the brush, he followed it.
The path met up with other paths, and the further he traveled, the clearer the path became.
Soon he saw the footprints of those who had come before.
"Halt!" someone said fiercely, and then appeared two dwarfs dressed in bronze armor holding their swords toward him. Though they were shorter than he, J'role doubted they would have trouble killing him.
He remained motionless.
"What is it? Is she coming?" someone from around the bend of the path called out in a distracted tone. From the same direction came another dwarf, this one wearing a scarlet cloak over his gold and brown robes. His hair was white, His face lined with wrinkles. He looked at J'role, first with suspicion, then with a smile. ''Ah, and who have we here?"
J'role simply gazed at the three of them.
One of the dwarfs approached, raising his sword. "His Majesty, King Varulus of Throal, has just-asked you a question.”
"Wait! Wait!" said the king, raising his hand and laughing. He stroked his beard and asked, "You wouldn't be the lad Borthum brought with him? The one who helped capture Garlthik?”
J'role nodded.
"Let him- pass."
The guards looked at their king, obviously questioning the wisdom of his orders. But then they stepped aside, and the king waved J'role closer.
When J'role reached him, the king said softly, "You can't speak, eh?"
J'role shook his head.
"Pity," said the king, looking genuinely sad. Then slyly, as if letting J'role in on a secret, he said, "Here, come and take a look at this."
The two of them walked along the path, the guards following close behind. They passed more guards, who watched over the garden's other paths.
They approached a circular railing set into the ground. Coming closer, J'role saw that it surrounded a big hole through which he could see the city below. The king walked up to the railing and looked down. "We call this garden Bathebal's Eye. Used it to study the layout as we built the city." He smiled proudly. "Came out well, don't you think?"
J'role studied the dwarf, not sure what to make of-him. He seemed at once imposing and kind.
King Varulus narrowed his eyes at J'role. "I appreciate what you did, you know."
J'role stared back, confused, thinking for a moment that the king referred to the murder of his father. "Capturing Garlthik. Not an easy task." the dwarf continued. He stepped up to J'role, raising his wrinkled worn hand to J'role s cheek. The fingers felt warm and comforting "A glum one, aren't you, boy?” The king sighed and turned away, looking down toward the city. "Like so many of us since the Scourge." Suddenly, excitement again. "But look what we're making, eh? New homes for any of the races who wish to live with us. We're building throughout the mountain, sending envoys out to all of Barsaive. We will rebuild the world. We've thought it all out."
The king's words cut through J'role's despair, and he found himself momentarily caught up by the dwarf's enthusiasm. Rebuild the world? Was such a-thing possible?
"Your Majesty," said one of the guards.
The king and J'role both turned, and J'role nearly shouted in fear as he saw Queen Alachia of Blood Wood suddenly appear around the bend in the path. She wore a gauzy white dress, punctured with thorns. A few drops of blood hung momentarily on the tips of the thorns, then rolled down her white flesh onto the white dress without leaving a mark.
Her long red hair spilled down over her shoulders, curling like thick, writhing vines.
Several elven courtiers followed, wearing chain mail and long swords in jewel-encrusted scabbards. The thorns of the queen’s escorts poked through the links in the mail, and again, drops of blood appeared every few minutes.
J’role wanted to turn and run, but he didn't know if the dwarven guards would cut him down on the spot for his hasty actions. Instead he looked at the queen, waiting for her to spot him and demand that King Varulus kill him at once. Had she known he was here?
Had she come for the records, as he and Releana had come, to find Parlainth? He waited for her to glance at him, to recognize him ...
She didn't. Her gaze took in the garden, but passed over J'role as if he were no more than another bush or a tree to her. Her indifference threw J’role completely off balance, for her presence drew him as strongly as it had in Blood Wood. He remembered clearly the pain of her touch, and knew he would gladly feel that pain again. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
"Your Majesty," the king said with a tone of forced politeness. "You are looking as lovely as ever." He glanced down at the ground, as if uncomfortable handing out pleasantries of state.
The elf queen dismissed his words with an abrupt question. "Am I not allowed to enter the Hall of Records?"
"No."
"Have our paths diverged so far?"
The king stared at her, his jaw moving silently, slightly, in contemplation. "I don't think I need to speak on the matter."
She stepped closer. The dwarven guards shifted slightly and placed their hands on the pommels of their sheathed blades, which prompted the elven guards to do the same. The king and the queen seemed not to notice. J'role saw that she wore the ring of longing on her finger. He swayed slightly at seeing it, wanting desperately to walk up and take it from her hand. He fought the impulse, succeeding only because he knew he would die if he tried.
Later, he thought. Later.
"Varulus," the queen said and smiled. "Certainly, we have made choices your people would not have made...."
"Did not. We did not make them. As you did not have to make them."
She threw up her hands. "What has this to do with anything?”
"The fact that you cannot see it, your Highness, is enough for me. Will I permit you into the Hall of Records, where you might read secrets, both mechanical and magical, that could lead to the downfall of my kingdom and my allies? No. Certainly not."
"You think me corrupt?"
"Not as we feared four centuries ago when we prepared for the Horrors. No. Not that way." Varulus dropped his eyes, perhaps momentarily unsure. "I do not know. Please.
You will not sway me. You and your people made your choice in Blood Wood. You will live with it. And you will live alone."
"Do you think me so powerless?"
"My lady, you and your people are possessed of a power so strong that I would tremble were the same power offered to me. That is what the elves have never understood. The elves of your wood more than any other. Weakness, in degree, is as much a virtue as strength. There are some things one should not be able to do."
