Date point: 2y 6m 3w BV
Worker housing district, Capitol city of Sordit
Eallva was dreaming. She knew it was a dream because her father was home. Her father was home and Fratep was laughing, free of the brooding expression he always seemed to wear. She didn’t care that it was just a dream – it was a happy dream. The city was rejoicing in the newfound peace and the night sky was filled with the cries of jubilation, all work forgotten. Eallva paused on the precipice of abandoning herself completely to the trance, wondering if she should. It seemed very much the same as a daydream, and Fratep said daydreaming was for children.
What he doesn’t know won’t bristle his tail.
Her mind was most definitely a child.
Doesn’t that make me one as well?
Sure, but children have all the fun!
With a mental shrug and a joyful leap she immersed herself completely in the dream, experiencing the city as she’d never before – so many laughing people, the sights, sounds, not a frown on any face. She glanced again at Fratep, just to reassure herself that the clouds of gloomy darkness hadn’t reclaimed his mood while she’d struggled with her mature, fun-hating side. It hadn’t, and his smile shown like the full moon, illuminating his face in the cloudless night. It’d been too long since she’d seen his smile.
Her father flicked her in the ear with his long tail, reclaiming her attention. He hadn’t changed a bit since she’d last seen him – and why should he have, this was her dream.
“You’re never leaving again, right father?” Eallva asked, grinning, already knowing the answer.
He continued to flick her ear as he had when she was younger, “Of course not Eallva. I’ll never leave you again.”
Smile stretching further, she looked over the desert landscape pockmarked by the entrance holes of the city – gaping wounds in the desert landscape leading to shelter and safety. Eallva didn’t want shelter or safety, though. She wanted everything to be just as it was now, reveling beneath the stars. One hole, far larger than the rest, was conspicuous in its absence. It’s nonexistence only added to the perfection of the scene.
Her father was still flicking her ear – it was actually starting to become a little irritating.
Fratep spoke at her shoulder. “Eallva, the sun’s almost set.”
She looked about in confusion, “What do you mean? It’s been down for a while now. We have the whole night ahead of us.” Dad, if you don’t stop it right now . . . someone grabbed her ear roughly, hauling her to her toes and out of the dream.
“You said you wouldn’t have any trouble getting up this time,” Fratep, her older brother by twice her age, chirped angrily, “And now we’ll most likely be late. Today marks your ninth naming day, so you’re going to have to get used to waking up while it’s still light out.”
As though she didn’t already know that. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been hearing the same justification from everyone itching to give her a lecture since her eighth.
“You’ll reach your ninth before you think, Eallva. You won’t be able to sit on your tail and eat seeds all day.”
“Your ninth is almost here, Eallva, you might want to start getting used to more responsibility.”
“Eallva, you can’t run through the warrens like that! Gods, you’re about to have your ninth, you can’t behave like this.”
Yes! She was close to her ninth, which meant she had little time before the condition which seemed to afflict everyone when they hit their ninth turned her into a complete bore. Fratep had come down with a particularly nasty case on his ninth, and she had a sinking suspicion the disease – or whatever it was – was hereditary.
She groaned sleepily, “Maybe there won’t be a challenger today and we won’t have to go.”
Fratep snorted, “There’s always a challenger. Come on get your head out the sand,” pulling harder, Eallva suddenly felt motivated enough to stand on her own. Satisfied, Fratep bounded from her room, heading for the front door. Cursing because no one was around to hear, Eallva threw on a fresh tunic and leapt after him, catching him just as he left their family’s den and entered the warrens.
Fratep said the warrens were supposed to be orderly, their many paths easy to remember. That had been the idea, but as the city had grown and establishments died or changed, each new section had been built with a different overarching system. The end result was a maze of tunnels in which even a city native could become lost if they forgot whether the tunnels they traveled were built in grids, circles, around monuments, or based off of some king’s seed preferences. No matter where one was, though, the warrens were always packed, throngs of people ever going about their busy lives.
Even when the sun was up and anyone decent asleep, the warrens still saw a steady flow of traffic – Eallva knew because she’d snuck out one night and roamed the marketplace, looking at all the empty space left by the absent stalls. Even then she’d still been jostled once or twice, though those who she’d bumped hadn’t been in complete control of their jumps, having surrendered control to their cups.
