Keyshi located the small crevice leading to the gate of the underworld and eased into it. Coming to the far end where a hairline crack breached the wall of the Gatekeeper’s post, Keyshi paused and listened. At first it heard nothing - then a voice arose out of the silence speaking in awesomely frigid tones.
"We are the Gatekeepers of the land between the fire above and the fire below. If it wasn’t for us, all that is, would be for naught and even, we, the beings of the cold layer would become little more than wisps of steam, hissing to Fate our woeful lot. So, look about you well, but not just look - see! For what you see is the last haven of rest for us Cold Ones. ‘How do we do this?’ you may ask. Why by doing nothing at all, save tend to "The Key" (salute) that keeps all as it is and ever should be.”
Keyshi, took the solemn, ensuing silence as its cue and shot a puff of warmed dust through the crack to the far wall of the Gatekeeper’s post.
"Yeck!”
"What? What's the matter?" asked the apprentice.
"Warms!"
"Warms?” cried the apprentice. Its voice was a mixture of puzzlement and fear.
"Humph! Probably nothing. The Key (salute) protects us from the warms. Could be a flying rat. I had a lot of trouble with them a couple of eons ago. The ugly little critters can’t decide if they’re Upperearthians or Underearthians, spending their days in the cool earth and their nights cruising about Upperearth for food. This time of the planet cycle, the upper crust is dried and cracked. One probably got lost in a fissure and found its way down here,” the Gatekeeper said, while doing its version of swatting the air to chase away an irritating gnat.
There was a short, thoughtful pause. "Still, we'd better have a look around. If nothing else, it’ll be good training for you. Believe me, it really gets boring around here. The Key (salute) takes care of itself, really. Still, it’s a prestigious job, so I keep it, despite the fact that it’s all responsibility and no work.
Keyshi couldn't stay in the breach any longer. It hoped it hadn't stayed too long already. It was satisfied with what it had accomplished - starting the germ of annoyance. As quickly as it could move in its cooled state, Keyshi slipped back into the entrance chamber, out through the opening, up the well tunnel and out into the sunshine.
"Blast! What was that?” Loden cried as a shot of relatively cool air blew out of the tunnel and into his face.
“It’s a summer breeze! That’s the reason we’re here!” Wudrick exclaimed.
Loden didn’t know what they were doing at the well, and, now, he was pretty sure he really didn’t want to know. A summer breeze, indeed! Had everyone been infected with Bourg’s naive imagination? It was a notion he let slide, for he didn’t have time to seriously consider it. After all, he was a practical male with a practical task at hand - to re-check the water level in the well, and to get the people of the east their daily water rations. At the moment, everything else was but a distraction to accomplishing these all important tasks. He even chose to ignore Brindle's solemn, almost, comatose behavior.
"I’m sure,” Loden said, although he wasn't, "you two have a very good reason for being here at the well in the heat of the midday sun. However, right now I need one of you to help me get this young female into the swing seat and down into the well shaft before the whole town dies of thirst." Loden surveyed the two males before him, and the bundle between them, quivering beneath a cot cover.
One male, he considered a bumbling idiot, the other a puff-handed caretender whose labor-less hands would burst into a blossom of blisters before the young female was halfway descended. It was no great surprise to him that neither of them appeared anxious to volunteer. If the rebel leader would have had to choose between them, the whole town might well have died of thirst first. Eventually, however, the honor fell to Wudrick who rose to his feet and meekly volunteered, announcing that he was the only logical choice, since CB would need to continue caring for his patient.
Before he would be tempted to change his own mind, Loden hastily instructed Wudrick on the principles of the well crank assembly. Meanwhile, almost imperceptibly, Brindle climbed onto the well rim and stood, as if in a trance at its inner edge.
"What's wrong with her chest? Why is she holding it like that?” Loden asked, when what she had just done dawned on him.
"I don't know,” Wudrick answered honestly.
CB stood up and studied her.
“Well, unless this young female’s totes have come to full maturity in the blink of an eye, I’d say she's holding something under her pullover. What have you got there, child?” CB asked, as he reached out towards her.
