03 | The Gorge
With the help of my brother's caretaker I managed to procure a one-horse carriage and the requisite animal. It was an elderly mare, but she seemed sweet-tempered enough, and as we would be travelling with another caravan of mule-drawn carts, speed was hardly of the essence.
The trade caravan, having arrived only on the day before, intended to set out again at daybreak. The plan was for two nights on the road, and by the third we would reach our destination, the Guardian settlement by the Miner place known as Town.
On this second leg of my journey I was meant to be inconspicuous. With this in mind I wore my leather mail underneath a wide long tunic and hooded cloak; my braid was pinned up and hidden under a kerchief, and my dagger stowed in a leather satchel. For my spear I had sewn a full-length sheath. Next to the surveyor's wooden rod it looked like just another tool.
This time the traders were a different company altogether. The merchants and drivers were made up entirely of Miners, having come to deliver ingots of crude steel to be taken by barge to the southern shipyards, and to sell farm tools at the Village. They would be taking back grain and barrels of dried fish to the Hills. Their carts were large, and they were drawn by teams of four.
"Sure this is a good idea?" I asked my brother in a whisper as we drew up next to the caravan in the market square.
"The Masters arranged for my passage with this caravan," he replied. "They sent me a letter of recommendation... and I gather it is in the Miners' own best interest to get me there safe and sound. I should say that we'll be perfectly all right."
"The 'Masters'?" I echoed.
"That's what they call their council."
I looked around. There were no Guardian mercenaries to be seen; in their stead a small band of heavily armed Miners lounged by the fountain in the centre of the square. Surreptitiously checking out their weapons, mostly axes and broad-bladed swords a good deal shorter than the Guardians' slim curved blades, I suddenly became aware that, amongst them, was one familiar face—the smith who had seen to my weapons back in the City.
I swore under my breath. There went my cover! So much for keeping a low profile...
He looked up sharply, and his eyes found mine, but then veered off in apparent indifference. Maybe he didn't recognise me in my women's clothes? I wondered. I rearranged my hood to obscure my face. Or, perhaps, all Guardians looked the same to him?
As the day wore on the man, riding with one of the carts, kept ignoring me, and I breathed a small sigh of relief. An order was an order, and the one I had received from the Council was not to provoke the Miners by my presence. An armed bodyguard would reflect badly on the trust the Council placed in the word of the Miners.
In the evening of our second day on the road my brother came down with a fever. By the time we made camp he was shivering badly and his eyes were glazed over, turning them a dull purple. His skin was hot to the touch.
"What is the matter with you, brother?" I asked in alarm.
"Swamp fever," he said with chattering teeth. "C-caught it two... two years ago... surveying in t-the south."
"What can I do to help you?"
"B-bitter Bark," he panted. He indicated the size of the piece I would need between a trembling thumb and index finger. "Pound it t-to a... powder and top it... with b-boiling water."
We drew up in a circle of wagons, and I quickly jumped off the box and helped my brother alight. He stumbled and almost fell, but managed to keep himself upright by clinging to the side of the carriage. I unrolled his bedding next to the wheel and helped him stretch out on it. Then, after unharnessing and hobbling the mare, I went to the man building up the fire.
"I need boiling water," I told him. "Not much, but I need it quickly."
He muttered something about people demanding preferential treatment.
"It's for my brother," I snapped. "He's ill." Then I returned to the carriage and searched my brother's luggage for medicines. The bark was easy enough to identify, and there was a small mortar with it. I broke off a piece and pounded it to a powder as best I could. I just about thought that it would be ready to use when someone touched my shoulder. Turning I saw the smith standing behind me.
"What is it?" I snapped.
"Here's the water," he said, holding out a steaming kettle, "and I've brought you some cold water and a cloth to bring down the fever... What is it that ails him?"
"He said it was swamp fever—"
"Yes," he said pensively, "I've seen this before... If it's a light bout, and with the right medicine, he should be over it in two days' time." He stooped to set down the bowl and cloth next to me, and then topped up the mug that contained the powder with water from the kettle. Then he turned to leave. "Give me a shout if you require assistance, lady," he said over his shoulder.
"Thank you," I called after his retreating back.
I didn't dare ask about the alternative—what if it wasn't a light bout...
That night I hardly found a moment of sleep; I sponged my brother's face and neck with cool water and made him drink sips of the bitter brew. All through the night the fever rose, and it spiked in the heavy darkness before dawn. In the morning the fever, while not gone, was down again. However, my brother was as weak as a newborn kitten, and couldn't even manage to sit up by himself.
"He can't ride on the box," I told the smith when he came to check on us. "He'll fall off."
"We'll make room for him in one of the carts," he said. Only a few moments later he returned with another man, and together they took my brother to the nearest cart. I followed with his bedroll. I made him as comfortable as I could, and then went to water and feed the mare. I had just finished harnessing her to the carriage when the smith materialised again by my side.
"I'll ride with you," he declared.
"I thank you, but I can manage the carriage myself," I haughtily replied. His insinuation piqued my pride.
"I don't doubt it," he chuckled. "But you didn't sleep last night, so you might nod off while driving and then fall off the carriage yourself... We don't need any more incidents on the road."
Instead of an answer I climbed the box, and after a moment he mounted beside me.
"Move over," he said picking up the reins, and it struck me that he was a man used to command.
