Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods)

by Leone, Hudson

  “No problem,” I claimed with confidence. In retrospect I should have understood that when dealing with the Grimlars, just about everything they involve themselves with leads to problems. Crawling down the passage, I expected a small capacity with perfectly normal sized shelves holding perfectly normal things. As soon as I entered the vast domain however, any preconception I may have had about the area suddenly fell along with my spirit. With wide fear filled eyes, I looked up at the hive of shelves before me. It was a single mass of disorganized junk as tall as the hundreds and hundreds of stairs I had walked so far and even larger than the Etaporium. A thick layer of pearly white ice coated the entire room which melted only at the very top shelf.

  All the things that the Grimlars could ever want seemed to be in this one ‘room.’ Vast quantities of swords, explosives, corrosives, firewood, medicines, food rations, targets, bricks, bottles, and bulk potion ingredients were a few out of many of the goods stored on the massive shelves. However the most disturbing image of all was the two bottom shelves which were littered with nothing but barrels and barrels of frozen mage blood. Each container was just as tall as I, and almost five times as wide. Clearly the Grimlars would not be running out of this any time soon.

  I stood frozen there on the spot for quite some time, not even wondering what I should do but simply staring in awe at the task before me. How on earth could anybody climb these shelves? How would anybody get anything up on those dark dank top shelves all the way up? Anti-magic? My hands began to tingle as doubt filled my mind. Was there anything I could distort to help in my assent? How far was it that I could distort without exhausting my powers? I had never distorted ice before, how would that affect the surroundings? I decided after a while it was at least common sense to look around before doing anything rash, so I took my first step and slipped, dramatically falling to the icy floor with great force. As I muffled a cry of pain I began to slide slowly down to the staircase that lead to the base shelf. Much to my distress, the frosted staircase had no guard rail to keep you from falling the six or seven metres it took to descend all the way down. Stumbling was no longer an option.

  I slowly stood, carefully choosing which foot to put where, so as to not upset my balance. The right foot greeted the first step but the second I moved my left foot, I felt my weight redistribute. I quickly tried to turn around but forgot that there was sleet everywhere. I landed on my stomach and found myself gasping for air. Without even meaning to do it, my subconscious distorted the stairs into a slide for me, sending a quick jolt of warmth into my numb hands. I crashed into the wall that turned the staircase a sharp left, and continued sliding. Only the tiniest amount of pain registered through my numb body and in response, my dull wits made the slope even steeper. The wall ending the staircase not even three paces past the last step approached me at an alarming rate. There would be serious injury if I were to crash at the speed I was now advancing at.

  I melted the wall greeting me into an upward slope with anti-magic, before lazily gliding back down to a stop. I looked to my arm which seemed to be in the most pain, and noticed that there was a large stream of blood pouring from a gash in my wrist from where I’d hit the wall. I propped myself up, gripping my arm while searching for anything I could lean against as the pain slowly ebbed away. The sight of the wound reminded me of Preston slightly. Only a day had gone by since I’d last seen him but it was arguably the most emotional day that separated us. While shuffling through the rows and rows of containers, I finally noticed an old rusty ladder that seemed to be the only direct path upward. I grabbed the highest rung I could reach, and flinched as the cold of the iron bars sent waves of freezing pain to the tips of my fingers. I brought myself up the next bar without thought, and as quickly as I could manage through my weariness, began to climb.

  When one finds themselves physically exhausted, it’s usually quite easy to pinpoint exactly which body part you want to rest: The legs, the arms, the chest and so on and so forth. When it comes to anti-magical weariness however it’s a much more detached sort of pain. You know that you’re tired, but you can't say why or where. The body loses itself almost and emotions grow along with the insignificant scenes one might mostly overlook normally. A warlock will feel tedious amounts of anger and despair through use of their anti-magic. Hunger claws us like a feral beast, before beginning to gnaw away the senses in all of our limbs.