Brindle immediately gave out a short shriek and, clutched the hidden object all the more.
“What is it?” Loden asked.
“From the impression against the material, I’d say it’s one of those pieces of the sky,” CB offered, then went back to tending Tyter.
"Brindle, Brindle, I know you have a piece under your pullover and I understand that you don’t want to let it go, but I need you to go down into the well again.”
A stunned look filled Brindle’s face. Had she failed to do the task right the first time? Loden seemed to read her mind.
“You did a fine job this morning, and I’m sorry for asking you to go back down there again, today. But there’s something strange going on and I’m convinced the answer is in the well. Will you do this for me?”
A look of relief replaced the one of grief. Of course she would go. She was a wellwalker. It was her job. She nodded in the affirmative.
“Good! But, to do that, you'll need your hands free.”
Brindle shook her whole body and clutched the piece even tighter, pressing it firmly against her chest.
"I could hold her arms and Loden could snatch the piece away from her,” Wudrick thought.
However, before he could offer the suggestion, Loden did a surprising thing. He opened his pullover at the neck and displayed his own piece laying against his chest. A short strip of veget cord was tied in a loop about it, with the other end looped around his neck. Slowly, he untied the cord and let his own piece fall inside his shirt to his waist sash which kept it from falling further.
"Will you let me tie this onto your piece? The cord will keep it close to your heart, while your hands remain free, so you can count the stone layers."
The tension on Brindle's face relaxed slightly, as she nodded in the affirmative, but still she clung onto the piece.
"Wudrick,” Loden said softly, but firmly.
"Yes?"
"I want you to slowly open the neck of Brindle's pullover."
"Uh, well, sir, do you think that would be proper? I mean she's uh, young, I know but still a - uh female and I, uh - well, I think this is something more appropriate for a caretender to do."
"Brindle, is it alright if this male opens your top just enough for me to tie this cord around your piece?” Loden asked gently. Again, Brindle nodded in the affirmative, while clutching the piece even tighter - if such were possible.
"Okay, then. You're sure it’s proper?” Wudrick questioned one last time, then began to slowly pull open the neck of Brindle's covering. He had hoped against hope one of the little knob-like ends of the piece would be at the top, but sometimes even the simplest things in life can be fraught with vexation.
When a suitable piece of knob was discovered, it was pressed hard against Brindle's left tote. It took much cajoling and a bit of force to get her to ease up on her grip long enough for Loden to slip the cord around it. In the effort Loden’s fingers brushed up against Brindle's nipple. In instant response, it extended and hardened.
Brindle felt the sensation shoot through her torso ending in a series of convulsions at the vortex between her thighs. It was almost more intense than she could bear. Still, the piece maintained control over her mind and body, and, at the present, it seemed to have little interest in her physical pleasures. She felt lost inside herself, a fire of passion burning inside a cold lump of stone.
&
nbsp; In her heart she knew she must let go of the piece and enter the well, but her fingers were heavy and awkward. After several moments, which seemed like an eternity, she opened her hands and let the piece dangle against her chest, hanging from the cord Loden had tied about her neck.
Wudrick couldn’t help but notice the red outline in Brindle’s skin where she had pressed the piece tightly against the smooth flesh of her high, firm totes. They were such contrast to his wife’s which began low and hung flat like wilted veget puffs. Try as he did, Wudrick couldn’t remember his wife's totes ever looking so perky. Yet, something about them seemed quite familiar. His mind’s eye flashed back to his youth and his first tryst with Sollie, and realized why. The similarity was uncanny. He couldn’t help but expel an unconscious, heavy sigh.
Loden looked at Brindle’s totes and saw them as a container of life-giving fluid. It was this practical portion of a female’s anatomy which had given him the rather radical notion that during a drought only the nursing females should receive water to maintain the fluid in their totes. All others, male and female, young and old, could then suckle these females. This way each ounce of water consumed could be recycled and conserved.
However, this notion was extinguished soon after the Hooded One came into his life and gave him many reasons why this was not a very sound plan. Loden considered most of these objections trivial, but the clinching argument which changed his mind was the mathematical one.
