Grump & Rose

by Aaron Burdett

  "It's taking too long," Urt huffed. The greenskin leaned on the old pick Boil pilfered for him. It made a good walking cane for the geezer. Of course, he never thanked Boil for the kindness, but Boil chose to ignore the slight for the time being.

  Ember wiped bits of rock from her lips and scrunched her nose at the wall. "It's hard. The stone’s thick, and this tasteless rock's hard to swallow and harder to bite. We'll get there before long. And then, the sun and stars!"

  "Bah. You've let Boil's fancies get to your head. We don't even know if stars are real."

  "Of course they're real." Boil crossed his arms and grimaced at the digger. "Why wouldn't they be?"

  "Why would they be? You found a little book. Anyone can write anything in a book. Doesn't make it true, doesn't make it grounded."

  "He's been right so far," she pointed out.

  Boil flashed his eyes and smiled. "Sure have."

  "I'm not convinced." Urt hobbled to the wall and tapped his pick on a laughing skeleton. "This room is bad mojo. Sometimes when I'm asleep, I feel them watching me. I swear on the emperor himself that I've heard the damned things whispering in my ears. They wait when I'm just on the edge of sleep and no torchlight touches the room. They whisper then. They always whisper."

  Urt's voice trailed into silence. Greenskins didn't much fear the dark, but even diggers knew stories of bad mojo from the way back days when the mountain was young and their tunnels few.

  "I think your mind's playing tricks," Boil said, although he eyed the skeletons a little more warily.

  "Smart diggers stay away from places like this."

  "We're not diggers," Boil snapped. "We're something higher now."

  "We're not higher yet, Boil, don't forget that. I know you think I'm some crazy old greenskin with a bad leg and a bitter tongue, but I know wrong when I see it. This place is wrong. It's too deep to have these carvings. How'd it get so far in the mountain? And these are no greenskin skeletons carved into the wall. These are fair folk bones."

  Ember edged back from the arch and slowly surveyed the room. "Humans and elves and the like? Nasty things, if what the mine masters say is true."

  "How do we know fair folk won't be waiting for us when we dig our way out?" Urt asked, arching a brow.

  Frustration knotted Boil's heart as Urt's words threw a wet rag on his spirits. The digger was right. These skeletons were man bones, and they clearly didn't belong so deep in the mountain.

  "You're right," Boil said. "These’re fair folk bones. They're in my book, although I don't think fair folk are anything to fear near as much as the mine masters say. They tell us those stories to keep us afraid of digging up."

  "Death is always something to fear, and this is a place that reeks of it." Urt limped toward him, jabbing the pick at his chest. "You keep talking about this book of yours. We should get a chance to read it too."

  "What? No. That's my treasure, not yours."

  "I'm the leader, remember? This is going to be Urt's clan, not Boil's."

  Boil looked to Ember for help. She shrugged sheepishly and plastered on a polite smile. "It'd be good to see some of the pictures you tell us about. Urt's got nothing but time in here while we dig. He might be able to learn more about what's beyond the black arch."

  Boil's heart sunk. "But Ember—"

  "I know it's important to you." She rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "But we're all in this together. There's no keeping secrets from each other. If we want to survive, we'll need to try and learn as much as we can. Urt's been around longer than both of us. He might see something you and I can't."

  His toes curled as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Urt stood behind him, the greenskin's smug grin burning against Boil's back. Ember made a good point, one he couldn't argue against—even though he knew he'd think of just the perfect thing to say once he got back to the hovel. Arguments always happened for him like that.

  Boil sighed and relaxed his fists. "Fine. I'll bring the book with me after tomorrow's torch fall." He swung to Urt and planted a finger against the old greenskin's saggy chest. "But you have to promise me you'll treat it like the most precious glittering stone you've ever tasted."

  "I'll treat it like the greatest treasure a digger's ever found in the mountain." He grinned, flashing the cracked and broken arch of his teeth. "My word as a digger or may the Goblin Emperor strike me dead."

  "You hurt that book and it won't be the emperor striking you dead."

