Of Truth and Beasts

by Barb Hendee

  The elves were crossing the cavern, looking about in wonder. A large, open archway filled a good section of the far wall. The three were debating something, but Sau’ilahk had missed the first part.

  “We cannot leave the horses saddled down there,” Hannâschi said. “And we need what is left of our supplies.”

  “Go quickly,” Chuillyon answered. “We cannot let the journeyor get too far ahead.”

  “I will go,” Shâodh said.

  Before the slender elf came straight toward Sau’ilahk, he blinked out, focusing on the archway at the vast cavern’s far side. He was not at all surprised when he rematerialized and hurried onward to find a tram platform.

  His anxiety changed to hope. Wynn had found an ancient tram station on this side of the range, but did it lead to the seatt? He dared not believe it yet. He had been disappointed too many times.

  Drifting past the tram, he spotted an old metal pump cart out on the tracks, and he stilled his mind to listen. Far ahead, he could hear the rhythmic creak of heavy wheels in the tunnel’s stone grooves for tracks. Wynn was already well ahead, leaving the elves behind.

  Sau’ilahk glanced back, hearing Chuillyon’s muffled voice in the tunnel leading to the tram station. He no longer needed these elves, and Shâodh was outside. Could he risk attacking the girl and the old elf to replenish himself before going after Wynn?

  He remembered how Chuillyon alone had almost bested him once in Dhredze Seatt. He might spend more energy than he gained, and even in hunger, it was not wise to take such risks when he was so close to victory.

  Sau’ilahk turned back toward the tracks in one last instant of indecision. Then he blinked down the tunnel after the sound of those wheels in the deep stone tracks.

  Ghassan il’Sänke was not a man easily disheartened. But day after day, night after night, of searching this fallen mountain for an entrance had left him questioning his abilities. In addition, he’d been tracking Wynn’s rough position. By her distance from him, she had to be inside the range. Although she had a long way to go before reaching this side of the mountains, she was moving more rapidly than he thought possible. How was the question he could not answer.

  Tonight he searched the upper regions of the mountain’s northern base, stopping once for a supper of flatbread—which was almost gone. He should have been glad for anything to eat out here, but when closing his eyes, all he saw were lamb kebabs, honeyed yams, and herbed rice. He had been away from home for so long now.

  Ghassan was also not a man given to any kind of sentiment, but he could not help missing his rooms at the Suman guild, eating properly prepared food, and partaking of the companionship of his peers there. He had been too long among the Numans, with their tasteless vegetable stews and open, unguarded chatter.

  And now he was alone, sitting on a fallen mountain, and looking for a way inside.

  He shook his head, admonishing himself. His task to intercept Wynn, to learn what she was doing, took precedence over everything.

  When Ghassan opened his eyes, he started slightly.

  The sparks of two unblinking eyes looked back at him from around the side of a rock. Thoughts of self-defense flooded his mind first, but the eyes were small and curious. He focused in the darkness and made out the shape of a ground-dwelling creature remembered from his youth.

  A geufèr, with light brown fur, round ears, and rotund body, was a harmless small animal that lived on grubs and insects.

  Ghassan remained still, careful not to frighten it off, while his mind turned inward. He had rarely seen a geufèr above ground. Something about the sight of it here felt like a sign. Closing his eyes again, he raised the image of the small creature in his thoughts. Over this, he drew the shapes, lines, and marks of blazing symbols stroked from deep in his memory, and he chanted silently.

  Once again, he drove a sense of fear into the animal. He focused hard on the need for the creature to go deep, deep down. When he opened his eyes, it was gone. There had been no chance to lock its presence in his awareness.

  Ghassan scrambled up the slope, looking about for the geufèr. He glimpsed a light brown form as it shot between two boulders taller than him. He rushed up to the boulders but saw no way to get between them, and he stifled a cry of anguish.

  He quickly rounded the left boulder, trying to see if it had shot out the narrow gap on the other side. What he found instead was a broader space between the bases of the two boulders.

