Of Truth and Beasts

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 for 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 his 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.”

Chane stood stiff. Without Ore-Locks, he could not pass through stone and would be forced to dig his way back to Wynn by himself. Once a path was opened, no matter by whom, Wynn would continue on. Perhaps she would need Ore-Locks down there. Chane hated that thought but could not ignore it. He looked up the sloping cave-in to the tunnel’s high ceiling.

“Near the top.”

Wynn heard scraping sounds long before she saw stones tremble amid the rubble. She had unpacked the cart and sat on its forward corner with Shade at her feet, wondering how Chane and Ore-Locks fared on the other side.

She wished she could somehow convince Shade that retreat was not an option. With undeads like Welstiel and Sau’ilahk willing to murder to find these orbs, the few like Wynn, who knew the truth, could not stop, no matter the cost.

Shade whined and put her nose against Wynn’s hand but didn’t pass any memories or words. Perhaps she had nothing to say.

“Wynn, move back.”

Wynn stood up at Chane’s barely audible rasp coming from the rubble. She quickly backed along the cart’s side, calling Shade along.

A bulge broke in the cave-in. Stones and earth tumbled down. Chane’s dirt-caked hands began carefully pushing out more debris until he squirmed through an opening and slid downward on his stomach. He stood up before her, filthy from head to toe.

Wynn saw no victory in his faintly brown eyes.

“Start passing me the supplies,” he said. “I will bring you two through last.”

Wynn noticed his right hand was bleeding, black fluid turning dirt into dark mud stains on his fingers. Regardless of his doubts on this journey, he always managed to get her through to the other side.

Wynn held out her sun crystal staff and one of the packs, and he took them.

Sau’ilahk waited down the tunnel until Chane pulled Wynn and Shade through the cave-in. He managed to remain patient only long enough for safety, and then blinked himself through. He was too eager to learn what lay ahead beyond the cave-in, and drifted forward at a distance behind Wynn heading farther along the tunnel. The sight of dwarven bones along the way filled Sau’ilahk with hope.

Large, dead crystals in the walls grew closer and closer to each other, and the skeletal remains grew more numerous, until he saw one dwarf piled on top another. In places, rubble partially filled the tunnel, half burying some remains. Finally, he grew rash and closed the distance enough to hear the faint voices of his quarry.

Sau’ilahk froze when he spotted Wynn ahead, and quickly pulled back. The last thing he needed was for the dog to sense him.

“We’re close to the seatt, aren’t we?” Wynn asked.

She sounded distraught, and Sau’ilahk wondered if all the bones upset her. These dwarves had died long, long ago, and her feeble pity was wasted.

“Yes, we must be,” Ore-Locks answered.

Sau’ilahk swelled with relief. Yes, he agreed so vehemently that he could no longer wait. He slipped to the tunnel’s other side, looking ahead around its gradual curve, and let himself fall into dormancy. As he winked out of existence, he held that glimpse of the tunnel’s distance in his consciousness, though he was as blind as Wynn regarding what lay ahead.

He rematerialized somewhere beyond her and rushed on before the dog might sense him. Quickly enough, he found himself inside what must have been the tram station at the tunnel’s far end. Of course, there were no trams here; they had all been abandoned centuries ago at the range’s northern side. He briefly looked at the empty, grime-coated stone platforms before seeking an exit.

Rather than the multiple tunnels leading from the stations at Dhredze Seatt, here only one huge archway led Sau’ilahk into another tunnel straight ahead.

Chuillyon’s arms felt like lead as he pumped the handle. After so many days of powering this dwarven cart, every muscle in his body hurt. His thoughts kept drifting back to his days of travels with Cinder-Shard.

The two of them had tromped the countryside or rowed boats for days without stopping. But that time was long past. He had spent too many years dabbling in politics and diplomacy. However, though much younger, Shâodh was not faring much better on the pump’s other end. His long face and high forehead were flushed from exertion.

