There was no kitchen in this pub. Everything was cooked out in the open, over and around a series of fires throughout the room. Fox could smell some kind of rabbit stew bubbling over one of these, and it made his mouth water agreeably. “Got anything with rabbit?” he asked.
“Take your dish and find a seat in the back. Someone will be with you.”
Fox did as he was told, gripping the dish to his chest. He found a long, rough wooden table tucked deep in the shadows by a cooking fire, and selected a seat at the end. He let his bags slip from his shoulders and fall to the ground as he looked curiously about the room. From his seated position, he watched a handful of men a few tables away playing a quiet game of cards. They seemed to be gambling with chunks of stone. Their table made up half of the overall population of the pub, but Fox knew business would pick up soon. Evenings were always the busiest times for any tavern.
Fox noticed that everyone seemed to have the same sort of dish he’d been given. It didn’t seem to matter if they’d been served soup, bread, or drink, the dishes appeared to be all-purpose. A man sitting by himself by one of the torches was drinking deeply from his, gripping both handles and tipping the whole thing back, letting streams of liquid run down his beard and drip onto his massive chest.
It wasn’t long before Fox’s meal was delivered. A heavyset woman brought a small cauldron right to his table and ladled stew into his dish. Thick curls of steam rose up and obscured Fox’s vision, and by the time it cleared she had moved on to another table. Fox dove in hungrily, savoring every bite. There was a great pile of bread at the center of every table, and Fox helped himself to several large chunks. He used them like spoons, scooping and soaking up every last drop of the thick, hearty stew until his dish was clean once more. Then he sat back, enjoying the comfortable warmth of a full belly.
More villagers were starting to come in now. Most of them were miners, by the looks of them. Strong, sturdy men and women, with stone powder on their clothes and clinging to their hair. Fox longed to join one of their tables. To ask questions about life here in Doff. Instead, he simply watched. And he kept quiet when a group of villagers sat down at the other end of his table.
“Got himself into a whole host of trouble with the wick weaver,” one of them was saying. A woman, tall and impossibly muscular. “Wouldn’t be surprised if bits of that poor idiot show up in the next batch of candles.”
Her companions laughed, and another one replied with, “But no one wants to smell that unwashed buffoon all day. That’s one scent that won’t sell.”
So, these were candlemakers. They smelled of fine wax and their clothes were free of stone dust. For a moment, Fox watched them out of the corner of his eye. And then, something caught his attention. Someone in their group who wasn’t quite one of them. Someone with straw-colored hair, and a spatter of freckles across his cheeks and forehead.
“Topper?” Fox said in amazement.
The stone bounced his voice farther than Fox had expected, and the group of candlemakers turned to look. Including the smallest of them all, a little boy tucked between the tall woman and a dark, slender gentleman. The boy leaned forward to get a closer look at Fox, and his eyes widened.
“Fox!” he shouted happily and scrambled to his feet. He raced down the table and threw his arms around Fox’s shoulders in a shockingly crushing embrace for someone his size. Then he pulled back, a grin stretching his face so far it looked almost painful.
“It is you, Topper!” said Fox joyfully. “What in Spirit’s name are you doing here?”
The candlemakers were watching the two boys curiously, but Topper didn’t seem to notice. “I live here now!” he said cheerfully. “Seems I got a natural instinct for fire, what with spending so long working the lamps back in Whitethorn.”
“But when...” said Fox. “How?”
Topper shrugged. “Meat Man Mallard had it out for me after you left. Started telling everyone around town how I was a rotten little thief. Made for a right hard few weeks. So I skipped town. Took myself off with a merchant group, stowed and hitched my way down until I settled here.” And then he blushed slightly. “Truthfully, I was looking for you. Thought, seeing as how nice you were to me, you might be able to help me get settled. But I guess I missed your town somewhere, and ended up here in Doff.” And then his grin returned in full force, and he looked back at his companions. “And it’s the best that could have happened! Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
And with that, Fox was dragged to the other end of the table, where he was seated right in the middle of the group. Topper quickly related the story of how he and Fox met, and Fox was surprised to find how much of a hero Topper really thought he was. The candlemakers certainly seemed to agree, as they welcomed Fox into their little group enthusiastically. Names and titles flew at him so quickly he had trouble keeping up, but one of them stood out.