But now, as she and Fratep hared through the subterranean twists and turns, the passageways were eerily empty with only a few stragglers to be seen, all moving as fast if not more so than the siblings. Every able bodied citizen attended – even newborns – it was the law. None looked lost; they knew the way to the Ring.
She was gasping for breath by the time they reached the vomitorium closest to their den, but Fratep didn’t slow until they had nearly reached their seats. All families had seats specifically assigned to them, allowing the Auditori and attendance officials to easily see who was absent by looking for vacancies. Simplified as it was, enforcing attendance was a daunting task when the number present numbered slightly over 50,000. To ensure a thorough job, the stands had been partitioned into small sections of a hundred families each, then each section assigned two attendance officials: one to watch at the mouth of the voms and another to physically search for empty benches.
The sibling arrived at their seats just as their mother, ears quivering with worry, was speaking to their section’s attendance official. “I’m sure they’re just running a little late. You know Eallva, she hates waking before the sun, and – oh here they are!” the relief in her voice was palpable, and it was mirrored on the face of the official, Implest. Only assigned to watch over a hundred families, he knew them all, and they knew him. He liked them, and Eallva knew none would have been as sorry to have to report someone as he.
Looking sternly down at them as she and Fratep approached – the affect only somewhat ruined by his sparkling eyes – Implest harrumphed, “Well, I’m glad you got here when you did, but you must do better next time. We wouldn’t want to think you were plotting against the gods, would we?”
Eallva looked down ashamedly, but she was smiling, “Of course not Munia Implest.” Munia was his official title when he was on duty, but most who knew him simply called him Implest. Eallva did as well when her mother wasn’t in earshot. The Munia winked at her and smartly hopped away to finalize his report and find his own seat. The challenger was about to appear.
“Do you know who it is this time?” Eallva asked, looking to her brother.
“Unfortunately no,” he growled, ears flattened in irritation as though angry with himself “I was put on the night shift and didn’t have a chance to see Yelntac”. Yelntac was another temple guard who was several ranks above Fratep. Often the higher echelons paid little to no attention to newer recruits, but Yelntac was different. He liked to hear his own voice, and the lower ranks were a captive audience he could all but order to pay attention. To make the experience less painful – or perhaps to show how important he was – Yelntac would sometimes let slip small details that neither his underlings nor the general public were supposed to know, such as who the next challenger would be. Because such talkativeness was frowned upon, Yelntac always had himself working day shifts, a time when his superiors were asleep.
“Never mind temple gossip, where were you two?” their mother snapped, clearly annoyed.
Eallva sighed. Their mother was always worrying over nothing, so when something happened that did warrant a little worry, she had full blown panic attacks. Whenever her worry was shown to be for naught, it usually soured into anger. It would be gone as soon as the situation was explained to her, which Fratep hastened to do. Allowing her mind to wander, Eallva looked out over the Ring.
It was huge; capable of holding the city’s entire population with room to spare. But even knowing that didn’t truly convey the stadium’s awesome magnitude. It was a single, circular room – an artificially constructed cavern hollowed out of the earth – yet with a diameter so great Eallva couldn’t clearly see the people across from her. Seating lined the walls, descending to the floor in a stair step configuration to allow those behind to see over the heads of those in front of them. The ceiling slopped up in a dome, a colossal hole on the eastern side through which evening sunlight streamed, illuminating the central arena. The center was nearly [200 meters] across, its sand packed hard over its [6 years] of use. Sometimes, depending on the games that were being played, certain obstacles or barriers would inhabit the arena, though at the moment it was clear: challengers fought over level ground.
The Ring had originally been built for Selvim – emissary of Ceades, the god of war – and those who wished to challenge him, leaving all other entertaining spectacles to be held in Sordit’s other amphitheaters, all of which paled in comparison to the Ring. [3 years] ago, though, by Ceades’ permission, the Ring was leased to the public when not being used by Selvim. Since then, on any given day one could enter the Ring and see a drama or a game – if one had the money and the time, that was. Eallva’s family never did, so the only reasons she ever entered the Ring was for the monthly challenger matches. Still, the contests became tiresome after a while; the outcome was always the same.
Eallva hadn’t had her first naming day when it had happened, but Fratep had told her many times the story of how Selvim had come to guide them. He said that Selvim had appeared in the temple while the Excelsum, the highest priest, had been deep in prayer, pleading for the gods to send a great leader to guide them through their perils. At the time, the Vilctun barbarians had amassed a fearsome army, and were openly proclaiming their intentions to raze Sordit and her sister cities.
