Scatterstone - Part 10
Aug. 3rd, 2013 07:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bloodyrosemccoyHas it been so long you've forgotten what happened before? Don't worry! You can catch up using the index!
Dwarves have words for physics concepts like "mass," "force," "gravity," and "momentum," but the Common Speech doesn't do much with math and physics. Thus, dwarves have to get creative when translating. "Earthpull," for example, is one term for gravitational force.
Dwarves have a generational kinship system even more simple than the Hawaiian one since it does not distinguish genders. Everyone in a dwarf's parents' generation (including parents) is addressed with a term that is usually translated as "uncle"; in his own generation as "cousin"; and in his children's generation as "nephew."* While specialized terms distinguish biological relationships, in casual conversation nobody uses them; they're considered clinical and dry. Thus Orlof and Hruldar's use of "Dhul," which literally means "nephew," is rather akin to addressing him as "son."
They also seem to have the same casual prejudice against left-handed people (or trolls, at any rate) that humans do.
I did not expect to have this much fun coming up with the dwarven bits. Dwarves were never my thing, especially since they always seemed so one-dimensional in fantasy. And then my determination to go beneath the gold and the maille takes over, and you get Mighty Dwarven Knitting and those darn dwarven kids being all punk with their beardstyles and Twilight-style stupid teenager love triangles and, of course, rollercoasters. Hot damn, I love it when writing goes like that.
*I propose we refer to this as the Duckburgian Kinship Model, since complicated Duck family trees might (okay, do) exist, but the uncle-nephew dynamic does seem to be how kinship works on a cursory examination of the Duckverse.
---
Zorna was tending her plants when Nolly and and Ivan strode in. She turned and was briefly scandalized when Nolly cast the unsheathed daggers on the little table.
And then the meaning struck her.
Nolly looked into her shocked face. "That's right," she said. "It looks like your secret is out." She folded her arms. "Don't tell me you'll still sit by and let him steal her magic."
Zorna was quiet for a moment, contemplating the message written on the blades before her.
"You're right," she said. "Secrecy is no longer safety with Kraja."
She sighed. "But you weren't listening before, my girl. I can't create something from nothing. I'm no greatmage. My own power cannot break Kraja's diamond."
"Oh." Nolly looked up at Ivan, seeing her own disappointment mirrored on his face. "I see."
Zorna, however, had not finished. It was her turn to lock eyes with Nolly. "But you have provided me with another opportunity."
"She has?" Ivan said, looking at Nolly with surprise.
Zorna pointed directly at Nolly's heart. "Everything I need is in there."
Nolly fell back a step. "Me?"
"No," the old woman said, grimly amused. "Not you. Your necklace."
Ivan was stunned. "You're carrying magic?"
"I'll explain later," Nolly muttered.
Zorna ignored him. "Your lad's power must be something to see if he can stuff this much into a little stone like that. I've never seen its like." She squinted down at it clinically. "I can take that power and reshape it. With the right spell in place, that much magic will shatter his lordship's precious diamond. If you can get to the thing."
Nolly bit her lip. "But will I be able to talk to Largo if you change it like that?"
Zorna smiled crookedly. "That's the problem."
"I thought as much."
Nolly sighed. Even before knowing what they were, she'd taken solace in those dreams. They made her feel as though she wasn't really so far from home after all. Even now, when they offered only the wrenching sight of Largo trapped in that strange shell, she still did not want to lose that last little bit of contact. Then she'd be truly alone.
And so would Largo.
"How long will it take?" she asked. "To do the spell?"
"At least a day."
"There's no rush," Ivan said wearily.
The two women stared at him. Was he joking?
"I talked to Funro," Ivan said. "The problem is that we have to communicate with the people in Arcadia who are helping us. If we don't all act at the same time, none of it will work. And the time we've set for it to come together is ... several days away." He grimaced. He clearly wanted to leap into action right then to rescue his sister.
But when she heard that, relief--shameful, embarrassing relief--flooded Nolly. She knew she should want to rush after Zeia--and she did. But this way, she would have time.
"All right," she said. "I'll let you have it. But there's one thing I need to do first."
#
As it turned out, even knowing that she had plenty of time didn't make it easier to fall asleep. Even after Zorna brewed her a cup of sleepy tea to help her, Nolly tossed and turned for hours. Determination and resolve were all very well, but they were not very relaxing.
But she had to speak to Largo. And so, finally, she made it back into the dreamy darkness of the space she shared with him.
Nothing had changed: the crystal dome still shrouded him. Nolly rested a palm on it. The surface was pleasantly cool. Without thinking she leaned her forehead against it, trying to work out what to say.
"I don't know if you can hear me," she finally began. "But I have to try."
She'd hoped he'd give some sign that he heard her. When he didn't, she took a deep breath and continued. "I'm not sure what happened to you, either. But--I know about Kraja. And I can guess that he did something to you."
She swallowed. "I'm going after him, Largo. I'm going to go after him, and I'm going to put this right. I'll rescue you. I will. Only thing is, I won't be able to talk to you from now on. I won't be in these dreams. But I want you to know why I'm not, and that I'm going to save you, and I'll--I'll see you at home, all right? I'll go back to Birchdale and see you there. But for now--"
She turned so her back was against the crystal, then slid down until she was sitting.
"For now you'll have to do without me," she said.
She twisted to look. Largo had not moved. She rested against it again, brushing her hand across her eyes.
She stayed that way until she woke up. Then she went to find Zorna and give up her last connection to home.
