by B C Penling
Zen’s heart flinched painfully for the dwarf. He witnessed humiliation such as that firsthand with Kyshta’s constant badgering. It wasn’t only Kyshta. It was many of his peers. He was different and slower to mature out of the clumsy hatchling stage. His life was similar to this dwarf’s life. It wasn’t the first time Arley’s shortfalls had been mocked. The dwarf had yet to develop the calloused hide that Zen had; and can’t forget his selective hearing. He discovered that ignoring the scoffers worked well to annoy them further. Zen likely would’ve turned to physical altercations to smother the scorn more permanently had wyvern society not forbade it.
Zen lifted the dwarf’s chin with the smooth side of one of his talons. He raised his face to his own. The dwarf’s greenish-blue eyes stared up at him with surprise and tears welled in their corners. He looked uncomfortable, unsure of what he should do. Zen put his hand back on the cave floor and lowered his head so they were face to face. The dwarf did his best to compose himself and braven his stance.
“You,” Zen began, “are better than those dwarfs. I wouldn’t hesitate to be your friend.”
The dwarf stared at him. Allard said something in lenolden, the dwarf language. The shortest shortling shrugged and looked back down at his feet. He shifted his weight and kicked a clump of dirt.
“Arley doesn’t know how to take constructive criticism,” the rude dwarf said.
“What’s constructive about your criticism? Nothing,” Zen said. He took a few steps forward so he stood beside Arley. “Leave him alone.”
The rude dwarf laughed and hit his knee. “What are you going to do about it?”
Zen lowered his head and growled. “Did you notice those piles of ashes outside?”
A flash of panic came across the dwarf’s face.
Zen’s eyes lit aflame. “You’ll join them.”
“Easy, friend,” the man said.
“No,” Zen said sharply. “They shouldn’t treat anyone that way. I won’t allow someone as brave as Arley to be shackled for who he is.”
“He’s not brave,” the rude dwarf replied. “He could not win one fight and we practice fighting often.”
“He has the courage to try,” Zen snapped. “He was the first one into the cave, not you. You’re a coward. That’s why you have to make yourself feel better by picking at others. You should feel ashamed.”
The cave was quiet for a moment. They looked at one another, each hoping the other had something to say.
“That is an interesting perspective,” Allard said. “And the actions match. Do you think so, too, Nelen?” He looked hard at the rude dwarf for a few moments before continuing. “Can we advance beyond this disagreement? Soon supper will be ready and we can then eat. Will you both be suppering in our halls?” He looked at the group of dwarfs again and made a hand gesture. They immediately opened their packs and removed lanterns.
“Yes,” the man said. “We will.”
“Don’t speak for me,” Zen snapped. “You don’t know what I’m doing.”
“With a wing like that, you’re not likely to go anywhere fast.” He pointed to his broken wing.
Zen glared at him.
“Makes sense to go along. At least there, their healers can see to repairing your wing. I’m sure, with your charm, you’ll manage to persuade them.”
“Yes, dragon, we have the finest healers Dagan has. They can rebuild your wing,” Allard said.
“It’s going to take a lot more than herbs and dirt to fix this,” Zen said, skepticism evident in his voice.
“We have more than herbs and dirt,” Allard said, holding out his hand toward the darkness of the cave.
“What’s the harm in allowing them to try?” the man asked.
“Not try,” Allard corrected. “We will fix him. Our healers are the best.”
“Don’t make false promises to encourage hopes that only yield emptiness,” Zen said. “My wing is broken beyond repair. I’ll never fly again. I’ll never see her again.” He looked down and frowned, battling a mix of anger and sorrow, love and hatred, frustration and acceptance.
He felt a small hand on his foreleg. For a fleeting moment, he hoped it was Lana’s but knew it was too wide and heavy to be hers.
“Tuko. Tuko.”
Zen raised an eyebrow and looked at the shortest dwarf. The candlelight from the lanterns danced across his silly, happy face. His cheeks protruded above his moustache and beard like little rosy mountains in a forest of thick of red hair. His eyes twinkled in adoration. Arley walked in front of Zen and beckoned him to follow.
