Son of the Storm

by Michael DeAngelo

  “Good morning,” he heard.

  Dorn turned toward the direction of the melodic voice. In the doorway, the beautiful dwarf waited, as she always did.

  “Ah, come in Rena,” he said, standing up straight and forcing his eyes open.

  Accepting the invitation, she entered the hovel, allowing Dorn to see her more clearly. She wore an orchid in her hair that morning, her locks nearly curling around it in the humid air.

  “Me eyes are down here,” she teased.

  Dorn smiled, nodding weakly. “Of course,” he said.

  As he spoke, she scowled, her sight falling upon the pot on the stove. “Yer making that poo poo again,” she grumbled, placing a fist upon each of her hips.

  “It’s papoo,” Dorn corrected. “My mother used to make it all the time for me when I was just a little lad.”

  “Ye are a little lad,” Rena argued. “He’s a growing boy. Ye can’t keep feeding him old bread in goat’s milk.”

  “He likes it!”

  “Hush now,” she said. “I’m talking. The wee boy should be eating eggs and potatoes, and by Mathias’ beard, he should be eating some bacon.”

  Dorn sighed, rubbing his hand against his sore neck. “He’s not such a wee boy anymore. He’s sprouting up faster than I can keep up with him.”

  “He still loves ye, and that’s all at matters,” she replied. Rena’s voice had struck a sweet chord, and she bowed slightly as she used it. “I’m awake afore ye every morning. Why don’t ye let me bring the boy his breakfast? Maybe I’ll even toss you a few scraps if ye listen to me a little more often.”

  Another sigh left the tired dwarf’s lips. “Aye,” he said. “Let him eat papoo this last time, and I’ll let you feed him whatever you like. Before you know it, he’ll have to start sewing his own clothes.”

  They stood there in silence for a short while, each staring at their feet.

  “Ye best be off,” Rena said. “Kieler’ll let ye have it if ye’re late to the mines again. Say yer g’byes to yer son.”

  “Nah, let him sleep,” Dorn offered, stepping lazily into his boots. “The longer he stays asleep in this dingy dungeon where all his kin punish him for being different, the better. As for Kieler, well, there’s a dwarf I’d like to make a little shorter.”

  One last sigh shook the dwarf’s body as he proceeded forward. He lightly tapped Rena on the shoulder, shuffling toward the exit. She turned, watching him take every arduous step, swallowing hard as he disappeared from view.

  The cliffs were still dark, though the skies far above were a beautiful shade of morning glory. Dorn rarely came into contact with other dwarves on his journey to the mines. They were all still sleeping, shaking off their drunken stupors from the evening before.

  A few dwarven lasses cleaned the mead hall every day when he walked in. None of them looked at him for long—not without sneering at him. Haaga, a bearded lady much older than him, made a point to spit in the dirt whenever she saw him. He would only furrow his brow and walk faster at that sight. There was no need for coffee to wake him up by then. Haaga’s visage would sober up any inebriated or tired fool.

  The journey to the mines was much different than the trek to the surface. The carved tunnels managed to darken the farther Dorn went. An otherworldly blue haze seemed to crowd the catacombs in some places, making it difficult to navigate. Almost every day since Bolt had come to him, Dorn had ventured to the mines. Even if he didn’t have a dwarf’s intuition, he would have been able to find his way.

  “Well, look at who’s finally showed up,” he heard, though he could not place the familiar voice with its speaker. “Ol’ Dorn. Ye smell like that horrid pink thing that lives with ye. How is Boil anyway?”

  “It’s Bolt,” Dorn grumbled to himself. “Show yourself, Hadro. I don’t feel like playing your games today.”

  A grimy dwarf emerged from the shadows just beyond the passage. A lantern was in his hand, illuminating his unfortunate grin, a few teeth short of a full set. His short beard was matted and filthy, bunched together in clumps. He hobbled with every step he took toward Dorn, who stood considerably taller.

  “Ye don’t have ta play. Ye don’t know the rules anyway.”

  “Just get moving, Hadro. I don’t want to talk to you. I just want to pick up an axe and bang it against a wall until my time is done.”

  “So ye don’t wanna know ‘em?”