We drove in silence and, truth be told, I would have been amazed if he had suddenly become talkative. I was still apprehensive for him to mention our previous encounter in the City, but word never came and finally I relaxed. He didn't remember me.
For some time I was distracted by the scenery—we were coming up to the Hills, and I found them rather more rugged and barren than the gentle expression 'hill' implied.
If only I wasn't so tired. I tried to find a position that would allow me to safely fall asleep. Alas, the low rail of the box offered no support whatsoever. My head would droop and my body sag until I felt myself slip, and with a jolt I would straighten up again. This would happen several times over.
Eventually, my companion gave an amused snort. "You can lean on my shoulder, you know," he said.
I sat up more straight. The cheek of him! As if I would ever—
For a while I clung to my pride. But in the end tiredness won out...
His scent was tinged with the bitter aroma of charcoal and something else I couldn't identify—just a trace of it, and it wasn't unpleasant as such—and although I resented the man, the support of his strong shoulder was strangely comforting after a night of worries.
"Sleep now, lady," I heard him murmur as I drifted off.
A rattling sound permeated my slumber, and when I opened my eyes I saw that we were driving along a cobbled street in a built-up area. The façades of the houses on both sides, rising row after row up the sides of the Gorge, were made of grey quarry stone. There were a few wooden ornaments, painted white, around the windows, but the overall impression was bleak. The tang of charcoal fires clung to the air.
A few Miners watched us pass by. Their expressions were indifferent, as if our arrival wasn't of much consequence to anyone. Through open gates I caught glimpses of people working in foundries and smithies, their silhouettes outlined against the fires of the forges. The noise floating out into the street was intense.
"Where's the settlement?" I asked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
"At the entrance of the Gorge... We've passed it on our way in," he replied.
I stared at him. "And it didn't occur to you to drop us off?"
He shrugged. "It isn't far... We'll see to our cargo and our beasts, and then someone will escort you back and help you with your brother. He's better, by the way... Slept for most of the way here."
I felt rebuked for not asking first—and I had the impression that this was exactly his purpose in giving me this information about my brother. It did nothing to endear him to me.
I was about to give him a harsh reply, when we came to a sudden stop and a young Miner who was walking by called out, "Welcome back, Master!"
"'Master'?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Why not," he smirked. "I run a foundry. This makes me a Master in this town." He stepped down from the box. "Now, if you'll excuse me, lady."
In the end the smith proved to be more mindful of my brother's wellbeing than I would have given him credit for. He ordered a healer to be called the moment we stopped at the main square. When the man arrived he arranged for my brother to be transferred into the healer's coach and be taken to the Guardian settlement. I followed with our carriage.
As we drew near the settlement, I understood why the smith had not taken us there directly. The place was surrounded by a high wall; and the gate, flanked by two turrets, would have been too narrow to admit the large wagon on which my brother had travelled.
Within the walled settlement the houses were built from masonry, in a style similar to the one encountered in the City, but the effect was dulled by the grey local stone. This—I felt—made a mockery of the effort.
The moment we stopped in front of one of the narrow-breasted townhouses, the front door opened and two Farmer women rushed out. They bowed and introduced themselves as our servants. For a moment I was dumbfounded, having expected to find Miners to welcome us, but then I scoffed softly at my own naivety. As if a Miner would stoop so low as to serve a Guardian!
I barely noticed the interior of the house as we passed through the front room and up the stairs to the first floor, except for a vague image of tiled floors and dark, carved furniture. I ordered them to take my brother to the coolest of the bedrooms and to open the windows wide. His fever had risen again sharply from the exertion, and I searched through his luggage for more of the Bitter Bark to bring it down again. I was about to break off a piece when the healer stopped me.
"His is a rare condition here in the Hills, and you won't be able to replenish your supplies of the medicine here in Town." He gave me a small packet wrapped in brown paper. "This is willow bark. You may want to try this first... It is used to bring down an ordinary fever—and despite the current setback I believe that your brother is already over the worst of it."
"Thank you... both for the willow bark and for your advice."
"Now, let me show you the amount you will need—"
Except for pulling a face at the unpleasant taste, my brother was very game about the treatment and fuss made about him, a sure and worrying sign that he was still far from his usual grumpy self. Once the healer had left with a promise to return in the evening, he fell asleep again and I sat up with him until I was sure that the fever was indeed on the wane.
Outside my brother's room one of the servants was waiting for me, offering to show me to my room. It was an exact replica of my brother's; tiled floor, woollen rug, ornately carved tester bed with the drapes removed for summer, chest and washstand, and an armchair. The whitewashed walls were bare. I looked out of the west-facing window; it opened towards a small back yard with an outhouse and a chicken coop. No tree, sadly.
My home for the next year...
I washed and changed—after the luxury of a bathroom in the Valley we were back to pitchers and bowls again—and then, after asking the maid who was still lurking on the landing to stay nearby in case my brother needed her, I went to get 'the lay of the land'.
The two bedrooms were all there was to see on the first floor. Below, there was the front room—to serve as dining room and parlour—and a study. A door was leading to the basement where I found a kitchen and scullery, and the second Farmer woman doing the cooking. Upon inquiry she told me that she slept in the basement while the maid had quarters in the attic.
I didn't gain any new insights from actually walking into the back yard. Outhouse, chicken coop—a small breed including a rooster with an evil eye—and a clothes line. No access to the first floor from the roof of the outhouse, and the back door was a solid one with a sturdy lock. Good.