Before the Excelsum had even finished praying, Selvim appeared before her in a brilliant flash of red light. He had told her his name, and that he was a messenger sent by Ceades on behalf of the gods. He had continued to explain that no great leaders existed among Sordit and her allies. The gods, knowing this and having mercy, had asked Ceades to send his finest warrior to the people of Sordit in answer to the Excelsum’s prayers. There the warrior would provide the guidance the people needed to survive.
And so began the reign of the gods. Under Selvim’s rule, the city of Sordit had not only survived the Vilctun barbarian onslaught, but had thrived. Through forceful diplomacy he had bound Sordit and her sister cities into a nation under his rule, combining their forces to present a unified front against their enemies. Today, the Vilctun barbarians were a mere shadow of their former glory, scattered and weak, constantly hunted by Sordit’s forces. Internally he had abolished all but the smallest, most necessary tariffs between the cities, generating lucrative trade overnight. In Sordit itself, he decreed that a low level of education was mandatory for all children who had not yet had their ninth. Every day except challenge days, those under age went to the Temple for teaching. Those desiring a further level of education were to join the Temple guards as payment for their advanced instruction.
But Selvim was only a temporary solution. One day – the gods promised – there would be one among the people who was strong enough to lead, and so Selvim had created the challenges to seek them out. The gods already knew who it was, said the clergy, but the challenges were for the benefit of the leader, not the gods. The leader would only know who they were destined to be when they challenged Selvim and defeated him.
It was not lost on the people that any who could defeat Selvim would become the unquestionable ruler of Sordit and, by extension, a powerful nation. Many great and skilled warriors had challenged Selvim, letting their skill pick up where divine fate left off, but he was smarter than that. He could see what was at the heart of a challenger, whether it was greed – reaching for the throne and power for personal gain – or out of a desire to serve – to guide the inhabitants of Sordit to a better life through self-sacrifice. Those who sought a fight out of greed were denied the privilege of a challenge match.
“I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure its Pirnict,” Fratep, once again snapping her out of a trance, gestured with his tail to the near side of the ring where a small figure could be seen steadily hopping into the gleaming light bathing the arena. Eallva squinted, trying to see through the blinding glare. How any creatures could stand being diurnal she’d never understand – how could anyone see when they were blinded by the sun?
“How can you tell, and whose exactly is Pirnict?” she asked, still shielding her eyes. Having had combat training – still having it in fact – Fratep was familiar with many of the lesser known instructors and fighters who composed the majority of the challenge fights. Eallva knew the most famous, but Pirnict was not one of them.
“It’s the way he holds himself. He’s a minor instructor they bring in if the main for that day can’t make it”. Fratep stopped talking, and Eallva had to stare at him expectantly for several [seconds] before he sighed in resignation. He still had trouble believing she enjoyed combat theory and the particulars of each challenger’s fighting style – he found such subjects dull in the extreme. He had not joined the Temple guard to learn to be a warrior.
“He’s a scorpion dancer but he likes to carry a pod of spikes, a good enough shot though nothing extraordinary, but he’s strange in that he doesn’t use claws and likes wasp stings,” Fratrep finished, looking bored as Eallva quickly broke down the slang terms. ‘Scorpion dancer’ meant Pirnict fought with a tail thorn – a heavy spike, hollow except for a horizontal bar and open at one end. A warrior would stick their tail through the opening and wrap it around the bar, giving their tail a vicious bite. Hefting a thorn required strength. Skillfully wielding one required years of practice to attain the necessary endurance and to become accustomed to the balance shift.
Secondly ‘dancer’ referred to a specific form of combat, one that relied upon quick reflexes and darting attacks, meant to overwhelm opponents through shock and speed. It was not a style meant for long, protracted fights as the energy and concentration required was immense. Because of this, dancers wore light leather armor if they wore any armor at all, which made the next part of Frateps description even more intriguing. Pirnict carried a ‘pod of spikes’, or a full quiver of short throwing javelins. Javelin throwing was an art in itself, with skilled throwers managing distances of [180 meters] while maintaining accuracy. The reason it was odd for Pirnict to carry them was twofold. Firstly, though the javelins were light, a full quiver of them was not an insubstantial weight in a fight. Dancers tried to shed as much weight as they could without resorting to amputation. Secondly, a good javelin throw required the use of the tail, something impossible to do while holding a thorn at the same time. In order to manage a shot of any useful distance, Pirnict would have to put the thorn down, spin off a shot, and pick it back up.
