“Peace and honor,” Wyand’s guide said over the blowing wind as they approached the group.
“Peace and honor, Venerated One,” the two workers replied. Wyand knew one of the voices instantly.
“Carver Edan,” Wyand said, nodding faintly.
“Carver Wyand,” Edan replied, his face lacking any emotion.
The wind ceased its relentless buffeting for an instant, thus amplifying the awkward silence that was forming between Wyand and Edan. Neither was willing to admit that continuing their argument was foolish, yet neither was willing to take the blame for said argument either. Before they were forced to attempt conversation, Wyand was thankful that the third worker in their group greeted him.
“Peace and honor, Carver Wyand.” It was Carver Losian. He was two turnings younger than Wyand and Edan, and as such was not part of their learning group. The three had worked together as Tailings, though both Wyand and Edan had been preparing to test for Carver at the time.
“Peace and honor, Carver Losian. Have the Venerates already explained this special task to you?” Wyand asked as the wind picked up again. Losian opened his mouth to answer, but one of the Venerates interjected. “We have not, Carver. But now that the three of you are here, we can define what your task will be. Before we begin, though, you must all vow to never share what you learn here with anyone. This is our greatest secret.” The three Carvers agreed to keep the secret, their eyes wide in anticipation.
Each of the Venerates then began speaking in turn, somehow seamlessly expanding on the ideas of the previous speaker. It was as though only one mind was speaking, though the voice shifted bodies from sentence to sentence. This was a common practice during formal events, and as such it immediately bolstered the importance of the task at hand in Wyand’s mind.
“You now stand in the Cavern of the Winds, an area that has not felt our light since the founding times. Long before the hands of men shaped the rest of these mines, the Venerates carved out what is known as the Lower Depths. Beyond the far wall of this cavern, we sensed an immense source of power—something strong enough to aid our magic for untold turnings to come. We attempted to obtain this power, but an unseen barrier kept it from our grasp. For many days we concentrated our magic to press against this barrier, seeking to break through, until the chamber walls began to crack and fail instead. The resulting collapse completely encased the Cavern of the Winds, and most of the Lower Depths were lost to us under the weight of ten thousand stones. Fearing further destruction, it was decided that the Lower Depths were to remain off-limits unless a turning arrived in which our magic threatened to vanish forever. That turning is upon us.
“It was foretold that only the purest in spirit among Aldhagen’s workers could break through the unseen barrier. The burden of this task now rests with you, Carvers. You must achieve that which even the Venerates cannot—pierce the barrier and retrieve this elusive source of power. Without it, this will surely be the last Kingdomturn.” A cold wind punctuated the silence that followed.
The Venerates produced three unlit torches and passed one to each of the Carvers. Their staves glowed white hot for an instant, and suddenly each of the torches was ignited. Seeing the miracles of the Venerates’ magic was always fascinating, but to think what they could do with this mysterious power source…it was beyond imagination. Wyand stared deeply into the flame of his torch, lost in the importance of this moment, as awe, pride, and zeal made his thoughts flicker back and forth like the fire before him.
“Go then, Carvers,” said one of the Venerates, “and begin shaping your legend.”
With torch in one hand, pick in the other, the three chosen Carvers turned to face the darkness ahead. Wyand nodded to Edan, whose normally-subdued expression was about to crack apart from the excitement. Edan returned the nod, thus signaling an end to their childish disagreement. This same nod, however, also signaled the beginning of an unspoken race to see who would be first to reach the far end of the Cavern of the Winds.
The fire of Wyand’s torch angrily clawed against the air rushing past him as he sprinted faster than he’d ever known he could. The smooth black floor of the cavern changed abruptly into a mix of sizeable boulders and smaller rubble, but Wyand moved forward as though nothing had changed. He leapt from stone to stone with ease, and he could hear Edan and Losian doing the same. This was how a legend was supposed to begin!
“You’re falling behind, Edan,” he shouted playfully over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the tale of this event at least mentions you. Maybe as ‘Wyand’s strong but unbearably slow helper.’ What do you think?”