Next for the settlement... Driving from the gate to the house had given me an overall idea; there was a small square right behind the southern gate where we had entered the settlement. A tavern, a boarding house, a butcher, and a bakery. A well in the middle of it.
From there two parallel streets led north. My new home was halfway up the eastern one. Now I took the western street which turned out to look much the same; narrow town houses towards the centre of the settlement, with the occasional barn door to give access to the back yards, whereas the outfacing buildings were wider but less deep, and built up right against the perimeter wall. They were mostly warehouses for the local produce—wine. The streets met again at the northern end of the settlement, in front of a small guarded gate with a livery stable, a press house, and a cooperage next to it. At a rough count there were no more than forty homes.
While exploring my new surroundings, I was cheerily greeted by several of the settlers; some even seemed to be looking out for me from an upstairs window. Obviously my brother's arrival would give them something to talk about for days to come. And while the surveyor himself proved yet to be elusive, they made the most of meeting his sister.
I did my best to remember their faces and in which of the houses they lived, all the while politely but evasively answering their questions as to our journey and my brother's whereabouts. They must have seen us arrive with the Miner healer, and tongues would be wagging already.
"What have you been doing in the south?" I asked my brother as we sat together in the evening, three days after our arrival in the Hills.
He was up and about the house again, and eager to get started with his new assignment. He had never done any surveying in the Hills before, and some of it might even turn out to be underground! Looking at his pale drawn face, I thought it prudent for him to have another few days of rest; fortunately the healer, on his visit earlier in the day, had been of the same opinion. Ignoring my brother's assertions of the contrary, he said that he would inform the Masters accordingly.
"Mapping the coastline," my brother said in reply to my question. "For a whole summer season I was running up and down the Coast in a small vessel with a team of Fishermen and a Guardian detail... That's when I caught the swamp fever. There's always some of the Guardians down there who catch it."
"What kind of people are they, the Fishermen?" I asked.
"Wily ones," he said, frowning. "I wouldn't trust them any further than I could throw them... but that's hardly news, is it?"
"And yet they are our allies and man our coastal vessels—" I stopped. There we were, once again back to discussing Guardian politics, a wearisome—and ultimately pointless—pastime. I was little inclined to make an evening of it. Changing the subject I asked, "So, what's their origin story?"
"Funny that you should ask—"
"Why?" I interrupted him. "Is theirs the same as ours?... I should hardly believe so."
"It isn't," he said. "For a start it is much less genteel than ours. Theirs is a wild tale of rape and retribution... Some might even say that each Tribe has the origin story they deserve."
Before there was the Sea, there was nothing but the Earth and the Sky; and the Sky coveted the Earth. But Earth spurned him, and so the Sky forced himself upon her.
Thus the Sea was begotten, and all the creatures that live in the water and by the shores; and when Earth's children were born and grew and came to understand the Sky's misdeed, they pushed him away and banished him to stand high above them, alone.
To this day both the Sea and the Earth are kindred; they lie below, intertwined and close. But the Sky is separate, and can never again reach them.
"I most certainly prefer ours to theirs," I said emphatically, "and if this is the story they deserve they must be as unpleasant a Tribe as some stories told in the City make them out to be."
After a moment I added, "Now I've heard the stories of the Nomads, the Farmers, and the Fishermen... and then there's our own story. What I don't know yet is what the Miners believe." I chuckled as a thought occurred to me. "I wouldn't be surprised if they thought that the first Miner was forged in the bowels of the earth—They do look the part, don't they?"
"Well," my brother said, smiling, "your guess is as good as any... I have yet to hear anyone tell the Miners' origin story."
One morning, not long after our arrival at the Settlement, a knock at the front door announced a visitor.
I went to inquire; it was the Smith.
This time he didn't look the scruffy craftsman I had met in the City, nor was he the rough thug covered in road dust guarding the caravan. He was dressed head to boots in sombre black and I noticed with interest that he wore a leather jerkin not so very different from my own leather mail, though his was black like the rest of his attire and of rather better quality.
"Business has brought me here today," he declared, looking straight through me at my brother who waited by the study door. "I have come to discuss the forthcoming task with the Surveyor." To my ears he sounded rather pompous.
My brother invited him to come through, and I followed. Although not exactly asked to join them, I was curious to learn what lay ahead.
The Smith had brought a map with him which he unrolled on the large desk. He weighed down the corners with books and a small piece of ore he found on one side of the table.
"This is the Town—" He indicated the place on the map. "—and here's the Gorge ascending from west to east all the way up to the Ridge. Beyond there's the Woodlands."
I had heard of the Woodlands in the east. They were enormous; some even said that they were infinite—and people had been lost trying to reach the far end. To my knowledge none had ever come out on the other side and returned to tell the tale.
"An inhospitable place," my brother remarked. "But you'll need the timber, I suppose."
"That, but more so we need the water," the Smith agreed.
"Does the torrent at the bottom of the Gorge run dry in summer?" I wondered aloud. Having seen its width, it was hard to imagine. My brother gave me a quelling look. I simply shrugged. I was well past the age of being intimidated by looks alone.
The Smith didn't answer me directly; he chose to address my brother instead. "We'll need the water to power our hammers and bellows, and in order to do so we need to tap the torrent at the top..."
"... and then bring it down here by a gentle downward gradient," my brother concluded. "I assume you'll want to float the timber downhill as well?"