#
"Orlof," Vrod Slamchest said, adjusting his steel-rimmed spectacles, "what in the Earth have you got there?"
Orlof tried not to sigh too loudly. Even before challenging Orlof's knitting prowess, Vrod had always irked him.
"He's not a what," he said pointedly, glancing at the small figure with its attendant hunting hound at the other end of the chariot station. "He's a who. Hruldar found him."
"Figures it'd be Hruldar," Vrod said. "What's his story?"
"No idea," Orlof shrugged. A group of five, their beards braided into the ridiculous netted pattern favored by the youth these days, were eyeing the hobbit curiously as well. "He doesn't talk much."
He was paying more attention to the little drama before him. The youths were talking loudly, and by the slightly unbalanced way they swaggered and the somewhat distorted quality of their boasts, he was reasonably certain they'd begun their Dwarrowday celebrations already. The hobbit didn't join their merriment.
Vrod raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't talk much?"
"Well--at all, really. We don't even know his name. Been calling him Dhul." It simply meant "nephew."
"Funny-looking nephew," Vrod said. Orlof bristled; he was allowed to say that, but who was Vrod to suggest it? "I see you're taking him to the festivities."
"Would we be at the station otherwise?" Orlof demanded.
"Looks like a passable beginner's sweater he's wearing, too," Vrod went on. "Teaching him to knit, Orlof?"
Orlof gave serious thought to rummaging through his valise for his battle axe. Vrod knew very well he was insulting Orlof's latest masterpiece--no one could mistake the fine stitches incorporating And-My-Axe motifs with intricately enhanced Triple-Quartz Roses for anything but a virtuoso's performance. Fortunately, Vrod was saved from a skull-splitting when Hruldar intervened.
"He tried," he said mildly. "But Dhul there handles needles like a left-handed troll. All his attempts came out looking like something you'd enter in the Dwarrowday competitions."
Orlof suppressed a chuckle. Before the conversation transformed into a brawl, Hruldar patted the basket beside him. "Lad makes up for it, though, with his cooking. I've never tasted better pies, sweet or savory."
"Not with your cooking, maybe."
Orlof left the two of them trading insults. The rowdy group was getting impatient with Dhul now. He wanted to head that off. "Here, Dhul," he said. "What's the matter?"
The evident ringleader, a dark-bearded, deep browed fellow, glanced up. "Does Beardless here belong to you, uncle?" he asked.
"I'll thank you not to be insulting to my charge," Orlof said. "Lad, are they bothering you?"
The hobbit made no answer. He looked indifferently at the gang.
"We weren't bothering him," said a blond youth. He came to stand with the ringleader, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Orlof tried not to smile as he noticed a third in the group glowering at this. Nephews and their dramas.
"We only wanted to know what he was doing here," the first said. "He wasn't answering."
"You were asking in the wrong language," Orlof said. "And to answer your question, he's coming to Echo Hall with us."
The ringleader wrinkled his nose. "He's not even a dwarf!"
Orlof adopted a look of exaggerated surprise. "He's not? Hruldar, did you know about this?"
Hruldar grinned. But any answer he might have given was drowned out by the arrival of a dwarven chariot. Dhul wheeled around in shock.
While his bruises and cuts had begun to heal during his time with them, Dhul had remained insulated from the world in some impenetrable mental fog. Periodically he would rise almost out of it--as during the moments when he would start cooking (though he refused to use large knives), or would see a new cave, or would snuggle with Rognir by the fire. He never looked quite interested in anything, but some things could at least grab his attention.
The dwarven chariot certainly did. With a screech and a rumble it rolled out of the dark tunnel beyond, slowing as the pulley in the middle of the rails caught its underside. Nobody could ignore such a racket.
Dhul fell back, alarmed. The youths, with a dismissive wave at them, crowded forward toward the vehicle, seating themselves amid raucous laughter. The blond one made certain to find a seat next to the ringleader.
Orlof looked into the chariot. No dog harness in this one.
"We'll wait for the next one," he said to Omrak, the station operator.
Omrak nodded curtly. With a pull of a lever, the pulley started up again. A moment later the chariot was out of sight.
Orlof turned to join Hruldar. But Dhul did not go with him. He was staring into the dark exit tunnel with wide eyes.
Orlof blinked. He was so used to them himself that it hadn't even occurred to him that the lad might be unfamiliar with Dwarven chariots.
"Don't worry, Dhul," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "It's an excellent way to travel. No walking, no dealing with asses--well, you still have to deal with with asses"--with a glance at Vrod--"but not the kind who'll refuse to drag the cart. And it's perfectly safe, unless you're stupid enough to get out of your harness. All you do is sit back and let the machines and Earthpull do all the work."
Dhul glanced up at him skeptically.
"You'll see some lovely caves," Hruldar chimed in.
"Indeed," Orlof said. "The route takes us through Corusca Caverns. It's glorious. Huge clusters of quartz all along the walls, all colors and varieties, and rock formations you'd never believe were real. Our mages keep the lamps shining, so the walls catch the light and fragment it, casting it back onto the flowstone in a thousand colored sparks."
Orlof paused, suddenly aware that Hruldar, Vrod, and Omrak were looking at him strangely. He looked down, embarrassed. "Well, it is worth seeing," he muttered gruffly.
The next chariot rumbled in a moment later, with only a couple of passengers already inside. Hruldar grinned. "How about it, Dhul? Want to see the sparks?"
Without further ado, Dhul climbed into the chariot.
Orlof followed. Hruldar nudged him, still grinning. "'A thousand colored sparks,' huh?"
