Grump & Rose

by Aaron Burdett

  He snickered at the thought and sunk his teeth into the granite wall. Quartz gave the stone an earthy undertone while the heavy mica almost overpowered him with its peppery tang. An unexpected pleasure. Boil's spine shuddered with his smile. Diggers enjoyed very few unexpected pleasures so deep in the mountain.

  Behind him, his fellow under mountain greenskins grumbled and mumbled and hissed and hollered in the rough and tumble tongue of the goblin folk. Whips cracked and birthed shrill screams that echoed through the labyrinthine mines.

  Boil swallowed the granite and patted his belly. With a happy gurgle, his stomach quickly went to work on the rock. Steam belched from his throat, and he patted his chest before taking another crack at the mountain.

  Bits of stone coated his slobbery chin. He wiped the grains and grumbled as another cracking whip echoed through the tunnel. Curse those high clans and their whips. The diggers did all the work. The high clans didn't even deserve the tasty stones the diggers brought them.

  Something glimmered in the tunnel, and his ears twitched. Shadows played with his perception so he scurried to a torch, yanking the light from its post on the wall. Boil waved his hand through the flames. They swayed and kissed his knuckles with their heat.

  On those rare days when high clan nobles wandered into the under mountain, he'd thought about taking one of these torches and shoving it in one of their faces. In the chaos, he'd flee the maze and break into the outside world where the sun waited for him.

  He grinned and licked his pointed teeth. No digger he knew had ever seen the sun. Not like he'd had much of a chance to ask around. Questions brought the unwanted eyes of the mine masters, and no digger wanted that. No, the other diggers would eat and sleep and shit and do it all again the next day until they died. Only Boil wanted something else. Only he wanted something better.

  Torchlight washed across the dark wall. Gold dazzled beneath dirty granite. Boil propped the torch against the tunnel and kneeled at the vein exposed by his feasting. He pressed his palms against the rock and slid the fleshy spade of his tongue over the precious metal. Gold: soft like slugs and sweet as a forbidden dream.

  "Better go tell the mine master," he grumbled, lurching to his feet. He swiped the torch and scurried up the passage.

  A flickering band lit the cavern walls beside him, ringing him in shifting amber. The pitter-patter of his footfalls slowed as he reached the main artery leading to the mine master's post. When he arrived at the intersection, he halted and inhaled, steeling himself for what must come next.

  Usually, mine master Skar lounged at his seat beside the elevator leading to the high mountain, where the greenskin would drop borer beetles and squirming centipedes into his wide mouth with eyes dull as dry clay from the boredom. But today, the bowl sat unattended on a three-legged stool, a shiny black centipede floundering on its lip.

  If Skar left his post, that meant he was in a mood. No good digger wanted to be anywhere near Skar when one of his moods came over him.

  Boil wiped a clammy palm against his chest. Another digger lingered at the edge of his torchlight, munching at a fresh tunnel. He scampered to the stranger and knifed the darkness with his fire. "You there! Know where Skar went to?"

  The digger swung around. Boil sucked in a breath, jerking his torch to his chest with both hands latched tight around the handle. The fire seared his chin. He yelped and lowered the flame, grinning as his stare shot away from the one before him. "I, uh, hi. Hello."

  The goblin woman's long, pink tongue swiped across the chiseled points of her teeth. Eyes of polished topaz dipped in oil reflected his torchlight in a thousand little points and hinted at a curious mind that tumbled from one idea to the next. A braid of olive hair draped over her slender shoulder complemented slate skin peppered with peridot freckles.

  Her wide eyes inspected him head to toe. Some of that curious light faded beneath the practiced digger wall of suspicion. "Why do you want Skar? He's got a sulfur temper today."

  "I've found, um, uh, a gold vein, and you know the rules. Better tell him now. Maybe it'll add a little limestone to that sulfur."

  That coaxed a giggle out of her and sent Boil's heart soaring from the under mountain to its peak. "You're sharp," she said. "You're not like other diggers."

  "Neither are you! I'm Boil." He extended his hand, but the torch it gripped nearly whacked her across the face. She jumped back. He cursed and extended the other hand. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to. It's just … this torch keeps getting in my way and ... Well, sorry."