  Ghassan pulled out his cold lamp crystal and crouched down. Within the gap, he saw a pile of rubble and a pure darkness beyond it so deep that the crystal’s light did not illumate the back of the space. Drawing a sharp breath, he wriggled inside. As the top half of his body passed into that darkness, he reached out, holding his crystal as far into the space as possible.

  He saw a smooth surface above him.

  He dared not hope too much, for this could simply be a shallow cave long filled with rubble. He crawled forward, and the rubble beneath him began to decrease as the space grew larger. He held his crystal up to the wall and ceiling, which were smooth, and knew then that he was inside what must have been a passage that had not caved in when the mountain collapsed. Still crawling, he reached a side passage on his left that was nearly clear. He scrambled over the last bits of broken stone and stood up, holding his crystal high.

  There was no sign of the geufèr, but Ghassan still whispered his thanks. The tunnel he stood in stretched far beyond his light, leading straight into the mountain. Remnants of long-dead dwarven crystals were still embedded in the walls.

  He had found the seatt.

  CHAPTER 21

  Wynn leaned against her pack aboard the cart, listening to the never-ending creak as Ore-Locks pumped them farther down the tracks. He and Chane had spelled each other for seven days and nights. She almost couldn’t remember the scent of fresh air or the sun on her face.

  Shade loped along the track beside the cart. Much as Wynn wanted her to stay onboard, after three nights, the dog had fallen into a depression and begun passing Wynn forlorn memories of open forests and fields. The only option was to let her run for a while until her spirits lifted.

  Chane sat beside Wynn, leaning against the outside of the back of the metal box. He’d been watching Ore-Locks ever since he’d awoken. Even down here, he fell dormant, which was the only way they knew of dusk and dawn. When the sun presumably set in the outside world above, he was instantly awake. Not once did Wynn have trouble rousing him midday if they had to stop to clear debris from the tracks. It was strange, for he’d never come out of dormancy so easily during their time under the mountain of Ore-Locks’s people.

  In this way, they traveled as much by day as by night, only stopping for brief periods to eat or to gather water from scant trickles running from cracks in the tunnel walls.

  “That is long enough,” Chane said to Ore-Locks. “I will take over.”

  The dwarf was sweating as his thick arms pumped, sending the cart racing down the tracks. Wynn sometimes attempted to help him, thinking two could pump the cart more easily. She doubted she was much assistance, but it felt better to do something.

  The worst part was not knowing how far they’d come, let alone how far they had to go. At times it seemed the tram tunnel was on a slight downward slant, and likely they traveled deeper as well as farther beneath the range.

  Chane got up and stepped to the pump’s other side, timing his grab of the opposite handle so as not to break Ore-Locks’s rhythm. Keeping their momentum saved effort, for whenever they slowed or stopped, it took time to regain speed. Once Chane took hold, instead of letting go, Ore-Locks only pumped harder.

  “I said that is enough,” Chane repeated.

  “I am good for a while,” Ore-Locks panted back.

  The cart did travel faster when they worked together. Wynn suspected Ore-Locks was bothered that Chane never became visibly tired, but Wynn knew how much this exertion cost Chane. He’d grown paler and quieter than usual, and there was nothing f
or him to feed on down here.

  For Wynn, the endless darkness, broken only by artificial light and the monotonous walls racing by, was taking its toll. She began to worry what would become of them all if they didn’t reach the end soon. Only Ore-Locks seemed at ease in this dim underworld.

  The cart picked up speed, the tunnel walls rushed by faster than before, and Shade began barking.

  Wynn sat up to see that Shade had fallen behind. She turned toward Ore-Locks and Chane at the pump. Were those two idiots engaged in some petty contest of stamina?

  “Slow down and let me get Shade back inside,” she called, peering ahead to where the engine crystal lit the tunnel. She realized that Shade was not barking because she couldn’t keep up.

  “Chane!” Wynn cried. “Brake now!”

  On instinct, he looked ahead over his shoulder.

  “The brake!” she nearly screamed.

  Chane released the pump and grabbed the brake lever, pulling it with all his weight. A shriek rose from the cart’s wheels.