"I save my poetry for things that deserve it," Orlof shrugged. He bent to buckle Rognir into the dog harness before securing his own. The hound's tongue lolled cheerfully.
Dhul still looked a bit dubious as Omrak pulled the lever again and the chain lurched the chariot along. But the tantalizing pinpoints of glitter along the dimly lit tunnel walls seemed to distract him.
"Just wait," Hruldar said, seeing that look. He reached to tighten the safety straps on the basket at his feet. Orlof grinned. He still loved this part.
The chariot reached the first downhill grade.
Between them came a tiny, shocked squeak. The cart took off, clattering crazily along its rails. The lamps whipped by as they banked around curves and dropped over steep angles. Rognir stood up, tongue lolling. On the other side of the chariot, Hruldar let out a happy whoop.
A few moments later, the chariot hit its next straightaway station. Orlof turned to Dhul. "Have fun?"
The lad gave him a weak, startled smile.
"Two more stations and we'll get to Corusca," the dwarf promised. "Don't worry--it goes slow through there. You'll have time to admire it."
They went on, picking up a few more passengers at the other stations. Dhul actually seemed to be paying some attention to his surroundings as they rolled along the smaller caves. He seemed to be trying to force himself to pay attention.
He didn't have to force himself when they got to Upper Corusca.
The mages had put up a grand gallery of crystals imbued with light; a cave such as this was not meant to be left in the dark. Glittering white columns; veins of shining amethyst, rock crystal, rose quartz, and citrine; lacy curtains of stone; smooth flowstone steps; crystals piled like snowdrifts; stalagmites like mushrooms. For a moment everyone in the chariot was silent, gazing at the wonders around them.
Orlof glanced at Dhul, and beheld the most peculiar expression on the young hobbit's face. It was as though a look of longing was hovering just above it, trying to light on it and finding no purchase. Those sad eyes met Orlof's for just a moment as they approached the next drop.
And just as they hit it, the tracks bucked as thunder blasted out of the tunnel in front of them, and Orlof had other things to worry about.
#
Luik Glowstick forgot about the old uncles and their beardless companion the moment his chariot pulled out of Snowslope Station. He had far more important things to worry about. There was the captivating personality of Ardoth Sunslam, the goldsmith's apprentice--the smartest, funniest, and most chiseled dwarf in the mountain, sitting in front of him. There was the infuriating problem of Schtom Southpole's arm draped casually around Ardoth's shoulders, and Ardoth's returning the gesture.
And there was Luik's own solution to the problem, to be implemented in the midst of Lower Corusca Cavern. After that, Ardoth would have to notice him. Then he--and all of them!--would agree it was the most amazing opening to the Dwarrowday festivities any of them had ever seen. They'd talk about it for years.
They hit the first drop. A few drunken whoops issued from the others. Luik smiled grimly.
Easily impressed, that was this group's problem. They even thought stupid things, like Schtom's wizarding talent, were so amazing. As if it took anything but dumb luck to be a wizard. But every time Schtom showed off another petty trick Master Lodestone had taught him everyone just went crazy. Ardoth was still talking about the time he'd made all the natural veins light up in Upper Corusca, putting on a dazzling light show that even made Master Lodestone misty.
Well, two could play at that game. Luik might not be a mage's apprentice, but an alchemist's apprentice also knew a thing or two. He'd show Ardoth who was the cleverest!
They reached the upper chamber. Soon they'd be in the second. It was time to put his plan into action.
Bending down in his seat to shield his work from the air rushing past, Luik found his flint and tinder. Before he set to work getting a spark, though, he gave one final pat to the bag of fireworks at his feet.
#
Orlof was beginning to suspect that he had found a design flaw in the chariot safety system. The magic crystal lamps set at regular intervals, which usually shone bright white, were spelled to change if something happened to the tracks. Solid red meant the danger was immediate; alternating red and yellow were a sign that the passengers should wait until they passed a blue lamp--the signal that an emergency egress platform was ahead--and then pull the emergency brake lever.
The problem, Orlof thought, was that the resulting red and yellow dimness made it very difficult to find the emergency brake lever.
The tunnel linking the upper and lower Corusca chambers was a tight descent, a rapid plunge through swirling helixes and steep banked turns. It would be far easier to grope effectively for the lever when not otherwise occupied keeping one's safety harness buckled, bracing one's limbs to avoid being flung about too much, and trying to ignore the increasingly alarmed chatter of fellow passengers. He would have to bring that up with the engineers.
The lamps went by so fast now that they were becoming a blur. Something snagged his ankle--"Drat!" Vrod cried, "you're not the lever!" Hruldar was swearing; Dhul was clutching him like a vise. Rognir, usually eagerly straining in his harness for this part of ride, had picked up on everyone's panic and was hunkered down. Another lurch--Orlof growled. Was that a flash of blue? Had he missed his chance to halt?
Aha! Here was the lever. "Got the brake!" he called aloud.
"Don't pull it here!" Vrod shouted.
The cart lunged along another banked spiral. "Obviously," Orlof growled.
He kept his eye on the lamps. They streaked by, red and yellow running together into orange--he had to wait for the blue--
The tunnel ended. The chariot shot into the lower chamber and immediately hit its first long descent. And everything went red.
"Now!" Hruldar screamed. "Pull it now!"
Orlof yanked.
Something on the underside of the chariot snapped.
"Blast!" he opined.
The chariot plunged.
As his heart was left hanging at the crest of the slope, Orlof followed Hruldar's horrified gaze down ... down ... down ...