The extra weight afforded by the projectiles probably accounted for the lack of claws. Dancers often used a tail armament – though rarely one as heavy as a thorn – and ‘claws’, which were a pair of curved blades that were strapped to the feet. Their use was nearly universal as they made kicking even more lethal while weighing next to nothing. Forgoing claws meant Pirnict liked to stay low to the ground. Finally ‘wasp stings’ referred to when a javelin archer used his projectiles as a melee weapon. It was a strike performed entirely by the upper arms and so guaranteed to have little strength behind it – often considered an attack borne of desperation. Pirnict’s allegedly purposeful use of them only added to his enigmatic fighting style. Perhaps he thought taking the route of the unexpected would allow him to surprise his way to victory. It might work on normal foes, but Eallva doubted it had much chance against Selvim.
As though her thoughts had summoned him, Selvim appeared on the opposite side of the arena, striding into the light. His hairless skin seemed to affect the sunlight in an odd way, outlining him in a bloody glow, though “Odd” hardly began to describe him. Everything about the lesser god seemed so alien to Eallva that even though she’d seen him countless times in the arena, she still stared at him every time he faced a challenger. He was tall, nearly three times the height of any mortal, but perhaps it was because of the odd way he stood. Like a prickled quatni plant sticking out the sand, he stood with his legs fully extended, tottering awkwardly about on his underdeveloped and freakishly short feet. To add to his disproportionate nature, his arms were grotesquely large, each nearly half as long as his entire body.
Perhaps they were compensating for his tail, of which he had none. With such short feet and no tail, Eallva always wondered how he maintained balance. Indeed, he often didn’t, as she had seen him fall many more times than any with such a reputation for victory as he should have ever accumulated in their lifetime. The only reason he had survived each of those times was because – unlike mortal warriors – he was not defenseless after his legs were knocked out from under him. Every time he’d fallen, Eallva had watched him use his oversized arms to bat away aggressors, or even attack from a lying position. His oddly proportioned legs made it simple for him to regain a standing position from the ground, but he paid for it dearly in the way he moved.
Frankly, Selvim was slow – laughably so. He moved with the smooth, fluid motions of the wild Tratr who roamed the desert in packs, hunting anything from small rodents to cerveas deer. And like wild Tratr, he was no match for the arching leaps of even the slowest warrior, his albeit substantial leg span woefully inadequate when compared to the [10 meter] jumps of anyone with a measure of endurance. His reflexes were slow as well. Not to the same degree as his running speed, but enough to be noticeable. Oftentimes he defeated challengers through exhaustion rather than amazing skill, fighting defensively until either a clear opportunity presented itself or his opponent was so tired they could hardly hop. Of course, he also had his fire blades.
The Excelsum’s voice rang throughout the Ring, drawing all eyes to her wizened form. Sanding before her seat on its raised platform, she raised her tail in Selvim’s direction, addressing him. “Do you accept this challenger?”
Selvim raised his double-sided fire spear in confirmation, dual spear heads bursting into a blazing white heat as he did. Being a god, he only spoke when none but the Excelsum could hear him. The highest priestess raised her tail to Pirnict. “Do you wish to withdraw you challenge?”
“No,” squeaked Pirnict’s voice, small but with conviction.
“Then may the gods look down upon you with favor and grant you victory”. The Excelsum’s tail fell.
Selvim surged forward. For him Eallva supposed he was surging, but to her and everyone watching he looked, as always, painfully slow as he used his ungainly run to sluggishly close the [200 meter] distance between himself and his challenger. Pirnict, alternatively, took two leisurely hops then stopped. Dropping his thorn and drawing a javelin from the quiver on his back, he held it vertically in his tail. Pausing for a heartbeat, he steadied himself, then leapt straight into the air. As he approached the zenith of his arch Pirnict turned a summersault, whipping his tail around until he stopped rising. As he began to fall his tail gave a snapping report, hurling the javelin at Selvim.
Selvim wasn’t where he had been. Though Eallva thought Pirnict deserved more credit than Fratep gave him concerning his javelin spinning abilities, the scorpion dancer had not yet mastered the skill of sighting one’s target while in mid-flip, rather than as one jumped. As soon as Pirnict had flung himself skyward Selvim had dived to the side, exploiting another quirk of his physiological build to quickly fall to the ground, roll, then spring back up with nearly no momentum lost. The deadly projectile harmlessly passed him, well wide of the determinately approaching god.