  Dorn continued forward, grumbling all the way.

  “I call ye and yer boy all the names in the books, ye get pissed, and I continue.”

  “One of these days, I’m going to take that lantern of yours and see if I can fit your face in it without breaking the glass.”

  Hadro scowled, making his already unfortunate visage look that much worse.

  “Make sure ye don’t do that today, lad,” another voice called out. The lantern light illuminated an older dwarf, just beyond the haze. “It’s going to be a dark day down here.”

  As Dorn and Hadro went on, they could see the third in their troupe. Zeb’s brow was covered in a score of wrinkles, and his whiskers had long before turned white. Still, he was the only one of the dwarves that frequented the deepest parts of the mines by choice. His bespectacled face reflected a bit of the light and helped to illuminate his smile. He held a silver cage in his hand in much the same way Hadro held his lantern.

  “Even Jimmer is too afraid to sing too loud in this darkness.”

  “We’ve all got our jobs ta do,” Hadro said, snapping at the cage as it became clearer. “If yer birdie don’t wanna chirp, I’d fancy making him a snack.”

  The short dwarf proceeded down the passage, grumbling to himself.

  “I like what ye said to him. About time ye dish out some threats,” Zeb said.

  “I’ve had quite enough of his comments,” Dorn replied.

  “Well, next time, whaddya say ye knock out a few more of the lad’s teeth?” The old miner chortled at the thought. “How’s yer boy?”

  “Growing faster than I can handle,” Dorn said. He didn’t realize it, but a small smile crept to his face. “By this time next year, I’m going to have to dig my home a few feet deeper or else the lad will walk with a hunch all his life.”

  “Well, when yer ready to dig, ye just give me a holler.”

  Dorn grinned wider and clapped the old dwarf on his shoulder. The cage in his opposite hand rattled, and the yellow canary chirped just a bit in protest.

  “Are our picks where we left them?”

  “I didn’t move them, lad. Wasn’t about to go down there on my own.”

  “You hearing the ghasts again?” the younger dwarf asked.

  “Balderdash,” Zeb replied. “Ain’t nothing haunting these tunnels; otherwise, they’d have grabbed Hadro or Kieler by now for sure.”

  “You did hear them,” Dorn said. “I knew I wasn’t the only one.”

  “Bah,” Zeb said. “Just the earthen walls settling, lad.”

  Both of them said very little as they continued deeper into the mines. Though their dwarven eyes adjusted well in the absence of the light, it was still a struggle to see much beyond Hadro’s lantern, which kept drawing farther from them.

  “What ye said to him must have really got under his skin,” Zeb said. “I’ve never seen that boy so eager to get to work.”

  “He just wants to steal our light,” Dorn observed.

  “Wouldn’t be the first thing he’s stoled,” the older dwarf muttered.

  Jimmer chirped as his master and his friend descended. Every so often, the bird would let out a tiny song that sounded cheerful so deep in the bowels of the earth. They finally arrived just outside of a compartment they had frequented for the prior several weeks. Hadro was inside, tightly lacing his boots, a mattock already by his side. Dorn and Zeb quietly gathered their belongings as well. Metal helmets sat upon the wall next to their mattocks, and they quickly gathered them and continued to their dig site.

  “I figured today we’ll make the main passage a wee bi
t bigger,” Zeb said. If there’s more iron where we found it last week, they’ll likely start bringing carts down this way.”

  “Aye, and they’ll take all the credit,” Dorn added.

  “Right they will, lad,” Zeb chortled.

  Hadro grumbled, passing his two companions, the lantern bobbing in one hand while he firmly held his pick in the other. Once again, he pressed on out of sight, leaving the other miners behind.

  “Guess he’s got his own plans,” Zeb said.

  He and Dorn only moved forward a short way. The compartment was still nearby in case they needed supplies. Skins of water were stashed in a chest there, and they could retreat to a bench if they needed a rest.

  They mined without complaint. Even Hadro’s mattock could be heard in the distance. When the canary whistled, Zeb would often repeat the tune. After some time, the trio was joined by other dwarves who were afforded a much more leisurely arrival. Dozens of the small folk were drawn into the depths, tantalized by the thought of silver or iron to bring home. Still, a wide berth was given to Dorn and Hadro, outcasts of the community.