Just had to tell the lad it was perfectly safe, he thought.
They hit the bottom of the slope and swooped onto the short rise that should have lifted them onto a nice long straightaway, suspended on trestles high above the cavern floor. Orlof pulled uselessly on the broken brake, but he refused to take his eyes off the twisted tails of metal where something had blown the tracks to shrapnel.
And then they hit the end. The chariot sailed into the air--
--the walls were glittering--
--smoke was blowing past--
--Vrod was shouting--
--Hruldar was coughing--
--and then stone and thunder drowned out all other sensation.
It was a rumble to flatten the previous explosion. But this was no sharp, destructive blast of fire. The sound occupied the whole world--the highest vaults of the cavern echoed with it, and the dead-still shores of the subterranean lake below were lapped with sudden waves. Accompanying it, in a split second that lasted forever, heavy shadows surrounded them. Orlof ducked down as they closed in.
The chariot stopped.
It took Orlof a moment to realize it. After all that noise, the sudden silence was ringingly loud.
He unbuckled his harness. "Everyone all right?"
A chorus of dwarven groans and one canine whimper answered him. He wrinkled his nose. Somebody--probably Rognir--had expressed his fear bodily.
He picked himself up just as Vrod let out a stunned "What in the Earth--"
Orlof couldn't blame him. The sight was so confounding that it took a moment to settle in his own mind.
The chariot was suspended at the very zenith of its flight--in the middle of what looked like a stationary waterfall. The stuff cascaded down from several points of the ceiling to spill over the sides of the vehicle; when he peered over the edge Orlof could see that they converged underneath it in a long column that dripped toward the floor far below.
But it wasn't a waterfall. Orlof put a hand out, trying to confirm what his eyes already knew. Limestone.
This thing was a stalactite.
Orlof shook his head. A stalactite that had ... grown around them?
"Dhul!"
Orlof snapped out of his confusion. Hruldar was standing on the seat, tugging on the hand of their adopted nephew.
"Dhul! Lad! Answer me!"
But Dhul did not answer. He showed no sign of hearing Hruldar. His eyes were glazed, his back arched, everything tensed.
He was embedded in the stalactite.
Orlof looked around frantically. No one else was trapped in the stone. They all stood on one side of the chariot, staring uselessly.
He jumped up next to Hruldar. A hand on the lad's neck showed a pulse, but he didn't react to the touch at all. Orlof slapped him, pinched him, called to him, and even jabbed him with a knitting needle. Nothing roused the boy--indeed his skin was as cold and hard as the stone around him.
He stayed like that while the rescue crew arranged the tower ladder to reach them. He didn't notice the others worming their way out between the ribs of the stalactite. Rognir gave him a sad lick and then let himself be carried down on a rescuer's shoulders, his eyes still back on the caged chariot.
Orlof and Hruldar were the last to leave the chariot; Orlof had to convince Hruldar to let the mages step in and try their luck--and try to figure out what happened. Dhul didn't react as they abandoned him.
They made it safely to the solid outcropping they should have reached by chariot. A crowd of emergency workers was there, along with mages and a few peacekeepers. Orlof noticed another ladder platform descending to the floor of the cave; a stretcher was being passed up it. He squinted: it was the blond nephew from before, beard singed almost to its roots and burn marks all over his face. He was swearing abominably.
"Seems one of them had fireworks," Vrod said flatly. "Trying to impress his friends."
"Good thing we waited for the next chariot," Orlof said. "Everyone all right?"
"No."
"Shame, that. Wish nephews would think before they act."
"As well wish against Earthpull."
Orlof looked up at the stalactite. He wondered if they'd done just that.
There was a crack from above. Hruldar caught his shoulder. Somebody up there was shouting. Then one of the burly younger mages came down, half-carrying the wild-eyed hobbit with him. The hobbit was staggering on shaking legs, almost missing the rungs of the ladder half the time.
"What happened?" Hruldar demanded.
"I don't know," the mage admitted. "We couldn't do anything. It just--suddenly spat him out!"
He lowered Dhul to his knees. The lad immediately planted his hands on the floor to ground himself. They seemed to almost sink into the smooth stone. He was shaking hard. He was covered with sweat. And--
"What's that?" Hruldar asked, bending down.
--he was trying to speak.
"Yes?" Hruldar said.
The first attempt came out as an incoherent squeak. Dhul paused and took another deep breath. They all leaned in to hear.
"Zvauglarend," Dhul whispered.
And all hell broke loose again.
#
Hey, everyone! I hear Part 11 is up!
Dwarves have words for physics concepts like "mass," "force," "gravity," and "momentum," but the Common Speech doesn't do much with math and physics. Thus, dwarves have to get creative when translating. "Earthpull," for example, is one term for gravitational force.
Dwarves have a generational kinship system even more simple than the Hawaiian one since it does not distinguish genders. Everyone in a dwarf's parents' generation (including parents) is addressed with a term that is usually translated as "uncle"; in his own generation as "cousin"; and in his children's generation as "nephew."* While specialized terms distinguish biological relationships, in casual conversation nobody uses them; they're considered clinical and dry. Thus Orlof and Hruldar's use of "Dhul," which literally means "nephew," is rather akin to addressing him as "son."
They also seem to have the same casual prejudice against left-handed people (or trolls, at any rate) that humans do.
I did not expect to have this much fun coming up with the dwarven bits. Dwarves were never my thing, especially since they always seemed so one-dimensional in fantasy. And then my determination to go beneath the gold and the maille takes over, and you get Mighty Dwarven Knitting and those darn dwarven kids being all punk with their beardstyles and Twilight-style stupid teenager love triangles and, of course, rollercoasters. Hot damn, I love it when writing goes like that.