  I looked up and was somewhat surprised to see the ladder come to an end. I hadn’t even climbed four floors yet. What was going on? I gently got off of the ladder and attempted to move my sickeningly purple frost covered fingers. They didn’t so much as jiggle. I tried my best to worm my hand underneath my armor and press them to my sweaty chest to warm them up however as soon as my digits made contact, I yelped in pain and immediately jerked my hands back. It was like I was stroking a particularly hot piece of metal much less a moderately cold frail body.

  Slowly, I crept them back to my underarms relieved to notice that the heat was just a little more bearable. I let them rest there for just a bit longer before withdrawing, maneuvering and flexing. I strolled around the absurd number of crates, and shortly, found a second ladder leading up. Closing each finger in turn, I forced myself up, now contemplating the sudden amount of height I was gaining.

  I felt my entire innards squeeze together as my grip slipped on the fifth shelf. It was alarm alone that forced my grip tighter despite the empty lack of feeling in my hands begging for mercy. Once on the ninth floor I fell to my knees, quivering at the thought of how much more there was to go. My upper body hurt enough as it was. I began to look for the same iron bar ladders from before, however the only thing present was a small rope ladder without anything to prop up against for support. I placed my foot on the poorly made rope structure and gave a small whimper as it shivered under my weight. I pushed off my right foot with too much force and began to swing slowly to the front and back. While maintaining the little upper body strength I had, I wrapped my arm around the ladder to look around in desperation. One false move, or one moment when I became too tired to carry on any longer was all it would take before I plummeted to my doom.

  I tried to advance even higher, but the tug of tough fibers prevented me from doing so. My leg was stuck. “Oh no, not now,” I whined, trying to shake myself loose. Somehow, my ankle had gotten caught onto a rope rung, then twisted, forming a very strange knot that didn't seem to let me go up nor down to fix the tangle of the ropes. My arms holding me to my life begged me to stop, claiming that when I fell the rope would hold me in place upside-down. I almost believed it too. I noticed in my panic that there was a rusty piece of flaky metal not far to my right. If I could maneuver myself toward it, I could cut the rope and continue to climb. Moving gently at first, I began to swing so as not to put too much strain on the one arm holding onto the rope. The other arm was outstretched, ready to grab the pipe like piece of metal protruding from the ice. The crack the fibers straining under my weight was not at all a reassuring thing to hear while I swang closer and closer to my target. Using the last of remaining strength, I gave one last push, and I finally made contact with the pipe. The only problem was, It was the injured arm holding onto the rope that made the contact.

  I screamed in agony as my arm flew up into the air. Instant relief, followed with a swooping sensation told me immediately I had done the worst possible thing. Freezing air flew past each ear and screamed in my place. The apple of my throat nearly fell out as suddenly I was caught in midair by the knot around my leg. I coughed and violently tried to distinguish icy air from the phlegm in my throat. Blood rushing to my face blurred my vision as my head began to gradually inflate. I tried weakly to grab hold of the rope, while the opposing forces of emotion and fatigue screamed demands louder than Umber had ever spoken.

  I ignored them, biting back powerful tears. Exhaustion was winning the battle, for I could barely even lift my own head much less my own body. The thick tendril swallowing my leg tightened like a savage jaw biting do
wn and cutting off all circulation. The sights I saw began to fade as tiny snowflake like things flooded my head with an unpleasant weariness. I was slipping away. Both figuratively and mentally. But through the edge of my vision, I began to see a faint yellow the color of honeysuckle, and possibly even hope. I felt my muscles move as if in an unconscious spasm, lifting themselves and my body up the ladder. My body was flopped on to the final shelf, And suddenly everything dispersed. For a brief moment it felt as though there was a humanoid creature standing over me. however flipping around I could see it was only the disembodied eyes of Umber.

  “You...” I rasped, trying to understand what just happened.

  Umber didn’t seem to hear me. He had his eyes half closed in pure exhaustion.

  “You... Took over my body.”

