Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  Wyand eased off of the slick tunnel wall, hefted his pick, and resumed the task of breaking through layers of stone. He quickly fell into a steady tink-tink rhythm; the rock was no match for his determination. The cool air of the lower depths rushed past him from time to time, a refreshing breath from the mine itself that urged him to keep working. He pulled the air into his lungs. Tink-tink. He exhaled as rock chips whizzed past his ears, though he barely noticed them. Honor focused Wyand’s energy to a fine point that sliced through each obstacle before him. This was his task, and he resolved to exceed even the highest expectations of the Venerates if it meant he could support his people. Wyand began to hear a faint rumbling drawing nearer between the strikes of his pick. The rock carts were coming back for their third round of the day, ready to take ore and waste rock back to the surface. Wyand would make sure they had a full cart when they left his area. His pace increased as the rumbling grew louder.

  “Peace and honor, Carver Wyand!” two young voices shouted behind him. The rock cart had arrived, operated by Adlig and Scur. Both boys had only witnessed three turnings—far too young to work a pick all day or be considered to bear the title of “Carver.” Instead, they pushed the mine carts and handled cleanup at the end of the day, just as every other mine worker had done before reaching his fifth turning. The joy they found in operating the carts was promising for their future tasks in the mines, although their energy could prove overwhelming at times. They began loading the cart.

  “Ah, my two favorite Tailings,” Wyand returned. “Peace and honor to you both. I see that—”

  “By the Call, Carver Wyand!” Adlig interrupted. “You’ve gone two steps since the last time we came by!”

  “I’d say closer to three,” Scur said. “How can you be so fast?”

  “And strong!” Adlig added. “You break a fist of stone out of that wall every time your pick swings down.” The compliments and amazement continued, with each realization seeking to outdo the last.

  “Boys,” Wyand interjected, finally, “I truly appreciate your enthusiasm, but I’m simply performing my task with the respect and devotion it requires. Our people depend on me, just as they depend on you. Haven’t the Venerates taught you that?”

  They nodded and worked in silence for a while, their youthful smiles replaced with the expressions of men thoughtful of duty and purpose. It was important to reinforce these ideas in the young so there was always a constant drive to improve, to take on new and harder tasks, and to outperform yourself every day for the sake of your people. This was the core of the teachings of the Venerates, and nearly every Calling focused on some aspect of these principles. Wyand lived each day by those teachings, and was happy to share his understanding with others. It did pain him to deflate the boys’ exuberance, though, so he decided to offer an incentive.

  “It looks to me like you have a full cart there,” Wyand said, as the last of the stones was removed from behind him. “If the two of you can make it back here before Second Calling, I’ll let you each take a few swings with my pick. It’s about time I teach you how to do it right. Just don’t tell anyone.”

  Small, determined grins lined both boys’ faces, and their eyes grew large at the thought of the opportunity Wyand had just presented to them. They had accepted this challenge before, and were eager to do so again. Adlig and Scur hurriedly began the strenuous task of pushing the full rock cart up the tunnel, a task that Wyand remembered well from his days spent as a Tailing.

  “You are a fair man, Carver Wyand,” Scur said, the strain of his effort only slightly detectable in his voice.

  “Peace and honor guide you,” Adlig said, nodding respectfully to Wyand.

  “Peace and honor, Tailings,” Wyand replied. “Now get that cart moving!”

  ---

  Second Calling arrived as the last of the mining group gathered at the mouth of the main tunnel. With the rain still falling steadily outside, they would stay within the mine for today’s message. The main tunnel was more than spacious enough to hold the four dozen mine workers, who were now seated in a ring on the small padded Calling mats. Three Venerates stood near the wall and conversed quietly; it was unusual for there to be more than one Venerate present for Second Calling. Wyand pondered this idly as he glanced around the ring at his fellow workers. He met eyes with Adlig and Scur, who quickly looked away lest anyone grow suspicious of their earlier activities. They had managed to return to Wyand before Second Calling sounded, so he had let them both chip away with the pick for a while. There was no harm in allowing them to do such a thing under supervision, so Wyand was content to let Adlig and Scur have their secret. Besides, it was a known fact that he would be their trainer in the next few turnings when it was their time to be tested as Carvers, so why shouldn’t he be able to pass on a few skills now?

