Edan’s eyes held terror in them that Wyand had never seen. But there was another subtle emotion as well that was slowly overtaking all others, an emotion that scared Wyand far more than simple terror—Edan looked at Wyand with pride. He smiled as he closed his eyes and nodded to reassure Wyand to keep going.
Though this exchange was infinitely brief, it felt as though it lasted for half a turning. The sights and sounds of destruction gradually returned to their normal pace, and Wyand was forced to accept the situation. He would return for his friends, with the Venerates’ assistance, but he had to make it back to the Venerates first. Wyand ran on in the darkness as fewer stones began to fall. This decrease gave him hope, for himself and for his friends. Just as quickly as it began, however, Wyand’s hope was replaced suddenly with nothingness as a large stone struck the back of his head. His consciousness failed as he sank to the floor of the fissure, just steps from the Cavern of the Winds. Stones continued to rain down, but Wyand could not hear or feel them.
4
Far beneath the main floors of the Hall of the Venerates, Keltin sat in silence listening for a droplet of water to fall. There it was, echoing from some far away section of the isolation chambers. 3246, Keltin thought to himself. He’d begun counting drops between meals, to see if there was any discernable schedule that the Venerates were using to deliver food. So far, there was no pattern at all. Keltin assumed that every four meals equated to a day, but he couldn’t be sure how much actual time had elapsed. His first “day” of isolation had passed relatively quickly, since he decided to sleep for most of its duration. Each time the Venerates brought a meal he gladly rose to consume it, but very little time beyond that was spent awake.
3247.
The excessive sleep proved to be unwise, however, because Keltin was unable to stop fidgeting for what must have been the entire second day. He had tried dozens of ideas to be rid of the madness that had started itching at the back of his mind—exercise, talking, shouting just to hear his own echo—none of it made a difference. Today was better, because today he had a task.
3248.
Even something as simple as counting water droplets gave him a purpose that helped keep his mind focused. Wandering thoughts were what had put him here in the first place, and he was certain they would lead to nothing good if he let them take hold. Perhaps this was the lesson the Venerates hoped he would learn down here; with six days still remaining, Keltin had time to learn many lessons.
3249. Surely the Venerates will come soon.
Keltin could feel his hands clenching tighter, his skin beginning to crawl. Hunger pulled at his stomach. Had he heard someone coming closer just after the last droplet? Was it time for food at last? He sprang up from the corner and reached the front of his isolation cell in a single stride. Keltin pressed his face against the grate that sealed him off from the rest of the isolation chambers, hoping to detect some minute change in the otherwise relentless darkness.
3250.
A faint light began to grow on the sides of the passage. Keltin nearly jumped with excitement—that staff light meant it was meal time. The Venerate approached, silent as always, with food tray in hand.
“Peace and honor, Venerated One,” Keltin said hurriedly. He bowed so quickly that his knee struck the floor with an audible thud, but Keltin ignored the pain. He was just relieved to see that the Venerates had not abandoned him.
The Venerate offered no greeting in reply—which was perfectly acceptable—and instead dropped the small metal tray on the passage floor. He kicked it towards the front of Keltin’s cell and walked silently away. Keltin eagerly reached through the bars and pulled the tray closer. In the dwindling light he could see a bowl of some kind of soup—hot food at last! He gripped the bowl and tipped it through the bars towards his mouth. Then he noticed a familiar smell coming from the soup bowl; Keltin stopped before the mixture reached his lips. He could see plainly now, even in the imminent darkness, that he was holding a bowl of linwyrt soaked in muddy water.
“Forgive me!” Keltin shouted as the bowl shattered on the floor. The Venerate was far away now, though, and there was no one else to hear his plea.
Keltin awoke suddenly to the familiar darkness of his isolation cell. Bitter, hopeless tears fell as he realized that he could no longer distinguish dream from reality. Perhaps he was dreaming even now. As a test, he felt around and discovered that he was in the corner where he normally slept. That was a promising sign that he was actually awake now, at least. Even from his earliest turnings, Keltin could remember being warned about the dangers associated with areas outside of the Venerates’ protection. Each time he felt the isolation madness beginning, it served as a bleak reminder that the Venerates were always right.
