Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Longing Ring

by kubasik

  J'role wished his father were stronger. He'd wished that all his life. Why couldn't his father have done . . . ?

  What? What hadn't his father done?

  The idea slipped just out of range of J'role’s thoughts. It was something he couldn't remember, yet he knew it colored everything about his life.

  "I wouldn't work so hard at remembering," said the creature in his thoughts. "You aren't ready yet."

  "You know something ..."

  "About you? I know everything."

  "Tell me."

  "No. Not yet.”

  J'role waited in the darkness, thinking the creature would taunt him, make him beg to hear what it had to say. But the thing said no more.

  J'role stood at the foot of the pit, blocking his father from his thoughts, thinking back to the initiation that had taken place at the tavern. The darkness of the night drew around him like a cloak, and he felt his concerns becoming smaller and smaller, until his cares extended no further than himself.

  It felt good. Comfortable.

  The roots above him were long shadows melded into the larger shadow of the pit's wall.

  Now.

  He crouched low, then jumped up, catching the end of one of the roots with his fingers.

  He swayed in the air, then reached out with his free hand to grab another root. Without effort he felt the rough grooves of the roots, knew their shape, gripped them just the right way so he could cling easily to them.

  He felt lightheaded. It was so easy being a thief. One had only to be alone ...

  He moved up the roots, hand over hand, using them to support his feet as he moved up the pit.

  No noise from above.

  He continued. He climbed two feet, five feet, ten feet.

  And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move slightly. He did not think much of it at first, for his concern was on climbing. But then, as he reached his hand up above his head to grab the next branch, the root directly in front of his face uncoiled from the wall like a snake and wrapped around his neck.

  15

  He is mute, sworn to silence by his mother. His mother holds a knife in her hand. He is allowed to speak to her, but there is little point. He does not speak words; he cannot formulate his fear and confusion into sentences. There is nothing to do but slowly back away in terror.

  All the while his mother speaks with a calm, loving voice. It is the same tone she has used all her life. Suddenly he wonders if any of her professions of love were real.

  The root quickly tightened its grip around J'role's neck. Startled by its animation, he let go his hold on the other roots in the pit and dropped away from the wall. Now only the writhing root that choked him like an hangman's noose held him in place while his arms and legs scrambled uselessly for purchase in the air. He gave a hoarse gasp for air, and then, arms flailing wildly, tried to grab hold of other roots to prop himself up and keep himself from strangling.

  His fingers came within inches of the roots, then he watched, eyes wide in terror, as each flitted just out of his grasp. No matter what he did, J'role could not gain a grip against the surface of the pit, meanwhile the first root bit deeper into his neck. Twisting wildly in the effort to grab another root for support, he felt all the cuts made by the elven thorns rip open. Warm blood spilled over his skin once more.

  J'role grabbed the root and propped his feet against the wall of the pit. With the wall as leverage he tried to rip the root out of the wall, deciding it was better to fall back into the pit than be strangled. More roots came at him, encircling his wrists and ankles, arms and legs crawling over his body.

  He was becoming lightheaded as he tried to pry himself free of the root. With what little strength was left he grabbed the root's tip and wrestled to unwind it from around his neck.

  Finally he gained the advantage over the root, uncoiling two of the loops from his neck.

  The root fought back, and J'role thought he felt muscles snaking about under the surface of cold, wet bark. Using two hands now he managed to completely uncoil it, holding the root up like a snake as the tip slashed at his face.

  Then all the roots let go at once, plunging J'role back down into the pit. His body tensed for the impact, and an instant later he hit the soft dirt.

  He lay there, groaning as his father crawled up next to him. "Don't try anything you aren't sure you can do," Bevarden said, his tone suddenly sober. Then he stretched out beside J'role and fell asleep, curled up next to his son.

  For a long time J'role stared up at the pit opening, despair weighing on his body. He'd never get out.

  That night he got no sleep. The cuts and bruises all over his body seemed like insects crawling up and down his flesh. What would it be like to die in the pit? No food was available, not even the berries and roots they'd dug up and eaten on the road. That meant he would probably starve to death. How long did it take? Maybe two weeks? In the kaer and in the village, J'role's people had used magic to keep food supplies available. There had been shortages, but no one had ever starved.

  Did the pit tunnels exit back somewhere out into the world? Probably not. It would be a very poor prison if they did. As poor a prison as J'role had originally thought when he'd decided to simply climb up the pit and escape.

  What was that? A sound?

  All his senses alert, J'role shifted, just slightly, so as not to give himself away.

  He saw the shadow of something, a faint shape, crawling along the darkness of the corridor. Whatever it was, it was only a few steps away. He slowed his breathing, trying to make no sound. Could he slip into the shadows now? Probably not. Not if it had seen him.