The muscular woman reached across the table to clasp Fox’s hand with a certain air of dignity. There was an attitude in her firm handshake that said she was somebody important.
“Kaldora Flintstock,” she said smoothly. “Master Craftsman, and first female master, of the Fire Merchant’s Guild.”
Fox returned her handshake just as firmly, trying not to appear as outwardly nervous as he felt. But he was sure this woman could kill him with a loaf of bread. She was at least a head taller than all the men at the table, or indeed in the whole public house. Fox wouldn’t have been surprised if her yellow-blonde hair, pulled back in its severe braid, brushed the ceiling each time she stood. Every bit of her looked chiseled and stone-cut, like the carved statues in the Whitethorn temple. In fact, Fox half expected her hand to be cold as marble when he touched it.
She was watching him more intensely than the rest of her group, and it wasn’t long before Fox realized why. When Topper sat down beside her again, she ruffled his hair affectionately and said, “Well then, will your friend be staying with us?”
“Oh yes please, ma’am!” said Topper excitedly. “You will stay, won’t you Fox?” he asked, joyous pleading in his eyes. And when Fox nodded, Topper sprang to his feet again and came around the table to grab Fox’s wrist. He pulled him to his feet and said, “Come on! I’ll show you the town!”
As Fox let himself be dragged back to the entrance, he laughed at Topper’s enthusiasm. It was good to see the boy smile, and good to know he wasn’t sleeping on rooftops anymore. But as they reached the crevice that led back outside, Fox put his hand out and gripped the wall to stop their rapid progress. “It’s after dark,” he said. “We’ll never be able to see it all at night. Why don’t we wait until the sun is back up, so I can get the proper tour.”
And then a sly grin slid across Topper’s face. “Fox,” he said, “this is a city of fire! Nighttime is only the best time to see it.”
They dipped into the low, narrow crevice, and back out into the village, where Fox stopped and stared, absolutely breathless. Doff was indeed a city of fire. And at night, it glowed.
It was as though the whole mountain was made of dying embers. Stone that had appeared ordinary by the light of day now shimmered with veins and rivers of richest orange. Raw firestone, just like the walls of the pub. And woven in among these veins were thinner, spiderweb fine shocks of dark blue. Doff shone to rival the starlight, its glow at once entrancing and unattainable. It seemed impossible that a place so charmingly strange and beautiful as this might exist, and Fox found himself longing to reach out and touch every shimmering beacon in the darkness.
As Topper took them farther up the mountain, Fox followed without truly noticing where he was being led. His eyes were darting here and there across the village, catching every spark of light and making new discoveries everywhere he looked. Even after dark, Doff was wide awake.
Doors were propped open, and Fox could see people working inside their little cavern homes and workshops. Here, a blacksmith was hammering out iron cages that Fox assumed were meant to be lanterns. A little farther up, a group of miner
s were heading back down into the mountain through a wide cave entrance set with shaped, polished firestones.
“How long have you been here?” asked Fox once he found his voice again.
Topper had been kind enough to stay quiet up until now, leaving Fox to look about without interruption. Now, words spilled from him like a broken dam. “Just over two months! But it feels like a lifetime already. Lady Kaldora took me in! Said she’d always wanted a son, but never settled down enough to get married.”
“How did you find her?” asked Fox.
“She found me!” Topper said. “Found me hiding out in the nests, and she took pity on me. Wasn’t until a few days later that she found out how good I was with fire, and started training me up to be a fire merchant.”
“The nests?” said Fox curiously.
Topper’s grin returned, like he was about to let Fox in on some incredible secret. “This way,” he said.