  "Ah, so he does have a little fire in him after all." Urt slapped Boil's shoulder and winked. "Don't you worry. I’ll keep it safe enough."

  Ember giggled, clapping her hands. "This is getting so exciting! We're really doing it. We're really going to leave the under mountain and see the sun!"

  Boil's dampened spirits lifted with her voice. He smiled as she danced to the black arch and pressed the torch against its surface until the rock heated enough for a nibble. Urt could grate on Boil's nerves, but what should he expect? The greenskin was practically older than the mountain and probably felt completely useless while they worked. Giving the geezer the book might give Urt some way to pass the time instead of cowering in a corner imagining whispering walls and gawking skeletons. Plus, it made Ember happy. Boil would do anything to make her happy.

  So he plucked his torch from the wall and nodded at a skeleton before joining Ember at the black arch. Together, they worked late into the night while Urt regaled them with stories Boil doubted ever happened.

  Another long night of digging done, Boil parted ways with Urt and Ember and headed back to his sleep hovel. Now that he didn't spend his meal time slurping sludgy ale, he found he could sleep less while digging more. If he made it back to the hovel a few hours before torch light, no one would ever know he left in the first place.

  He reached the main chamber with its elevator ascending to the high mountain. Like most nights, he crept over to the vertical shaft and stared into the towering black throat. Somewhere up there, the lucky greenskins slept in their soft beds overlooking piles of gold earned by digger slaves. One day, he'd sleep in a bed like that, and not a single stinking wolf pelt would come anywhere near it.

  Boil left the elevator behind him and flitted from one deep shadow to another. The thrill of the sneak electrified his veins. Not a single other greenskin prowled the mountain that torch fall but him. In a way, it became his kingdom after torch fall, his world to explore and discover.

  The final turn to his hovel appeared down the tunnel. He passed one unlit torch after another, then spun around the corner.

  Skar seized Boil's throat and yanked him from the ground. "Well, well, well. Looks like we have a digger out of the hovel before torch light."

  Boil gagged and slapped at the greenskin's knuckles as pressure built in his temples. Skar leaned in, his warty nose releasing a deep, hungry breath. The mine master licked his lips and shoved Boil against the hard tunnel wall.

  "I thought I heard a rat scurrying over the gate," Skar said. He pressed Boil so hard against the stone a jagged edge bit into his shoulder. A flash of pain came, followed by wetness leeching into his shirt.

  "Please…." Boil's eyes bulged. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take a breath. Black edged his vision.

  Skar cocked his enormous head. "You. I remember you. You found the gold and knew that girl. What's your name again, digger?"

  Mine master's should never know a digger's name. Looking into the greenskin's eyes and seeing the cold, violent hunger glimmering in them, he knew his life hung on a knife’s edge and a fool's whim. He could make up a name, any name, and that would be that. One after another rolled through his thoughts.

  Skar squeezed tighter. Tears coursed down Boil's cheeks.

  "Boil! My name's Boil."

  "Hmmm." Skar dropped him and Boil collapsed in a gasping heap.

  He blinked the tears from his eyes and looked up at his mine master. A wide wall of knuckles smashed against his jaw and sprayed the wall with ruby droplets. Boil's
world twirled and whirled.

  "Why'd you sneak out, Boil? You know the rules. Diggers who break rules don't deserve to be diggers. In fact, they don't deserve much of anything."

  Skar dug his heel against Boil's chest. Before he understood his world again, Skar's eager eyes swelled before him. A nail, long and curved like a hook, raked hard against his cheek, leaving a burning, bleeding line behind. "You're nothing, Boil. Maybe I should pop you now and see what makes a sneaky digger tick?"

  "I wasn't doing nothing, Skar. I swear it!"

  Wrong answer. Boil knew it as soon as he said it. Skar's fist slammed against him. Something in Boil's chest cracked, and he coughed blood. Boil didn't fear death when the east belly collapsed. He didn't fear death when he wandered through the fancy halls of the high mountain. But there in the dark, just before torch light, with the mine master standing over him, a lance of fear shot through him as he realized he couldn't dig his way out of this.