  Odd that he should know that, he realized. The magic, when he thought of it, just came to him. He was a part of it now, and as long as he lived by the rules of a thief, it would support him.

  The shadow came closer and closer, approaching with great caution. Then it stopped about a few feet from him. Sat up on its haunches. J'role thought it stared at him, but he couldn't be sure. It was small, only about four feet from the ground, perhaps taller when it stood.

  Then, as carefully and quietly as it had approached, it turned around and began moving back down the tunnel.

  A near panic came over J'role. Should he let the thing wander off? Or should he stop it now? It could be going off to get more of its kind—whatever that was. Or it might have decided it wanted nothing to do with him. Attacking it might only create new problems.

  And yet…

  It crept away, and when J'role thought that its guard was down, he quietly rolled onto his knees. The magic made his motion nearly soundless. On his feet now walking close to the wall of the tunnel, he began to follow his visitor back the way it had come. It might know of an exit. It might have a master—someone who had been thrown into the tunnel some time ago. Perhaps working together they could escape.

  J'role thought briefly of his father. Should he leave him? Would Bevarden panic if he woke and found J’role gone? J'role had difficulty focusing his thoughts on his father; concern for anyone but himself had all but evaporated from his mind. Instead he put all his attention on the placement of his next step. It thrilled him to make no sound as he walked.

  He followed the creeping shadow another twenty feet. Nothing was visible. But he heard the thing shift and sigh— perhaps it was standing now—and then continue on. It certainly sounded as if its movement had changed, and perhaps it now walked on two feet.

  As he followed, J'role ran his fingers along the wall to keep his sense of balance. They came to turns in the corridor, and finally intersections. Several times he had to stop and listen to determine which way his prey had gone. He made a mental list of the turns he had made, so he could find his way back if necessary.

  Finally, when he had gone a long way from the pit, J'role heard a few strange words spoken. The voice belonged to a girl. Then a bright blue light suddenly flared ahead of him. The light hurt his eyes, and J'role raised his arms before his face.

  "
Oh," the voice said, definitely a girl's. "I thought so."

  Lowering his arms, he saw a short girl, about his age with a round face and long dark hair, staring at him. A blue fire burned from her hand. It took him a moment to adjust to the fact that she was not a monster. Nor was she—with mud streaking her face and hair matted with grime—like the elf queen at all. Pudgy, he thought.

  "Who are you?” she asked firmly.

  J'role spread his arms wide, and then pointed to his throat. He shrugged.

  "Did the queen send you here?"

  He nodded.

  She paused, looking at him carefully. Then said, "Me too. I've been here for months. I think. I don't really know. Didn't start keeping track until I'd been down here a while. She said she was going to take care of me later. I guess she forgot. Or maybe later for an elf is different than later for me. For her, later might mean next time the seasons turn. For me it might mean by the time I get bit by a poison spider and die down here. Was that a friend of yours back there?"

  Her rush of words startled him, and it seemed she was hungry for conversation. He nodded.

  "What do you want? Why are you following me?"

  He shrugged, unable to answer.

  "How long have you been here?"

  He raised his hand, held up two fingers.

  "Hours?" He shook his head. "Days?" He nodded.:

  "You're good at this. You've been mute a while, I take it. You don't have to stand there and think about how to communicate. You just do it. Impressive. Well, I'm going home.

  Maybe I'll see you tomorrow." She turned to leave. J'role realized she wasn't hungry for conversation. She just could talk a lot.

  He ran up to her. She was a magician and might well have the power to get them out. She whirled to face him, the flames glowing around her hands appearing to be very hot, but apparently not affecting her. "I didn't bother you. I don't want you to bother me."

  He pointed to himself, then her, then clasped his hands together, and then pointed up.

  "If I knew how to get out, I wouldn't still be here. I tried . . . What can you do?" She stopped suddenly, looking him up and down. "You must have put up some fight."

  Her remark confused him for a moment, and then he remembered his cuts, many of them still bleeding. He was embarrassed. A fight? Most of them, the most horrible ones, were from the elf queen herself, from touching her lovely flesh. He tried to brush the matter aside. He once again pointed at her, and then himself. Then up.

  She smiled. Her cheeks puffed sup, lines formed around her eyes. She suddenly became pretty, despite the mud and grime. "You're persistent. Nice. But you can't climb up the pit. The roots come to life...."

  He pointed to the thick bruise around his neck.

  "Ah, you found that out," she said, examining his neck. "I don't suppose any of your group are adepts in the discipline of thieving?"

  He smiled, poked his finger at his chest. She looked disappointed. "Well, maybe we'll talk later?”

  She turned again, and J’role touched her shoulder. She quickly whirled around once more. "Don't do that," she said flatly. J'role nodded and then pointed at himself.