  Ore-Locks tried to reach Chane to help, but the cart’s sudden lurch threw him forward over the pump handle. Wynn toppled, slamming into the back of the iron box. She struggled up to peer ahead over the box’s short wall.

  The cart was slowing, but not quickly enough, and a mass of rubble and stones blocked the tunnel ahead.

  “We’re going to hit!” she shouted, and then she felt a jerk and looked back. Ore-Locks had his arms around Chane’s sides, and he’d grabbed hold of the brake, both of them pulling hard. The lever cocked back another two notches, and the cart jerked and bucked beneath Wynn. She ducked down and braced herself against the box’s back side.

  The cart’s wheels shrieked as it skidded to a final stop, but Wynn never felt a collision. Everything went quiet but for her rapid breathing as Shade leaped onto the cart and scurried toward her, sniffing her face.

  “Everyone all right?” Chane asked.

  No one answered, and Ore-Locks released his grip, backing away from Chane to look beyond the cart. Wynn pulled herself up by the box’s wall.

  Now that they were safely stopped, her relief vanished under a new fear. The blockage filled the tunnel from top to bottom and all the way to both sides.

  Chane was already on the ground, trotting forward. He crouched before the mass of rubble, and then hung his head. Snatching up a small stone, he tossed it sharply aside.

  “We cannot pass through this,” he said.

  Wynn clambered out, rushing in beside him. “We have to.”

  “We do not know how far this collapse reaches,” he answered. “It could go on for yards—or more. This is the end. We have to turn back.”

  Shade was sniffing the rubble, but she looked up at Chane.

  “Turn back?” Wynn said, gasping. “No.”

  “The tunnel is impassable. Just as I thought it would be. It will not lead you to the seatt.”

  Wynn couldn’t accept what he suggested. It would take another seven days and nights to return, and then what? Start from scratch and head into the mountains?

  “We cannot turn back,” Ore-Locks said, coming up behind them. “Our rations are low, and we will need to find more, perhaps by going out of the seatt’s far side.”

  His expression was dark, like a storm about to break.

  “We have enough,” Chane countered. “It will be difficult, but Shade and I can hunt as soon as we are out. You will survive . . . which is more than I can assure if we try to dig through this.”

  Wynn couldn’t bear turning back, not now.

  Ore-Locks strode back behind the cart to the open tracks.

  “If you do not care that we starve, then come feel this.” He placed his hand against the stone floor. “Put your hands on the tracks.”

  Wynn frowned in confusion, but both she and Chane joined Ore-Locks. She put her hand down into the wide groove. She felt a faint vibration in the aged steel in the track groove’s bottom, but she wasn’t certain if it was just her own lingering shudders from their close call with the cave-in.

  “I felt it through the tunnel’s stone last night,” Ore-Locks said.

  Wynn looked up at him, unsure of what he meant.

  “They must be a good distance behind us,” he added. “But we are being followed . . . and cannot turn back.”

  At this, Wynn dismissed Chane’s attempt at a rational argument. But Chane stepped straight toward Ore-Locks.

  “You knew this last night and said nothing?”

  Wynn moved between them. “Stop it, both of you.”

  Ore-Locks’s revelation rattled her as much as it did Chane. They were trapped between a cave-in and . . . who? Who else knew where they had gone and how?

  Ore-Locks walked past them and grabbed his staff off the cart. “Give me one of your crystals. I will see how far the cave-in reaches.”

  Handing him a crystal, Wynn looked at the rubble, densely packed all the way up to the ceiling.

  “Can you pass through this?” she asked, for that option hadn’t occurred to her.

  Without answering, Ore-Locks stepped to the cave-in and vanished through the debris.

  Chane looked down at Wynn and then at the cart. For one horrible moment, she feared he might pick her up, toss her in, and leave Ore-Locks behind. Would Shade even try to stop him, or would she side with him, as she had when they forced her to abandon searching the foothills beyond the dwarven ruins?

  Wynn found herself uncomfortably alone with Chane and Shade. This unlikely pair seemed to have joined forces in a mutual goal to turn her back somehow. What a bizarre state of affairs that Wynn now had to look to Ore-Locks as her only support in her purpose.