"No, that's not necessary... The charcoal burners bring the coal by the wagonload from the east. Coal supply's never been the problem; and neither is fresh timber for props and shores as we need much less of that than coal."
"So, what's gone wrong?" my brother asked curiously.
"You've heard about the accident?" The Smith looked up sharply.
My brother nodded. "Rumour has it that the base of a pillar for an aqueduct gave way—"
"That's correct. Lives were lost... It was halfway between Town and the inflow of the water conduit." He indicated the place on the map. "Work on the channel was almost completed on the upper slopes of the Gorge." His index finger followed a red line. "It is fairly easy terrain up there, and work made good progress—and then we struck a snag."
He explained how they had started to build an aqueduct to cross a gully when, below one of the masonry pillars, a cavity collapsed.
"There are dozens of old ore mines all along both sides of the Gorge, and the ground is riddled with holes from old tunnels," the Smith explained. "Those in the area of the aqueduct were still accessible, and we thought we had them all covered... But the accident proved that we must have made a mistake." It was obvious that he was reluctant to admit this oversight, but whether from professional pride or sorrow about the loss of life I could not fathom. "Some of the tunnels are buried now, and I'm afraid that we'll have to start all over again."
"Very well," my brother said. "I wouldn't say it isn't doable—but I'll have to see for myself... Tomorrow, then?" He glanced my way. "I'll bring an assistant."
"I'll be here in the morning to pick you up." The Smith rose, leaving behind the map. "A good day to you both."
As he passed me, I believed I saw a smidgeon of a smirk on his face.
In the morning a coach was waiting in front of our house. I was slowly following my brother, lugging his entire gear of measuring stick, tripod, dioptre bag, and rolled-up map, besides my disguised spear. He had told me that he couldn't foresee what he might need once we were there—but I had the impression that he was pulling my leg, testing how much I would put up with in my role as his assistant.
I gritted my teeth, and kicked a pebble out of the way. At least, I was dressed for the part of assistant. No more long gowns, thank the Creator—I was back to boots and breeches, and wearing a felt cap with my braid tucked under it.
The Smith politely alighted to greet us, but he didn't help my brother get into the coach. I wondered if he had judged—quite rightly, actually—that, when in health, my brother would manage well enough on his own, and therefore wanted to spare his sensibilities. Or was he, quite on the contrary, trying to show up a Guardian for his frailty?
Another man was waiting inside the carriage. The Smith introduced him as the engineer in charge of the construction works. He was stocky and heavily bearded, and I assumed that he was well into middle age, although his actual years—as with all of their Tribe—was hard to tell.
"We shall cross Town and go by coach as far as the escarpment," the engineer explained as the coach pulled out of the square. "You'll see all the relevant locations on the way."
As we drove along the Eastern Road into the Gorge, the Smith indicated the workshops that needed access to the water supply, and a rock formation that might stand in the way of a straight line.
Once we reached the central square he addressed me, "There's a market here every four days, with the next one taking place tomorrow... and the healer lives in the house over there." I recognised the square but little else besides; I had so far only been in Town on the day of our arrival.
"Can we move freely within Town?" I asked.
The Smith looked at me in frank astonishment. "I wasn't aware that the Guardians consider the Hills hostile territory—" I was sure the engineer sneered at me behind his beard.
"So we can?—well, all the better," I replied evenly, refusing to be drawn out by them.
We drove steadily upstream, and twice we stopped at places the Miners wanted to show to my brother. At each of them they got off the coach and, for a while, discussed the particular problems the respective topography might cause. Having no interest in their conversation, I stood a little to the side and inconspicuously checked my surroundings.
There were plenty of Miners about, and some of them called out a greeting to the Smith and his companion, though none of them came near us. So much the better! Every single Miner I saw, while not actually armed, was carrying some kind of heavy, or sharp, metal tool—things that, in a pinch, would make for effective weapons. The mere presence of so much steel made me feel on edge.
My brother, on the other hand, was quite oblivious. Animated by the task in front of him, he asked both Miners a multitude of questions, gesticulating to illustrate his words and occasionally using one of his crutches as a pointer, and quite generally he seemed to be on amiable terms with them in no time whatsoever.
At last we arrived at the escarpment. An almost sheer rock face, except for a cleft carved into the rock by the torrent, it closed off the upper end of the Gorge. The Eastern Road abruptly terminated here.
The air was thick with acrid smoke from the nearby furnaces, and the terrain looked like a sore; barren and with messy heaps of coal, ore, and cinders strewn about. It was like no place I had ever seen. I was about to remark on it when a loud rumbling noise made me spin on my heels. Thinking 'debris avalanche', I frantically checked the slopes around us.
"It's just the coal slide." The Smith indicated a tall framework that stood against the rock face—and, really, at the top of it stood a cart with two men tipping coal down the ramp, from where it slid onto a heap at the bottom, raising a cloud of black dust.
Behind the furnaces I saw a gully, two masonry pillars protruding into thin air, and a heap of rubble. We had arrived at the site of the accident.
"I'm going to start here," my brother said, "and I'll need to survey the entire southern slope, including the high ground near the inflow... Any chance for me to get up there?" He nodded towards the ledge of the escarpment.
"Depends on how good you are on a mule," the engineer replied.
It was then I saw that the rock face was not entirely inaccessible; a narrow path zig-zagged up the flank, and at that moment a single rider was tackling it with a donkey.
