Fleetra didn't especially like being pawed over by this male, but she had no desire to join his wife either, and she told him so. Finally, Kudjer managed to pull her to safety, and immediately turned his head away as she pulled on Pentalope's pullover. Although Fleetra was undernourished, her frame was broader than Pentalope's and as she slipped into the pullover, she had to tear out the seam in several places to allow herself mobility. The length, however, was more than adequate, hanging to her ankles, making it difficult for her to make her way over the fallen debris and timbers.
Kudjer took the mantle from her and traversed a roof beam which extended to the top of the bell where Pentalope was perched. Standing behind Pentalope, he placed the garment over her shoulders. No sooner had it touched her skin when it felt very heavy and almost pulled him forward on top of her.
"Oomph!” Pentalope expressed under the sudden weight on her shoulders. "Be careful!" she snarled. "Next time let Fleetra carry out her own responsibilities. Can you write?"
"Why, yes, quite well, in fact,” Kudjer announced proudly, although he was surprised by the question, for earlier she, herself, had acknowledged he was a male of letters.
“Do you have writing materials?” Pentalope groaned at his nescience.
“Oh, well no, not on me.”
"Then go retrieve some - enough for a rather in-depth proclamation. But first tell the rest of my craven ambassadors to gather all the people of the west along the edge of the gorge. It is they are enlightened as to the treachery of that Loden fellow and his eastern rebels who have destroyed our beloved Center House. And to assure them that I, their beloved Lord Mayor, will not allow them to destroy my, er, their beloved Nuttinnew, as well. Now go, worm! Fleetra, come here!"
"Yes, ma'am."
***** ***** *****
"Aaaeee!” Thud! "Oomph!"
Mardrith jumped back. Had something attacked her from above? Staring into the dark, dense fog, she could see nothing. Whatever it was, it had landed rather ungracefully on the rocky slope of the gorge not far away. She might have convinced herself that it was just a large boulder, broken loose from the quake, if it weren’t for the gasping, wheezing, respiratory sounds of a creature trying to recapture its breath. Taking advantage of its apparently dazed state, Mardrith scrambled along the ledge until she came to a deep indentation - an empty cave? - a habitat for an Underearthling? She had no way of knowing, but whatever might be within, it would have to scare her a whole lot more than the creature on the ledge without.
Getting her whole body tucked away was no simple task. The cave proved to be quite small, forcing her to squeeze behind a long, oblong boulder which supported one side of the entrance. In doing so, she had to twist her body so that her head and shoulders pressed hard against the opposing wall. To her surprise, the gave way, sending her tumbling head first into an Underearthian cavity below.
Although dark, there was an absence of the heavy mist which had made sight virtually impossible along the slope. In time her eyes grew somewhat accustomed to this clear darkness, and she discovered she was in some sort of tunnel, barely large enough to crawl through. Pausing momentarily, she listened for sounds of the creature following, but heard none. Still, she thought it prudent to get as far way from it as possible. Moving as rapidly as she could in the narrow confines, she crawled down the tunnel shaft in the direction she thought to be south.
In truth Mardrith didn’t know which way she was going. The fall through Center House had spun her round and round. Miraculously, she had landed on a ledge covered with loose sand which had cascaded from the surface during the quake and formed a relatively soft bed to cushion her fall. Unfortunately, she had been knocked unconscious, thus giving her no indication how long she had lain on the narrow ledge. Upon regaining consciousness, she hardly had time to consider any of this before that mysterious creature landed nearby. Now, as she crawled along, she had little else to think about.
Occasionally, she would stop and listen for sounds behind her. Still, there were none. Far ahead she saw a faint, grey light, which she thought must be another opening into the tunnel. Her spirits soared with hope. Grappling along on her hands and knees, she raced toward the light.
Moments, later, tired and exhausted, she slowed to a flagging halt. For all her effort, she appeared to be no closer to the source of the light than when she first spotted it. Somehow, it always remained just ahead of her, filling the circumference of the far end of the tunnel - seemingly just within reach, but never attainable. Her bruised and bleeding hands and knees could take no more. She dropped to her stomach, gasping for air, as her once soaring spirits collapsed into the dismal hollow of the hole in which she found herself.