  She backed away from Chane, gathering all the determination she could muster into her voice. “Don’t you even think—”

  Ore-Locks lunged out through the rubble. His red hair and orange vestment were coated in dust as if he had rolled in the rubble.

  “The cave-in does not reach far,” he announced. “It is much less packed on the other side. Digging from there, we could clear a crawl space in a shorter time.”

  While this brought Wynn relief, she didn’t relish the delay if they were being followed.

  “Can’t you try to do what Cinder-Shard did back in the underworld?” she asked. “Could you try to take us through stone?”

  Ore-Locks shook his head. “Not you or Shade. I cannot take anything living with me.”

  As his words sank in, Wynn swallowed hard and looked at Chane.

  Chane tried not to grimace as Ore-Locks took hold of his wrist and stepped into—through—the cave-in. He had only an instant to panic before the light from the engine crystal vanished and he found himself in total darkness. He was not afraid, not exactly.

  He did not fear enclosed places, but even for an undead, the prospect of passing through stones, through earth, was overwhelming. He felt crushing pressure, the cold, and an odd sense of suffocating all at once. He did not need to breathe, but the lack of air, feeling trapped and immobile, enveloped him. Pressure seemed to build until it felt as if it might crush his bones.

  All Ore-Locks needed to do was let go and leave Chane buried in a grave of stone.

  Chane tried to shout, but could not open his mouth.

  Pressure suddenly released. Chane inhaled stale air out of fear alone and collapsed onto all fours, feeling the edge of one track groove under his left hand.

  “It will pass,” Ore-Locks said coldly.

  Chane remained on all fours, trembling a few moments longer. Turning his head, he looked back at what he had passed through. This side of the cave-in was looser, sloping further down the tunnel than on the other side. A part of him became determined to dig his way back to Wynn—as he had no intention of passing through stone again with Ore-Locks. Another part was reluctant to do anything that might allow her to continue.

  “Get up,” Ore-Locks said.

  Chane had never cared for Ore-Locks one way or another, but a flash of true hatred grew as he rose to hi
s feet. What would happen if Ore-Locks simply disappeared? Could Chane convince Wynn that the stonewalker had left them and gone ahead on his own? Without Ore-Locks’s meddling, perhaps Chane could coerce Wynn away from this place . . . perhaps.

  Ore-Locks met his gaze. Chane saw the reverse possibility, as it had come to him in that moment within stone. He might be the one to simply vanish, leaving Ore-Locks alone with Wynn and Shade.

  Ore-Locks might be stronger, but Chane was not easy to kill. The dwarf would learn that the hard way if he tried anything.

  A silent, cold moment stretched on, until something lying on the tunnel floor beyond Ore-Locks’s large boots caught Chane’s eye.

  “What is that?” he asked before thinking.

  Ore-Locks half turned, holding up Wynn’s crystal. “There are more . . . many more.”

  A skeleton of stout bones lay across the tracks, covered in the decayed and hardened remains of leather armor. Shadows of others stretched on down the tunnel, as if dwarves had tried to escape this way, only to reach the cave-in before death caught them.

  Chane stepped wide around Ore-Locks to crouch over the first bones. He touched a calcified forearm and scraped it with his fingernail. Black and brittle coating flaked away, as if this dwarf had died by fire. When he looked up, patches of the walls were dark and marred, as well.

  They were much closer to a destination than Chane had realized. With so many remains along the tunnel, they must be very near a settlement . . . or a seatt.

  “And you want to bring Wynn in here?” he challenged, rising.

  As with so many times before, any emotion on Ore-Locks’s face faded, and he became unreadable.

  “She will not turn back,” he said quietly. “Nothing you do can force her.”

  Yes, and that suited Ore-Locks perfectly.

  “What is it you want down there?” Chane asked, fighting the urge to grip his sword’s hilt.

  Ore-Locks turned toward the loose rubble. “It will take less time if we both dig. We should start as high up as possible to avoid rubble sliding, but be mindful of another collapse from above.” He paused, and his voice grew even quieter. “I do not know what we will find in that seatt . . . but she may well need us both.”