"I'll do," my brother replied calmly.
I wished that I was equally sure about it.
We returned to the settlement late in the afternoon, and from the moment we entered the house I neither heard nor saw anything of my brother. He even took supper in his study poring over the map.
Surveying in the Hills would be nothing like working in the Valley, with a well-practised team of Farmers. Here, we would be more or less on our own—unless I found it in me to trust those Miners. But as yet I couldn't read them, and I should rather err on the side of caution.
That night I was woken by a noise from downstairs. Lying in bed I stilled, holding my breath.
There it was again! A slight scraping sound coming from the room directly below mine—my brother's study. Was he up and working? I wondered for a moment. But, no, I would have heard him on the stairs. And the servants had retired a long time ago. No-one was supposed to be in that room at this time of night.
I rose, pulled on my breeches—whatever was to happen I was determined not to face it only in my nightshirt—and noiselessly opened my bedroom door. I listened again. Another scraping sound, as if a drawer was pulled out. Someone was definitely there. Looking for something.
Dagger in hand I crept down the stairs, avoiding the one creaking step. The study door stood ajar. I pressed my back against the jamb and squinted through the crack in the door.
Yes, there was movement, discernible in the pale moonlight falling through the shutter that had been forced open. Someone was searching the chest of drawers in darkness, feeling for its contents, picking them up, and sniffing. Then it came to me—This was a Spice thief!
I softly pushed at the door...
I was certain I wasn't making a noise, but in that instant the burglar became aware of me. He dashed to the window and cleared the breast wall in a single leap. I hunted after him—not wasting my breath on shouting, for he surely wouldn't stop at my command—through the window and into the back yard. There was a scrabbling on the roof of the chicken coop—the fowls were coming alive with a frightened clucking—and then, for a moment, I saw his silhouette outlined against the night sky. Then he was gone. Nearby some geese erupted into agitated honking.
I scaled the garden wall, and raised myself above the ledge, checking for an ambush, but all seemed clear. Wherever the thief was hiding in the shadows, it wasn't right here. But maybe he was running already, the sound of his footfalls disguised by the clamour of geese?
The first lights were sparking up in the upstairs windows of neighbouring houses. I straightened and scanned the maze of back yards.
"Help! Thieves!" I cried.
More shutters opened. A dog barked in the distance.
"What's that noise?" a gruff voice inquired from next door.
"We got burgled," I shouted back. "A Spice thief. Came in by the window... He escaped through the back yards!"
"Those bastards are a nuisance," the voice replied. "But he'll be gone now... Bolt and bar the window as best you can tonight, and have the shutter reinforced tomorrow. Good night, neighbour."
The window closed, and the babble of voices around the yards slowly died away.
I jumped off the roof of the coop and heaved myself up to the window sill. Inside, my brother stood in the middle of the study, waiting for me.
"What happened? he asked, striking a flint to light the lamp on his desk.
"Someone broke in by this window, looking for Spice," I explained.
"Damn that bloody Spice shortage," he cursed. "It's at the bottom of everything!"
"At the bottom of what?"
"The ill will between us and the Miners. What else?" he spat. He laboriously sat down. "Ever since Spice has become scarce—and these days the Nomads only trade a fraction of what they used to—the City buys their entire supply at an exaggerated price. We can afford it, of course. And then we trade it on—by way of granting a favour... That's how we keep the other Tribes docile, by threatening to dry up their supply."
"I wasn't aware there was deliberation behind all this."
"Trust me, there is." He scowled. "And for the most part it works well enough. The Farmers as our trusted allies are well provided, and a similar strategy seems to work with the Fishermen. Only the Miners resent being kept on the City's leash... And now that the numbers of accidents are rising—"
"What properties do the Miners assign to Spice?" I asked.
Unlike liquor Spice didn't make us euphoric, or drowned out our worries. It gave us Tribes our defining strengths. For us Guardians it was our power to summon the Southerly Winds—or so they said. But who would be willing to disprove the claim by risking disaster?
"Their ability to safely mine the Hills," my brother replied. "To read the rock formations... To harness fire to smelt the ore—"
"So that's why they are so upset about the accident at the building site of the aqueduct!"
"Yes. It has been but the latest in a series of incidents; a collapsing mining shaft, a foundry burning down... and now they feel the Hills are turning against them."
Every day we drove by carriage up to the end of the road, stabled the mare at the mule shed, and rented two mules from there. One for my brother to ride, and another to carry our gear to the top of the escarpment. I led my brother's mount up the steep path, and a stable boy followed with the pack mule.
His saddle was coming up high both at the back and front, and two leather-covered horns clamped down on his thighs. It was quite an ingenious contraption and a rider would have been able to sleep in it without falling off, and so my brother managed rather better than I had anticipated.
Once we reached the high ground I mounted the pack animal, sending the stable boy back with an order to meet us again up here before sunset. Then we rode to our surveying site.
Our task was twofold; firstly to compile a site map of the southern slope of the Gorge. The new water conduit was to traverse the entire length of the Gorge, and therefore the whole terrain had to be mapped; and secondly the actual route would have to be marked out.
With only the two of us, I did eventually earn my spurs as a surveyor's assistant. And while I still didn't have a grasp on the technical side of the profession, at least I became rather adept at interpreting my brother's sign language from afar and preconceiving where he needed me to stand with the measuring rod.