  The symphony of equipment was always conducted by Zeb and Jimmer, who kept close by Dorn at all times. Every time the older dwarf whistled, Dorn couldn’t restrain a smile.

  A loud, ghastly hiss echoed through the mines then, and every pickaxe stopped resonating against the wall. Many concerned glances were shared, but soon after, the miners shrugged and continued.

  Zeb mimicked another whistle, leisurely striking the stone. When some time had passed and the canary hadn’t continued with another verse, he looked upon the cage. The small, yellow bird wobbled slightly and fell from his perch. “Jimmer!” the old dwarf cried, falling to his knees beside the cage.

  Dorn immediately turned, noticing his friend’s concern.

  “Go,” he suddenly said, surprising both he and his companion. “Get your bird and get to the surface. I’ll warn the others.”

  Zeb didn’t hesitate. He smashed his weathered old fist through the gate of the cage and scooped up Jimmer. Only a moment later, he raced away, hoping to escape whatever deadly gases were rising from the depths.

  Dorn raced in the opposite direction. “Gas!” he cried. Many of the dwarves were much deeper within the cavern and needed more urgent coercion. When they saw their companions dispersing, it didn’t take long to understand what was happening.

  At the far end of the tunnel, Hadro angrily thumped his mattock against the wall. A chunk of iron rolled from the stone, shining in the erratic lantern light. Hadro’s eyes shined as well. He bent down and retrieved the ore, tucking it in a pocket of his britches.

  He turned as he rose, seeing the other worker running toward him, waving his hands frantically. Hadro spat on the ground at the sight of Dorn. Growling, he reached for his lantern before he heard the words his colleague cried.

  “Hadro! There’s gas!”

  The stout dwarf felt the awful gust beside him and peered at his lantern, the light quivering. Hadro’s eyes grew wide as his jaw dropped.

  Dorn watched as flames roared to life, consuming Hadro in a fraction of a second. The explosion threw the diminutive fellow aside, the lantern shattering to pieces. Knowing there was nothing he could do for him, Dorn turned and fled. Amazingly, he was able to catch up with many of the others. They carried their equipment, lugging the heavy mattocks and sacks of ores.

  The ceiling rumbled, and the ground trembled. Many of the dwarves threw down their gear, while others sputtered to a stop. Dorn was among those. He breathed out fitfully, his brow deeply furrowed. “Gods, no,” he whispered. Before him, the earth came crashing down. He heard the words, but he already knew the truth of the matter.

  “Cave-in!”

  With a mournful protest of air, the way was sealed before them.

  * * * * *

  The bell rang incessantly, and Rena turned to inspect it. Her eyes narrowed, and she let out a meager grumble. It would not be the first time the dwarves had played that prank, harassing the wee human boy for being different.

  Bolt sat on the floor, playing with a few of his toys. Little wooden figurines were strewn about the dirt floor, some fallen to their side while others battled within his hands. The child lifted one toy high and brought it down upon the other. He sent the victim tumbling away. Rena couldn’t hope to suppress a smile.

  “Did ye see it, Rena?” Bolt asked. “Did ye see Vaulen strike down ‘is hammer on that pesky goblin?”

  “I certainly did, lad,” she cooed. “But remember, it’s ‘you,’ not ‘ye,’” she forced herself to say. “If yer—your papa heard me letting you speak like that… well, I guess he wouldn’t do much actually, but let’s not agitate the poor sod, eh?”

  The child merely shrugged, eliciting a quiet fit of giggles from his guardian. That merriment faded when she heard the urgent cries of another dwarf approaching the home.

  “Rena! Rena!” Suddenly, Fali was leaning in the doorway, struggling to catch his breath. “Rena. Dorn’s been… There’s been a…”

  “Slow down, Fali,” she said. As she spoke the words, however, she could feel her own heart beginning to race. “What’s happened?”

  He straightened out, nodding his head solemnly. “There was a cave-in at the mines,” he said. “Dorn was still inside.”

  Rena brought her hands up to her face to stifle a gasp. “Is he…”

  “We haven’t heard anything yet,” Fali offered. “But I dinna want any of these other bastards rushing down here tryin’ ta throw it as good news.”