  His new friend blew a puff of hair from her eyes and warily took his hand. "Ember. I haven't seen you around these parts of the mines."

  "They just moved me from the east belly."

  Ember cringed. "Sorry about that. Your family must be dead."

  "All three generations. I looked for some of my brothers and sisters, but no luck. I heard the eighteenth survived, but I can't find her. Never met her anyway so it's not like I'm sweating stones about it. I probably got her name wrong when I asked around. You're not the eighteenth of your litter are you?"

  "No, I'm sixth." She grabbed her braid and leaned forward. "Was it scary when the belly collapsed? Did you think you might die?"

  "Thought I was a goner for sure. The rocks came from everywhere. It was like the mountain wanted to teach us how it felt to be a meal for once. I had to eat my way out." He thrust his chin up and planted his fists on his hips. "Ate all the way to the high mountain, so they put me down here where the rock's stubborn."

  "To the high mountain? Wow. I wanna hear more!"

  He wrinkled his nose like he just sniffed slug slime. "You do? Most diggers shut me up when I start talking."

  "Most diggers are barely smarter than the rocks they eat. It's boring down here. I'm already jealous you got to see the high mountain! They say the halls are painted with gold and the greenskins eat diamonds for dinner."

  Boil nearly launched into the elaborate tale of his days scurrying through the greenskin halls of the high clans, but a shriek interrupted their talk and brought the reason why he'd come to the main tunnel to the forefront of his thoughts. "Skar."

  "Yeah, Skar." Ember pointed her finger toward the fading cry. "Follow the cry."

  He cringed. Not good.

  "I'll come with you," she said.

  Boil blinked. "Really?" He forced a smile down. When the east belly collapsed, he thought he'd die. After he ate his way to the high mountain, he figured the clans would gut him once they discovered a lowly digger in their halls. Now he'd met a friend not three days later—and a pretty one at that. Maybe someday Boil would even show her his secret treasure. Not even the high clans had discovered that when they caught him.

  Luck had an eye on Boil. Soon, it might even show him the way to the surface.

  "Coming?" Ember asked.

  He jumped out of his stupor and scurried down the winding tunnel. Screams perforated the stale air. Every so often, they passed another digger minding his or her own business. No one in the under mountain headed for screams unless they had a death wish or news of gold. In either case, it was better to avoid the attention.

  They rounded a rough corner and came to an intersection of six other tunnels. Like so many other similar points in the greenskin mines, torches lined this room and thickened the air with smoke and heat.

  A howl traveled through the passage ahead. Boil halted, extending an arm to slow Ember. She lingered in his shadow, her breaths washing across his neck, tickling his skin.

  "Don't be afraid," he murmured, eyes fixed on the dark tunnel.

  From the howling tunnel two gleaming points appeared. Heavy steps crunched on the loose rock, punctuated by grunts. Quiet sobs trailed behind.

  While greenskins saw shapes and outlines even in total darkness, their vision still needed some light to add depth and color to the dark world of the mountain. Boil squished his nose and leaned forward, thrusting his torch before him.

  Out stalked Skar, the mine master. Like mo
st of the high clans, he could put a digger to shame or to death, whichever mood suited him that day, and he wore his station in every move, motion, and manner of his being. His long nose flattened against his face, its warty tip brushing against an upper lip scarred in the duel that probably earned him his lowly station as a west belly mine master.

  In the spacious, cool halls of the high mountain, he might wear the bone and wolf fur common to those clans, but in the sweltering under mountain tunnels, Skar sported little more than a filthy loincloth studded with a mixture of greenskin teeth and finger bones. In one hand he dragged a club spiked with rusted iron and stained with digger blood. With his other hand he hauled a chain clasped around a whimpering greenskin's neck.

  The mine master's eyes narrowed into amber slits focused on Boil. Skar snarled and stomped into the room, wrenching his captive into the middle. "State your business, digger. I'm in no mood for you fools today." His gaze flicked to Ember. The wedge of his tongue slid across his lips.

  "I, ah...." Boil squeezed his torch and swallowed. "I found some glitter in the stone. Gold by the look and taste. Not the fake stuff either. This is pure. Sweet."

