Stone Veins (Part One, Narrative)
The sun dwelled far from Vera and her siblings as they traveled up the steepest run of Bathnat Pass. Dirt on the path felt like hard stone -- how little it yielded beneath their boots! Above them, red-hatted summits peeled back layers of mist and cloud and glared sternly at them. Vera did not believe the poems read at Armas' temples about the majesty of mountains -- the ledges wore sharp armor and what little flowers bloomed by the road often shriveled and died. The Fire Peak Mountains were only concerned with the stars or what hammers resided in their depths. Vera didn't like the look of the peaks, but their appearance also lent her bits of the late evening sky…
Better than darkness.
One guide led. He would not give his name, so Seca called him “Dirt Beggar”. His wheat-colored clothes were faded and covered in dust, as if he’d rolled down a rock face. His brown hair was unkempt and fell to his neck, braided in strange places only to be knotted at the ends. Vera had not gotten close to him, but could smell rotten musk when the wind came from his direction. The guide refused to speak to any of them beyond telling them to watch for falling rock.
Everyone had been drawn from their rooms unexpectedly. They were given only a half-hour to pack. The messenger told Vera the summons came directly from the High Lord and that they would be traveling into the mountains. She was thrown off routine, confused and tired. She hadn't asked why until they were already on the road. None of her siblings knew, not even Seca who so often crept in their father's shadow.
Vera packed what she thought she could use in the mountains, but she had only traveled to the Fire Peaks on day-long trips before. She had been sure to layer her clothing beneath her leather armor the way her mother taught her. The wind belonged to an unusually cold Spring. Vera hid her fingers beneath the straps of her pack to keep them warm when the wind blew past her.
Faxril was setting the pace at the front of the group and Seca doggedly kept at his heels, occasionally turning her head to insult Uta for the chain metal and leather of different craftsmen. Vera didn't understand why this seemed important, only that Gavrie would occasionally laugh under his breath. She walked behind her brother for most of the way through the pass. His dark hair was mussed before the wind ever got to it, as if he’d hurriedly packed after leaping up from sleep. For fun, she imagined all kinds of reasons why Gavrie couldn't simply pick up a comb and fix his hair: he’d tripped over socks he’d left on the floor, he had wasted too many minutes thinking about Colonel Uldren’s daughter, he choked on his own spit when he rolled out of bed…
She nearly ran into Gavrie’s back when the line came to an abrupt halt. Her brother was lanky and tall. She hated that he blocked her view. Vera leaned back on her heels before trying to peer around him. “What’s going on?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. There’s some kind of gate ahead,” Gavrie said with an annoyed glance.
Vera frowned at him. She wished she could have been up with Faxril instead. She wondered if their eldest brother was thinking the same thing. He had to like her better than Seca or Uta…
“Hear ye, hear ye!”
The guide climbed up on a nearby stone and waved his hands at them, as if he did not already have all of their eyes. The rapid giggle that spilled from his lips was a mix of elation and anxiety. He scratched hard at his hair before continuing on.
“This is the great course built by the temple of Armas! This is where High Lord Abidan tested the worth of his children! Your father ran such a course before the Competition of Towers and won over his siblings. His brother, the young Lord Ithlas, lost. His life, I mean. Very tragic.” Another series of giggles escaped him until his face turned into something more solemn. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Where does it go?” Seca demanded. “How do we win?”
Dirt Beggar shrugged and scratched at his head again. “Each of you get a door and you run through it and…do whatever it is you will do.“ He jumped. “Ah! Don’t look at me with scary eyes, I haven’t run the course. I’m told you figure it out as you go.”
“Told by who?” Faxril asked.
“Squirrels,” the guide said, nonchalant.
“He’s clearly insane,” Uta cut in. “He’s not going to tell us anything else. We should just get this over with.”
“Clearly!” Dirt Beggar echoed.
Vera edged around the group so that she could look at the gate -- more a stone wall reinforced with steel and iron. Scroll patterns were carved into the rock, ornamented by jade and jasper. Four doors were spaced evenly across the wall and each had a different marking that Vera had never seen in a temple of Armas -- they were built with jagged lines and almost seemed burned into their positions. The doors were all set at a strange height too; tall enough for her sisters to pass through easily but not someone like Faxril. Surely he’d have to duck at the threshold. Hadn’t more men passed through this gate than women?