“You don’t want to be rude to your new friend.” The man shrugged. “The way I look at it, you won’t be any worse off than you already are. Not to mention, if they can fix your wing, you could rescue her.”
Zen furrowed his brow, flared his nostrils and shook his head with a disgusted frown. “It’s no use. This is beyond even the best healers. There’s no way I could fly again. She’s gone. I have to be accepting of the fact that I can’t follow.” He hung his head in hopelessness, dreading Lana’s future and whatever terror it entailed.
A hand rested on Zen’s good wing. He looked sideways at the little dwarf. Arley’s eyes were fixed on him softly as he stroked his wing. He said slowly and precisely four words that struck a chord in Zen’s heart. The four words impacted him more than he could have anticipated. Zen thought a moment, watching the kindness of Arley’s smile spread across his face. The dwarf had a devoted air around him and hinted at an intensity the other dwarfs lacked. Arley was more than what the other dwarfs thought he was.
The words clawed at his thoughts. Without her, how could he live? Without it, how could he live? He lost it when he lost her.
But the four words hit him hard...
Do. Not. Lose. Hope.
The septum was the hope for the world and inadvertently, Lana was the hope for the world. If he didn’t allow their healers to try to heal him, there wouldn’t be a sliver of hope left for all of Dagan.
Do. Not. Lose. Hope.
If he didn’t allow, at the very least, the dwarf healers to try to heal him then he would allow all hope to die.
Do. Not. Lose. Hope.
Zen drew in a long, deep breath then exhaled slowly. He looked at Arley, who smiled strongly back. “Thank you, Arley.”
“Ush,” he replied.
“Will you be coming then?” the man asked.
“Uh,” Zen said, looking around at the small expectant faces. “Ush?”
The dwarfs faces lit up happily and they laughed heartily and elbowed each other. “Maybe he speaks lanolden, too,” the rude dwarf laughed.
“Help with his wing,” Allard said. “Put it in the rags.”
The dwarfs quickly and quietly manipulated Zen’s wing and secured it in the sling that was dirty, tattered and barely functional after the abuse it suffered. With his wing more secured than being dragged behind him, they set off deeper into the cave and into a darkness that was barely penetrable by the candled lanterns that haphazardly lit their way. The tunnel wound around a corner before straightening for a few miles.
After miles of walking inward to the bowels of the mountain, the cave turned sharply to the right. It zigzagged and forked through a few narrow channels before opening into a solitary tunnel that wound subtly towards a low drone of noise that issued cacophonously out of sight. Even with the lanterns lit, it was morbidly dark but Zen had no problem seeing well beyond the reach of the candlelight; far enough ahead to see the ceiling lower toward the floor.
“Our ancestors who carved this path deep into the mountain believed this part to be too beautiful to remove. It is solid crystal above. Makes for a sturdy ceiling,” Allard said. “I’m afraid it gets very low here, dragon, so you will have to become lower to ground.”
“More like slither as a snake,” Zen grumbled. He got down on his belly and scooted along the floor. Not far into the crystallized tunnel his spike hit the ceiling, jarring him to a stop and paining his wing. He flinched as the
pain rocketed through shoulder and up his neck. He jerked back, smacking his head on the hard crystal ceiling.
Clearly, it was no place for a dragon.
He hit the floor with his fist and moaned a low roar. The crystal around him carried the tune and Arley joined in the hum that the crystal sang. The others joined in and soon began a chorus while advancing through the low area.
Down they dwell beneath mountain’s shell, earthen beings, yet secret things.
From molten showers and earth’s desire, born of lead and lava mires.
Each one, they come, as harden stone, strength un-waning, skills they hone.
Trust they have, when truths are told, their integrity deep and close they hold.
Their voices echoed harmoniously off the crystal and the crystal sang in return.
Each they tread on legs of bears, they run swiftly with speed of mares.
Stature is nothing for these short men; they can outwork a horse, or even ten!
Their size often dampens confidence, but sure bewares of an angered glance.