A puff of white fog burst from her lips as she dropped to the ground, limp with exhaustion. Lying still, the sound of her own breathing lulled her into fantasy.
She was a child again, reliving every experience that had ever made her laugh, or cry. She thought of the first time she was left to play with her cousin, Fleetra. She remembered how she had felt when, after having fallen down in play, Fleetra came and comforted her by tenderly hugging and rocking her. They were only six, but it was the beginning of a shared life, long on love and tragedy.
Her heart sank even deeper. Was the one person she had ever loved still alive? Mardrith rolled over onto her back and whimpered. Then, she thought of Mayor Pentalope Pulpitt and anger pumped fire back into her languid veins.
Sitting up abruptly, she bumped her head on the tunnel ceiling. Loose dirt sprinkled down upon her naked flesh. She wiped it from her eyes. Opening them again, she found herself staring into the same elusive illumination. Or was it the same? She spun her head around and looked behind her. There was that same greyish glow.
It was impossible to tell from which direction she had come. However, she did remember, or seemed to remember, rolling over on her back, then sitting up. If this were true, she was now facing the direction from which she had come. Slowly, she laid back down, rolled onto her stomach and rose to her knees. Her brain told her this was the logical way to go. Her fear told her she might actually be crawling back toward the jaws of the Underearthian creature from which she had been trying to escape. Trusting her logic, she crawled forward, thoughore cautiously now, stopping often to listen for sounds from both ahead and behind.
At first she prayed to Veget she would hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart and the rush of her own breath. But as pain from her earth scraped knees shot through her entire body, she prayed to hear something, anything - sounds of hope, or even sounds of danger - though the former were preferred. But, there were no sounds, and the thought occurred to her that in the aftermath of the last quake, she may be the only Nuttinnewian left alive.
***** ***** *****
Bourg's fall through the mist ended when he crash-landed on a narrow ledge running along the steep slope of the gorge. Having landed flat on his back, he struggled to regain the breath which had been brutally purged from his lungs. But even as he gasped and wheezed, he heard a sound not far away. There was no doubt in his mind it was some wily, Underearthian critter, which he’d had the good fortune to frighten away by his sudden, unannounced arrival. Still, his great need for immediate oxygen, didn’t obliterate the cognition that this critter was probably only temporarily startled. Once it regained its wits, it was sure to return to investigate what had so rudely intruded upon its domain - especially if it were hungry.
Just what kind of creature could it be? Every creature from every children’s rhyme came to Bourg's mind. One thing he remembered was that above the earth or beneath the earth, no creature other than humans were very friendly. At least another human wouldn't take a bite out of you just to see if you were tasty enough to eat for the main course. Tyter's tale of the hideously-faced monster he had encountered at the one-hundredth stone level filled Bourg's mind. The thought occurred to him this might well be the very same creature. Of course, Bourg had no way of knowing for sure and was inordinately hopeful he never would.
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br /> Lying on his back, he reached out and felt the ground around him. There was a steep, upward slope on the right side and nothing on the other. The narrow ledge was actually smaller than his own large frame. He considered himself lucky to even be lying there. This precarious situation would have been enough to scare any male into taking a moment to thank Fate for the blessing of continued life, but the image of the grotesque critter stayed prominent in Bourg's mind, pushing out all other considerations. If he was going to get away from it, he would have to retreat in the opposite direction from whence he heard the noise.
Bourg made several attempts to get up off his back, but the narrowness of the ledge left him little space in which to maneuver for leverage. If he was to get away, he would have to move along on his elbows and feet in an awkward inverted crawl - not an easy maneuver for a male of his bulk. Since he had heard the noise from the direction of his feet, he began to work his way backwards in the direction of his head.
It was a logical conclusion but had a significant problem: the narrow ledge was becoming even more narrow, until there was barely a ledge left at all. Several times the slope closing in on him to his right nearly nudged him into the nothingness to his left side.