*I propose we refer to this as the Duckburgian Kinship Model, since complicated Duck family trees might (okay, do) exist, but the uncle-nephew dynamic does seem to be how kinship works on a cursory examination of the Duckverse.
---
Zorna was tending her plants when Nolly and and Ivan strode in. She turned and was briefly scandalized when Nolly cast the unsheathed daggers on the little table.
And then the meaning struck her.
Nolly looked into her shocked face. "That's right," she said. "It looks like your secret is out." She folded her arms. "Don't tell me you'll still sit by and let him steal her magic."
Zorna was quiet for a moment, contemplating the message written on the blades before her.
"You're right," she said. "Secrecy is no longer safety with Kraja."
She sighed. "But you weren't listening before, my girl. I can't create something from nothing. I'm no greatmage. My own power cannot break Kraja's diamond."
"Oh." Nolly looked up at Ivan, seeing her own disappointment mirrored on his face. "I see."
Zorna, however, had not finished. It was her turn to lock eyes with Nolly. "But you have provided me with another opportunity."
"She has?" Ivan said, looking at Nolly with surprise.
Zorna pointed directly at Nolly's heart. "Everything I need is in there."
Nolly fell back a step. "Me?"
"No," the old woman said, grimly amused. "Not you. Your necklace."
Ivan was stunned. "You're carrying magic?"
"I'll explain later," Nolly muttered.
Zorna ignored him. "Your lad's power must be something to see if he can stuff this much into a little stone like that. I've never seen its like." She squinted down at it clinically. "I can take that power and reshape it. With the right spell in place, that much magic will shatter his lordship's precious diamond. If you can get to the thing."
Nolly bit her lip. "But will I be able to talk to Largo if you change it like that?"
Zorna smiled crookedly. "That's the problem."
"I thought as much."
Nolly sighed. Even before knowing what they were, she'd taken solace in those dreams. They made her feel as though she wasn't really so far from home after all. Even now, when they offered only the wrenching sight of Largo trapped in that strange shell, she still did not want to lose that last little bit of contact. Then she'd be truly alone.
And so would Largo.
"How long will it take?" she asked. "To do the spell?"
"At least a day."
"There's no rush," Ivan said wearily.
The two women stared at him. Was he joking?
"I talked to Funro," Ivan said. "The problem is that we have to communicate with the people in Arcadia who are helping us. If we don't all act at the same time, none of it will work. And the time we've set for it to come together is ... several days away." He grimaced. He clearly wanted to leap into action right then to rescue his sister.
But when she heard that, relief--shameful, embarrassing relief--flooded Nolly. She knew she should want to rush after Zeia--and she did. But this way, she would have time.
"All right," she said. "I'll let you have it. But there's one thing I need to do first."
#
As it turned out, even knowing that she had plenty of time didn't make it easier to fall asleep. Even after Zorna brewed her a cup of sleepy tea to help her, Nolly tossed and turned for hours. Determination and resolve were all very well, but they were not very relaxing.
But she had to speak to Largo. And so, finally, she made it back into the dreamy darkness of the space she shared with him.
Nothing had changed: the crystal dome still shrouded him. Nolly rested a palm on it. The surface was pleasantly cool. Without thinking she leaned her forehead against it, trying to work out what to say.
"I don't know if you can hear me," she finally began. "But I have to try."
She'd hoped he'd give some sign that he heard her. When he didn't, she took a deep breath and continued. "I'm not sure what happened to you, either. But--I know about Kraja. And I can guess that he did something to you."
She swallowed. "I'm going after him, Largo. I'm going to go after him, and I'm going to put this right. I'll rescue you. I will. Only thing is, I won't be able to talk to you from now on. I won't be in these dreams. But I want you to know why I'm not, and that I'm going to save you, and I'll--I'll see you at home, all right? I'll go back to Birchdale and see you there. But for now--"
She turned so her back was against the crystal, then slid down until she was sitting.
"For now you'll have to do without me," she said.
She twisted to look. Largo had not moved. She rested against it again, brushing her hand across her eyes.
She stayed that way until she woke up. Then she went to find Zorna and give up her last connection to home.
#
"Orlof," Vrod Slamchest said, adjusting his steel-rimmed spectacles, "what in the Earth have you got there?"
Orlof tried not to sigh too loudly. Even before challenging Orlof's knitting prowess, Vrod had always irked him.
"He's not a what," he said pointedly, glancing at the small figure with its attendant hunting hound at the other end of the chariot station. "He's a who. Hruldar found him."
"Figures it'd be Hruldar," Vrod said. "What's his story?"
"No idea," Orlof shrugged. A group of five, their beards braided into the ridiculous netted pattern favored by the youth these days, were eyeing the hobbit curiously as well. "He doesn't talk much."
He was paying more attention to the little drama before him. The youths were talking loudly, and by the slightly unbalanced way they swaggered and the somewhat distorted quality of their boasts, he was reasonably certain they'd begun their Dwarrowday celebrations already. The hobbit didn't join their merriment.
Vrod raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't talk much?"
"Well--at all, really. We don't even know his name. Been calling him Dhul." It simply meant "nephew."
"Funny-looking nephew," Vrod said. Orlof bristled; he was allowed to say that, but who was Vrod to suggest it? "I see you're taking him to the festivities."
"Would we be at the station otherwise?" Orlof demanded.