Zen questioned that. He could easily eat them all.
They live down deep in their rocky maze, where knowledge and digging is their craze.
Within their mountains they obsess, over the knowledge of things which they possess.
From the smallest creature to the largest tree; the height of the sky and the depth of the sea.
They have the understanding of ancient times, because of this, their race will shine.
Far beyond the lengths of centuries, they’ll dig their halls and tend their aeries.
Yet, as they tool and labor daily, they tip their mugs and drink their bailey.
For life is more important than any world’s morph.
Nobly. Proudly. They are the Dwarf!
With a shout of the last line, they cheered.
“Alright,” Allard said. “Keep moving. Not much farther to go, now.”
“Not ones for empathy,” Zen chuckled to the man. He held out his hand and gestured at their height, or lack thereof since they didn't even have to duck in the slightest.
He made it all the way through the low crystal ceiling until it raised enough for him to stand up.
“It’s not going to be fun to leave through that,” Zen said.
“Tuko.” Arley jabbed Zen in the rump with the handle of his spear. “No think that. Tuko.” He poked him again and laughed heartily. Zen was amused by his joke, whatever it meant, and cracked a smile. His amusement was short-lived when Nelen spoke up.
“Feel free to eat him.”
Zen rolled his eyes. “No, thank you. I’m honored to be in his presence and even yours despite your insolence. I was raised believing that dwarfs became extinct,” Zen replied. "I'm happy to learn otherwise."
He walked past Nelen who stared at him, unable to come up with something to counter. Arley walked beside him, grinning from ear to ear and patting his shoulder. Zen looked at the little dwarf and almost walked headlong into an elongated piece of iridescent metal.
“Watch it!” Allard said. “Un-melting-metal. It’s been there for years. No dwarf tools can do anything to remove it.”
“Magnenium,” Zen said. “I always had to get rid of it in Bledsoe.”
The dwarfs look at each other and murmured enthusiastically in their language, lanolden. Arley looked intently and excitedly at Zen, anticipating the removal of the resistant metal. He pointed to the ceiling and then pointed to Zen. Arley raised both of his bushy red eyebrows.
Zen took a deep breath and showered the protruding metal in white flames. His fire lit the tunnel brightly, causing the dwarfs and the man to shield their eyes and step back. After a moments-long burst of flame, Zen stopped. The protruding metal had stretched and reached the floor of the cave. It glowed a bright yellow-white on the ceiling and floor. He pushed the molten stalactite into the ceiling until it was flush with the surrounding rock. On the floor, he stretched out the lump of magnenium so it was flat and barely noticeable.
“We have never seen such an accomplishment,” Allard said. “That was worthy of Magnen’s praise.”
Zen lowered his head to be face-to-face with Arley and looked deep into his greenish-blue eyes. He was certainly the youngest in the troop and knew hard times. He was both battle ready and inexperienced, courageous but foolhardy, well-fed but starving for more. Much like himself, only much smaller.
Zen smiled at the shortling. “Is that what you wanted?”
Arley’s teeth appeared beneath his moustache and his eyes turned to slits as his cheeks invaded their territory.
“Ush,” he said happily.
The man chuckled. “I think you have a friend for life.”
“He does,” Allard said. “Once you gain the trust of a dwarf, there is no parting from their dedication. Come, we are almost home.”
They rounded the last curve in the tunnel and found a soft light at the end and from it raised a low drone. Either they had thousands of lanterns burning or the dwarfs lived in a mountain with a completely open top. Zen saw that neither one was true once he entered the massive cavern. He stood on a broad pathway overlooking a sprawling underground garden of luminescent plants dozens of feet below them.
“It’s not the first time I’ve seen this,” the man said, “but it still amazes me.”
Zen looked up at the multiple tiers within the conical atrium. There were stories upon stories of smaller caves where dwarfs lived. The bottom story was all shops for various trade skills and services; mining, tailoring, leatherwork, and markets. The entry was on the third level and had a widened section that extended further out compared to the rest of the pathway. This was to accommodate a ramp that Allard had said was used for carts back when the dwarfs would trade with the outside world.