Pirnict responded quickly, smoothly drawing another javelin and throwing himself back into the air. Diving to the other side Selvim rolled and kept running, drawing closer, again avoiding the attack. Eallva could tell the challenger was attempting to compensate, spinning shots to the left or right of Selvim’s position, but he wasn’t skilled enough. As slow as the god was, he wasn’t so sluggish that Pirnict could spend the whole match hoping for a lucky hit. Drawing his final javelin and holding it in his paws, he threaded his tail back into the discarded thorn, hefted it, and jumped at his attacker.
The thorn struck, lancing over Pirnict’s back in the signature move that had earned its users the nickname scorpion. Selvim ducked low to the ground. Rather than attacking at the apparently exposed tail he executed a precise hop to Pirnict’s side. It was the right move, as the scorpion dancer used the momentum of the thorn to carry himself forward in a quick stab with his throwing javelin. Selvim’s side-jump had moved him out of range, and once again he was presented with the apparently exposed side of his challenger, and once again the god didn’t take the obvious move, but swept his two-sided fire spear across his body. His apparently contrary move saved his life again as Pirnict followed his stab forward, but whipped his tail around, throwing his thorn to trail behind and to the side, impaling Selvim. The thorn connected with a clang of metal as the attack was foiled by Selvim’s block.
On it went, Pirnict, demonstrating exceptional skill in his chosen technique, executing perfect, instant turns and redirections of momentum, dangerous at both ends as he lunged and stabbed, a whirling ball of deadly skill and blurred motion. No matter how skilled he was, though, Pirnict was nothing compared to Selvim. As much as he was a scorpion with lighting stabs and sharp cuts, the emissary of the god of war was the wind. Selvim was slow, but he was flawless as he moved smoothly from one form to the other, anticipating nearly every one of the dancer’s attacks, flowing around the quickly tiring Pirnict, perfectly in control. Even when his guesses were wrong, Selvim never put himself in a position that, was he wrong, would be fatal. He took a cut on his arm and side, but they were scratches against what would have been maggot holes in anyone less precise in their movements.
As Eallva watched, she saw how inevitable the outcome was. The unfortunate scorpion dancer was good, but even she could predict most of his attacks after watching him for a short time. Sure, she enjoyed watching for such things as patterns in combat, but Pirnict was woefully unimaginative as he continued to follow the formula of stab, follow through, half-pirouette back-hop, scorpion strike, stab, repeat. It was a formula that allowed near instant transitions, but no matter how fast you moved one never won a fight where the enemy knew where you would be. Eallva’s thoughts proved prophetic as, on the back-hop, instead of stepping to the side to avoid the oncoming overhead stab, Sevlim flung himself to the ground and forward, following Pirnict as he shot back to give himself room to bring in his thorn. His fate was sealed as he raised his tail above his head and attacked. The strike was far too high to hit Selvim on the ground, but the scorpion dancer had already committed himself to his style’s signature move. Following his tail as he threw it forward, Pirnict impaled himself on the head of the precisely positioned fire-spear he’d never seen coming.
A collective breath was released, though no cacophonous storm of applause shook the Ring as they would had this been a game. They weren’t there to be entertained; they were present to see if this challenge yielded the destined leader. The entire fight, from start to finish, had lasted approximately [one minute, 15 seconds] and the [fist minute] had just been Selvim running the diameter of the arena. Pirnict was decidedly not what the gods were looking for. The victor walked back to the gate from which he’d emerged, surrounded by an entourage that had scurried to surround him from waiting positions around the arena. They had started bounding to him before their charge’s final blow had struck – even they had foreseen Pirnict’s doom. Though the challenge was over, the day wasn’t. After every match the Excelsum personally delivered a sermon.
When she thought about it, Eallva guessed it seemed somewhat insensitive. Someone had just died, and now everyone listened to the highest priestess drone on from her raised platform, completely ignoring the lifeless body as Temple guards dragged it away. Had someone died on the streets those who witnessed the spectacle would have been horrified, traumatized. But that was just how it had always been. People died in the Ring, not in the streets. For some reason that didn’t seem quite right, but how could it not be; the gods had ordained the arrangement. Eallva watched Selvim’s retreating back disappear into the darkness of his personal entrance gate.