Every four or five days we rested for a day; I had insisted on it, seeing how the daily exertion of getting there and back again exhausted him.
During these days of rest, while he worked on his maps, I explored our environs. I went into Town a few times, shopping for odds and ends at the market which, due to its size, was far better stocked than the tiny one in the Guardian settlement.
And one day, when walking way beyond the vineyards on the lower parts of the southwest facing slope, I discovered a little side valley. The narrow entrance soon opened onto a lush meadow and, at its far end, there was a copse. It made me realise that this was the first time I saw an actual cluster of leafy trees in this arid part of the Hills.
When I got closer I noticed that their general form, leaves, and bark looked remarkably like the single old tree in my uncle's courtyard on the Mound.
Once I stepped under the canopy of branches I was surrounded by birdsong. Tiny birds in shades ranging from the lightest yellow to a deep orange flitted through the foliage. There must have been hundreds of them. I wondered how such a small grove could support so many of them, when I noticed the feeders, well filled with seeds and grains. There even was a shallow pool in the middle of the copse, and I watched entranced as the little songbirds bathed, fluffing their feathers so that they looked nothing as much as brightly coloured snowballs.
Suddenly, I became aware of someone watching me.
Keeping my intentions hidden I slowly turned, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a slender person standing on the meadow. I fully turned and waved.
The Miner girl—for that's what she was—cautiously came closer, and I saw that she was carrying a couple of birdcages in each hand.
"I hope that I'm not trespassing," I said when she was within earshot. "I've found this place by chance today, and it is so beautiful that I could not help but linger... I'm leaving now—"
"This place doesn't belong to me," the girl said shyly. "If you wish you can stay, lady... I'm here for the birds. I'm looking after them."
"Do you sell them on the market?" I asked.
"No. I catch them for the mines. The Miners take them with them underground... They stop singing in the presence of firedamp."
"So, they protect the Miners in the tunnels?"
"Yes." The girl nodded earnestly. "They are our friends. That's why we must look after them."
It made for a nice change that this girl—while shy—didn't seem to regard me with mistrust.
"It must be particularly beautiful here in spring, seeing all those yellow birds among the purple blossoms of the trees," I remarked.
"What blossoms?" The girl looked at me wide-eyed. "I've never seen these trees in bloom, and I don't think anyone else has, either."
So, I was mistaken—they were not like my uncle's tree.
The girl set the cages on the floor and made a chirruping sound, holding out a hand. Ere long, some of the birds fluttered near, and one landed on her open hand. She slowly closed her hand around it, stroked its feathery head with the tip of a finger, and then put it in a cage. She repeated this several times until all her small birdcages were full.
"I shall leave you now, lady," she said as she picked up the cages.
"May I come back sometimes?" I asked. Despite of what she had told me, it seemed appropriate to ask for permission.
"You may... as long as you don't disturb my birds," she graciously replied, and then she turned and crossed the meadow.
Returning from the Gorge one day on the cusp of nightfall and crossing the small square at the entrance of the Settlement, I thought that I glimpsed a familiar-looking back between the abandoned market stalls. But when I looked again, he was gone.
I kept my eyes open when I returned to the square on the morrow and, indeed, there he was!—standing in the doorway of the boarding house. My travel companion on my way from the City to the Valley! He gave me a lopsided smile as I approached him.
"Fancy seeing you here," I smiled back.
He was in his usual travel attire—but minus the headscarf—and as he gathered together his light-blonde hair, not quite reaching down to his shoulders, and tied it into a ponytail, it struck me how handsome he was. I hadn't given it any thought before. Fresh from the City where there had been no shortage of young Guardian soldiers, his had just been an intriguing face amongst many more attractive ones. But out here, amidst a choice of dour Miners and middle-aged settlers, he definitely stuck out from the masses.
No braid, I registered. So, he's not a warrior.
"Where do you live?" I asked. And when he pointed with his thumb back at the boarding house, I added, "Didn't you say that that you came from here?"
"That's right," he said. "But I have no kin in the Settlement, and therefore no home on the few occasions I come here."
"Did they move away?"
He remained silent for so long that I thought he might not have heard my question, but I didn't want to repeat it in case I was inadvertently touching on a painful subject.
"Well... I don't want to keep you—" With our conversation ground to a halt, I was irresolute as to whether or not make a quick exit.
"Where are you headed for?" he suddenly asked.
"Trying to find a discreet partner for some weapons training," I said. "I'm getting out of practice. But the Miners mustn't know what I am, so I thought I might ask one of the Guardians manning the gate."
"I already know what you are... So, why not ask me?"
"Well... Would you?"
"I sure could do with the exercise," he chuckled. "Just say when."
"Now?" I asked. I was itching to see his prowess in the art of sword fighting.
"Meet me at the northern gate," he said. "I know just the place."
I was armed with spear and dagger when I saw him approach, two sheathed swords in hand. When he drew up next to me I saw that one was a curved Guardian blade while the other was the straight, short sword I had first seen with the Trader and then the Miners.
"It's a local weapon," he said. "A little to the north, just behind that knoll, there is a sandy ditch. We'll be unobserved there, both from the Settlement and the Eastern Road."
We left by the northern gate and walked through the vineyards that surrounded the Settlement. They stretched all the way to the slopes of the Hills.
"These are no practice weapons," I warned him, brandishing my spear.