  "Yes. You're a thief. I thought you'd be able to climb up the wall of the pit—or at least I thought a thief would. But you couldn't. Either it's too hard, or you're not very good.

  Either way, it's no help."

  She started down the tunnel. J'role stared after her, trying to figure out what to do.

  Darkness crept around him as she walked off with the blue fire that blazed around her hand. Frozen with uncertainty, he watched her turn a corner and vanish from sight.

  'Not very good," he repeated in his thoughts. He might not have thought much of her, at least compared to the elf queen. But she thought even less of him. He turned and retraced his steps, one hand running along the walls, finding his way back to where his father slept.

  The next morning he felt ashamed. The girl had sent him off as a useless boy. And hadn't the elf queen done the same thing? Yet there seemed to be a great difference between the two of them. The elf queen had asked that he give himself up to her. The girl—what was her name? he suddenly wondered—had asked nothing.

  J'role knew now it was possible to survive in the tunnels for a long time, even if it was difficult to get out. What did she eat? Had they thrown food down with her? No, she'd been down-in the tunnels too long. And he doubted they would have bothered to send food. This was the place for people the queen had forgotten.

  A dizziness passed over him, and J'role thought he might fall asleep again. He wanted so desperately to eat. It frustrated him to know that above him was the most enormous expression of life he had ever seen, and only a few feet below- ground he had nothing.

  Fearful of falling unconscious and never waking up again, he crawled around on hands and knees, looking for something he might have missed. Small plants. Deeper roots that he could eat. Something. He began to dig through the dirt floor, the ground wet and cool as he scooped it up in thick clumps.

  "Why don't you just let yourself die?" the creature asked. “If we're trapped down here with these two, what fun is that? There's no sport in talking to your father. Why don't you just scamper up the pit and let those fascinating roots rip the life out of you? Give up your life, J'role. Surrender to the misery of your life and stop feeling so bad. This hope you have is making you more miserable than you can imagine.”

  The creature's words surprised him, for J'role had never considered himself hopeful. Still digging through the dirt, he asked, "Why do you want me to die?”

  "Wait. Let me be clear. I don't want you to die. I want you to kill yourself. And to answer your question, I really don't think you're very happy being alive."

  J'role stopped scooping dirt. "Then why did you encourage me to go on a few days ago?"

  The creature said nothing. J'role waited a moment more, and when he realized the creature was not going to answer, he went back to digging.

  The hole was a foot deep now, and as wide. J'role sent his hands down once more and as they bit into the dirt he felt water rush up around them. Pulling away some more dirt, he peered into the hole. At its base was a small pool of water. Seeing a flash of motion he instantly jabbed his right hand down into the pool, trying to catch whatever had moved in the water.

  He pulled his hand up, then clamped his other hand over it, forming a small container. He felt something crawling around on his palms as he walked under the opening of the pit to get more light. Above him the sky and leaves caught the sun's light and turned it a soft green.

  Carefully he parted his hands to get a peek at whatever he was holding It was bigger than he; expected, black and brown, with shiny thick skin, and numerous legs. J'role sealed his hands tight before it could get out.

  He'd never eaten a bug before, but he'd known other boys who'd done it on a dare. He wondered if he should crush it first or eat it alive. Alive seemed too disturbing a thought, so he squeezed his hands together. When he thought he'd killed it, he brought it up quickly to his mouth so as not to look at it, and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed quickly, surprised to find it did not actually taste bad, and swallowed it. He got to work, digging for more food. Though it took hours, he found enough to feed himself and his father.

  "Does your father appreciate what you do for him?" the creature asked.

  J'role did not reply. His father's eyes were empty.

  As J'role sat contentedly on the ground, hardly full, but satisfied enough, he realized he'd made far too many assumptions about the nature of the tunnels, and promised himself never to assume a place was barren simply because it looked that way at a casual glance.

  He would have to examine the tunnels carefully, seek out what could help him, and perhaps learn of the dangers they possessed.

  He suddenly had the feeling someone was watching, and quickly turned his head. The girl stood maybe ten feet away, hands on hips, looking at them. "Do you usually just lie around?"

  J'role, to h
is own surprise, smiled.

  She laughed, then walked up to him. "My name is Releana. I see you're not always as grim as you seemed last night."

  J’role stood and shook her hand. "And this is . . . ?" she said, turning to Bevarden.

  J’role’s father simply stared at her, then whispered the word, "Despair." The word sent a chill through the corridor, and the three of them remained completely still and silent for a moment.

  “Is he all right?" Releana asked J'role.

  He shook his head.

  She weighed a thought, then said, “I really didn't know if I was going to come here. I've been alone down here for some time, and maybe I've started to like it. I'd given up hope of getting out, actually. And you know what they say about magicians: 'Where they are is where they stay.' But . . . but if you have a plan to get out, and I can help, I certainly will.