Surely he would say something if what we were doing was wrong, right?
Date point 1y 7m BV
Breathing hard, Eallva flattened herself against the ground, spinning on one foot, tail fully extended, lashing herself around with a burst of rotational velocity. At the final moment she snapped her tail, slinging the small ring blade out and away from her. Sailing across the range it struck, quivering – in the wrong target. She swore. Everyone else on the training yard was, and it wasn’t like she had just had her ninth. She was past her tenth, actually.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Amdlin.
“Don’t patraonize me,” she snapped, “I missed the target by so much that I hit two over from it, and I wasn’t even on target with that one.”
“But aim can improve,” Amdlin, the melee projectile instructor, continued excitedly, “Your form was incredible! I can hardly find anything to correct as far as how you spun that shot off, and you haven’t even had your eleventh yet. I still have students past their eighteenth who can’t manage a ring shot as well as you.”
“I have a feeling if I was on a battlefield my allies wouldn’t care how good my form was if I took their head off.”
Amdlin laughed, increasing Eallva’s annoyance. Nearly all the other instructors kept a tight rein on their praise and outward displays of affection, only giving small compliments when they were deserved. Amdlin was much freer with his goodwill, and it was hard to know if he was just being kind or was genuinely impressed. She hoped he was impressed, she’d been practicing her form for slightly more than [9 months]. It was a simple throw for a skilled marksman, but unheard of for a beginner such as herself.
“Do you think,” Eallva began as soon as the talkative instructor stopped showering her with ambiguous praise, “That if I improved my aim I could use it as my primary specialization in my application to the scale lizards?”
Amdlin’s amicable expression slid off his face like mud, leaving only shock, “Application? Now? You do know that of the few that do submit applications to the scale lizards do so after about [8 years], right?” she nodded, “You’ve only been here for [a year], and while your progress has been stunning, you’re not anywhere near the skill level to have a shot at actually succeeding with an application to such a prestigious group. I know your desire is to apply to a group renowned for its member’s impatience, but please don’t get that far ahead of yourself.”
Of course Eallva had already known that, she had just wanted to make sure Amdlin was actually listening to what she was saying rather than just spouting out generic feel-good approval. The scale lizards were an elite group of blood wasps, a style of fighting that relied upon short to medium ranged projectiles, featuring only claws for close combat. The scale lizards got their name from a particularly nasty reptile that, when threatened – or sometimes just because it felt like being a bastard – would eject its hard, sharp scales at its attacker/innocent bystander.
“Fine,” she sighed, appearing to bend to Amdlin’s superior wisdom.
He nodded, thankful that that nonsense was over with. “Now if you could show me how you’ve improved with the darts.”
Eallva cursed again, though this time internally. She hadn’t practiced the darts anywhere near as much as she had the rings. Throwing them just felt so awkward – looked like it too – and was nowhere near as useful or powerful as the rings. She doubted even Amdlin would be offering any encouragement after what he was about to see.
Five hours later
He hadn’t been impressed. In fact, he’d been so unimpressed that he had drilled her through darts for the rest of the day, not even bothering to see how she’d improved with the stones or crescent. Her arms had never felt so sore, mainly because she’d never used them for so long. Arms and paws were only good for digging and eating – throwing with them was pure insanity.
She was distracted from her misery as a dirty little figure hopped up beside her. She sighed with resignation.
“Eallva, come quick, I have to show you something!” Jablo squeaked in his unusually quick voice.
“Why?” she asked, trying hard not to sound completely disinterested.
“You have to come see for yourself it’s just this way follow me!” He went [ 30 meters] before realizing Eallva wasn’t following. “What’s wrong with you come on!” he shouted back.
“Tell me what it is first.”
“No you won’t believe me it’s really weird,” was he speaking even faster than usual? Eallva sighed again; he wasn’t going to let her off this time. He never let her off. Jablo was supposedly the same age as her, but he acted like he was only half. Worse yet, he seemed to have a crush on her – one that she most certainly did not reciprocate. If it had been harmless she wouldn’t have minded one way or the other, but Jablo didn’t seem capable of taking hints – or straight up refusals – and was always dragging her around to show her the next big thing he had found.