Keltin crawled to the front of the cell. Hands moving past the bars, he found that there was indeed a tray of food awaiting him there. The Venerate must have come by while he was sleeping. Keltin tested the air carefully, then hesitantly raised one of the items to his mouth. It was bread—ordinary, unsweetened, yet delightful—bread. As much as his hunger begged him to devour the loaf in one bite, his sanity demanded that he savor the taste of something as simple and constant as bread. That’s my main problem, he realized. I overcomplicate things that could be so easy. From here forward, if I can complete my tasks in a simple and constant manner, everything will be better. He thought of Wyand’s dedication to his task, and understood now how he achieved such a mindset. Make the task simple. Make the task constant.
With the meal resting heavy in his belly, Keltin resumed listening for water droplets to fall in the distance. He must have dreamed those too, however, because there were no drops to be heard now. He had to find some other way to stay focused; the madness had nearly taken him while he slept. Counting was as good an option as any, so Keltin began tapping his foot in a rhythm on the stone floor. It didn’t take long for his mind to fixate on the task—each number he counted was one closer to being free.
A distant sound caught Keltin’s attention and forced him to pause his counting. Had the water droplets been real after all? No, this was not a repetitive sound—it was an infrequent tapping that bounced and echoed so many times that Keltin had no idea of its source. It reminded him of the sound a plow made when it occasionally struck a small stone. This clattering continued for just a few seconds, then after one last tap the noise stopped completely. Disappointed that this interesting change was so fleeting, Keltin resumed his rhythm. Just as his mind was beginning to relax, a low rumbling started shaking the isolation cell. Keltin’s eyes frantically searched the darkness for an explanation, his panic building with the increasing vibration. He could hear the food tray rattling across the floor as the rumbling grew louder. Was this an illusion, or had the Venerates decided to punish him more severely? Keltin ran to the front of his cell.
“Venerated Ones, please hear me!” he shouted. “I know I have done wrong, but I beg you, do not abandon me like this! I will serve you better, I will serve Aldhagen better, just please let me return to my task!”
Just as suddenly as it began, the terrifying rumbling ceased. An uneasy stillness settled across the isolation chambers. Did the Venerates hear me? Keltin thought, …or did my shattered mind imagine this whole ordeal? He chose the more pleasant option.
“Thank you, Lifegivers!” he yelled. “I—” his words were lost as the rumbling returned with terrible force. This couldn’t be an illusion; Keltin was certain now that he had truly angered the Venerates. In the chaos, he felt small stones pelting him from the ceiling of his cell and heard larger ones crashing into the passage beyond. The quaking cell floor flung him into the air ruthlessly, leaving him in a crumpled heap after each jarring tremor. Keltin screamed as the last shards of hope were shaken from his body.
At last, the destruction ceased. Keltin opened his eyes and sat up with a groan to find that he could surprisingly see parts of his surroundings. Confused, he blinked to push the dizziness from his head and focus his vision. The cell ba
rs became clear first—they were mangled, crushed by a jagged block of stone that stopped just short of where his feet were now. He found the meal tray next, wedged between two boulders that formed the new—much lower—ceiling above him. Keltin rolled his head towards the back of the cell and discovered that the wall that had been there was simply gone. The dim light was definitely coming from this new opening, though a barricade of fallen rocks blocked his view of the light source. Legs still unsteady, Keltin leaned forward into a low crouch. He looked through the rubble and found that there might be a passable route out of his cell after all. It would be tight and it required him to climb up and over some extremely unstable-looking stones, but it was feasible.
Keltin hesitated while considering his situation. He couldn’t stay in what remained of his cell, that was certain. This path could very easily lead nowhere, and he would remain trapped in the depths of isolation until the Venerates decided to retrieve him. Alternately, this path could lead back to the surface of Aldhagen where he would certainly be punished for abandoning his penance early. With either option Keltin knew he would somehow manage to further irritate the Venerates, so he decided to explore this new pathway. As he moved forward, a much more startling option crept into his thoughts—this could be an exile pathway, presented by the Venerates as a sign of his ultimate dismissal.