"Looks like a passable beginner's sweater he's wearing, too," Vrod went on. "Teaching him to knit, Orlof?"
Orlof gave serious thought to rummaging through his valise for his battle axe. Vrod knew very well he was insulting Orlof's latest masterpiece--no one could mistake the fine stitches incorporating And-My-Axe motifs with intricately enhanced Triple-Quartz Roses for anything but a virtuoso's performance. Fortunately, Vrod was saved from a skull-splitting when Hruldar intervened.
"He tried," he said mildly. "But Dhul there handles needles like a left-handed troll. All his attempts came out looking like something you'd enter in the Dwarrowday competitions."
Orlof suppressed a chuckle. Before the conversation transformed into a brawl, Hruldar patted the basket beside him. "Lad makes up for it, though, with his cooking. I've never tasted better pies, sweet or savory."
"Not with your cooking, maybe."
Orlof left the two of them trading insults. The rowdy group was getting impatient with Dhul now. He wanted to head that off. "Here, Dhul," he said. "What's the matter?"
The evident ringleader, a dark-bearded, deep browed fellow, glanced up. "Does Beardless here belong to you, uncle?" he asked.
"I'll thank you not to be insulting to my charge," Orlof said. "Lad, are they bothering you?"
The hobbit made no answer. He looked indifferently at the gang.
"We weren't bothering him," said a blond youth. He came to stand with the ringleader, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Orlof tried not to smile as he noticed a third in the group glowering at this. Nephews and their dramas.
"We only wanted to know what he was doing here," the first said. "He wasn't answering."
"You were asking in the wrong language," Orlof said. "And to answer your question, he's coming to Echo Hall with us."
The ringleader wrinkled his nose. "He's not even a dwarf!"
Orlof adopted a look of exaggerated surprise. "He's not? Hruldar, did you know about this?"
Hruldar grinned. But any answer he might have given was drowned out by the arrival of a dwarven chariot. Dhul wheeled around in shock.
While his bruises and cuts had begun to heal during his time with them, Dhul had remained insulated from the world in some impenetrable mental fog. Periodically he would rise almost out of it--as during the moments when he would start cooking (though he refused to use large knives), or would see a new cave, or would snuggle with Rognir by the fire. He never looked quite interested in anything, but some things could at least grab his attention.
The dwarven chariot certainly did. With a screech and a rumble it rolled out of the dark tunnel beyond, slowing as the pulley in the middle of the rails caught its underside. Nobody could ignore such a racket.
Dhul fell back, alarmed. The youths, with a dismissive wave at them, crowded forward toward the vehicle, seating themselves amid raucous laughter. The blond one made certain to find a seat next to the ringleader.
Orlof looked into the chariot. No dog harness in this one.
"We'll wait for the next one," he said to Omrak, the station operator.
Omrak nodded curtly. With a pull of a lever, the pulley started up again. A moment later the chariot was out of sight.
Orlof turned to join Hruldar. But Dhul did not go with him. He was staring into the dark exit tunnel with wide eyes.
Orlof blinked. He was so used to them himself that it hadn't even occurred to him that the lad might be unfamiliar with Dwarven chariots.
"Don't worry, Dhul," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "It's an excellent way to travel. No walking, no dealing with asses--well, you still have to deal with with asses"--with a glance at Vrod--"but not the kind who'll refuse to drag the cart. And it's perfectly safe, unless you're stupid enough to get out of your harness. All you do is sit back and let the machines and Earthpull do all the work."
Dhul glanced up at him skeptically.
"You'll see some lovely caves," Hruldar chimed in.
"Indeed," Orlof said. "The route takes us through Corusca Caverns. It's glorious. Huge clusters of quartz all along the walls, all colors and varieties, and rock formations you'd never believe were real. Our mages keep the lamps shining, so the walls catch the light and fragment it, casting it back onto the flowstone in a thousand colored sparks."
Orlof paused, suddenly aware that Hruldar, Vrod, and Omrak were looking at him strangely. He looked down, embarrassed. "Well, it is worth seeing," he muttered gruffly.
The next chariot rumbled in a moment later, with only a couple of passengers already inside. Hruldar grinned. "How about it, Dhul? Want to see the sparks?"
Without further ado, Dhul climbed into the chariot.
Orlof followed. Hruldar nudged him, still grinning. "'A thousand colored sparks,' huh?"
"I save my poetry for things that deserve it," Orlof shrugged. He bent to buckle Rognir into the dog harness before securing his own. The hound's tongue lolled cheerfully.
Dhul still looked a bit dubious as Omrak pulled the lever again and the chain lurched the chariot along. But the tantalizing pinpoints of glitter along the dimly lit tunnel walls seemed to distract him.
"Just wait," Hruldar said, seeing that look. He reached to tighten the safety straps on the basket at his feet. Orlof grinned. He still loved this part.
The chariot reached the first downhill grade.
Between them came a tiny, shocked squeak. The cart took off, clattering crazily along its rails. The lamps whipped by as they banked around curves and dropped over steep angles. Rognir stood up, tongue lolling. On the other side of the chariot, Hruldar let out a happy whoop.
A few moments later, the chariot hit its next straightaway station. Orlof turned to Dhul. "Have fun?"
The lad gave him a weak, startled smile.
"Two more stations and we'll get to Corusca," the dwarf promised. "Don't worry--it goes slow through there. You'll have time to admire it."
They went on, picking up a few more passengers at the other stations. Dhul actually seemed to be paying some attention to his surroundings as they rolled along the smaller caves. He seemed to be trying to force himself to pay attention.
