Hollow Road

by Dan Fitzgerald

  After a while of practicing, she noticed someone watching her out of the corner of her eye, and whirled to see her father leaning against the side of the house, holding something shiny across his arms. She sheathed the sword, not as smoothly as she would have liked, and skipped over to him.

  “What do you think? Am I ready to face the danger of the Southlands?”

  “As long as you face them from behind your bow,” he replied drily. “I have something for you.” He stepped toward her and held out a shirt of mail, which shone with an oddly yellowish hue. It had a pattern of scales on the chest, which—

  “Oh, gods is that...” It was the Ka-lar’s armor, cleaned and mended and shined.

  “I took the liberty of retrieving it, and Massey fitted it and patched it up, good as, well, ancient.”

  Sinnie held it up, feeling its weight, which was considerable, and laying it across her torso. It looked just about right.

  “Go ahead, let’s try it on. Lose the vest, then put your arms over your head.” He took the mail, lifted it up, and helped ease her arms into it. It sat on her shoulders like a spread-out backpack, quite heavy but without too much bulk. It fit well enough, not that she knew how armor was supposed to fit, but she could move, and it didn’t seem particularly loose or tight.

  “Wow, this is...creepy.” She looked down at her gilded arms. “Is this bronze too, like the sword?”

  Her father nodded. “It seems they didn’t have steel back then, or they preferred bronze for some reason. Massey tells me it’s quality mail.”

  “Well I guess he would know,” Sinnie replied, inspecting the spot on the mail just under the collarbone where it had been mended, as well as the hole where Carl had stuck his sword through it. Both spots were visibly different, more silvery than gold-colored, but the holes had been covered and the mail felt tight in those spots when she tried to stretch it. “Still, it feels kind of...cursed or something.”

  “Gummache assures me it’s not. He did some of his mumbo-jumbo on it, says it’s just a nice bit of metal. Hopefully it won’t come in too handy.”

  “Yes let’s hope so. And what—” She sucked in her breath when he handed her his long knife, which he never went prospecting, or hunting, or fishing, or even out for a walk, without. “Oh father, I can’t take this, it’s—”

  He closed his eyes and nodded. “You can and you will. Look, you already know how to use a knife. This one’s a little longer, but it’ll take a lot less time to learn than that sword, and it’s plenty good in a fight, as long as it’s a short one.”

  “That means you’re not coming with us?” Sinnie had hoped he would come as their guide, since he knew the mountains better than anyone in the village.

  Her father shook his head. “I’m not as young as I used to be; two weeks on a horse, not to mention the possibility of a fight I’m not fit for, just doesn’t make sense. And besides, your mother needs me.”

  Sinnie let herself pout a little and leaned into her father. For the first time in her life, he felt less solid than her; she had always considered him to be as strong and tough a man as there was in the town, but she couldn’t help noticing he was a little gimpy at times, and his arms and chest had shrunk a bit over the years.

  “Could you at least go with us as far as Hawthorne?” Sinnie made her eyes big, and her father cracked a smile and looked away.

  “Well, I guess Argus could use a little stretch,” he admitted. Argus was getting up there in years but still had solid legs on him, and it wasn’t like they were going to be riding fast. Her father rubbed his mouth and beard with his left hand for a moment. “Gummache said you were maybe going to check out the old mine on the way?”

  “Yes! Yes. He asked me, us, to check out the mine. It seems like the Maer might have stayed there for a time, so it makes sense.” She pushed off his chest and took a step back, still holding onto his right hand. “Would you be up for that?”

  It was a loaded question, she knew, and his face confirmed it. He had worked in and around the mine for the first half of his life, and he had seen men die there. He almost died himself a time or two, from what she could gather, though he always waved off any talk of it. He definitely wanted to see the mine again, but she could sense he was weighing the danger. If there were Maer at the mine, he could end up in a bad spot quickly, and as he said, he wasn’t much of a fighter, though he was pretty good with a bow. Sinnie could see all these thoughts swarming behind her father’s opaque gray-blue eyes, and his face remained still for a long moment.

  “I’m in,” he said, “as long as your mother agrees.” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fair to her to...” He looked down at his hand, wrapped in hers.