The Hooded One pointed out that, although there were approximately the same number of males and females in Nuttinnew, about a third of the females were not milk producers, being either too young, too old, or just incapable. Of those that did produce the fluid, only two-thirds were able to do so on a long term, regular basis. Of these, only half were able satisfy the needs of their infants without the aid of surrogates.
Besides, having the responsibility for the survival of the entire community resting, literally, on their chest, would undoubtedly put upon them an overwhelming degree of stress, causing them to dry up like puff pods on a drying race.
"That's a shame,” Loden had responded, sadly disappointed. “As big as some of them are, you'd think they'd be filled like huge reservoirs ready to be tapped whenever their life-giving fluid was needed.”
"Perhaps, that is your answer,” the Hooded One suggested.
"What do you mean?” Loden quizzed his companion.
"Think about what you just said - reservoirs ready to be tapped,” the Hooded One prodded.
Loden did think about it and shortly thereafter, he developed the alternative, rebellious notion of capturing water in huge vats during the rainy seasons and storing it there until the dry season, when water was more scarce. Back then, it was just a concept to be bantered about. Now, it was the basis upon which he was being charged with treason.
A warm breeze flowed past Loden's face as he bent over the well, holding the swing seat for Brindle.
"See? There it is again,” Wudrick said softy - almost mystically. Not at all sounding like the pragmatic scientist that he was.
“Humph!" Loden snorted.
Brindle took hold of the swing rope as Loden placed the signal rope between her teeth. Holding fast to the ropes, she thought of how badly her hands had been hurt that morning, but now, it was as if they had never been burned at all. She wondered if the piece...?
"Grab hold of the other crank handle,” Loden commanded Wudrick. Then leaning toward Brindle, he spoke softly. "Alright, my fine, young wellwalker, I know you know what to do, but I’ll be honest with you. You’re a bit more quiet than I’ve become used to. Perhaps the weight about your neck has made you mature beyond your years. Or, perhaps, it’s numbed you from your childhood sense of adventure. In any case, the future of Nuttinnew now rests on your shoulders. I know you won't let us down. Do you want me to go over the signals again for you?"
It was all Brindle could do to rock her head back and forth. Loden felt like he should say more, but he couldn't think what the words would be. He was sure the piece hanging around her neck was having some kind of affect on her, just as he knew he was being affected by the one now laying inside his pullover against his stomach.
"Ready? Here you go then,” Loden said as he motioned for Wudrick to release the safety pin locking the gears. Together, the two males slowly turned the well’s opposing crank handles. Right off, Brindle noticed the ride was jerkier than on her first descent. Looking up, she watched the two males continue to turn a handle. All the while, Loden was shouting instructions to Wudrick, explaining ways to improve his crank turning technique to make her descent smoother - not so much for her sake, but for the sake of an accurate count. Wudrick, in response, was biting his lip in an attempt to concentrate. He had never considered the simple act of turning a well crank handle would require such dexterity.
"Not too fast on your down stroke. That's better. Now push, push it a little on your up stroke - not too much! Easy now, relax your wrist as you go around. That's better. Now, don't forget your up stroke is my down stroke and visa versa. We just have to work it together.”
Mentally, Wudrick translated Loden’s instructions into scientific formulas and began to catch on. Still, for Brindle, it remained a pretty rough ride. Even in her dulled conscious state of mind, she began to appreciate the coordinated teamwork Bourg and Loden had developed over the years. Then the thought came to her. "Where was Tyter's guardian, anyway? Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen...,” she counted. At the fiftieth stone level she realized she wasn’t alone. "Hello,” she said, quite nonchalantly."
"Hello, my tail wind,” Keyshi blurted. “Why aren't you holding the piece over the mouth of this shaft like I told you to? You can't be in here when all Underearth breaks loose!”
"All Underearth breaks...? And when, exactly, will that happen?”
"Soon! You can be sure of that. A few more trips and I'll have the Gatekeeper so crazy, it'll be climbing out of these walls right after me,” Keyshi gloated over the proposed success of its death defying prank.