The entirety of the space was lit by glowing plants of all colors that covered every surface that wasn’t trod on. Many plants had fruits, berries and flowers on them. Their flowers were being pollinated by round insects that were just as bright. From wings to legs and from antennae to tail-end, their bodies were covered in kaleidoscopic hairs. On the ceiling was a massive structure that glowed a rich golden yellow; the hive and home of the busy insects. Oozing from the hive, a thin strand of glowing liquid stretched its way to the floor of the atrium where it pooled in an enormous vat. From faucets on the vat, dwarfs took bucketfuls of the liquid elsewhere. The dwarfs that tended the crops in the atrium drizzled the liquid at the base of each plant.
“This is incredible,” Zen awed. “Not in my lifetime have I ever heard of such a place.”
“Our home is the reason why we left the surface,” Allard said. “After the war ceased, we felt it important to keep our domicile in anonymity from the rest of Dagan. Imagine if the Malworn came here to Pagaia. It would mean the end to all the beauty.”
“I don’t disagree,” Zen said. “The Warisai are the new threat in Dagan. They are the ones to worry about. They take everything and murder without remorse.”
“Those are the monsters we saw,” Allard said. “They are like ugly dragons, only smaller. When I saw them, a shiver coursed my spine. I felt no good come from them.”
“You’re right,” Zen replied. “They know nothing but evil.”
There was a sudden cacophony of shouts coming from the garden level that was out of sight from where they stood. Arley strode to the ledge to investigate something that gave Zen the assumption it was out of the norm. In a split second, the ground ahead Arley split and tilted away from the pathway. He cried out as the earth beneath him shifted and collapsed. He turned to run but it was too late.
Zen watched his terrified face, with widened eyes, disappear over the side. His hands grappled at air.
Zen lunged. The sudden lurch forward dislodged his wing from the sling again, giving him yet another painful reminder of his handicap as he followed Arley over the edge.
He sank his rear talons into the ledge and stretched as far as he could reach. He caught Arley with his mouth. A cry o
f relief swept over the dwarfs down below but the victory was brief. Zen felt the ledge weaken. He scrambled backwards, flapped his good wing, and tried to beat the earth before it gave way entirely.
He failed. The ledge crumbled in his talons. Zen flung his head to the left and released Arley from his mouth. He sailed over the edge, out of sight and into the hands of the dwarfs beyond the edge.
Like an iceberg breaking from an ice shelf, a large slab of earth surrendered to his weight. Zen fell head-first onto the hard ground and rolled onto his back. The hillside came down on top of him in a choking cloud of dust, dirt, and rock. Zen inhaled sharply when he felt his good wing snap beneath the weight of the earth.
He succumbed to the agony, closed his eyes, and welcomed the pain-free darkness.
CHAPTER 22
ABOVE AND BEOND
Cold wind buffeted her face, bringing her numbly aware of her surroundings. She opened her eyes, fighting the resistance of the dried blood on her brow. She rubbed her face, breaking away some of the stiff crust that layered her skin. She blinked drowsily, trying to focus beyond the cloudiness of her dry eyes.
Zen can fly again? She thought.
Gray, light-capped waves glistened below her as they swelled and collided in the choppy storm-churned sea.
The sea…
The sea was where Thalassinus lived. The sea was where Zen got his wing broken. They were far from the sea when they were in the cave. Why were they over the sea if Zen had a broken wing? Her thoughts were as gray as the ocean below. She shook the confusion from her clouded brain. Her head pounded, pained by the wound on her forehead. She touched the dried, caked blood that encrusted her hair and pulled it away from face to have a better look around.
First thing she noticed were the scaly toes wrapped around her; ugly gray scales with dull black talons that were ill-kempt with dried and cracked ends. They were obviously not Zen’s feet. Confusion faded with the arrival of fear as she remembered that the Warisai had found her. She looked up, expecting to see an ugly face of the monsters she hated. Instead, it was something she didn't expect; a large bird.