"Well, neither are mine." He chuckled. "I'll just have to be careful not to cut your throat, then."
At first we practiced curved sword against spear. Despite his size he was surprisingly fast, but I soon saw that his sword technique lacked finesse. Either he was out of practice, or he had never had the advantage of a Guardian sword master. He laughingly declined to swap for the spear, telling me that the only thing he would know to do was throw it. But then, it wasn't everyone's weapon of choice.
Then we had a try at straight versus curved sword—me choosing the latter for its greater reach—and from the word 'go' I found myself at a disadvantage. I wasn't much of a swordswoman and he, while still lacking elegance, fought with ruthless efficiency.
Defending myself I slowly retreated until I reached the edge if the ditch, and still he didn't relent, nor did I see an opening. Retreating even further into the sloping terrain, a slight stumble on my part was all it took, and a moment later the tip of his sword touched my breastbone.
For a moment I panicked—I was at the mercy of a man I hardly knew!—but then he sheathed his sword with a flourish, grinning broadly.
"Well, that was fun," he said.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" I asked, still out of breath.
"I was taught by Miners, but I got routine on the road."
"You were taught by Miners?" I had never heard of any Guardian with such close relations to the local Tribe.
"Yes. Times were different then... and, perhaps, I was different, too," he replied enigmatially. I had the impression that he wouldn't want to further enlighten me as to its meaning.
I stooped to pick up our weapons. "Come. Buying you a drink is the least I can do," I suggested, "both for parting with your time, and for defeating me."
We walked back to the settlement, in through the northern gate, and then along the eastern street.
I stopped in front of our house. "I'd like to drop my weapons first. Wait here for a moment," I said. "This is where I live."
"I know."
"How?" Hadn't he only just arrived?
"This is a small place." He shrugged. "Word gets around quickly."
I had never been inside the tavern. He found us a small table at the back and ordered beer. It arrived in two tankards brimming with foam. I sniffed at it and wrinkled my nose at the sour smell. While I was aware of the existence of beer, I had never tried it. Guardians drank wine... well, except for this one, apparently.
He raised his tankard and took a large gulp. I carefully sipped at mine and then pulled a face.
"It's an acquired taste," he said. "The Miners invented it. Better than a barrel of brackish water in summer... Better than wine, too. Less risk of getting dead drunk when working in a forge."
I took another sip, grimacing. Though, truth be told, that one wasn't quite as bad as the first.
Watching my reaction he laughed. His face lightened up with it and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "It'll grow on you, I'm sure," he chuckled.
Just like the man opposite me...
He asked me how I was finding life in the Hills and, since his interest was unobtrusive, I answered him willingly—and honestly—enough.
I told him about my brother and his work, and that I found it hard to make friends among the settlers.
"I have so little in common with them; and I believe they consider me haughty because I come from the City," I said. "As for the Miners... well, I don't know. They seem to hold us Guardians in contempt—"
"Or they're simply aware that you don't trust them—and keep something hidden from them?" he suggested.
"There's that, yes," I wryly replied. Then I sighed. "Truth be told, I could do with a friend—"
"How about me, then?"
"You'll be gone again soon..."
"... and then I'll return again. You don't strike me as the kind of person who needs someone to hold their hand day in, day out." He raised a mocking eyebrow. "I daresay, you'll see quite a bit of me... perhaps even more than you bargained for."
"There's a deal—friends it is," I said, raising my tankard. "Let's drink to that."
Spring was slowly turning into summer, and one day a letter arrived from the Smith inviting us to an informal meal at his home. At my insistence my brother quizzed his host about what to expect, and so it transpired that just one more Master, as yet unknown to us, would be present on the occasion.
Until then we had been mostly surveying the upper reaches of the Gorge and therefore had only been in touch with the Master of the Furnaces who, unexpectedly, had turned out to be a Mistress... although, after using the expression just the once to address her, my brother had been quickly disabused of the notion that anything but 'Master' would be the correct title for her. She had treated me with aloof indifference, blatantly considering a mere assistant beneath her notice.
In fact, word had it that nearly as many women as men were working in the various Miner industries, and many of them accomplished craftswomen. In that respect they seemed much like us Guardians. I would have liked to make an acquaintance amongst them, from one working woman to another.
Maybe this was about to happen that night. This other Master... could it be the Smith's wife?
I had a choice of two robes to wear on the occasion; the silk tunic in a pale shade of lavender—my best dress, and the one I had worn at my uncle's banquet—and a simpler purple one with long flowing sleeves. As it was to be an informal meal I eventually decided on the latter.
With no cousin to arrange my hair, I simply washed and braided it, and when I undid the braid after my hair had dried, it fell down my back in shiny waves. I chose amethyst earrings the exact colour of my eyes, donned sandals, strapped my knife to my right thigh—because the wide sleeves wouldn't conceal a weapon—and was ready to go.
The Smith's coach was waiting for us, and a short ride took us to his home near the town centre. Like most of the buildings in Town, its façade was of quarry stone. As Miner homes went, it was a stately one, albeit a little marred by the fact that it stood in close proximity to a foundry.
When we arrived the Smith came to the door to greet us. He was all in black again, and his long dark mane was tied in the back. He shook hands with my brother and gave me a formal bow. I couldn't help noticing that his eyes widened a little when he caught sight of me. I should have liked to hope that it was in admiration of my looks, but—somehow—I doubted it.