"Blast! This is no good,” he swore. “I'd rather put up a good fight with some creature, than drop off this ledge like a puff from a pod.” Besides, from the sounds it had made, he appraised it to be rather small compared to his own massive bulk. Surely, it would hardly be much of a contest. He hoped the critter shared his conclusions.
Having made up his mind, Bourg began crawling foot first, back to where he had begun. As the ledge widened slightly, he felt relieved - especially so because he still heard no sounds other than the wheezing of his own breath. Eventually, he came to a place where the slope was at such an angle he was actually able to stand up. He celebrated his good fortune with a deep sigh and a long stretch. For it was one thing to engage an unknown assailant in combat; it was quite another do it while lying on a narrow ledge on your back.
Again, Bourg listened long and hard. Still, he heard nothing. Through the heavy mist he could see nothing - not a creature - nor a way out of the gorge. The thought of giving up and stepping over the ledge came briefly to his mind, but he shook it off. Bourg was many things, but he wasn’t a coward. Bravely, cautiously, he stepped one foot after the other along the narrow path. With each step he was reminded of how tired, and sore he was. Just the concentration it took to stay awake drained him of precious energy he could hardly afford to spend. A narrow ledge, on the slope of a bottomless pit, however, was no place for a male of his stature to take a nap.
If Bourg hadn’t been so preoccupied, he might have noticed the hole in the slope which led to an inner tunnel where he could have crawled out of the dense mist clouding his eyes from without, and satisfied the need for sleep which clouded his mind from within. Then, through the dense fog he heard a voice.
"Yes, Tyter. I'm here. Everything will be alright. I'm here, here for you. I'm...."
***** ***** *****
"What was that?” Tyter asked.
"What was what?” Brindle questioned the question, sounding somewhat annoyed.
"I thought I heard someone call my name."
"Sure you did. We're at the bottom of the earth and everyone down here knows you by name." There was no lack of sarcasm in her voice.
"Probably,” Tyter acknowledged the possibility with all sincerity.
The irony wasn’t lost on Brindle. If anyone would be well known in the bowels of the earth, surely it would be the young wellwalker. A smirk came to her lips, but Tyter couldn’t see it. He was busy listening for whoever, or whatever, to call him by name again. But the only sound he could hear was the sound of their own feet shuffling along through the endless tunnel. A sharp pain stabbed his stomach from the inside out. "I'm hungry,” he complained.
Brindle pretended she didn't hear him. She was feeling pains in her stomach as well, but they were not pains of hunger. "Oh Veget, not now!" she swore.
***** ***** *****
No one was more shocked by the collapse of Center House than Wudrick Pulpitt. His meeting with the eastern rebels earlier the day before had frustrated him terribly. If it weren’t for the elder-craftsmen, he doubted he could have ever gotten his ideas across to the others. "What good is knowing something if I can't explain it to anyone?" he had told the widow Forbal.
She understood and gently guided him to her hut located so far north on the eastern side of town, it stood alone in virtual isolation. There she consoled him, and was inserted by him, but it had more to do with displaced energy than love - although they did love each other, most tortuously. Even the terrific quake which shook apart Center House only heightened their physical excitement. While everyone else’s world crashed down around them, their internal worlds erupted within them. When, at last, both worlds became still, they lay side by side on the eating room floor, panting like creatures of the wild. Perspiration flowed from their pores into salt flavored streams which pooled within the hollows of their flesh.
Wudrick would have been content to lie there until his death had he not become so thirsty. Sollie retrieved a cup of water, took a sip, then held it to Wudrick's lips. He, too, sipped. It felt cool, almost cold. He was at peace. All he wanted to do was crawl onto the sleeping cot, and lie in the arms of his beloved Sollie Forbal, and fall into a deep, dreamless, unencumbered sleep.
"Hurry! Get dressed,” she ordered, softly, but urgently. "Why? I don't want to go anywhere. I thought we'd just stay right here and...."
"Yes, I know, and, oh, there's nothing I'd like better. But there's something terribly wrong at Center House. We must go there, quickly."