When they had first come across this cart, realizing where and how Wynn’s group traveled, Chuillyon had cautioned against moving too quickly, for fear of revealing themselves. He soon realized that overtaking Wynn was less of a concern than keeping up with her.

Ore-Locks was a dwarf, and Chane was quite possibly an undead. Between those two, they outdistanced Chuillyon at an incredible rate. Hannâschi often offered to spell Chuillyon or Shâodh. Though her offers were genuine, she could not provide much help.

In his life to date, Chuillyon had known a number of elven women who were quite strong. But Hannâschi was not one of them. Her strengths lay in other areas, so Chuillyon worked with Shâodh to keep from falling too far behind.

Upon spotting the engine crystal removed from a tram back at the station, he realized what Ore-Locks had managed. Chuillyon had found no way to break another crystal loose for his own cart. He and his had to rely on superior vision and cold lamp crystals for light.

His arms were nearly giving out, and he reluctantly decided to call for another rest. Hannâschi turned from looking ahead—over the top of the metal box—before he said a word.

“Slow down,” she said. Looking forward again, she shouted, “Shâodh, the break!”

Without hesitation, Shâodh released his pump handle and grabbed the break lever, pulling back hard.

Ahead, Chuillyon saw what had alarmed Hannâschi. Before they would even hit the packed rubble, they were going to smash into another cart on the tracks. He struggled to reach Shâodh, but the pressure of the cart slowing so rapidly forced him to keep hold of the pump handle.

Shâodh strained, crying out once with effort, and the cart slammed to a halt. Its platform’s rear end bucked upward, and Chuillyon fell across the pump handle. He heard another impact against stone before he could right himself. Upon impact, the other cart had rammed forward into the rubble.

Shâodh jumped away from the brake, taking hold of Hannâschi and pulling her up.

“Are you all right? Were you hurt?”

“No ... I mean, I was not hurt,” she answered, sounding a bit shaken.

Chuillyon dropped off the cart and left them both for a moment. There was a hole through the top of the cave-in.

“Shâodh, can you sense any life?” he called back.

With one last look at Hannâschi, Shâodh climbed off the cart and came forward. He briefly examined the cave-in, and the skin over his cheeks tightened. He closed his eyes, a soft, thrumming chant rising from his throat, and then he fell silent.

“I sense nothing,” he said. “They must have passed here too long ago. They have a good lead on us.” He glanced sidelong at Chuillyon. “You wish to press on, to crawl through to the other side?”

Chuillyon walked back to the cart for his pack. “Certainly,” he said, attempting to sound cheerful. “They have already done the work for us.”

Ghassan il’Sänke had been inside the mountain for at least eight days, possibly more. There was no way to be certain as he searched. From one dead end or cave-in to another, he had tried to climb higher into the seatt’s upper remains. He soon realized this was impossible.

All levels above the one he entered had been lost when the peak collapsed. As of yet, he had not discovered any passable tunnels downward. A few times he had been hopeful, only to reach another cave-in and then work his way back up. Tonight he stumbled onto a broad passage, easily as wide as a city street.

Broken fragments of pylons lay all along the way, but there was room to pass or climb over the debris. Though he made good time, it was difficult to keep his bearings in this ancient maze. He was almost certain he was near the center of the mountain when he saw a large archway ahead, and quickened his pace. Upon stepping through, he was not prepared for the sight that waited. The word “vast” was so insufficient.

The massive, sculpted cavern could have held a sizable village, perhaps a town. He walked forward slowly, looking around in wonder. At this depth, he was standing in an architectural impossibility. Enormous, crumbling columns some ten or more yards in diameter held the remnants of curving stairways on their exteriors. Three of eight columns were still fully erect, reaching to the high, domed ceiling perhaps sixty to seventy yards above.

There were several massive cracks in the ceiling, though the light of Ghassan’s crystal was not strong enough to fully illuminate those heights. Walkways ran around the walls at multiple levels, and broken landings at certain points showed where causeways had once spanned between the columns.

He passed the ruins of a great stairway that had once led upward into stone. Perhaps it had joined to levels above connected to the tiers of walkways. Losing all sense of time, he strolled on until he came to his senses at another huge archway on the cavern’s far side.