  “Can we go there?” she suddenly asked.

  “Eh?”

  “Can we go down in the mines?” she clarified.

  “When ye say ‘we,’ I assume ye mean you and I. Ye do know the dwarves won’t take kindly ta him bein’ there. They’ll act like he’s a bad omen.”

  “Dorn is his father, blood or not. He has as much a right ta be there as any of the other children. Now are ye gonna stand beside us when we go there or not?”

  He swallowed hard but nodded his consent.

  “Come on, lad,” Rena said to the human child.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “We’re off to see your papa.”

  * * * * *

  At first, many of the smallfolk didn’t notice the presence of Bolt. Once it was known, though, the whispers outpaced him to the front of the procession. Angry eyes and curses fell down upon the child who huddled ever closer to Rena.

  Profanities weren’t just directed at the boy. For every one slung toward Bolt, Fali and Rena delivered a dozen more to the onlookers. The lady dwarf looked down upon her ward, a smile bright upon her face. “Remember, lad, you don’t repeat words like this until yer at least ten.”

  Despite the tumultuous journey, they reached the lower mines much quicker than they expected. Others parted for them, and it didn’t take long to understand why.

  Zeb sat with his legs crossed, a small yellow object in his open palm. He stroked Jimmer with a stubby, dirty index finger, the bird quietly peering to and fro. “Dorn moved like lightning, I tell ye,” the old dwarf said to no one in particular.

  The dwarf before him stood and turned, stepping back once he saw that strange group in front of him. Thurgan had to force his jaw shut and his lips closed, but he quietly nodded in understanding. “I came as soon as I heared. As best I can tell, the lot of them are still alive, but things don’t look good.” He turned to Rena, noting the concern in her eyes. “Kieler is talking to them through the stone now, letting the families talk to their das or their lads.”

  “Is Dorn among them?” Fali asked.

  Thurgan nodded. “Aye. Of the ones that didn’t make it out, it seems Hadro is the only one of them that we won’t be getting back.”

  “Ey, what’s Boil doing here?” one dwarf suddenly yelled.

  Rena narrowed her eyes. “Thurgan, get us over to the stone. I’ve got something to say to Dorn.”

  “Aye, lady,” he said. “Follow me
.”

  They made their way toward the cave-in, the rocks densely packed from floor to ceiling. The ceiling had been braced with sturdy beams to alleviate any other dangers. The foreman turned, arching one eyebrow.

  “Bah, what’re ye doing here?” Kieler asked.

  The clandaughter had heard enough flippant tones that day. She gnashed her teeth together and swung out without any hesitation. Her fist mashed into Kieler’s face, spinning him to the ground.

  “Dorn,” she cried then. “Dorn, are ye in there?”

  It took several moments, but finally, she heard a response.

  “Rena, is that you?” he asked, his voice sounding so fragile behind the rocks.

  “Aye, ye fool. What other lady would bother speaking with ye?”

  “Who’s watching Bolt?”

  “I am,” she replied.

  A brief pause punctuated the conversation then. “You didn’t bring him with, did you?”

  Kieler shook his head and climbed to his feet, groaning. He approached Rena, rubbing his jaw all the way.

  “We can argue about it later,” she told him. “If anything happens to ye, I swear on Vaulen’s beard, I’ll kill ye.”

  Kieler gently gasped her arm and tugged her away. His features had softened, but she looked fiercer than ever. “Look,” he said, releasing his hold on her. “They’re all right now, but they’re running out of air and fast. The explosion burned up most of the gas in there, but it won’t be long afore it builds up again.

  “This boulder right here is our big problem,” he said. “Everything else’ll stay in place, but we can’t get this out quick enough, an’ I’m wary about shaking the caves anymore, especially with all these people here.”

  “Are ye saying ye’re giving up on them?” Rena said, taking a ferocious stomp forward.

  Kieler adamantly shook his head. “I sent one of me lads to fetch Broor. If anyone can figure out a way to move the boulder safely, it’s that engineer.” He grumbled quietly to himself then. “But it might not be quick enough. Ye might want to think about letting the runt say g’bye.”