  “Those two have been up to something,” Carver Edan said quietly, leaning near Wyand. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you, Wyand?”

  Wyand met Edan’s gaze, and matched his stoic expression. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, Edan,” Wyand replied. Another moment passed in silence, then a smile darted across Edan’s face.

  “I almost had you convinced I was serious that time, didn’t I?” he asked Wyand.

  “Not nearly! Your eyes were laughing that entire time.”

  “Ah well, you’ve always been able to read me better than other people can. To think, most everyone else finds me ‘quiet and intimidating,’” Edan said with a faint grin. He nodded towards Adlig and Scur. “Remember when we were that age, still hauling carts all day and finding creative ways to stay entertained?”

  Wyand’s mind was flooded with memories of days spent as a Tailing with Edan. “I remember during our fourth turning, when you ‘fell’ into that empty cart,” Wyand replied. “I had to chase you through half of that mine, and you had taken my shoes as incentive for me to follow you.”

  Edan stifled a laugh, “Rock chips can be rather sharp, if I understood you correctly at the time. I had never seen you that angry before.”

  Wyand laughed—looking back, it had been a truly ridiculous event. They’d spent nearly three days in isolation as penance for their actions, but the humor of the memory outweighed the pain. No one could believe Edan was capable of such levity; all they saw was a slab of granite wearing a miner’s outfit. Wyand knew the truth, though: a prankster’s heart beat proudly beneath Edan’s emotionless exterior.

  “All that aside, still be careful,” Edan said. “No matter how innocent you may think it is, the Stonecaller has strict rules about unapproved training. Adlig and Scur aren’t well-versed at keeping things to themselves, either.”

  Wyand sighed. “You’re right. I just want them to do well when they test for Carver.”

  All conversation ceased when Stonecaller Galbrun entered the center of the ring of workers. He directed the efforts of this mine, and as such the message of Second Calling belonged to him. Where First Calling served to reinforce the teachings of the Venerates, Second Calling served as a means to pass on knowledge from those most experienced in each task. Stonecaller Galbrun had more experience mining than any of the other Stonecallers in Aldhagen, with more than twenty turnings spent underground. He communicated with people just as he worked with stone—short, powerful words conveyed his thoughts precisely, with no wasted energy. Today’s message was no exception.

  “Taskbrothers, I wish you peace and honor,” Galbrun began, his gravelly voice echoing on the tunnel walls.

  “Peace and honor to you, Stonecaller,” the miners replied.

  “We are about to witness the dawning of a new day in the history of Aldhagen. After meeting with the Venerates,” he nodded to the group by the wall, “we have been given a unique opportunity. Starting tomorrow, you will dig exclusively in the Lower Depths, where the untapped ore veins run.”

  Many of the miners whispered to one another with shocked expressions. Others were fixated on Galbrun, as they knew there could only be one
possible explanation for such a rare task to be authorized.

  “For the first time in Aldhagen’s history, we will provide the Kingdomturn offering.”

  Wyand could not believe such an event could take place here, in this mine, with him present to witness it. Stunned silence filled the mine, but was quickly replaced by cheers of elation from every worker as they leapt to their feet. Galbrun himself joined in, with a roaring laugh that displayed more emotion than Wyand had ever seen from the man. To provide the Kingdomturn offering was the most honorable action that the members of any task could perform. It had become customary for a group of Metalworkers, Farmers, or even Woodsmen to be selected for this duty, but not the Miners. In fact, the mines had not been called upon for the offering since the founding of Aldhagen, though no one could explain why. When asked, the answer was always the same: “Each has his task, all serve a purpose.” The phrase conveyed unwavering faith in the will of the Venerates, but it also served as a means to politely discourage further questioning from the curious.