  Umber let out with a small gasp but still said nothing.

  I licked my pale icy lips to warm them a bit. My breathing slowed. “How?” I asked eventually, trying not to feel disturbed by this.

  Umber shuddered slightly and faded in and out of my vision with each breath I took. “I’ve always had some control,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Much like you find difficulty in using anti-magic I find difficulty in operating your own body.” He dropped his gaze. “Being dead, you find that it’s quite difficult to move. That didn’t stop me from trying.”

  “You mean to tell me that you’ve been trying to get me to move to your own will?” I asked, completely mortified by this statement.

  Umber chuckled weakly, not at all helping my distress.

  “Not big movements. Nothing like what we just saw there. I would spend sleepless nights trying to get you to move a finger or even a toe.” Sometimes I succeeded, sometimes not. You don’t have to fear mortal, this is not simply something I can do on a regular basis.” I nodded uncertainly and laced my fingers together.

  “Why did you practice if you knew it wouldn’t serve a purpose?”

  “Would you be content sitting motionless in a stupid sack of meat all hours of the day?” Umber asked in an irritable growl.

  My neck grew warm. “Well... I...” I rubbed my arms self consciously. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  The spirit blinked, obviously not expecting this as a response. Umber seemed to nod slightly, before simply fading out of view.

  I would be worried about this later. Very worried. But for the moment, I was just glad to be alive. The top shelf was considerably warmer than the bottom one, with patches of the metal flooring poking through a layer of melted ice. Looking around, I was somewhat pleased to see the area was surprisingly empty, with only objects present being a few sets of leather armour, a couple of strange looking bones preserved in splintered wooden crates and a large straw sack full of clearly labeled ‘explosive rocks.’

  “Was Minget misremembering where his food was located?” I wondered, wandering around the shelf aimlessly. I searched inside each of the boxes for a second time and still found nothing of any importance. Warily advancing up to the bomb rocks, I reluctantly decided I should at least take the time to read the warning label:

  Combination detonation devices

  And “bird feed”

  Highly explosive.

  Do not throw.

  Do not light on fire.

  Do not apply pressure.

  Do not shake.

  Do not feed to regular birds.

  “This is the bird feed?” I groaned in loud distress. “Why does it have to explode of all things? Seething with anger I began to pace around.

  “It wouldn’t be a complication if you just took the time to look around.” Umber said, hovering over a strange looking contraption I hadn’t noticed before.

  Tucked quietly back near the edge of the shelve was a heavy looking cart resting on a sturdy track that went all the way down to the ground floor. Attached to the backside of the cart was a thick rope connected to an oversized pulley for what I assumed only was for retrieving the cart.

  “So all I’ve got to do is send the rocks with the cart, then climb back down and retrieve the explosives?” I bit my lower lip and nodded. “That doesn’t sound too difficult.”

  “Mortal,” Umber began uncertainly. “I don’t mean to dampen your enthusiasm, but I would like to bring to your attention the fact that the rope ladder going back down is no longer there.”

  I stopped moving and slowly turned to look at Umber, not understanding what he was saying. Before he could speak again, I rushed to the side of the shelf and let out a cry of distress as I saw only a fragment of the twine from before dangling over the side of the structure.

  “How?” I asked, throwing myself away from the edge and sinking to my knees.

  “I had to slice it with the fractured pipe in order to save us. Don’t you remember?” I shook my head furiously and buried my head in my arms.

  “What would you have done if there was no way to get back to the bottom floor?” I asked angrily.

  Umber sniffed, looking deeply offended. “I imagine we would have to improvise. If you wanted to keep hanging by your ankle you should have told me. I would have been more than happy to let us fall to our dooms.” Umber shot forward, pressing his entire steely gaze on me. “Now are you going to keep complaining, or begin thinking of a way out of this predicament?”

