The Call of the Hammer
14th February 1993
Today was the day that Oswald the Mighty, Fourth of Her Name, was going to become a dwarrow. All the other dwarves her age had laughed when Oswald had told them that she was going to Unearth her first hammer from the Gutts of Grin, but she was not cowed. They had claimed that her beard was not long enough to keep her warm in the cold depths of the mines, that her legs were too long and lanky for properly crawling through tunnels, that her digging song was not loud enough to keep her clothed in shadows while she was Above.
Well, Oswald would prove them wrong.
She marched through the home caverns, mining pick hefted over one shoulder. It had been her mother's pick before it had been Oswald's, and her mother's mother's pick before that, and so on and so forth until the time of ancestors, whence it had been forged and blessed with the name Stonetooth. It had helped free the Tools of the Masters from veins of metal trapped inside heavy rock many, many times and would outlive her by several generations.
"Where do you think you're going, young lassie?"
Oswald smiled down at Horatio the Master Baker. He was a fine specimen of a dwarf, small and stout, with a beard so long he could wrap it several times around his neck like a scarf and have some left over to tuck into his belt. Oswald's beard barely reached her knees, to her shame.
"I'm off to Unearth my hammer. I can hear it calling to me."
"Aye, sure you can," Horatio said, his eyes twinkling. "Ah, I remember the day myself, armed with nought but my daddy's pick. It is a great tradition of our youth: to try and fail and try again yet another day!"
Oswald narrowed her eyes. "I won't fail." Of that, she was determined. She would Unearth her hammer and prove herself to be a Master Smith, just as Horatio had Unearthed his whisk, proving him a Master Baker.
"As you say, lass." Horatio chuckled, patting his rosy cheeks with hands rough from centuries of hard work in the bakery. Oswald patted her cheeks in return, acknowledging his farewell, before continuing on.
Moonstones lit the great caverns that all the dwarves burrowed next to, but as Oswald walked the winding paths toward the surface, the stones were spread further and further apart. The tunnels grew darker and Oswald began to chant.
"From flickering candle to flaming sun,
Bring us warmth and sight and salvation,
The tunnels are dark, but our souls are bright,
Oh Mother Magic, lend us your light."
Although Fford, her younger brother, liked to tease that she was tone deaf, Oswald could manage a basic tune, one that was taught to all dwarves as babes. The moonstones began to glow brighter, leading the way up and up and on and on. Oswald continued her chant, matching it to the beat of her footsteps on the dirt. Finally, there was a fierce glare of light, the like of which she'd only seen once before.
It was the Above.
When her class had been barely old enough to mine amethysts, Doris, the Master Scholar, had taken them to the surface to learn about the Above. That had been so long ago: nearly half a century. It had been loud and intimidating at the time, but she was not a young child anymore.
Oswald shielded her eyes and marched toward the light, falling silent. The moonstones dimmed as the magic faded, but it didn't matter, since she could see her surroundings better than even in the brightly lit home caverns deep below. A curtain of ivy hid the entrance to the dwarven tunnels from human sight and Oswald paused, peering through. Beyond was a field of moss-like plant that she'd been told was called grass. Other flora towered as high as the home cavern ceilings, stretching toward the grey sky: trees. Humans, easily twice her size, chattered loudly as they played ball games on the grass or ran in circles around it.
Steeling herself, Oswald drew the hood on her cloak and marched out, onto the surface. Tilting her head to one side, she followed the call of her hammer, the song of her soul.
The humans had created enormous, protruding caverns of their own from stone and brick and glass. They had peculiarly straight edges and uniform seeing holes. Where was the creativity? The freedom? The life? She felt stifled just walking past them.
Even stranger, great closed carts tore down their streets, never once stopping to deposit metal or minerals. Instead, the humans transported themselves inside them. What was wrong with walking? Or failing that, riding badgers, or whatever the human equivalent was?
Oswald snorted and marched on, following the sound of her hammer calling. It led her into the heart of the city, winding down many streets and past many bustling humans. She hummed to herself as she walked, feeling the heavy weight of curious gazes upon her back. After all, she was smaller than they, yet muscular, and bearing an iron pick.
"Dull as stone, silent as night,
Let me pass without a fight,
There's nothing here of interest to see,
Please do not notice me."
Humans began to look past her as if she was just another one of them: tall, boring, and busy. Oswald grinned. A little chant magic could go a long way.
Finally, she began to sense other magical creatures ahead of her, congregating in one place. She hadn't realised their lack until she'd left the dwarven tunnels behind and had been unable to sense her family and fellows. She followed the feeling and entered a building called The Leaky Cauldron. A group of humans made their way into a back alley, Oswald behind them chanting in order to stay hidden all the while. One of them opened up an entrance way with a magic wand and Oswald stepped forward into Diagon Alley, a place she'd only ever heard of in fairy tales and ghost stories.
The architecture was still peculiar, but she felt a little more at home when she spied potions ingredients she recognised and crooked chimneys spewing smoke. Diagon Alley was an explosion of colour and magic; beautiful, but still too bright for her liking.
Oswald stepped from shadow to shadow, imbuing her chant with more magic as she did so. It would not do to be spotted by witches and wizards, who thought that dwarves were barely a step up from Garden Gnomes! They hardly even respected the goblins that controlled their economy; witches and wizards were foolish like that.