  "Gold, eh?" Skar snorted, and rank snot dribbled from his nose. The mine master glanced to his captive, his nostrils flaring as he considered his next steps.

  The chained digger trembled in Skar's shadow. Bruises splashed purple on his mottled skin. One eye disappeared beneath the swollen wreath of his blackened cheek. Blood oozed from lips that framed a set of broken teeth. He looked longingly at Boil and Ember. Tears stained his filthy, wrinkled cheeks, and his wispy silver hair clung to his sweaty brow.

  Boil pitied the greenskin, but only a little. Diggers who lived long enough to grow grey hair lived a mighty lucky life. Then again, endless days feasting on rock in caves that reeked of dung, decay, and dirt made for a life that was barely worth living.

  Skar sighed and dropped the chain. His captive shrunk as the mine master lifted his mighty club and rested it on his shoulder. "Urt, you know a digger's no good without his digging teeth."

  Boil and Ember stepped back, slipping out of the cavern and into the tunnel's shadow. When a digger's teeth broke, they couldn't eat the rock. They couldn't extend the tunnels. They couldn't find the glittering stones the high clans loved. When a digger's teeth broke, he lost what little value he had.

  Urt scrambled back. He shielded his face and sobbed beneath a torch. "P... ple ... please, Skar. I can eat. My teeth will heal. They will heal!"

  "This is a bitter stone to swallow," Ember whispered. "I wish we could do something for him."

  Boil nodded. It was a bitter stone to swallow indeed. Even then, he couldn't take his eyes from the unfolding scene.

  "Your teeth will not heal," Skar snarled. "You're a useless digger. You're older than the others anyway. No one'll miss you. No one will care. Maybe when your pathetic little soul slinks down to the world's heart and you stand before the Emperor, he'll give you teeth of gold." Skar ripped little Urt from the wall. The chain clamped around the goblin's neck rattled on the stone, coiling beneath the digger's dangling legs.

  "I'll find a way to be useful, Skar. If you spare me, I'll show my worth. I swear!"

  Skar grunted and slammed Urt onto the ground. In one single, horribly smooth motion, he brought his club crashing against the greenskin's leg. Bone crunched beneath the digger's teary wail. Boil's heart twisted into a sinewy knot. Ember's hand slipped into his and squeezed, and the knot in his heart warmed despite the violence before him.

  Urt's gnarled fingers pressed against the wall as he turned from the mine master and sobbed. Skar spat on the elder and faced Boil. "Take me to your gold, digger. Leave this one for the scarabs."

  Ember slipped her hand from Boil's and backtracked into the darkness. Boil cleared his throat and spun on his heel. "Yessir. It's not far. You'll be mighty pleased."

  "Don't tell me what pleases me, under mountain filth."

  "Yessir."

  At least Skar didn't know Boil's name. No digger survived long when the mine master knew them.

  As they snaked their way toward Boil’s tunnel, Urt's sobs slowly faded into the shadows. Skar would prohibit all access to the doomed greenskin tonight. Soon, Urt's wounds would attract a pale scarab. That scarab would taste his blood and scurry off to its nest. The others would return with it, and in the shadows they would wait until the last torch dwindled and torch fall came. And then, in the darkness, they would feast.

  Diggers swarmed in the feast hovel, clutching for the troughs overflowing with squirming insects and the odd discarded animal bone. Vats of ale capped with pillowy foam filled the cavern with the sweet funk of barley on the cusp of spoiling. Such was the meal all diggers enjoyed after a day swallowing the mountain's rigid innards.

  During his quick stint in the high mountain, Boil snuck a sip of the ale they brewed for the greenskins in those halls. The diggers down here would revolt if they knew what kind of honeyed brew the others enjoyed while the under mountain drank something high clans wouldn't use for their chamber pots.

  Boil stuck a pinkie in his mug and swirled the foam. Pale bubbles collected on his finger before vanishing in the dark beer. He sunk his teeth into a bloated worm and gulped the thick juices sliding down his tongue. Mountain rocks pleased his stomach. Insects turned it. But rocks couldn't keep a greenskin alive. He needed something his body could use.