  Sinnie gave his hand a squeeze and held it tight, her silent response to what he left unsaid. “No, it wouldn’t. Unless it’s what she wants.”

  He said nothing, but his eyes blazed with fear, worry, and excitement.

  GUMMACHE SIDLED OVER to Sinnie as Carl was helping Massey saddle the mules. The Maer were looking askance at the whole affair, but once Carl helped Grisol into the saddle, she smiled at the other Maer adults, who followed her lead.

  “It looks like they just might pull it off,” Sinnie said to Gummache, who nodded, chewing his lip.

  “You won’t be going too fast, I shouldn’t think.”

  “Faster than walking,” Sinnie replied.

  Gummache grunted, opening his robe to pull out three small leather flasks. “At some point in your travels, these may come in handy,” he said, giving one to her. “The last of the apple brandy from last year’s batch. You can use it to cleanse a wound, or wet a parched throat.”

  Sinnie hugged Gummache gently, feeling his frail bones just under the skin. “What would we do without you?” She asked.

  He coughed, cleared his throat. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “I don’t have too many winters left in me.”

  “Promise me you’ll be here when we get back.”

  Gummache smiled, squinting at her, and patted her hand, which rested on his shoulder.

  Sinnie helped the Maer children onto the mules, lifting the smaller ones and providing a hand ladder for Dunil, who was almost big enough to do it on his own. He beamed at her from the saddle and said, “Dunil rides!” Even Carl cracked a smile at that one. Though all the Maer children seemed to understand some of what was said to them, Dunil had shown a remarkable knack for speaking Islish, and could say everyone’s names, as well as words for food, drink, sleep, play, and even formed a fair number of sentences. As far as Sinnie could tell, with the exception of Elder Gummache, none of the villagers had learned much of the Maer language, beyond their names. Perhaps the Maer were better at languages than humans, or maybe it was just necessity. Whatever the cause, she hoped Dunil’s skills might be a help at some point in their travels, and maybe even in the longer term, if the humans and the Maer were to coexist instead of just killing each other.

  “You make quite the motley crew,” Massey said, checking each of the saddles and reins one last time. “May the gods speed you toward the horizon.”

  “What about the Realm? What will you say when they arrive?” Sinnie worried that the parents of the slain children would push the issue, which would leave Massey and Gummache in a tough spot.

  “Don’t you worry about us. The villagers are glad to be rid of the Maer. They’ll back us up.”

  Sinnie ran her hand over Anbol’s shoulder and whispered in her ear. “Are you ready to go home?”

  Anbol looked up at her, a smile planted in the middle of her furry face, and nodded. Whether she really knew what Sinnie had said was anyone’s guess.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Finn pulled alongside Rolf, who led the way up the old mining road, which was now mostly overgrown but still seemed to serve as a game trail. The mine had been closed since Finn was a child, but its legacy had been part of Brocland’s culture, and even its language, all his life. As he understood it, silver was the main metal extracted, al
ong with copper, lead, and even gold, though the latter in smaller quantities. He had heard many tales of the mine, mostly stories of how men were hurt, or killed, or almost killed. There were also stories of mysterious and terrifying things the miners reported seeing down in the shafts, or creatures that roamed the hills and took victims at night. Rolf had been a miner, and still made a living prospecting for silver, gold, and other metals, though he was notoriously secretive about where and how he obtained his ore.

  Rolf eyed Finn, nodded in greeting, but said nothing.

  “How long ago was it they closed down the mine?” Finn asked.

  Rolf continued looking straight ahead. “Twenty years, give or take,” he said at last. “Though a little small-scale work continued for another five or so years after.” He cocked his head toward Finn, his eyebrow quizzical.

  “I was just wondering,” Finn said, “when’s the last time you were up there?”

  “About the same amount of time,” Rolf answered.

  “So...is it dangerous?”

  “Not as long as you don’t go in,” Rolf deadpanned.

  “But do you think the Maer could have holed up in there?”

  Rolf screwed up his mouth. “Hard to say. Maybe in one of the side tunnels, where we dug into the hillside for better access to the main shafts. Otherwise you have to go straight down before you get to anything horizontal, and I don’t see them doing that with children.”