With no wish to leave yet, he climbed one of the countless piles of broken stone to the top of a column fragment lying on its side. In frustration, he crouched and looked about.

So far, Ghassan had found nothing of significance to explain Wynn’s desperate trek here—besides the astonishing fact that this place was not a myth. But she was not seeking some archaeological wonder.

Something about this cavern offered him comfort. He could not place his finger on exactly what until he realized that it was the only place he had seen that reminded him that other people had once lived and breathed here. Even the calcified, tragic skeletons scattered about served as reminders. Some appeared to have been too wounded or trapped by falling rubble to have escaped.

Poor souls. He could not imagine what horrors had happened in this place.

He looked around from his vantage point, still in awe of his surroundings. This seemed a good spot to wait—the only one, really. This was not only the heart of the seatt ... this was the seatt, or all that was left of it. Whatever path Wynn traveled, it would lead her here.

He had earlier sat in meditation to track her position. She was closer, but her speed had slowed, possibly stopped, and he wished he knew why. He still had not decided what to do when she arrived. Should he join her on the pretense of offering aid, or simply give her complete freedom and then follow to watch what she did?

The first option offered more control. No doubt he could convince her that he had learned enough from the part of scroll he had translated to find her here. Wynn did not trust many people, but she trusted him, to a degree. He alone had helped her when no one else in her own guild branch would. He had made the sun crystal staff for her and fought at her side.

But joining her meant she would be guarded in her actions. Perhaps the second option was the one to more quickly uncover her secrets.

He was so deep in self-debate that at first he did not notice the disturbing sensation creep over him. Like an uncomfortable tickle, when it broke through, he knew he had felt it before. He slipped over the column’s far side, crouching on the rubble he had used to climb up.

Darkness in one far archway shifted suddenly, as if those shadows awoke to life.

A black figure drifted from the opening, garbed in a flowing robe and cloak. Both garments shifted and swayed, though the cavern’s air was still and stale. Ghassan saw only more darkness inside its voluminous, sagging cowl where there should have been a face.

It raised its arms in some sort of silent salutation or in triumph, and its sleeves slipped down, exposing thin arms, hands, and fingers all wrapped in black strips.

Ghassan did not want to believe his eyes. He and Wynn had burned this thing to nothing in the streets of Calm Seatt.

And yet here it was.

Sau’ilahk rematerialized in the tunnel before a huge archway at its end. He slipped through to find himself in the half-destroyed remains of a great cathedral cavern. Its immensity left him startled, as did its depth beneath the range.

Column fragments larger than cottages and piles of rubble lay everywhere. There were fewer remains here than in the tunnel. He suspected some dwarves on this level had made it to the trams and escaped before whatever had happened that shattered and burned this place. The bones on this side of the cave-in must be from stragglers trapped by the catastrophe that had come.

He looked up, imagining the crushed levels above. Judging the seatt’s possible population by this central cavern’s size and the openings around it, tens of thousands must have perished up there. But Sau’ilahk gave them no thought.

His shifting, incorporeal form wavered, as if shivering with excitement as he raised his arms. At least Beloved had not lied in this. He was inside Bäalâle Seatt, and after all these centuries, he would find his heart’s desire.

Ghassan struggled with what he saw. In his mind, the wraith had been destroyed and was long gone. That failure now changed everything.

What did it want? If it wanted Wynn dead, she would be. Ghassan forced himself into a calmer, better-reasoning state. It must have followed her and then slipped ahead. Then a greater fear crept into his thoughts.

He had been tracking the sun crystal’s position, but that did not mean Wynn was still carrying it.

Fear turned to panic. What if someone else possessed the sun crystal, and he had been tracking the wrong person? Worse, what if he had been tracking Wynn, and the reason the crystal had stopped moving was because the wraith had killed her?

The black-robed creature began wildly searching the cavern, racing from place to place. Ghassan just watched. At the moment, there was little else he could do.