And he found a lot of stuff. She’d never met anyone who enjoyed digging as much as Jablo. He just seemed to enjoy the act of moving dirt with his paws – a harmless enough hobby so long as he didn’t burrow into any of the support tunnels, which he never did. The only problem was he seemed fascinated with everything having to do with dirt, and assumed everyone shared in his enthusiasm. Consequently, on multiple occasions Eallva had been dragged for miles only to stare at rocks. That was all Jablo ever showed her – rocks. They weren’t even special rocks; they were just the usual grey and brown pebbles that one could find if they looked at the ground for a moment. But Jablo didn’t see it like that, and to him every one of the rocks he’d shown her had had some unique property that separated it from all the rest. A few of them had been interesting, like the one that had been able to move any metal placed near it, but that had been one experience of what seemed like hundreds.
He would keep pestering her until she either shouted at him or went with him, though, and his ears always drooped so dejected whenever she raised her voice at him that she’d sooner spin a ring at him than yell. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to make her throw darts when they got there, and his self-made tunnels were always spacious enough that she never had to shorten her jumps. The only thing it would waste was time.
“Lead the way,” she groaned, defeated. The only tonal inflections Jablo picked up on were shouts, so she doubted he heard the exasperation in her voice.
He didn’t. Smiling widely he shot off, Eallva following at his heels. As she had feared, he led her to the side of Sordit furthest from where they’d started. He always started digging at some city limit, and then usually went down a ways so that future excavators wouldn’t run into his personal network if they decided to expand the city in that direction. This was no exception, and for a time they bounded down a declivity that was the perfect steepness to ensure an easy decent. Jablo knew how to make sturdy tunnels, she would give him that. Once they’d reached some depth that had apparently satisfied the little digger the tunnel leveled off and started its twists and turns.
Jablo’s network made navigating the warrens look like child’s play. She was fairly certain they went in circles several times, but her guide never appeared lost. Bounding through his empire, he never paused to think about which way to go. Occasionally he would point at a wall as they passed, indicating some rock or dirt clod that had caught his attention but hadn’t been special enough to warrant its own show-and-tell session. Sometimes Eallva wondered if he was just playing with her – randomly gesturing at patches of dirt and saying something special was there. Whatever his reason, she was never able to tell the difference between the arbitrary sections of wall he indicated and the dirt surrounding it.
Wherever he was taking her, it was at the very edges of his kingdom. She wondered – as she often did when she was down here – where he put all the excess dirt. She’d never seen any tunnels looking as though they led to the surface.
“It’s right down here!” he shouted back, turning down a tunnel that looked new because of its size. All the older tunnels had been polished into spacious square passageways the size of small streets. This one was still circular and about the size of a doorway. It was too small for both of them to fit at side by side, so Jablo let her go first. Squeezing through the tight aperture, she felt her fur become as caked with dirt as Jablo’s.
If it’s another gods forsaken rock I’m going to spin it through his – oh for fucks sake! It was another rock. He hadn’t even bothered to take this one out of the wall yet, and only its face was showing. At least she could tell what was special about this one – it was bone white rather than grey or brown. He’d dragged her all this way to see a white rock. Preparing her best oaths to throw at him she glared at the rock to give her the extra boost of anger she needed to use them properly. The words died on her lips.
It wasn’t just the face of the rock that was showing. A corner was poking through the dirt as well – a corner that was undeniably made by a chisel. Scrapping dirt away, she slowly unearthed a wall made of unpolished marble. The masonry was unmistakable. What was in question was why a wall that looked expensive and solid enough to be a part of the temple was so far beneath the ground.
“Jablo, how far down are we?” she asked, all hints of irritation and anger gone.
“[417.42 meters],” he replied instantly. She didn’t question the preciseness of his answer.
“And what part of the city are we under?”
“I’m not completely sure,” even if he was only half sure he would almost certainly be correct, “But I believe we are almost directly underneath the Ring’s arena”. Eallva’s blood ran cold.
“What!” she screeched, and she never screeched, “The Ring? We’re under Temple grounds?”
Jablo looked confused by her sudden outburst, “Pretty sure, yeah, though I don’t think they qualify as Temple –”
“And you brought me down here!?” she was getting louder, the tight confines of the tunnel making her ears sting with the noise.
“Unless I’m dreaming I think the answer is yes,” he was still bewildered.
“Do you want to get us killed?” any louder and she was going to collapse the burrow.
“Killed?! What do you mean killed?” spluttered Jablo.