There was no reply, only a marked increase in heavy footfalls and labored breathing. Edan appeared, panting, and clambered up onto a slab of stone next to Wyand. Even in the struggling torchlight, Wyand could see that Edan’s face was creased with determination.
“Slag and slurry! I didn’t even know we were racing!” Losian yelled from far behind. With a laugh, Wyand and Edan slowed just enough so Losian could catch up—this was to be his legend too, after all. Their three torches abruptly reflected off of a faceted wall of shimmering blackness. They had passed through the unseen barrier and reached the far end of the Cavern of the Winds together.
Not even the Venerates have seen this place, Wyand thought. We made it. Still catching his breath, Wyand walked closer to the wall in search of the power source they sought. Three massive fissures divided the rock face and climbed up to the top of the cavern. The wind howled through these openings, carrying the acrid smell that permeated this section of the Lower Depths.
“I don’t see a power source here,” Edan shouted over the wind, “so it must be through one of those cracks.”
Wyand and Losian nodded in agreement. “Shall we each take a fissure, and see who the Venerates choose to smile upon?” Losian asked between gusts.
“It’s as good a place to start as any,” Wyand said. “I’ll search the large one on the right.”
“I’ll take the left,” Losian said eagerly as the foul wind returned.
“Then I suppose that leaves center,” Edan yelled. They each walked to a fissure.
“Whoever finds something first, shout what you see,” Wyand said as he took his first step into the unknown passage. The walls immediately narrowed so much that he had to turn sideways in order to move any farther. Wyand laughed as the stinging wind whipped against his skin. This will make quite the tale, he thought. Sliding for a few more steps, the fissure at last gave way to a wider area. A wall of collapsed stone appeared in front of Wyand—some stones black like the cavern walls, others the common hues of grey, white, and brown. He held up the torch and found that the rubble reached all the way to the ceiling of the fissure. Though the task was daunting, Wyand was sure he had to break through this obstacle—he could feel the wind through these rocks.
The first few boulders came out easily, but the weight of the rock above had forced the interior together as tightly as the stone of Aldhagen’s walls. This was both a blessing and a curse, because while progress was slow and each stone a challenge, it meant the pile wouldn’t readily collapse. Wyand fell into his rhythm, breaking and moving stone as he pressed deeper into the fissure. Many hours passed with no change—another swing of the pick, more rocks to move. His excitement never diminished though, imagining what could lie beyond the next stone.
Wyand struck the mass of rubble again, but when he attempted to extract his pick, he found that it wouldn’t move. Bound between stones, no doubt, he thought. With a sigh, he stooped down with the torch and wedged it into a crevice. Something immediately seemed odd about the pick when he studied it, but at first he could not explain what it was. Then suddenly he saw it: the pick wasn’t stuck between stones, it was stuck to a single stone. The tip wasn’t even embedded into the surface, it was pressed against it; and yet, the handle remained nearly parallel to the floor. Wyand laughed to himself at this oddity, then pulled on the handle again. The pick still wouldn’t move.
Laughter diminishing, he began tugging the handle from side to side, hoping to break the stone itself loose. He felt something give at last, and with one final pull his pick came free. It wasn’t alone, however, as the stone was still somehow stuck to the tip. He gripped this strange rock and began trying to slide it off the end of the pick. The two finally separated after a great effort, and Wyand brought this stone close to his torch to examine it. It appeared the same as any other rock that Wyand might find during a typical day in the mines—no larger than a fist, rounded, and a dull grey with several flecks of brown. There was nothing remarkable about its appearance, but for this stone to be able to cling to his pick so strongly…that was something for the Venerates to witness. Wyand placed it on the floor and used his pick to lift it. Shaking his head in disbelief, he separated the two again and decided it was time to continue working. His task was to find a power source, not an interesting rock. He placed the strange stone in his waist pocket and resumed excavation of the fissure.