Keltin moved through the collapsed debris carefully, flinching at each small stone that dislodged itself. Several times, he heard a stone break free then strike against something far below. He tried not to think how deep the drop was directly beneath him, but he still crawled more quickly each time he was reminded. The debris field cleared to reveal a brightly-illuminated cavern that looked remarkably similar to the Last Calling chamber. Light windows covered each surface, including the long spikes that hung down from the ceiling. There was even a river lined with steam pump stations flowing on the far end of this area, but the layout felt backwards somehow. Keltin was sure that the main entrance was on the wrong side of the Great River, and that the river itself had more twists and bends than he remembered.
Keltin shook his head vigorously, hoping that the image before him would resolve into something that made more sense. The same scene always presented itself, however, so he continued to stumble slowly towards the chamber entrance. The Calling chimes began sounding from high above in the Hall, but their tone was irregular and far more repetitive than usual. Another tremor knocked him to the floor as he started up the ramp to the main Hall entrance. Keltin muttered to himself angrily while trying to regain his footing. What could cause the ground to quake like this? He knew he would find answers above; that is, of course, if he could make it out of the Hall without falling to the ground a dozen times more.
After finally reaching the main entrance, Keltin took great pride in having only been knocked down six times along the way. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness of the isolation chambers, so he squinted in the brilliant light of the afternoon. Sore eyes and bruised body aside, Keltin smiled. Kingdom be found, that sunlight feels good! he thought. He had endured longer isolations than this before, but even after just three days underground his body longed to bask in the daylight. Keltin’s smile faded quickly, though, as his eyes adjusted and his surroundings became clear.
Keltin stared at the area between the Hall of the Venerates and the workers’ living quarters. Where before there had only been dirt, now there were sprawling gardens filled with plants that Keltin did not recognize. He found himself suddenly laughing as the most logical explanation presented itself: Keltin’s delirious mind had created everything here. The crumbling cell, the strange Last Calling chamber, this variant of Aldhagen—it was all part of another illusion from which he would soon awaken. He was too tired to weep, so instead he chose to laugh at the futility of his situation. If nothing else, at least his mind had chosen something unique and beautiful to imagine this time. It was a shame to think such an intricately detailed place would vanish as soon as he awakened once more to the constant darkness of his cell. As certain as he was that this was just another illusion, Keltin found it impossible not to cling to a small hope that this place might actually be real.
Looking to his left, Keltin spotted someone watching him from the edge of one of the garden rows. As soon as their eyes met, the robed figure darted deeper into the garden. Was that a Venerate? There hadn’t been time to discern an identity, but the hooded robe he caught a glimpse of was definitely tan instead of silver.
“Wait! Please!” Keltin shouted as he ran closer. He heard the retreating footsteps abruptly stop after he spoke. Keltin rounded the edge of the garden row and found the person in the robe kneeling a few paces away. This can’t be a Venerate, he thought. As Keltin approached, the worker’s head lifted enough for Keltin to take notice of the strange face veil that accompanied the hood. The worker’s right hand darted up to the hood and presented an elaborate sima hair knot with what appeared to be multicolored strands of thread woven into it. Keltin had no idea what the significance was of the thread, but the mysterious worker was holding out the sima in what felt like a gesture of greeting. Keltin was certain of one thing, though: illusion or not, he was completely lost in this bizarre place.
“Please forgive me, Fyrnraed,” said the voice behind the veil. “I did not mean to watch you in secret.” Keltin was surprised to hear such a soft, high-pitched voice come from a worker that appeared to be within a few turnings of his own age. That voice suited someone of four, maybe five turnings maximum.
“Peace and honor,” Keltin said, confused. “Please, stand. And what was that word you used? Fern…?”