  “You ever see anything...out of the ordinary in there? You know, like in the stories?”

  Rolf grunted and shook his head. “Nothing down there but rocks, water, and cold. Up above, in the hills, at night? You heard things, sounds you couldn’t explain, and miners would disappear sometimes. Usually, they just walked off, drunk, to take a leak, and fell down a shaft or off a precipice, and you’d find them in the morning. But a couple of times, folks just...vanished.” He shrugged his shoulders, staring straight ahead, bobbing in time with his horse. Finn had a lot more questions to ask, but he could tell Rolf was done, had been done before he’d begun, so Finn fell back behind him as they meandered up the hill leading to Hell’s Chimney, where the old mine was located.

  “HERE? DID YOU STAY here?” Finn heard Sinnie ask Dunil, who smiled at her, nodding his head.

  “Here!” He cried, pointing up at Hell’s Chimney, which Finn had only ever seen from a distance. Up close, it was impressive, a wide column of rock that seemed to erupt from the hill. Dunil rattled on to Grisol in Maer, and she responded with a high-speed burst of language.

  “We stay here!” Dunil exclaimed, his delight in being able to communicate showing in every utterance. Grisol unleashed another volley of rapid syllables, her face growing more and more agitated. She continued, pleading with Sinnie, whose puzzled face looked back toward the boy.

  “No...” Grisol said, waving her hands in front of her.

  “Is there something...is it bad here? Bad?” Sinnie looked to Grisol, who stared at her, uncomprehending, then to Dunil.

  Dunil’s face went serious. “Bad. No...we no go.” He shook his head vigorously, looking to his mother for confirmation. She shook her head as well, looking directly at Sinnie.

  Sinnie nodded, touching Dunil’s face with her hand. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Welcome!” He ran off to play with the other Maer children, who were digging inside a hollow tree.

  Sinnie gestured for Finn, Carl, and Rolf to join her. “We need to check it out, since we promised Elder Gummache we would. But I don’t think we should take them all the way up. They seem afraid of the place.”

  “That would mean one of us should stay behind.” Finn hoped it wouldn’t be him. He had always wanted to see the mine, and this might be his only chance. They needed Rolf, since he was the only one of them who knew the mine. Carl was their only true fighter, and they would need his courage and his blade if there was anything up there. And Sinnie’s bow had proven to be their most effective weapon. But they clearly couldn’t leave the Maer by themselves.

  “I will stay with them,” Sinnie said at last. “The Maer trust me, and my arrows wouldn’t be much use inside the mine anyway.” She looked up at Rolf, as if for approval, and he nodded.

  “We should bring them up as far as we can, so if anything does happen, you’ll be in earshot,” Rolf said to Sinnie. “The road goes almost all the way up, and the forest ends a couple hundred yards away from the mine entrance. That should be far enough.”

  Sinnie looked at Grisol and Dunil and gestured them over. “We’re going to go up the hill, but not all the way,” she said. Dunil looked at Grisol, who shook her head. Both looked confused. Sinnie squatted down, picked up a stick, and began drawing in the dirt. “This is the mine.” She pointed up at the Devil’s Chimney, then back down at the picture, a rough hump with a square on top.

  “Mine.” Dunil nodded vigorously.

  “Right. And we are here.” Sinnie made an X in the dirt halfway down the hump. “Here,” she repeated, pointing around.

  “We are here!” Dunil agreed.

  “Right. And we will go...” she drew a line from the X halfway to the square. “We will go here. But not to the mine.”

  Dunil looked from Sinnie back down to the drawing, then up the hill. His eyes lit up, and he smiled. “We will go. But not mine.” Sinnie smiled and nodded, and Dunil relayed the information to his mother, who nodded.

  “We...wheel go,” Grisol said. It was the first time Finn had heard her say more than a single word in Islish.