The hammer's call grew stronger and stronger, a melody of joy and aching muscles and the sizzle of hot metal tempered in water, all playing over a deep humming undertone of stone. It was buried deep beneath the building at the heart of Diagon Alley: Gringotts Bank.
To get into the very Gutts of Grin, Oswald would have to be careful. The goblins guarded their bank fiercely. Her mother had a scar given by Ragnok himself from when she'd Unearthed the axe that made her Master of the Guards. But Oswald could run faster than her mother, even if she could not fight as well. With the speed of her feet and Mother Magic on her side, Oswald could be in and out before the goblins even knew their entrance had been breached.
She took a breath and forged forward, chanting her song of silence and obscurity. Darting up the marble steps led her to a pair of silver doors. Engraved on them were the words:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
Oswald was not worried. The hammer that she would Unearth belonged to her; the song in her soul told her so. Generations of dwarves had Unearthed their tools from the Gutts of Grin and generations more would do so. Oswald sought a treasure that had belonged to her before she'd even been born and she would earn it with skill and strength. Thieves were warned away, but challengers were welcomed.
The two goblin guards standing beside the doors began to stir and Oswald realised she'd tarried too long. She raced in, darting from the shadows of witches and wizards too busy and self-absorbed to notice her flitting between them. Beyond were the vaults… and her hammer.
Oswald increased the speed of her chant, heading for the darkness and the depths of Gringotts.
She had made it through the first set of inner doors unnoticed, or so she thought, when the doors before and behind her slammed shut, trapping her inside a chamber that gleamed with gold gilt and shining marble. Somehow, she'd been seen.
Two goblin guards stepped out from behind pillars, one armed with a poleaxe and another with a scythe. They smiled in unison, revealing teeth sharper than the Master Butcher's knives.
"What business have you here, dwarf?"
Oswald swallowed and glanced about. For Magic's sake, she'd nearly made it. She had hoped to be the youngest Master Smith ever, the first dwarf to make this venture and succeed on their first try.
"I seek to Unearth the hammer of my soul."
The one holding the scythe scoffed.
"You are too young for that."
Oswald bristled. "My beard may be short, but that won't stop me."
"No? Instead, we will," the one holding the scythe said. His beady eyes glittered with malice. "Return to your caverns, little dwarf."
"Punishment!" the one with the poleaxe boomed. He grinned wider and Oswald shivered. "First, a lesson we shall teach, shall we not, Griphook?"
"Indeed, Sharptooth. A most curious and unusual punishment, we shall have to deliver."
That didn't sound good, not at all. Realising that perhaps she had been a little eager, Oswald stepped back, clenching her fist around the pick balanced on her shoulder. A glance behind her proved that there was nowhere to run.
"Or, I could just go?"
The goblins chuckled.
"That would be far too easy," Sharptooth said.
"Although we do not harm children… I am not averse to making an exception." Griphook stepped closer, raising his scythe. "However, perform but a single task for us and we shall ensure you leave Gringotts with all your blood where it belongs: inside your body."
Oswald gritted her teeth. She wanted to make a stand, but this wasn't the time or place. Besides, she could always return when she was stronger and faster. She'd even get Fford to practise chanting with her so that she could improve her skill in magic.
"Fine."
"Swear it," Griphook said.
"I swear on Mother Magic," Oswald replied with a growl.
Griphook smiled, his grin as pointed as his teeth.
"Very good, child. Now, there is a man named Gilderoy Lockhart that resides within Hogwarts Castle. He has demanded our assistance in a certain endeavour… he has requested that we dress up like cherubs and deliver joyful tidings to lovers that wish to pass messages on this day. We considered sending him a banshee to do the job, but I think you'll manage perfectly instead."
Three hours later, Oswald found herself singing to a child barely taller than she was, with dark messy hair and green eyes hidden behind golden glasses. He'd run from her, but she was feeling particularly spiteful after the day she'd had, and so had tripped him with a small hum of magic of her own.
"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.
I wish he was mine, he's truly divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."
As the surrounding students laughed, Oswald stalked away, throwing confetti shaped like hearts and flowers with abundance to the floor. Only a few more hours to go. Silently, she vowed her revenge on the goblins for forcing her to dress up like this and sing such harrowing songs.
One day, Oswald would return to Gringotts, and she would be successful. She could hear her hammer singing to her from beneath their marble floors, so far away now it almost ached. One day, her chant would be pure and true and not a single goblin or witch or wizard would spot her as she marched into their depths. She didn't care if she had to wait for months or years. One day, she would Unearth a hammer as mighty as her family name, spite the goblins, and prove everyone who'd doubted that they were all wrong.
But first, she was going to return to the home caverns. She'd train with her brother, and Master Chanter, and with her mother, Master of the Guards, and she'd sing until her voice broke and magic filled her soul.
Next time she made a bid for her hammer, she'd be better prepared. Next time, she'd emerge from the Gutts of Grin ready to flee back to the home caverns as a Master Smith—and no goblin would be able to stop her then.
Word Count: 2221
QLFC Round 5 Captain Prompt: (Dimension beneath the Earth) Write about a secret world or society that exists and operates beneath the surface of the Earth.