No one else was taking much pause to study the gate or its carvings. Gavrie had already started off toward one of the doors without word to anyone else. That there was not a fifth door didn’t escape Seca, who was triumphant in the look she gave Vera over her shoulder, but her pride was more eager than her cruelty. She rushed to a door ahead of Gavrie and Uta. All of her siblings seemed more fixated on the doors than what lay around them -- she stopped herself from reaching for Faxril when he also approached the gate. He would have never acknowledged her hand on his sleeve, would he? He would never understand what it meant if she told him her wrist burned the more and more she thought on this gate. All four of them were opening doors and she stood where was, watching as they passed out of sight.
Dirt Beggar sat cross-legged on the ground not far away, also staring at the doors. She was hesitant to step up beside him, but when she was there it was as if he wasn’t. His dark eyes were far away, looking past the stone gate and the mountains around him. The smell that radiated from him didn’t seem so bad now that the wind had stopped. The guide jerked his head to the side as an owl might and looked at her.
“And what question will you ask?” the guide asked. “What door you should choose? If I’m sane? Which is the fastest way? Maybe if you can take a piece of jade off the wall? What the prize is?”
Vera shifted uneasily on her feet and did her best not to look away. “No,” she said, slowly. “I was going to ask you how young Lord Ithlas died.”
Dirt Beggar scowled and scrambled from the ground, actually brushing off his pants as if it’d make a difference to how he looked. There was no mad giggle from his lips as he watched her. He expected her to take her question back or rush off without a thought. It wasn’t wrong of him to wait; Vera still wanted to run off after Faxril more than anything else. She hadn’t thought he would leave her here alone…
“Betrayal,” Dirt Beggar finally said, solemnly. “He died from betrayal, my Lady.”
Vera opened her mouth with the question of who, but the guide waved his hands in the air.
“Alright, then! Alright! Let’s discuss doors,” he said. His voice boomed off the stone around them. “We don’t have much time!”
“But that’s not what I --”
“You don’t have many good choices,” Dirt Beggar nodded to the door Seca had rushed through. “Pride,” He nodded to the door Uta passed through. “Spite,” He paused when he turned toward Faxril’s. “Ambition. Not very good choices at all, for a little girl.”
Vera frowned. “I’m not little.”
“Little enough!” the guide laughed. He held his hand not far above his waist to guess her height. “Maybe I was wrong and any of those doors were for you. I was wrong about you before, wasn’t I?” Dirt Beggar then pointed firmly at Gavrie’s door. “Danger, I’d say. No. No good choices. But you are fifth when they are four so why do you need a door?”
“I’m not going home just because I‘m the youngest,” Vera said.
“That’s not an answer,” said the guide.
“Fine then. Squirrels,” Vera crossed her arms, petty in that moment. Her cheeks turned a light shade of red when he laughed at her.
Light was becoming more scarce the longer she stood at this gate. Maybe it was a big waste of time to talk to the Dirt Beggar, but she didn’t think he was built of nonsense as Uta thought. He’d named his siblings better than anyone else had in all the time she’d known them and that was only for being in their company through Bathnat Pass. Every time there was quiet, he was still. She thought he’d sit still for a very long time after she’d gone.
Vera looked at all of the doors like a riddle and thought the High Lord Arand might have been proud of her for doing so. Ambition, Pride, Spite…Danger. The last stuck in her mind more than the rest. It wasn’t untrue, Gavrie had a great love for heading into danger. But that was true of all of them. Why not call him risky? Eager? Danger wasn’t the same kind of word that the others got, was it? Why was he singled out like she was? Was he in danger? Vera’s eyes were stuck on his door. She wanted to go with Faxril, not follow after Gavrie. If anyone was to win, surely it was Faxril.
“Not a very good choice,” Dirt Beggar said again. His braided, knotted hair hung in his face.
“Too bad for me,” Vera replied with a small scowl.
She adjusted her pack and started to walk for Gavrie’s door when the guide grabbed her hand. He peeled her fingers open and dropped a small, clear quartz into her palm. It was covered in the same filth that he was and Vera resisted the urge to rub it clean with her sleeve. Dirt Beggar was giggling and his eyes creased at the corners. He was mouthing words that he didn’t speak. He was suddenly as crazy and wrong as he first appeared, scratching hard at his scalp with his free hand. Vera backed away and hurried for the door.
“Remember!” he crowed.