  Now that same phrase had new meaning for Wyand and his Taskbrothers. It was not a call for silent obedience—it was a fulfilled promise from the Venerates that all would be explained with diligence and patience. It was finally time to prove the worthiness of the mining task, and Wyand knew that the thought of Kingdomturn approaching would fuel each action from here forward with renewed purpose.

  As the initial wave of exuberance waned, Galbrun raised his hands to silence the crowd until all were seated once again. His brow furrowed as he spoke, as if each word confused him more than the last. “There is more news. The Venerates themselves will work by our side from tomorrow until Kingdomturn. They want to witness our efforts firsthand, and lend guidance as they see fit.”

  The mine fell truly silent then, save only the noise of the rain falling outside. This was not the earlier silence of stunned disbelief caused by unexpected news; this was a profound stillness that would befit seeing the sun rise twice in the same day. Uncertainty, pride, joy, fear, hope—all of these emotions swirled through one another in Wyand’s mind. For the Venerates to take on any task was unheard of, much less a task as menial as swinging the pick. All eyes fixed on the three Venerates by the wall. In turn, they stepped silently forward and surveyed the crowd, their unwavering gaze causing heads to respectfully bow everywhere they looked. With his head bowed as well, Wyand risked a glance at Edan, whose distant stare at the floor perfectly voiced the current thoughts of every other miner: What does all of this mean?

  “Lift your eyes, men of Aldhagen,” one of the Venerates said at last. “We have given you the task of tunneling deeper than anyone has ventured before, even the Venerates. This is a task of great importance, and it will be accompanied by great reward. We have decided that this offering must surpass all others in the past; as such we will lend our strength to increase your own. Finish your current efforts, then prepare to enter the lower depths. The path to Kingdomturn begins tomorrow.”

  2

  Keltin’s mind wandered as he dropped another dripping wet bundle of linwyrt into his harvest basket. The storms were beginning to subside, thankfully, but all the plants were still soaked. Keltin tried to guess how many he’d harvested since the rain ended—one hundred? Perhaps two? He’d lost count many bundles ago, but he knew it wouldn’t matter. Even if he collected more of this dull plant than anyone had ever harvested before, by Third Calling it would still be met with the same reaction as always from the Chief Harvester. “A good day’s work, Fieldsman,” the man would say, and Keltin would respond with a convincing level of enthusiasm, “Thank you, Chief Harvester. Peace and honor.” Then Keltin would depart for the evening and repeat the exact same series of events at the conclusion of the next day. So it was each day during the harvest season.

  Monotony aside, Keltin knew his bitterness was shameful. Everyone had a task, and this was his; no one ever promised you would enjoy your task, though. A distant roll of thunder brought his attention back to the current situation. As he looked up to see the sun sink below the now-emptied rain clouds, Keltin promised himself that he would try to stay somewhat interested in his duty for the remainder of the day. This was a promise quickly broken most days, however. Keltin sighed as he grabbed another wet bundle, wondering how life would be for someone truly focused and energetic like Wyand. Now there was a worker who embraced his task and thrived in its repetitive nature. Keltin knew he wouldn’t last two days in the mines, always seeing and hearing and doing the exact same things no matter what the season. Keltin was a decent Fieldsman, but with the kind of drive he witnessed from Wyand, Keltin could have been well on his way to Chief Harvester by now.

  “Fieldsman,” an unfortunately familiar voice said behind him. Keltin spun to face the Venerate that was now looming over him with a disapproving stare.

  “Peace and honor, Venerated One,” Keltin said hastily, kneeling on the saturated ground and bowing his head respectfully. The Venerate did not return his greeting.

  “You are distracted,” the Venerate said instead, calmly. Keltin remained silent, but glanced back down the row of plants and noticed what had drawn the Venerate’s attention. With his thoughts elsewhere, Keltin had dropped several bundles of linwyrt, completely missing the harvesting basket lashed to his waist. The fallen plants were now stained by the dark mud of Aldhagen’s fertile land, making them unfit for submission to the Venerates.