He didn't have to force himself when they got to Upper Corusca.
The mages had put up a grand gallery of crystals imbued with light; a cave such as this was not meant to be left in the dark. Glittering white columns; veins of shining amethyst, rock crystal, rose quartz, and citrine; lacy curtains of stone; smooth flowstone steps; crystals piled like snowdrifts; stalagmites like mushrooms. For a moment everyone in the chariot was silent, gazing at the wonders around them.
Orlof glanced at Dhul, and beheld the most peculiar expression on the young hobbit's face. It was as though a look of longing was hovering just above it, trying to light on it and finding no purchase. Those sad eyes met Orlof's for just a moment as they approached the next drop.
And just as they hit it, the tracks bucked as thunder blasted out of the tunnel in front of them, and Orlof had other things to worry about.
#
Luik Glowstick forgot about the old uncles and their beardless companion the moment his chariot pulled out of Snowslope Station. He had far more important things to worry about. There was the captivating personality of Ardoth Sunslam, the goldsmith's apprentice--the smartest, funniest, and most chiseled dwarf in the mountain, sitting in front of him. There was the infuriating problem of Schtom Southpole's arm draped casually around Ardoth's shoulders, and Ardoth's returning the gesture.
And there was Luik's own solution to the problem, to be implemented in the midst of Lower Corusca Cavern. After that, Ardoth would have to notice him. Then he--and all of them!--would agree it was the most amazing opening to the Dwarrowday festivities any of them had ever seen. They'd talk about it for years.
They hit the first drop. A few drunken whoops issued from the others. Luik smiled grimly.
Easily impressed, that was this group's problem. They even thought stupid things, like Schtom's wizarding talent, were so amazing. As if it took anything but dumb luck to be a wizard. But every time Schtom showed off another petty trick Master Lodestone had taught him everyone just went crazy. Ardoth was still talking about the time he'd made all the natural veins light up in Upper Corusca, putting on a dazzling light show that even made Master Lodestone misty.
Well, two could play at that game. Luik might not be a mage's apprentice, but an alchemist's apprentice also knew a thing or two. He'd show Ardoth who was the cleverest!
They reached the upper chamber. Soon they'd be in the second. It was time to put his plan into action.
Bending down in his seat to shield his work from the air rushing past, Luik found his flint and tinder. Before he set to work getting a spark, though, he gave one final pat to the bag of fireworks at his feet.
#
Orlof was beginning to suspect that he had found a design flaw in the chariot safety system. The magic crystal lamps set at regular intervals, which usually shone bright white, were spelled to change if something happened to the tracks. Solid red meant the danger was immediate; alternating red and yellow were a sign that the passengers should wait until they passed a blue lamp--the signal that an emergency egress platform was ahead--and then pull the emergency brake lever.
The problem, Orlof thought, was that the resulting red and yellow dimness made it very difficult to find the emergency brake lever.
The tunnel linking the upper and lower Corusca chambers was a tight descent, a rapid plunge through swirling helixes and steep banked turns. It would be far easier to grope effectively for the lever when not otherwise occupied keeping one's safety harness buckled, bracing one's limbs to avoid being flung about too much, and trying to ignore the increasingly alarmed chatter of fellow passengers. He would have to bring that up with the engineers.
The lamps went by so fast now that they were becoming a blur. Something snagged his ankle--"Drat!" Vrod cried, "you're not the lever!" Hruldar was swearing; Dhul was clutching him like a vise. Rognir, usually eagerly straining in his harness for this part of ride, had picked up on everyone's panic and was hunkered down. Another lurch--Orlof growled. Was that a flash of blue? Had he missed his chance to halt?
Aha! Here was the lever. "Got the brake!" he called aloud.
"Don't pull it here!" Vrod shouted.
The cart lunged along another banked spiral. "Obviously," Orlof growled.
He kept his eye on the lamps. They streaked by, red and yellow running together into orange--he had to wait for the blue--
The tunnel ended. The chariot shot into the lower chamber and immediately hit its first long descent. And everything went red.
"Now!" Hruldar screamed. "Pull it now!"
Orlof yanked.
Something on the underside of the chariot snapped.
"Blast!" he opined.
The chariot plunged.
As his heart was left hanging at the crest of the slope, Orlof followed Hruldar's horrified gaze down ... down ... down ...
Just had to tell the lad it was perfectly safe, he thought.
They hit the bottom of the slope and swooped onto the short rise that should have lifted them onto a nice long straightaway, suspended on trestles high above the cavern floor. Orlof pulled uselessly on the broken brake, but he refused to take his eyes off the twisted tails of metal where something had blown the tracks to shrapnel.
And then they hit the end. The chariot sailed into the air--
--the walls were glittering--
--smoke was blowing past--
--Vrod was shouting--
--Hruldar was coughing--
--and then stone and thunder drowned out all other sensation.
It was a rumble to flatten the previous explosion. But this was no sharp, destructive blast of fire. The sound occupied the whole world--the highest vaults of the cavern echoed with it, and the dead-still shores of the subterranean lake below were lapped with sudden waves. Accompanying it, in a split second that lasted forever, heavy shadows surrounded them. Orlof ducked down as they closed in.
The chariot stopped.
It took Orlof a moment to realize it. After all that noise, the sudden silence was ringingly loud.
He unbuckled his harness. "Everyone all right?"
A chorus of dwarven groans and one canine whimper answered him. He wrinkled his nose. Somebody--probably Rognir--had expressed his fear bodily.