“Killed as in dead, ended, life snuffed out, obliterated, annihilated, removed from existence –”
“I get it,” he tried to interrupt, but she wouldn’t let him.
“It’s illegal to tunnel underneath the temple, don’t you know that? You know everything else about building your own city down here but you’re ignorant of the one thing an excavator can do to incur the death penalty? Really!?” she sounded crazy, but she felt justified in her hysterics.
“But we’re not under the temple, we’re under the Ring,” he protested
“The Ring’s part of the temple you idiot!” she screamed, “There’s literally a tunnel leading straight from the temple to the arena. They practically share a wall!” his face was taking on a defensive caste.
“They don’t share a wall, there’s a whole [11.73 meters] separating them in the form of a maintenance alleyway, and if ‘temple owned’ meant the there was a direct tunnel from the temple to it then half of Sordit would be ‘temple owned’,” the odd comment made her momentarily forget to be angry.
“Wait, what?”
“The temple has direct routes to almost everything. That’s why I go [417.42 meters] down before I turn horizontal. The city has the first [174.89 meters], then the temple has their own network [301.57 meters] down, and then there’s me.”
“What do you mean the temple has their own network?” she asked incredulously, “I’m a Temple guard and I’ve never heard anything like that.”
“You’re still in training,” Jablo retorted.
“I’ve attained first rank,” she shot back, “Enough to be working shifts.”
“Maybe you’re not high enough for them to tell you,” she opened her mouth to respond, but he spoke over her, “Unless you’re saying there’s a massive network stemming directly from the Temple that no one knows about then it doesn’t matter what you have or haven’t been told, it’s there. I accidently tunneled into one when I was younger. No one was there to see me, but the torches were lit. I patched up my breach and after a few more close calls started going deeper. I mapped most of them out, though, enough to see they all ended at different places but started at the temple.”
Eallva opened her mouth, not sure what she was going to say but it was going to be witty. The reality of her situation reasserted itself when a faint wail sounded on the other side of the wall. A wordless howl of raw pain and despair, like an animal dying of heat in the desert, its cries echoing through the night. Both youths froze in sudden fright.
Too afraid to squeak let alone speak, Eallva caught Jablo’s attention with her tail, pointing out of the tunnel. He wasted no time in scurrying his way to the exit as quietly as he could while still moving quickly. She followed closely in his wake. They didn’t stop once they left the cramped hole. The moment his feet hit the hard packed earth of one of his finished tunnels Jablo tore off the way they had come, only looking behind once to make sure Eallva was following. They didn’t stop until they reached the beginning of the sloping route that would take them back to the warrens.
“Jablo,” Eallva panted, “You need to – pant pant – close up – pant pant – that tunnel and – pant pant – those surrounding it.”
He gave a weak hop in agreement, too breathless to speak.
“And we don’t – pant – ever talk about this – pant – understand?”
He hopped again.
“Good,” she looked at the long ramping passageway with distaste, “Then I’m going home”. Without another word she started up the incline – so much for not tiring herself out. It was getting late, and as she walked through the streets she could see the first few streamers of morning light issuing from the small holes that led to the surface to ensure airflow. Which was why she was surprised when Fratep exited from a door into the empty maintenance tunnel she was cutting through, stopping dead when he saw her.
“What are you doing out here this late?” he asked instantly.
She stared at him with a look that plainly meant you’re asking me that question?
He shuffled nervously, “I’m working tonight.”
“Then you’re late for your shift by [several hours] and a few [kilometers] from your post. I know I’m not as studious as you, but give me a little more credit than that.”
“I can’t tell you what I was doing,” he said after several awkward moments of silence.
“Obviously, so now’s the part where you tell me.”
“I’m serious, Eall, I can’t tell you. This isn’t some childish secret or hidden crush, people could get hurt if I told you, including me. Just knowing this much has already put you in a little danger. If I told you everything then you’d have as much potential to get hurt as myself.”
“Do you think I’d intentionally do something that would get you hurt?” she sounded more wounded than she actually was, or maybe the disparity wasn’t that big.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just –” he trailed off.
“Tell me,” she said, putting as much reassurance as she could into her voice.
“I was at a meeting,” came the cryptic reply after several more moments.
“About –”
His face twisted in conflict, ears twisting about with a mind of their own. Then they stopped, shoulders slumping, face falling abruptly, the fatal decision made. “About killing Selvim and the Excelsum.”
Oh.