Wudrick could see the worried look on Sollie’s face. "There's always something wrong at Center House," he sighed. "as long as my wife is there."
"True," Sollie smiled wryly. "But that's not what I mean. We must hurry. Here's your pullover," she began to pull it over his head before he could even sit up. "Wait! How do you know something’s wrong there? I mean you've been right here with me for the past hour. I can swear to that."
"Didn't you feel that last quake while you were inserting?” Sollie looked at him puzzled.
"Quake? What quake?"
Sollie gave him a surprised look, then a loving smile. "Just go to Center House. Go!"
"Aren't you coming too?" he asked as he stood and shook his pullover down over the rolls of his short, fat body taking care not to bump his injured hand.
"No, but when you get to Center House, look for the Hooded One. Are you ready?"
"Yes, I guess so, but I don't see why...."
"Just go! You'll have your answer soon enough."
Wudrick allowed himself to be pushed out the door. The night seemed still enough. The moon was bright and, although steep on the horizon, gave off sufficient light for Wudrick to make his way westward.
When Center House first came into view, the sight Wudrick beheld caused his knees to buckle. He felt like he was experiencing a very, very bad dream and with any luck would awaken soon. A horrendous howling filled his ears. He clasped his hands over them. The sound was coming from the horrible wreckage before him. Looking upward, he saw his wife with outstretched arms perched atop the shiny bell which was, itself, resting atop the collapsed walls of his secret chamber.
"Oh, by Veget," he moaned. “Is there anything left of the records of the Ancients? Oh, just look! How could there be?” Wudrick’s heart sank to his stomach. His head bowed to the earth.
His thoughts of self-pity were distracted when the horrendous howling grew even more discordant and arrived at his ears in stereo. Wudrick raised his head and looked northward just in time to see the western wellkeeper cease his own howling, charge toward Center House, then disappear. Shortly, his wife’s vocalizations ceased.
In the ambience of surreal sights and silence, Wudrick remained kneeling with his head bowed and his face buried in his hands, unsure if anything he had seen and he
ard was real, and too frightened to look up and discover it was.
"Come, we have much to do." A gravelly voice announced as the Hooded One brushed past.
Wudrick raised his eyes and watched the Hooded One move southward along the edge of the gorge. Rising to his feet, he followed dutifully behind. When they came to the area where the remains of Center House clung to the edge of the gorge, Wudrick studied the suspension of fallen boards, walls and fixtures. They lay in crisscross patterns, forming a delicately suspended web across the chasm. For all Wudrick's wisdom, he was at a loss to comprehend why the whole heap didn’t just collapse into the abyss. He looked at Pentalope sitting on the bell and wished it would.
"All is lost," he muttered.
"It appears so," the Hooded One agreed, then spotted two figures moving behind Pentalope. One was a male, holding up a large sheet of Center House wall. Then, there was a loud scraping sound as the delicate balance of fallen debris shifted and fell beneath the tentative structure, drifting silently into the fog below.
Wudrick gasped, fearing his wish had been fulfilled. However, Pentalope had not toppled from her throne.
"There!" the Hooded One shouted, while pointing to an area somewhere within the depth of the rubble.
Wudrick's eyes turned in the direction of the pointing hooded sleeve. "What? What is it?"
"There! There’s the chest that holds the keys to the past."
Wudrick squinted his eyes and after they adjusted to the shadows, he saw what the Hooded One was directing his attention to - a spark of moonlight reflecting off some sort of metallic object buried deep in the suspended maze. There were only two objects, he knew of, made of this unusual, hard, shiny matter. One was the bell. The other was the latch which fastened shut the chest of the Ancients. It hadn’t fallen into the gorge. Still, it may as well have, for it was surely impossible to retrieve.
"Come, we have much to do and very little time left in which to do it." The Hooded One turned and marched southward to where the eastern rebels were engaging in their rescue missions. Wudrick followed briefly, and then stopped. He was following after the Hooded One like he had followed after his wife.
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 53