Their next turn took them on a strange pathway. Whereas before they’d been winding around the outside of the mountain in a constant, upward spiral, now they cut straight in. The path wound tighter and tighter toward the heart of the mountain, with stone rising high on either side of them. Cutting out all but a slice of the star-strewn sky overhead. And then, the path spat them out onto an open ledge, and Fox caught his breath.
Great, black birds were everywhere. Perched in stone pockets that pitted the glowing walls. Soaring back and forth in the semi-dark. Huge birds with long necks and sharp, cruel beaks, their silhouettes like black paint darkening the starlight.
“They’re called eborills,” said Topper, looking fondly on them. “They’re our hunting birds. They can reach places on the mountain that we just can’t.”
As they watched, a handful of the birds flew from their nests, winging their way out into the open air. By the blue and orange glow, Fox could make out great, angled wings and fierce talons. The birds looked more skeletal than sturdy, and despite their size, Fox was sure they couldn’t handle the weight of more than the smallest game.
He was wrong. As the birds disappeared into the night sky, another eborill was returning. It carried something huge in its claws, and as it dipped down to drop its prize on a great, round stone at the center of the nests, Fox took a quick step back. A full-grown mountain goat, even bigger than those they raised in Thicca Valley, crashed to the stone. The eborill landed beside the carcass and began to preen itself. Standing, it looked like it came up to about Fox’s waist.
Topper went right up to the bird’s head and rubbed its beak affectionately, but Fox stayed back. The eborills looked entirely vicious, and even Topper standing so close to one made him nervous. The bird was almost as tall as the boy. But the eborill simply crooned, a strange trill that made the hairs on the back of Fox’s neck stand up. A few moments later, a rather beefy man shouldered his way past Fox and over to Topper and the bird.
“Ho, there, little one!” the man called, and Topper waved.
“Hullo, Lugor!” said Topper.
“Getting cold out here,” said the man Lugor. “Better be heading home, you and your friend.”
With a quick goodbye to both the man and the bird, Topper scampered back over to Fox and led him back down the mountain. So many questions plagued Fox’s mind, he didn’t know which to ask first. About the birds, about the firestone trade ... if there was so much to know about such a little village, how could Fox ever learn all he needed about the rest of the world?
But his questions would have to wait until morning. As Fox was brought into Topper’s new home, exhaustion swept over him. Kaldora welcomed them warmly, and a sleeping pad was rolled out for Fox on the floor of Topper’s little cave room. Even here, the walls glowed with fine orange and blue veins. It was strangely comforting, and within moments Fox was deeply and entirely asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Deep Winter
The people of Doff were very welcoming to Fox when they discovered he was Topper’s friend. The little urchin was very beloved in this cozy hamlet. And when the story of Fox’s rescuing Topper back in Whitethorn began to circulate, Fox was treated like a local hero. He was welcomed eagerly into homes and shops, where he was able to trade the small but valuable pelts he’d brought with him. He found himself helping to skin the day’s catches from the eborill nests, and was happy to share some of his trapper’s knowledge on the subject. But his best trades came from the traps.
He’d always been good with traps. Most of Father’s most accurate snares were Fox’s design, and Fox could make them almost unnaturally quickly. And while the Doffians were incredibly skilled fire merchants and miners, their hunting craft was rather lacking in some respects. As Fox began to make more and more business acquaintances in the village, he started taking special orders for traps. The owner of the pub wanted rabbit traps, as he said rabbit was a rare but popular delicacy. For just two simple snares, Fox was given enough credit to eat for free at the public house for the rest of his trip.
And others were just as eager to barter with him. Miner’s wives who did much of their own trapping; they wanted better fishing nets to help them get all they could from the tricky mountain rivers. The rocky gardens were outfitted with snares to catch scavenging little creatures who might try and steal the growing herbs. Even the candlemakers sought his help. He helped them bring in turtles, as their shells were very useful molds for pouring wax.