  "Liar. Sneaky digger liar. I think I am going to kill you." He ripped a finger bone from his loincloth and pried Boil's mouth open. "You know what I'm gonna do?" Skar's foul fingers pulled and prodded Boil's lips as he forced his mouth open. "I'm gonna shove this bone down your throat. Then, I'm gonna watch you squeal and squirm as you gasp for breath. Then, I'm gonna pull the bone out and nail you above my bed. You'll be my headboard until you bleed out and start stinking. That'll teach you and any other diggers who get fancy ideas about leaving the hovel while I'm sleeping."

  Skar might be any number of awful things, but a liar wasn't one of them. Mine masters didn't need to lie. Lies were saved for peers. Trash like a digger didn't deserve a mine master's fib.

  "I...."

  Think. Boil had to think. This putrid puke of a fool couldn't be the end of him.

  Skar lowered the finger bone to Boil's mouth and traced it across his lips. "Goodbye, Boil."

  "I found her! Please, don't kill me. I found Ash."

  The mine master paused, his hand lightening its hold by a hair. "You found her? Your friend?"

  "Y—y—yes ... It's, ah, it's why I snuck out in the first place, Skar. I thought you would like a present. Mating season is soon, and well, she doesn't have one."

  Skar narrowed his eyes, and his grip loosened. "Go on."

  "They almost moved her to the north belly, but I managed to keep her here. For you! Yes, for you. She wants to meet the great Skar, mighty greenskin warrior from the high mountain. She remembers how big you are."

  "I am like a mountain." Skar straightened, finally releasing Boil.

  "No greenskin grows so tall! She remembers how handsome you are." Boil forced down the bile and wiped the blood from his chin instead.

  "High mountain girls clamored for me even out of mating season," Skar agreed.

  "No greenskin is as good looking as Skar the Mine Master! She remembers how confident you are."

  "I fear nothing!"

  "No greenskin could turn an entire army back like the mighty Skar!"

  The mine master pursed his lips, his dark eyes locking on Boil. "So Ash said these things about me?"

  "And more wonderful things, but I'm a stupid digger and it's hard to remember them all."

  "Well, they're all true, that's for sure."

  "So true."

  "Maybe you won't die tonight after all, Boil. Your act of stupidity might have just saved your miserable, worthless life."

  Boil fell to his knees and prostrated. His cracked rib blasted pain through his body. He sobbed but slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle it.

  "I'll meet Ash and show her what a true greenskin's like. Who knows, she might even be lucky enough to be one of my mates when the season comes. Of course I'll have a little fun with her before, just to test her out."

  The pain coursing through Boil ebbed as his anger trembled through his body. It took every bit of strength he had not to leap at the filthy mine master and claw his eyes out. "It's your right, Skar," he mumbled.

  "Yes, it is my right. You'll find her and bring her to me. I'll take it from there." Skar yanked him up and dusted off Boil's shirt with a disapproving sigh. "You're a lucky digger, but don't get cocky. Rules are rules and diggers are not to leave their hovels after torch fall. If I catch you out again, I'll flay you and make you into breeches. I've got my eye on you, Boil. You're not the rogue you think you are."

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cradles of Earth

  "Wake up, Grump! Lazy-ass troll, gods help me because I'm liable never to get a good wink with you around! You snore like a drunk mountain giant after a wedding feast."

  The river of Grump's dreams drained into black. He yawned and turned on his side. "Just a little longer, Teacher."

  "Oh, I don't think so!" Teacher slapped her staff against his belly. Grump snorted, lurching from the grassy bed piled deep in his cave. Muscles stiff from sleep tightened as he barely dodged another swipe and bounded to his feet, then fell clumsily against the cavern wall. He wobbled, pressing his hand against the cool, slick stone for support. "Enough! I'm awake! Awake!"

  "Not quite quick on the uptake are we? I thought trolls were supposed to be light sleepers? You'll need to work on the noise you make when you sleep. The elves and I have an ... understanding, but they won't just ignore an enemy in their midst who doesn't give a lick whether or not he's heard. Try at least to be a little quieter, eh?"