  Try as he might, he couldn't get poor Urt out of his head. The sickening crunch of his leg as Skar crushed it … Urt's horrible wail and wet, pleading eyes … the memory haunted his thoughts.

  "Why should I care?" he wondered, slurping down the rest of his worm. He hadn't batted an eye when the east belly caved and buried most of his family with it. Truth was, he shouldn't care about this Urt. But for some reason, he did.

  The scarabs would find Urt soon enough. The first one probably already sniffed him out. He wouldn't have long left before the clattering legs of a thousand others echoed from a deep tunnel.

  Ember had said she wished they could do something for the old goblin. The thought of her brought a smile to his lips as he quietly repeated her name. She vanished soon after Urt's punishment, and even though Boil searched, she was nowhere to be found near the elevator where they first met. Neither did he spot her curious eyes scanning his feast hovel, although there were many feast hovels and a horde of greenskin diggers stuffed into each.

  Boil eyed a few dead bugs littering the warped table. Foam stained the greyed wood as greenskins with eyes floating in spoiled ale slapped their knees and laughed at jokes without punchlines.

  He listened to their conversations as his smile sunk into a frown. Day in, day out, in both the east and west bellies, it was all the same. Wake, dig, eat, drink, sleep, repeat.

  Something clicked in Boil’s head then, and he did something no true digger would ever do. He swiped a few of the fresher dead bugs from the table and shoved them deep into a pocket. Boil was never meant to dig. No, destiny planned something else for him, something beyond a mountain's bowels and mine master whips, and if he ever wanted to glimpse the sun, he would have to start thinking less like the diggers and more like the high clans.

  He strolled from the boisterous feast hovel. Skar kept watch at the creaky pointed gate leading to the mines, feasting on a greasy drumstick. Boil kept his head down. Diggers leaving the feast hovel with extra food would get a beating if they had a kind mine master. Boil knew Skar would take an eye.

  "Hey. Digger." Skar tore a chunk of meat from the bone. Fat dribbled down his chin and splattered on the ground.

  Boil's heart scrambled up his throat. He fought it down and faced the massive greenskin. "Yessir?"

  Skar smacked on his mouthful while Boil shifted nervously. He pressed his hands against his sides, hoping to flatten his stuffed pocket and hide his contraband from the mine master.

  The lump of Skar's meal traveled down his throat. The mine master slid his tongue over his teeth and tossed the bone at Boil's f
eet. "You take and eat this. I reward good diggers who find me glittering stones. Take it. Eat it."

  Boil forgot the insects and scrambled for the bone. He plucked it from the ground and feasted on the juicy bits of meat.

  "You like it?" Skar asked.

  Boil nodded enthusiastically as he tore at the scraps.

  "Good. That digger with you today. She your sister?"

  He gagged on his meal, hacking out bits over the dark rock. Skar didn't give him this meat as a reward for the gold. The mine master wanted Ember. Boil's soft and juicy meal suddenly lost its flavor and turned his stomach.

  The mine master crossed his arms. His chest bulged beneath his veiny biceps. "I asked you a question. She your sister?"

  "N ... No ... She's a friend."

  "Friend?" Skar laughed and shook his head. "Tell me then, your friend, what's her name?"

  This disgusting mine master wanted Ember. He lusted for her. As a high clan greenskin, Skar had every right to take her and make her his when mating season came. The thought of Skar leering at Ember, rubbing his knuckles down her cheek, his drooling tongue slinking up her trembling chin—it lit a fire deep in Boil's belly. If his drumstick had a sharp edge, he would've shoved it in Skar's eye. But it didn't, and he couldn't. So, he did the next best thing.

  "Her name is Ash," he said, suddenly remembering his lost sister's name. "If I see her again, I'll bring her to you."

  "See that you do." The mine master thrust his chin toward the sleep hovel. "Now go."

  "Yessir."

  Boil scampered down the tunnel. He passed in and out of the intermittent torchlight, rubbing his knuckles. The west belly was huge, crawling with tens of thousands of diggers. Skar would never find Ember again. Most likely he'd get drunk tonight and forget her by the morning. Hopefully, he'd forget Boil, too. At least the mine master never asked his name. It was never good when they knew a digger's name.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Thunder and Lightning