Queen Alachia stared at Varulus for a long time, and for just an instant J'role thought he caught a look of sadness in her eyes. She turned and began to walk away.
J'role jumped up. He could not bear to have her completely ignore him, nor could he let her leave with the ring.
He had taken only two bounds toward her when swords came out from all sides, stopping him in place. The moment crackled with uncertainty as both elves and dwarfs wondered whose side the boy was on. They faced off against each other, poised between J'role and the elf queen.
She whirled, facing J'role. A dozen blades flashed through me air between them, framing her face like a garland of silver thorns. Her own thorns cut through the flesh of her face.
A single drop of blood slid slowly down her cheek from the tip of a thorn. The tunnel of sword blades seemed to form a pattern of some kind, and J'role found himself trying to make sense of an idea at the edge of his thoughts.
"I know you," the elf queen said coldly. Then she smiled, a smile full of all the kindness and love and passion J'role could ever want. Then the smile vanished, like a gate crashing down. With no more said, she turned once more. Her guards waited to make sure that J'role would remain where he was, then turned and followed the elf queen through the garden and out of sight.
After a long beat King Varulus said, "Lower your blades. He won't follow her anymore.
Will your lad?"
J'role thought of his time in Blood Wood, remembered his father alive beside him as they knelt before her, remembered his father's joy and disappointment at finally encountering the elves.
"Boy? Are you all right?" The king took his hand, held it tight. J'role felt an amazing strength in the hand, but it did not crush like Garlthik's grip.
"What did you see?" the creature hissed in his thoughts. "You saw something in the blades. What?"
The creature's question offered J'role a distraction, and his thoughts leaped for it.
Yes. Something in the blades. The tunnel of blades; silver thorns forming a pattern, and true thorns revealed at the end.
The stones! he realized. He'd solved the mystery of the stones.
He pushed away the feeling of remorse, standing taller now, his mouth firmly closed, but defiant.
He bowed low to the king, who looked at him with surprise. Then J'role strolled casually by the guards, and when he had passed them, he raced down the path, momentarily feeling as if he were flying through the air; on either side nothing but a tremendous drop, in his heart the rising hope of continuing his quest.
He ran through the corridors leaping left and right to avoid the numerous dwarfs, who scattered clumsily as he approached. Twice he became lost, but he charged forward anyway, successfully finding landmarks as he pressed on, eventually reaching the Hall of Records. He slammed the heavy wooden doors open; and the crash of the wood against stone reverberated through the hall.
30
The creature whispered, "Here's what I think you should do. I think you should die. "
"Die?" J'role asked, suddenly afraid. Already he missed his mother and his father.
"Kill yourself. You really shouldn't be alive, you know. That's what we'll work on for the rest your life. There's nothing I love so much as a suicide that's been stewing for a decade or so."
"Suicide?" J'role thought. He didn't know the meaning of the word.
"It's a big word," the creature said. "Don't worry about it now. You'll come to understand it very well later. But it's the only way you can make up for being such a horrible son. "
J'role began to cry.
The person crying in the corner of the room—who was it?—left.
His mother leaned dawn and picked him up and began to croon.
J’role tried to speak. The noises poured out of his mouth.
His mother threw him back down onto the bed, making his head bang against the stone wall. She leaned down and covered his mouth, forcing him into silence.; "Shhh," she said again and again. "Shhh, be silent. "A He became quiet. "You…," she began, not to him, but to someone else. The creature in his thoughts, J'role realized, the white shadow from the corner of the room. "You didn't tell me about this!"
The creature in J'role's head laughed.
She looked into J'role's eyes. "Speak to no one. No one but me, do you understand?" He nodded
* * *
Everyone in the Hall of Records, magicians and researchers, those on ladders and those sitting at tables, turned and looked sharply at J'role. But he paid them no heed. With a swagger and a broad grin he approached the table where Releana and the dwarven magicians worked.
He stepped up onto the table, pointed to the books, then tapped himself on the chest.
"J'role?" Releana asked.
He took one of the books and stood it upright on the table. Several of the magicians moved to stop him, but Releana and Merrox stayed their hands.
He opened the book to the middle, spreading the pages and the covers wide so one page stood very much alone. Then he pointed with one finger at the picture of the small, mysterious block in the upper right-hand corner of the page. He moved his finger perpendicularly to the page, and soon the tip reached the picture of the block. He took the next page in the book and placed it against the open page. Then he raised his finger over the pages, and moved it past the pages.
He repeated the motion of his finger, first moving it toward the page, then bringing up several more pages, then moving it beyond the pages, as if through the illustration of the blocks.
Finally he turned the book so the pages he held faced the magicians. Once more he slowly brought his fingertip toward the first page he held out, touching the illustration of the small block.
"What is he doing?" one of the magician's asked, his tone full of annoyance.
For a flickering moment J'role wondered if he was wrong. The image in the garden had
seemed so clear: A tunnel of sword blades framing the elf queen. Each one, a flat object, combined to create depth, and in the end, a whole picture.
But once again Releana came to his rescue. She took the book from J’role and said,
"Look. Each symbol by itself is meaningless. That's because each illustration is combined with the illustration in the stone behind it. And that bit with the stone behind it. The symbols are not formed by looking at the pictures as if the stones formed a wall, read horizontally, as we're trying to see them. They're made whole by depth. We have to imagine standing at one corner of the city, and looking down along the city wall, as if we could see the symbols on one stone after another."
Merrox said, "Each vertical row of stones probably forms one complete symbol."
"When all the stones are in place, we'll have the full picture," Releana finished. "That must be it."