His manners were perfectly polite, however, and he offered his arm to take me inside.
The rooms for entertaining were quite spacious. They were all facing to the front while the back rooms, another idiosyncrasy of the houses in Town—as he informed us—were hewn into the side of the Gorge.
The dining room was darkly furnished, with heavy drapes covering a good portion of the windows, but it was well lit by dozens of candles, and in their light I noticed that the Smith's dull skin once again shimmered with the gleam of ore, and his hazel eyes turned a bright gold. I was so distracted that I almost failed to notice the other person present. It was indeed a Miner woman, but elderly and quite small, and she was severely dressed all in black. I wasn't yet good at recognising Miner faces, but this one so closely resembled the man next to me that she was, without any doubt, his mother.
Her eyes narrowed as she observed me cross the room, and her lips were compressed into a thin line.
"I'd like to introduce you to my mother," the Smith said, addressing my brother. "She is Master of Divination for the Gorge region." I stifled a giggle at the absurd title, and I hoped that I was in command of my features again once her gaze would return from my brother to me. When at last she gave me her attention, I nearly started; she had the piercing eyes of a sorceress.
She held out an ornate beaker to us. The Passing of the Cup. By the look of her it might as well have been a poisoned chalice... As I took it after my brother I noticed that the Spice was dissolved in wine not water—perhaps to make it less noticeable how light a brew it was.
Handing back the cup under the relentless golden stare of my hostess, it suddenly came to me that we were talking about the divination of names; like my uncle she was a Keeper of Secrets. A woman wielding a lot of power...
... and I had caught her displeasure by merely showing up at her home—though exactly how I had managed to offend her, I had no idea!
The meal was on the hearty side—pheasant followed by woodlands boar—and I thought it a little heavy for the time of year, but it was well cooked. I spent most of it staring at my plate under the enduring scrutiny of my hostess. Our conversation was restricted to my praising the meal, and her inquiring about my occupation—as my brother's assistant—and the proficiency of our servants.
The men, however, covered a variety of topics. They were getting on well. The progress of the surveying was brought up, of course, but also the situation of the businesses in Town—and, eventually, my brother mentioned Spice.
A tinkle of metal on plate told me that my hostess almost dropped her fork.
Her son laid down his cutlery with some deliberation, his amenable manner suddenly becoming reserved; yet he answered quite calmly, "We are sitting on a powder keg, Surveyor. Another accident—however random or unavoidable—and we may have an unrest at our hands. Some of the Miner families couldn't afford Spice in a year, and not all the Masters make it part of the pay." He leant back in his chair and crossed his arms, giving to understand that he wasn't inclined to discuss things any further.
"And do you?" my brother asked. "Make it part of the pay?" At times he could be quite obtuse—or mischievously inclined to poke the bear.
"Yes," the Smith said. After a long pause he added, "and you wouldn't comprehend the lengths I need to go to in order to make it so."
Back in my bed that night I pondered over his words and what they might imply... and, just as I drifted off into sleep, my suspicious mind wondered if he would go as far as employ a burglar.
"All through the evening she looked daggers at me, eying me head to toe, as if I was a walking insult," I complained.
My erstwhile travel companion regarded me with an amused look in his purple eyes. "So, if it wasn't anything you said..."
"No, believe me, I went out of my way to be agreeable."
"... right, if it wasn't anything you said, then it must have been something about you that offended her... your attire, perhaps? Tell me, what did you wear?" he asked.
When I told him he laughed himself to tears.
"By the Creator!" he gasped, still chuckling. "Wearing purple when visiting a Miner is a major offence. She'll never believe that you didn't do it on purpose! It is the most unlucky colour—"
"How so?" I was dumbfounded.
"You might know that amethysts grow on the insides of cavities called nodules... The miners believe that they are the crystallised dreams of the Ancient One."
"Sorry, but you've lost me there—"
He hummed a melancholy tune, and then he sang, but his words were in the dialect of the Miners and therefore unintelligible to me—until he ended and repeated the words to me in the Common Language...
Deep, deep beneath the Hills the Ancient One sleeps.
In the deepest tunnels, when you pause and listen, you can hear him breathe. Tread carefully. Don't wake him! For when he flexes his muscles, when he turns, the Hills come crashing down.
He lies on a bed of shining ore, and he dreams. His dreams are as old as the world. He longs to be free, to rise and conquer. And to destroy.
Deep, deep beneath the Hills the Ancient One sleeps.
His dreams rise through faults and cracks, and vanish into the air. But when they get trapped inside the rock, they crystallise inside their stony cavities, and they become gems.
Beware lest you tap into them and the Ancient One's dreams come over you! Evil comes into the world through his dreams. Beware where you mine! Don't seek out the crystals—the evil dreams.
Deep, deep beneath the Hills the Ancient One sleeps.
"I'll never be able to make good for that!" I chuckled wearily. "Would it be too much to hope that the Master of Divination will see beyond her own prejudice eventually?"
"She may eventually... if you'll be a good little Guardian, henceforth—and if you don't set your sights on her son." His voice sounded strangely serious.
I quickly checked his face for clues. But he just grinned, and so I relaxed again.
"The Creator beware!" I laughed.
Just before I left I drew closer to him and said, "Your voice is none too bad... I wouldn't mind hearing you sing again sometimes—" Truth be told, his rich baritone voice had given me goose bumps—in a not altogether unpleasant way.
—