  “I will refocus at once, Lifegiver,” Keltin said. “My pace will double to overshadow this—”

  “—unacceptable waste of energy,” the Venerate interjected. “You will report this infraction to the Chief Harvester of these fields, and he will determine a fitting punishment.”

  Keltin winced at the prospect, but quickly regained composure. “Of course, Venerate. Thank you for guiding me.” He waited for the Venerate to dismiss him in the usual fashion of “peace and honor,” but instead Keltin was forced to remain with his head bowed for several tense moments. The chill of the rainwater began to seep through the knee of his Fieldsman’s pants. He looked from the corner of his vision at the Venerate’s feet, until at last they turned and silently moved away. Keltin released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding since speaking to the Venerate. He stood slowly and looked at the blackened linwyrt as it steadily soaked up more of the native soil color. Shameful, he thought. This is the result when you let selfishness cloud your mind. He gathered up the stained fibers and tucked them into his pockets. Luckily, his pants were already dyed the color of the soil to prevent stains acquired during field work from standing out prominently. If only his wasted linwyrt could have been used for making something the color of those pants; but everyone knew that only the purest white linwyrt fiber was accepted by the Venerates. They emphasized that its purity was just as important as its quantity, and that only after it had been spun into a usable strand could it be dyed. Keltin decided not to question this order of events—he’d already experienced once today what kind of result letting his thoughts wander could bring. With the sting of failure still weighing heavy on his mind, Keltin began a long and muddy march to the Chief Harvester to collect his punishment.

  ---

  “Nine days?” Wyand repeated in disbelief.

  “That’s what I heard from Rannick,” Edan replied as they walked the darkened path towards the living quarters. Third Calling had passed without significance, the lesson focusing primarily on principles of physical conditioning and the meal consisting of toasted bread topped with a decidedly bland bean paste. Wyand had only paid minimal attention to the events of Third Calling, however, because Keltin had not been present for its duration. That could only mean trouble, but Wyand had been forced to wait anxiously through the entirety of Third Calling to ask Edan what he knew. Now the truth added increasing weight to his fears.

  Edan shook his head slowly, the faint light of the rising moon reflecting off of his baldness. “This is the most severe penance I’ve heard of someone receiving in a very long time,” he
said. Wyand nodded grimly. Five days of isolation would test even the strongest of wills; nine days would break anyone permanently.

  “Wait, nine days—that means Keltin will miss the Kingdomturn celebration! Did Rannick say why the punishment was so harsh?” Wyand asked after a few moments walking in silence.

  “Something about disrespecting the Chief Harvester. Rannick didn’t know much beyond that, since he was just relaying the story from one of the other Fieldsmen. Details aside, Keltin has really dug the pick in deep this time.”

  There was nothing more to be said or done about Keltin; he would learn from his mistakes by enduring this punishment. Or he’ll lose himself in the unending silence and return as a different person… Wyand thought as he walked on. He shuddered, thinking back to the few short periods he’d spent in isolation. Wyand quickly stifled such negative memories, though, because he knew they did nothing to help his friend. This was a time to be strong and to have faith. The Venerates knew what they were doing, as they had proven in the mines just a few hours earlier, so it was foolish to question their plans for Keltin. Of course he would be all right after nine days in isolation; Wyand was sure of it.

  They arrived at Edan’s quarters as the last light of dusk began to fade from the sky. “I’ll meet you on the path back to the Hall,” Wyand said over his shoulder, making a hurried departure towards his own living quarters. Darkness would bring the start of Last Calling, so Wyand only had a few short minutes to gather his nightclothes and dash to the Hall. Thankfully, he had performed this same routine for nearly eight turnings and could have run the path from Edan’s quarters to his own with his eyes closed. Wyand arrived at his door, gathered his things within two steps, and spun to pull the door shut behind him. He stopped for an instant—on any other night, he would run to Keltin’s quarters next to retrieve him. Instead, he turned back to the main path. Stay strong, Keltin, he thought.