  I wrinkled my nose and folded my arms crossly. I would need to find a way to bring both myself and the bomb rocks to the bottom floor safely with only a rickety mineshaft wagon. Looking at the track leading down the shelves I could see that there were an amazing amount of sharp turns. No doubt the explosive material would get shaken up very badly and potentially explode while traveling down the shaft.

  I carefully opened the bag of bomb rocks and reluctantly began picked one up. Each of the forty-something stones in the bag was the size of a large fist. The ovular rocks looked almost like cracked chickens eggs, except slightly rounder, darker in colour and covered in a fine black powder that smelled of smoke. “I need to do a test run to see if the rocks can make it the entire journey.” I said to myself after a long period of careful observation. I quickly stuffed the cart with about five of the rocks and the crate of the exotic and foul smelling bird skeletons. Once in the car, I gave the mechanism a massive heave, and watched breathlessly as the cart started its descent. The first turn came, and although it looked sharp, the rocks handled it fairly well. Accelerating much more quickly than I anticipated, I flinched when the cart hit the next turn with far greater force. One of the bomb rocks began to sizzle slightly as if it were a moist piece of meat hitting a hot grill.

  After only a third of the way down, the rocks exploded powerfully. The bones that were once in the cart had been flung out by the explosion, and singed by the flames. They hit the distant floor with a quiet resonating clink many seconds later. Obviously, just sending them down by themselves wouldn’t work. Using the heavy pulley tied to the cart fifteen floors down, I began to turn the various cogs and gears of the mechanism that brought the wagon back to me. I noticed the remainder of the black power and rubble that coated the inside of the cart when it returned for its next victims.

  I grabbed one of the three remaining crates and this time stuck six bomb rocks inside the crate, hoping that the wood could be a little more gentle on the bomb rocks than the steel on the cart. I let the mechanism go and again watched as the cart progressed. For a moment it almost looked like it was going to make it to the very bottom, however on the final drop the pebbles decided they had enough and exploded in resignation. I wheeled the cart up once more and wondered how I could get the bomb rocks more protection from the impacts of the turns. The leather armor! Of course! Stuffing an explosive rock into each individual piece of armor and then into the mine cart, I watched with intense satisfaction, as the cart reached its destination safely. While the accomplishment was big, it was truthfully only half of the journey.

  “It’s your turn now,” Umber said calmly.

  I nodded fiercely in an attempt to ward any fear I may have had l
ooking over the ledge. The cart was smelly and hostile as It rolled up to the stop with a loud screech. As if sinking into a hot bath, I slowly eased myself into the container, making absolutely sure I didn’t even so much as brush up against a rock. I was waist deep in a sea of leather and death.

  I flinched as my right leg stroked something odd and angular, but calmed as I realized that I was resting on a brake that I could use to gently lower myself downward. My best hope I figured, was to hold and release the brake every second or so, so as not to upset the rocks. The cart would be a whole lot heavier with me in it, but at the very least, I could stop it whenever I wanted. Without even thinking, I released the brake. The first ramp came and before I had time to take a breath, the cart shot down it like water through a pipe. I yanked the brake with as much force as I could muster but it jammed on a leather glove, preventing it from activating properly. A cascade of sparks poured out of the back in response to the halfhearted attempt at stopping.

  My blood almost turned to ice as one of the rocks in the cart began to fizz. I wailed in alarm and threw it out of the contraption which was in the process of hurtling down another quick corner. The explosive rebounded off the ice wall and landed square on the floor third to the top.

  It combusted with impressive might, damaging two of the four columns holding the other couple floors up. In frozen flashes of trepidation, I watched the top most shelves slowly crumble into rubble which began hurtling towards the ground. A large falling stone ripped apart the track behind me, snapping the rope connecting the cart to the pulley and sending thick splinters flying in all directions. The clattering boom of metal and stone debris hitting the floor caused me to instinctively let go of the brake and fling my hands to my ears to protect myself from the deafening noise. With the cart now completely free it continued to accelerate, rounding a corner with enough speed to nearly detach itself from the track.