  "I didn't think I snored," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and stretching his eyes.

  "You didn't think you snored? Hah!" She pulled her frayed hood down to her shoulders and puckered her crinkled lips. "Now, let's not waste what precious time these old bones have left. Are you ready to learn the ancient art of gardening?"

  "You make it sound so mysterious."

  "Maybe you'd prefer me to call it the ancient art of playing in the dirt?"

  "No. I like the first. Gar-den-ing."

  "Good." She turned and hobbled from the cave, liver-spotted hand clenching the odd raven staff with its crown of antlers. "Come with me, lazy oaf."

  Together they entered the fresh night. Lingering twilight stiffened his muscles—unlike the blackwoods, no murky air protected him from the sun's fading rays—so he stretched again and blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes.

  They passed Bah's makeshift pen. She bleated, and he grinned. Grump patted Bah, content as she was munching on whatever occupied the pen with her.

  Teacher reached the edge of her garden and paused, craning her neck around to toss an irritated scowl his way. Grump hurried after her and paused just out of reach of that nasty cane. She tapped the raven staff against the earth and smacked her lips. "Before you can grow anything in a garden, you must know two things: What you want, and what the land will support. No matter how wonderfully you garden, the cradle of soil where you plant your seeds will change depending on where in Oya you stand. Not all seeds may grow in every cradle. A competent gardener matches the right seed to the right cradle. Understand?"

  "Simple enough."

  She rolled her eyes and huffed. "Right, you'd think so. What do you want to grow in your garden?"

  He shrugged. "Plants?"

  Her knuckles whitened on her staff. "If you're not going to take me seriously, you can just get on out of my home and go stone yourself in a field somewhere for all I care." Teacher pivoted on her heel. "Ungrateful troll. Should've just sent him on his way. Damn the stars. Damn them and their—"

  "No, wait!"

  She paused, glancing behind her. "What? I'm done with you if all you'll be to me is insolent."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like I didn't care. I do care. I want to stay."

  "Then treat my craft with a little more respect and answer my question. What do you want to grow, Grump?"

  "I ... I don't know. I don't know what type of plants I can grow. In the swamp we have cypress, reed, moss, and lichen. Not much else but maybe mushrooms."

  "Hmm." She scratched her chin and finally faced him. "Well, you can grow a garden for beauty
or utility or perhaps a mix of both. A beautiful garden will bring you joy but won't fill your belly. A garden for utility may not delight the eyes, but it will feed you through all seasons. So tell me: Do you want a garden of blossoms, or of food?"

  Grump's stomach gurgled like slop boiling over an open fire. He placed a hand on his belly and smiled sheepishly. Teacher snorted and thrust her staff at his stomach. "That answers that, then. Flowering gardens might be a little too dainty for someone with killing hands. We'll start with vegetables and perhaps when you're ready, we'll move on to more delicate things."

  "Vegetable garden. I don't think I've ever had a vegetable before."

  "Well, your blasted goat's had her fill of 'em, that's for sure."

  "Sorry, sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck, rocking on his heels. "I made a pen so she wouldn't go after your plants again. It'll keep her back."

  "Yes, you did that much at least." She sighed and headed for the creek. "Now that we know what type of garden you'll be growing, let's learn what the land can support. This canyon is ... special ... not all land you find will be as diverse, but you will learn well here."

  "You're very strange with your words. They are almost like riddles. Or mysteries."

  "Ah, but isn't that a teacher's role? I feed you mysteries. If you're a worthy apprentice, you'll solve them and become a master in your own right."

  They wound through the leafy rows until the quiet bubbling of the canyon's serpentine stream tickled his ears. Teacher swept beneath a weeping willow reaching for the water and awkwardly collapsed to her knees. She winced as she bent, her free hand darting to her lower back.

  Grump raced forward, reaching out with his massive hand. Her staff whacked his knuckles, and he lurched back with a snarl.

  "I'll ask for help when I need it, thank you very much," she said.