"You’re sure you know what you're doing?” Brindle asked, shaking her head as if she considered the whole idea the stupidest thing she'd ever heard.
"I know exactly what I'm doing,” Keyshi asserted, as if it were true. "What I don't know is what you’re doing down here. Whatever it is, get it over with quickly and have the Key - that thing you call a piece, at the mouth of the well. Where is it now? Safely, hidden away, I trust."
“Of course! It’s right here, under my pullover. Wellkeeper Loden, tied it about my neck with a cord, so....”
"What? You have it on you, right now, here, in the well! Are you crazy? Even if my prank works as planned, the Gatekeeper won't have to go very far to retrieve its Key ... aw ....” Keyshi started to salute, as it had seen the Gatekeeper do at the very mention Key. “Blow!" it groaned at catching itself in the act. “Not if you're taking it right back down to that big blowhard!”
“Look, the plan is to make the Gatekeeper, with all its bitter coldness, come out of the well after me, once I convince it that I have its precious Key. It’s really quite simple, really. When it comes to the surface to get it, the young male human will get all the cold he needs to get well. But, if the Gatekeeper finds it already in the well - well, there’s no reason for it to go all the way to the surface then, is there? Especially, since the surface temperatures would most likely kill it!”
Brindle felt herself become belligerent, for in her heart of hearts, she really didn’t want to ever give up the piece to anyone or anything, especially some stupid underearthian Gatekeeper. "Then, why should it come up for it at all?”
“Trust me! When that hardblower finds out its sacred Key has been taken to Upperearth, it will go up to retrieve it - no matter what the personal risk,” Keyshi announced with full confidence. “Now hurry up! You want that young male to live, don’t you?”
Yes, she did. And that desire was even greater than the desire to keep the piece forever - she hoped. “I just need to count the s
tones, first. Fifty-seven, fifty-eight,” she continued to count even as they spoke. "Can't you wait just a little longer? Sixty-one, sixty-two."
"Wait? Wait? I'm attempting to do the impossible and you expect me to make it all come together in an exact moment in time - when it’s convenient for you? Now that really is impossible!” Keyshi snorted with what little energy it dared to spare. Which was quite little, for it was rapidly losing much of its warmth, and should already have been out into the sunlight.
"Sixty-nine, Seventy. You'll just have to wait. That’s all! I have a job to do. Tyter’s job, if he weren’t ill. I can’t shirk his, er, my responsibilities. It won’t take me long. You’ll just have to trust me, that's all there is to it!” Brindle called up the cold, damp tube of the well as Keyshi raced upward. A moment later, the swing seat jerked to a halt.
Just as Brindle's voice rose to the opening of the well, Keyshi burst forth. Each male felt the puff of cool air in his face at the same time they heard the resonating sound from below.
"Stop! Stop!” Loden shouted. "Quick, lock the gear." Wudrick tried to get the locking pin back in place, but his inexperience caused him to fumble about until he somehow managed to get his left hand caught between the gears.
"Ah!" he screamed.
"Now, what?” Loden cried. "Oh, for the love of Veget!" he cursed. "Caretender, quickly, grab the handle and turn it back. No, back! Back! Yes, that’s it. Now, slide in the reverse pin, and for Veget’s sake don’t get your own hand caught in the gear!”
Wudrick's scream of pain had already caused CB to jump to his feet out of pure instinct, if nothing else. As quickly as he could he followed Loden's directions. But mechanically, he was as fumble-fingered as Wudrick. "Blast!” Loden cursed again. "Here, come here and hold onto this handle, and, for Veget's sake, don't let it slip, or the poor fool's hand will be ground to mush.”
"It’ll be okay, dear fellow. We'll have you out of there in a puff,” CB tried to reassure Wudrick. However, as he moved around the well to Loden's side, he could just see Wudrick's hand between the gears. At first glance, he wondered if there could be any bones in it left unbroken. Fortunately, there was hardly any life-fluid expelled, for the gears were acting as a compress, cutting off the main life-fluid supply.
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 37