  They mounted and made their way up the switchbacks, Rolf leading at a very slow pace. The Maer had learned to ride the mules well enough, but as the terrain got trickier Finn noticed them struggling to hold the little ones in front of them. After a half-hour or so, the forest thinned suddenly, the bigger, more mature trees giving way to younger, thinner ones. Rolf stopped, dismounted, and tied his horse to a tree. Sinnie and Finn helped the Maer children down while Carl tied the animals, steering clear of the Maer. Sinnie had mentioned that Carl had been acting strange, and Finn had noticed it too. Though Carl was not the most sociable type, he was even more distant, less talkative, and generally less engaged than usual. He had ceded most of the planning for the outing to Sinnie, only chipping in when there was talk of fighting, weapons, or strategy.

  Rolf stood staring silently through the trees. Carl moved next to him, but neither spoke. Finn did a few poses to shake off the horse-shape his body had taken on, which made it hard to center himself, but after a couple of minutes he felt like himself again and he moved to join them.

  “This whole area was clear cut for timber, back when the mine was in operation,” Rolf said. “I guess the forest is reclaiming it.”

  “I understand there were a number of vertical shafts,” Carl said, “and some horizontal tunnels built to access them once they got deep enough?”

  Rolf nodded. “And drainage galleries, which let out over there, down into that stream, which is one of the sources of the Snake River, in Brocland and beyond.”

  “And if the Maer stayed here, you said it would be in one of the horizontal tunnels?” Finn asked.

  Rolf nodded. “There are a couple we might look into, but the most likely one is to the south, because it’s easier to access, and it’s more stable. The original miners dug out a pre-existing crevice, which only had to be widened a little. My money’s on that one. It’s about fifteen minutes’ walk.”

  “Any chance there are still Maer inside?” Carl asked, sounding almost hopeful.

  Rolf sucked his teeth. “Only one way to find out. I’ll take you close enough to see it, but I’m not going in. I promised Laila, and I aim to keep my word. If we see any sign of anything, we head back and decide what to do next.”

  Sinnie and the adult Maer were watching the children play some kind of game with the hollow tree, putting things inside and taking them out, talking and singing, until Grisol shushed them, at which point they continued in exaggerated whispers.

  “If you see any movemen
t, anything at all,” Sinnie said, “come back and check in. We’re here to scout, not to fight.” Finn thought she held her gaze on Carl longer than on himself or her father.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Carl gave a military salute. Finn shot Sinnie a sly glance, but got only a hard look in return. Rolf turned and led the way through the saplings toward the rocky crest of the Devil’s Chimney.

  “Right up there,” Rolf whispered. “Looks like the steps are still in good shape too.”

  They could see an uneven rounded hole set about twenty feet above the ground in a vertical crack in the rock, with stairs hewn into the stone leading down. They were huddled behind a shrub, scanning all around the hole, up the rock face, on ground level, and in the thin forest before them, but they saw no movement.

  “I’ll walk up ahead, moving lightly like I did in the valley,” he said to Carl. Rolf’s eye had a curious twinkle, but he said nothing. “I’ll wave you forward if the coast is clear.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Rolf said, “and keep an eye out. If you hear this duck-whistle, come running.” He held up a wooden cylinder with several holes in it. Carl’s eyes were hard and eager, his breath ramping up. Finn nodded, turned away from them, took a few seconds to center himself, then began his light walk.

  His feet formed themselves into the shape of the ground with each step, the movement coming more easily to him than it had before. This left his mind free to focus more on the movement of his upper body; he knew from study there were ways of moving that were less noticeable to the eye, which he had practiced, but had never had the concentration to really put the theory to the test. He slunk and glided from tree to tree, moving with the rhythm of the terrain. It felt right, but of course there was no way to tell, so he moved slowly but steadily toward the base of the stairs.

  The black hole of the entrance gave him no further clues, but the ground at the foot of the stairs did. There were remains of an old fire, and a number of bones in a neat pile inside the bottom of the crevice. He studied the bones for a moment; though he was no expert in such matters, there was something quite odd there, a long, sinuous set of bones, like a snake but impossibly long, that looked to have been roasted and thoroughly gnawed over. The Maer may well have been here, but what they ate remained a mystery. He padded up the stairs, readying himself to shift the energy from the light walk into a force shell if something arose. As he approached the tunnel mouth, he stopped and listened for a long time, but heard nothing except the muffled trickle of water echoing through twisting tunnels of stone.