She threw Gavrie’s door open and ran into the dark corridor that stretched before her.
“Remember Lord Ithlas the Dead!
***
The air grew colder and the walls higher the farther she ran. How long had she traveled since she’d fled Dirt Beggar’s company? When Vera looked to the sky, she saw no signs of morning light. She had not been long behind Gavrie, but she had yet to spot him. Vera should have caught up by now. She slowed to a clumsy halt and wiped the sweat from her forehead. The layers she wore no longer seemed like a good idea. She hadn’t thought she’d be running so far. Hiking, maybe, but…
Vera leaned down and braced herself on her knees so she could catch her breath. Where was her brother? Had he started running because he wanted to beat everyone else through the course? None of her siblings knew what they were looking for here or what they were trying to win, only that they were competing. Normally that was all any of them needed. But why run, not knowing the course? That was stupid wasn’t it?
She straightened and started moving at a brisk walk this time. There was nowhere to go inside this corridor but forward. There were no markings, no indicators carved into the walls. She occasionally felt along the stone to look for another door, but only found smoothness. Gavrie had to have gone this way. Vera knew she was on the right path and some how that made her more frustrated. If Gavrie was fine and the guide really was just an insane beggar, then she…she was stuck with her brother for no reason. And he would say the same. Gavrie annoyed Vera because she always seemed to annoy him no matter what she was doing.
Vera scratched her head hard because of the sweat and it triggered the image of Dirt Beggar. She shivered.
Remember…
Faxril wouldn’t have let that guide get to him. He didn’t believe in superstitions or stories. And he wouldn’t have been afraid to be alone. Still, unease forced Vera’s steps to quicken. Only when the floor began to slope downward did relief trickle into her heart. So far her path was completely straight, which stole away time and her sense of true direction. Maybe there would be more turns ahead. Maybe the corridor would open up to another mountain pass or even a jagged slope. She found herself running again because of the hope, despite the fatigue she felt. The shadows in the corridor grew longer and longer. Vera found herself not caring for any of it.
Hope was what had her tripping over her feet when she saw a glint of slumped armor in the distance.
“Gavrie,” Vera breathed. She shook the surprise from her shoulders. “Gavrie!”
The closer she came to the bottom of the slope, the more movement she spied. Gavrie was knocked back by a man smaller than himself who wielded a large mace. Vera couldn’t see if her brother’s attacker was also wearing armor because a cloak covered most of his body. She was running low on time because Gavrie was clutching his side when he should have been clutching a weapon of some sort. The mace was poised to bash his head in. Vera wasn’t going to get there in time to do much about that with a staff. She quickly drew one of the knives from her belt and gripped it the way Faxril taught her. The knife was thrown with a prayer -- she was not as good at this when she was running -- and it miraculously landed in the attacker’s arm, forcing him to drop his mace. Vera didn’t need to shout to get the man to flee. He pulled the knife from his arm and hurried to where the corridor disappeared into a hole in the rock face.
Gavrie was still on the ground when Vera made it to his side. She dropped down next to him as he struggled to prop himself up against the wall. He leaned his head back and tried to catch his breath, wiping sweat and blood from his brow. From what she could tell, his head wasn‘t cracked open. There was just a shallow cut near his scalp. She‘d already glanced at the mace and there wasn‘t enough blood on it for anything more serious. “How bad is it?” Vera asked.
“Knocked the wind out of me is all,” her brother winced. “Maybe.”
Vera was already pulling at his hands and undoing what straps kept his breastplate over his chest. Gavrie had yet to give her a glare, so she thought he wanted the help. She set the armor to the side and rolled up his tunic only to find he’d layered as she had. Vera nearly smiled when she had to yank up two other tunics to see what damage had been done. Gavrie wasn’t looking at her as she did this, but instead his eyes fell somewhere off to her right.
“I thought the only knives you used were at the dinner table,” he said, dryly.
“I’ve been practicing, that‘s all.” Vera didn’t look up. The bruising on Gavrie’s body had rapidly turned dark and she pressed her fingers gently against the boundaries marking where he’d been hit with the mace. She could hear Gavrie grind his teeth and knew his ribs were in bad shape, but she didn’t think they were broken. He’d have a harder time breathing, wouldn’t he? She didn’t feel like annoying him by asking. “I have bandages in my pack and some salve that might help…”
“We shouldn’t stay here, it‘s not a good place to camp.”