Eventually he paused, thinking he heard something during the latest gust of wind. The silence finally returned, and he could clearly hear Losian shouting. Wyand reluctantly left the rubble pile; he knew he had to be close to breaking through.
“Wyand! You have to get out here! Wyand? Can you hear me? Come on—don’t make me come find you,” Losian called from the entrance to the fissure. Losian was breathless with excitement when Wyand’s face finally came into view. Edan was standing with Losian already, and his expression caught Wyand by surprise. Did Edan actually look anxious? That was a look Wyand had never seen. To most, he probably would have appeared bored. Or perhaps hungry.
“I think I found it, Wyand. This has to be the power source,” Losian said. “Come on.” Edan and Wyand hurriedly followed Losian through the left-most fissure.
“What’s troubling you, Edan?” Wyand asked as they walked.
“Too much loose stone,” Edan replied. “It doesn’t make sense, this far down. I don’t like it.” Wyand agreed, explaining that he had encountered the same thing in the other fissure. There was very little rubble in this corridor, however, and as such Losian had made it far deeper than Edan or Wyand. The wind in this tunnel was stronger than anywhere else Wyand had been in the mine, and the acrid air was nearly overpowering.
Wyand pulled the front of his shirt over his mouth and nose to stifle the smell as much as possible. They pressed onward, until they reached a wall of collapsed stone. This looks familiar, Wyand thought as they entered the path that Losian had carved out. This wall wasn’t even a quarter the thickness of the one Wyand had been working on—not to imply that Losian had picked the easy route, but it still felt slightly unfair.
Wyand stepped out of the far end of the path and felt the wind suddenly stop. He glanced back, but there was no obvious reason for the change. Edan exited behind Wyand and noticed the change as well, looking even more concerned. Lowering the collar of his shirt, Wyand noticed that the smell was gone now too. Still curious, his gaze turned to this new chamber and at once all other thoughts were silenced. The walls, floor, and ceiling were covered with dozens of translucent yellow-green crystals, ranging in size from smaller than a fist to longer than Wyand’s arm. Each crystal emitted a faint, hazy glow that bathed the smooth black walls with an unfamiliar light. Wyand approached one of the nearby crystal outcroppings.
“What…is this?” he asked no one in particular.
“This must be the power source,” Edan responded, equally astonished by their new surroundings. “These crystals are what the Venerates could feel.”
Wyand’s thoughts cleared. “We should take some back to the Venerates, to be sure this is what they need.”
“Why shouldn’t we do something more impressive?” Losian asked. “Something like bringing back the largest crystal we can find.” He turned and began walking through the small cavern. Wyand and Edan followed, still in awe of the crystal garden. Losian stopped at an alcove, and stared proudly at a crystal that stood nearly as tall as Wyand’s head.
“I saw this earlier,” Losian said as he gestured to the immense crystal, “but I wanted both of you here to witness me pry it loose.” He wrapped both arms around the trunk of the crystal and lifted with great force, but it didn’t move. Losian tried again and again with no progress, while Wyand and Edan stood back, trying not to laugh at his stubbornness. Easily blinded by pride, he was never one to ask for help until he was out of other options. At last Losian’s shoulders sagged and he stepped back from the crystal.
“All right,” he said. “I wanted this honor to be mine, but…well, we can share it, I suppose.”
Wyand and Edan joined Losian and together the three of them lifted up on the enormous crystal. Even with their combined strength it held fast.
“We could try the picks,” Edan suggested.
“It could damage the power source,” Wyand said. “I don’t see any other way to remove this thing, though.” He placed his torch on the ground and raised his pick, looking for a weak spot to strike. Edan and Losian did the same, until all three were chipping away at the rock that captivated their goal. They began to swing in unison, the combined force of their blows shattering the rock more quickly. Edan abruptly fell out of rhythm, then stopped entirely. He looked around with uncertainty and motioned for Wyand and Losian to pause their efforts.