He picked himself up just as Vrod let out a stunned "What in the Earth--"
Orlof couldn't blame him. The sight was so confounding that it took a moment to settle in his own mind.
The chariot was suspended at the very zenith of its flight--in the middle of what looked like a stationary waterfall. The stuff cascaded down from several points of the ceiling to spill over the sides of the vehicle; when he peered over the edge Orlof could see that they converged underneath it in a long column that dripped toward the floor far below.
But it wasn't a waterfall. Orlof put a hand out, trying to confirm what his eyes already knew. Limestone.
This thing was a stalactite.
Orlof shook his head. A stalactite that had ... grown around them?
"Dhul!"
Orlof snapped out of his confusion. Hruldar was standing on the seat, tugging on the hand of their adopted nephew.
"Dhul! Lad! Answer me!"
But Dhul did not answer. He showed no sign of hearing Hruldar. His eyes were glazed, his back arched, everything tensed.
He was embedded in the stalactite.
Orlof looked around frantically. No one else was trapped in the stone. They all stood on one side of the chariot, staring uselessly.
He jumped up next to Hruldar. A hand on the lad's neck showed a pulse, but he didn't react to the touch at all. Orlof slapped him, pinched him, called to him, and even jabbed him with a knitting needle. Nothing roused the boy--indeed his skin was as cold and hard as the stone around him.
He stayed like that while the rescue crew arranged the tower ladder to reach them. He didn't notice the others worming their way out between the ribs of the stalactite. Rognir gave him a sad lick and then let himself be carried down on a rescuer's shoulders, his eyes still back on the caged chariot.
Orlof and Hruldar were the last to leave the chariot; Orlof had to convince Hruldar to let the mages step in and try their luck--and try to figure out what happened. Dhul didn't react as they abandoned him.
They made it safely to the solid outcropping they should have reached by chariot. A crowd of emergency workers was there, along with mages and a few peacekeepers. Orlof noticed another ladder platform descending to the floor of the cave; a stretcher was being passed up it. He squinted: it was the blond nephew from before, beard singed almost to its roots and burn marks all over his face. He was swearing abominably.
"Seems one of them had fireworks," Vrod said flatly. "Trying to impress his friends."
"Good thing we waited for the next chariot," Orlof said. "Everyone all right?"
"No."
"Shame, that. Wish nephews would think before they act."
"As well wish against Earthpull."
Orlof looked up at the stalactite. He wondered if they'd done just that.
There was a crack from above. Hruldar caught his shoulder. Somebody up there was shouting. Then one of the burly younger mages came down, half-carrying the wild-eyed hobbit with him. The hobbit was staggering on shaking legs, almost missing the rungs of the ladder half the time.
"What happened?" Hruldar demanded.
"I don't know," the mage admitted. "We couldn't do anything. It just--suddenly spat him out!"
He lowered Dhul to his knees. The lad immediately planted his hands on the floor to ground himself. They seemed to almost sink into the smooth stone. He was shaking hard. He was covered with sweat. And--
"What's that?" Hruldar asked, bending down.
--he was trying to speak.
"Yes?" Hruldar said.
The first attempt came out as an incoherent squeak. Dhul paused and took another deep breath. They all leaned in to hear.
"Zvauglarend," Dhul whispered.
And all hell broke loose again.
#
Hey, everyone! I hear Part 11 is up!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-08-04 07:05 pm (UTC)And yeah, Dwarves can totally be boring when handled badly, but once you get enough detail in to make up a real culture, there are all kinds of great possibilities. I can't wait for more of them!
no subject
Date: 2013-08-05 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-05 03:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-05 06:19 pm (UTC)I'm trying to keep my dwarves away from steampunk, but they also seem to be more technologically inclined than others in this world--possibly all that smithing and Closeness To The Earth and practicality. Plus, I think they've been influenced by some unholy combination of Ursula Vernon's practical wombats and the hands-on mechanical craziness of the Mythbusters. I've turned them into engineers, and I'm cool with it.
The knitting, however, was straight from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey--I saw that a bunch of the dwarves had scarves and gloves and started wondering who made them. I think dwarven sweaters look a lot like Lusekoftes. Which means that Orlof either is a FAST knitter, or he'd already started working on this one before he decided it was for Largo. The interesting thing there is that the supposedly "female" tasks like sewing, cooking, childrearing, and other such home ec don't really take on those gendered qualities to dwarves. (I have the same fun with the fairies--who I wish I could showcase more in this story--unremarkably doing "boy" things like hunting and building.) That's opening up a lot of entertaining ways to play with the culture.
PS yes, I know in the past knitting was done by manly dudes like sailors. That's sort of part of the point. Perception is everything, man.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-05 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-05 08:43 pm (UTC)The study of kinship systems was pertinent in both my linguistics and anthropology courses in college. You can learn a lot about how cultures function by how they define relationships.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-05 10:46 pm (UTC)And yeah, it's kind of hard to keep Dwarves away from Steampunk. It just seems to grow so naturally out of the combination of diligence and attentiveness and affinity for craftsmanship that's kind of a core part of what we think of as Dwarves anymore.
no subject
Date: 2013-08-06 09:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-07 08:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-07 08:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-08-07 02:31 pm (UTC)And OMF I wish I could draw now. I totally want to draw ALL the counterculture Dwarves :D
no subject
Date: 2013-08-07 09:01 pm (UTC)In that case, yeah, they're steampunk. (There are also some rather scientifically advanced trolls in another part of this world, but they don't come into this story.)
I know! I would LOVE to do some counterculture dwarves now!