Vera was already taking off her pack, but looked back at the cave that Gavrie’s attacker retreated to. Then she looked back over her shoulder at the slope. “There’s only two ways to go. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Fine,” Gavrie muttered.
She stuck her hand deep into her pack and fished out the kit she’d bundled together before leaving home. Vera was more comfortable with a field kit than her throwing knives. She had more practice here. The small jar of salve was handed off to her brother as she looked for the right sort of bandages to use. He could put the stuff on himself and probably wouldn’t make as many faces.
“It was a dwarf who attacked me,” Gavrie said, as if he despised the silence between them. “I think he’d been watching me as soon as I passed through that door, I just don’t know how. There’s nowhere to hide here! It didn’t make any sense, but I moved fast because I felt eyes on my back. When I got to the slope, he blindsided me.”
Vera had paused in unrolling the length of bandage. “Why would a dwarf attack you?”
“He didn’t say,” Gavrie hissed between his teeth because the salve was cold, but Vera still named him a baby in her mind. It was something to tease him for when they were out of this place. “But he was determined to bash my head in.”
When her brother was finished, Vera touched his shoulder to get him to sit up and began wrapping up his torso. Did Dirt Beggar know that Gavrie was going to be attacked and who was going to attack him? She was beginning to wonder what sort of great course this really was. Knowing that the man attacking Gavrie was a dwarf brought a little more focus to everything. It suddenly made sense that the doors to the gate would be so short, if the gate was built by dwarves instead of priests of Armas. But if the doors were small, that would mean that they were either meant for children or the dwarves themselves and…
Vera pinned down the bandages.
“The guide made it sound like you were in danger, that’s why I came. I got to that slope just in time, didn‘t I?” Her hands fell away. “It didn’t seem like he wanted me to go through any of the doors.”
Gavrie frowned and pulled down his tunics before picking up his breastplate. He was still determined not to camp here, she could see it in the way his face pinched. When his armor was refastened, he picked up the mace with one hand and braced himself with the other on the wall. He was slow to stand, but managed it.
“I…didn’t think the markings on the wall were from Armas’ temple,“ he admitted. He had the grace to look a little ashamed that he hadn‘t said anything back at the gate. Vera didn‘t think he truly regretted it though. “I mean some of them looked similar, but…I know some Dwarven. And the marking on my door. It means straight below. I thought, well, I thought I’d have the edge, if I chose that one.”
Vera stuffed her field kit back in her pack. “You knew he was lying and you didn’t say anything? You didn’t think that was important, Gavrie?”
“I didn’t know he was lying. He was crazy! Maybe he really did think that it was from Armas. Maybe father told him to say it to spook us so we’d work harder.”
“Or maybe his Dwarven is better than yours and he knew exactly what was behind this door,:” Vera said. She got up too and pointed her finger at him. “What if the others got attacked too?”
Gavrie went silent and looked at the cave ahead of them. There was no annoyed glare to accompany her accusations, just the clenching of his jaw.
Vera shut her mouth and lowered her hand.
“I was stupid, okay? None of us thought this through,” he said, finally. “Except for you and you’re not…”
“I’m not what?” Vera snapped. She knew what her brother was going to say because all of them said it, all of the time. You’re not supposed to be here. She felt rage just seeing the words in his face and he hadn’t even gotten the chance to say them.
“You’re…just a kid.” Gavrie ground out. He was finally starting to look annoyed. “Let’s keep going. I bet we’ll find them eventually. These doors have to lead to somewhere important. The language in the markings on the gate was almost too formal for me to read. Besides, if we go back, there might be someone else waiting for us.”
Vera swallowed her anger and looked to the cave as her brother had. The black mouth of it seemed impenetrable, even though she knew the Dwarf had run inside. She didn't want to think about going back to see the Dirt Beggar or what would happen if he had other people with him. Gavrie surely wouldn't follow her back. Vera slid her pack over her shoulders again and pulled her staff from its place there. She didn't know what the right way was any more than Gavrie did now. All she knew was that it was better to be with someone than to be alone.
"Fine," Vera said.
"Fine," her brother replied.
The two of them walked toward the cave together, weapons drawn and at their sides. As they neared the entrance, Gavrie quietly put a hand on her shoulder. The pain continuing in his side was the most likely explanation, but Vera liked to think of it as a thank you she would never receive. She glanced at her brother's face only once before the shadows took them both.