“Fyrnraed,” said the worker, rising to stand just below Keltin’s eye level as the dark sima disappeared into the hood once more. A concerned, hesitant expression filled the small portion of a face that Keltin could see above the veil.
“Should we not call your kind Fyrnraed any longer?” the worker asked.
“I’m not sure about my ‘kind,’” Keltin replied, “but I am called Keltin. I am a Fieldsman under Chief Harvester Stelam.” The worker’s head tilted in confusion at this introduction.
“Your words are very odd, Fyrnraed,” the soft voice said, “but I will call you Keltin if you wish. As it is woven, I am called Aemetta.”
“Aemetta,” Keltin said, trying out the word. “What is this place?” He gestured to the rows of plants around them.
“These are the Scullery Gardens, Keltin,” Aemetta replied, pronouncing the syllables of Keltin’s name slowly and deliberately. He couldn’t be sure, but Keltin thought he saw an instant where Aemetta’s brown eyes grew wide in disbelief. Was his question that unreasonable?
“The Scullery Gardens. All right,” Keltin said. His mind was dizzy with questions, though the one that consistently repeated itself was very simple: Is this real? Keltin realized it was pointless to pose that question to a potentially imaginary person, so instead he asked the first sensible thing that came to mind. “Why were you watching me?”
Aemetta immediately knelt to the ground again. “Forgive me, Keltin. I was running to the Hall as the chimes instructed, but stopped when I heard you laughing. I have never heard a Fyrnraed laugh before, so I strayed from the path to observe you. The sound was…beautiful.”
“You don’t need to bow to me like I’m a Venerate or something, Aemetta,” Keltin said. “Please, stand up. I told you—I am not ‘Fyrnraed,’ I’m a worker just like you.”
Aemetta rose quickly and took several steps back in shock. “This is not true, Keltin,” Aemetta said, head shaking fiercely. “You are ‘he,’ as are all Fyrnraed. I am ‘she,’ just as all workers are.”
“She?” Keltin did not know the word. Before he could compose his thoughts into further discussion, Keltin’s attention shifted to the sound of someone approaching rapidly on one of the stone walkways. From his position, Keltin couldn’t see down the left or right side of the cross-row. Aemetta, however, now stood in the intersection of rows and turned to see who was com
ing.
“Aemetta!” a high-pitched voice shouted, “Kingdom found, I haven’t seen anyone else since I started to run here. I—”
“We are not alone,” was all that Aemetta said to this new person. Keltin heard the now-familiar sound of someone kneeling unnecessarily. He leaned around the edge of the garden row.
“Forgive me,” the worker began.
“By the Call, you may stand and speak as you wish!” Keltin said with no small amount of exasperation. The customs of this place caused him equal parts frustration and confusion—he couldn’t possibly be responsible for imagining something this tedious. “And I am called Keltin, not Fyrnraed.”
With an uncertain expression, the worker looked from Keltin to Aemetta and back again, still holding out her brown braid in greeting. “As it is woven, I am called Halwen.”
“Peace and honor, Halwen,” Keltin said. “Now what were you starting to say?”
“The terrible rumbling, it caused the roof of the bannuc forge to collapse,” Halwen said, out of breath. “There are many Wrights still trapped inside, and Aemetta…I did not see Ryna make it out.”
Aemetta turned to Keltin, eyes pleading for assistance. “Keltin, Ryna is my quartermate. She needs our help. I know the Fyrnraed have called us to the Hall, but perhaps you would find it in your great plan to allow us to miss the Calling—just this once—to help the Wrights?”
In the midst of all the uncertainty and confusion today had offered, this one choice stood out with perfect clarity in Keltin’s mind. “Take me there,” he said, and a very grateful Aemetta turned to lead the way. There would be time to make sense of the day’s events later. For now, whether this was an elaborate dream or as real as the heat during harvest, Keltin knew that he had to help these people if he could. Assuming the Venerates still had any interest in his actions, they would either commend his decision or stuff him back underground for weeks. For the first time in his life, Keltin realized he didn’t care what the Venerates thought—this was simply the right thing to do.
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