When he wasn’t at work, Fox was learning. He was allowed down into the mines on his sixth day, someplace he’d never been in his own valley. With an ancient but unexpectedly spry old miner as their guide, he and Topper were welcomed down, into the very heart of the village.
As they traveled down a long series of wooden ramps and carved stone stairways, Topper leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, “Mum Kaldora says I might be able to work here someday. She says I’m well on my way to becoming a Master Fire Merchant!” And then he giggled slightly, as if the thought was so ridiculously wonderful he simply couldn’t hold it in.
“What’s that mean?” asked Fox, just as quietly.
“Means I’m specialized in everything! Some folks just are candlemakers or wick weavers, and some folks only work in the mines. Masters can do it all! It’s the highest honor in the whole of Doff! The Grand Master is the head of the entire village, and Mum Kaldora hopes to get there someday.”
If anybody could do it, thought Fox, that woman could. And then he shuddered, but it was not from the mere cold of being under the mountain. It was her. While he’d been welcomed into her home, Kaldora made him nervous. And it hadn’t taken him long to figure out why.
She was a severe woman, and was regarded all throughout the village with the highest respect. He’d known right from the start not to cross her, but it was more than that. No, it was in the way she looked at Topper. Her face broke into a smile that made him forget how intimidating she was. Her hardened features vanished into a face that was purely beautiful. It was written over every inch of her body that she loved this little boy like he was her own flesh and blood. And that, more than anything in the world, made Fox edgy. Farran’s prediction of his future, that it was filled with blood and danger, buzzed in the back of Fox’s mind like an angry swarm of wasps. And just as he worried about ever having to report to Borric about Lai’s safety, so too he now worried about reporting about Topper to Kaldora.
But she was put quickly out of his mind when they turned through a tight passageway and came out into the mines. Not for the first time since his arrival in Doff, Fox was amazed at how many incredible secrets the little village held. Now, he looked around in awe as he watched men and women pulling great chunks of glowing ore from the very earth.
They appeared to be standing at the base of an enormous trench. A labyrinth of bridges and ladders and planks criss-crossed from one end to the other, and up the shimmering walls and down into even deeper pits. Ropes and pulleys carried tools and pails of harvested ore up and down the mine, and high overhead great glowing stalactites
served as natural lanterns. Everywhere Fox looked, there were whirlwinds of movement. Miners hard at work. Great turning water wheels. Rope pulleys hauling their loads up and down the face of the rock. The firestone veins and the strange blue shimmers were even brighter here, and they shifted and glowed like so much snowfall catching the firelight. The mines simply crawled with life, and it was as though the mountain itself were truly a living creature.
As the small group wound their way through workers and equipment and jagged mounds of uncut stone, Fox asked, “What is the blue? I know the orange glow is firestone, but what –”
“You’ve got lymnstone where you come from?” said the old miner.
“Yes,” said Fox.
“It’s a very specific strand of the same,” the miner explained.
Fox remembered hearing something about a peculiar type of lymnstone on his first journey to the village. Now he asked, “What’s so special about it?”
“The question should be,” said the old miner, smiling with the few teeth he had left, “what isn’t so special about it.”
“It’s only the most powerful and lasting ore they’ve ever found down here,” jumped in Topper excitedly. “We use it in light baubles that don’t use fire. And its powder can be mixed into the candle wax for a brighter glow!”
“We’re discovering new things to do with it every year,” said the old miner. “It’s stronger than your ordinary green lymnstone, and in many ways still a mystery. Even to us. But it saved our village a decade or so back, so we welcome the challenge.”
After the tour of the mines, Fox positively itched to know more about this new, blue lymnstone. Maybe not on this trip, but he definitely planned to visit Doff again in the future. For just as his father had certain cities and towns on his regular trade route, now Fox had his first. And as they emerged again into the fresh mountain air, Topper still chattering on about all you could do with the blue stone, Fox thought that he couldn’t have found a more worthwhile town in all of Sovesta.
Windswept (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 1) Page 23