“What is it, Edan?” Wyand asked. Edan shook his head and appeared to be straining to hear something. All Wyand heard was silence. Then, faintly, he heard the sound of a small stone colliding with other rocks as it fell. It would clatter, then there would be silence, then another clatter would sound slightly closer. It repeated this several times, indicating a fall from a great height. Wyand peered up at the cavern ceiling, but all he could see were the glowing crystals. The small stone clattered once more, then struck the floor between the crystal alcove and the entrance Losian had carved. They waited to see if any additional rocks were going to fall, then slowly turned back to their task. Edan swung with reluctance, still half listening for more clattering.
Wyand studied the ground near the crystal as he worked, and could see that they were making progress. Several large chunks of stone were almost ready to be pried up; perhaps then this power source would finally be ready to move. He and Edan immediately paused when they heard another, larger rock clattering down from above.
“Losian…” Edan said with concern.
“We have to keep working,” Losian said over the growing sound of the falling stone. They could hear others breaking free to join the plummet. Wyand looked from Edan to Losian and back. He was torn: his mining instincts told him to flee, yet the desire to help his people and the Venerates urged him to obtain this precious crystal no matter what. He developed a compromise instead.
“Losian, we can dig back here once the rocks stop falling,” Wyand said as a low rumble developed throughout the cavern. Edan had already lifted his torch and was edging towards the entrance. Wyand began backing away as well.
“I can do this, even if you both decide to abandon your task,” Losian replied with disgust, swinging his pick furiously. All at once, the rumbling stopped. Small columns of sand rained down from overhead, adding an eerie undertone to the sudden stillness.
“We need to—” Wyand began quietly.
“Then go!” Losian shouted. “Peace and honor to you both.” With that, he struck the ground with as much force as he could muster and the crystal at last sagged to the side. Losian stepped down into the hole they had carved and held his prize. He lifted the crystal high, his victorious eyes reflecting the yellow-green light. Then, without a sound, he vanished as the floor of the alcove collapsed beneath him.
“No!” Wyand ran back towards the spot where the alcove had been. He couldn’t see any sign of Losian below; the alcove had fallen a greater distance than he expected. The sound of rocks grinding and thundering against one another shook the cavern with a fury greater than any storm Wyand had ever witnessed. The floor began to crack and se
parate, spreading the hole that had engulfed Losian and the crystal. A section buckled beneath Wyand’s feet, knocking him to his back and sending his torch spiraling into the growing abyss.
Normally, Wyand relied on the Venerates to keep watch over the workers of Aldhagen—their magic had eliminated all fear of the ancient curse of “death.” But here, beyond the barrier that had thwarted even the strongest of Venerate magic, Wyand felt true fear for the first time. If the Venerates couldn’t reach this place, how could he hope they would protect the three Carvers working here?
Wyand slid slowly towards the chasm. He looked on in horror as huge chunks of the cavern floor fell away into nothingness—he could see the crystals glowing as they fell, then watched as they vanished into pure blackness far below. Venerates protect me, he prayed desperately, and Venerates protect Losian. Just as Wyand had given up all hope, Edan’s hand suddenly grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away from the collapsing floor. Wyand would thank him later; now it was time to run.
They sped through the tunnel Losian had carved. Just as they cleared the rubble wall, a slab of stone slid from the cavern roof. It obliterated the wall with deafening force, and carried the remnants down into the darkness far below. More slabs broke loose, forcing Edan and Wyand to weave a dangerous path through the collapsing fissure. Shards of glistening black stone sliced through air, clothing, and flesh alike as each falling slab struck the ground. Wyand finally reached the narrow section of the fissure—the Cavern of the Winds was close and the protection of the Venerates awaited them there. He turned to shout encouragement to Edan, but froze when their eyes met. The chaos fell silent in Wyand’s mind and every stone seemed to be floating slowly to the floor. Edan’s leg was trapped beneath a large pile of rubble, and his arm had developed several jagged corners that weren’t supposed to be there. The torch he had carried was rolling away from his now-useless hand.
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