The Echolone Mine (13 page)

“Yeah, like
what?” another shouted.

“Torrential
rain flowing into a hole you dug into the earth,” Torrullin
said.

Most looked
up. Those in the fore ranks headed towards the slope.

“Who are you?”
the first voice demanded.

“My name is
Torrullin.”

“Elixir?”

“In the
flesh,” Torrullin replied, “and I tell you, all here stare death in
the face unless you vacate immediately.”

Anxious
whispers, and then the first raindrops fell. Within a minute, it
was a downpour and people charged the slope. Already it was mud,
and the four spent energy in aiding them to high ground.

By the time
the arena was cleared, great rivulets hurtled into the
entrance.

“Go up!”
Torrullin shouted at the two women over the noise of the drumming
rain. “Keep them away from the edge, it’s undermined!”

Caballa nodded
and she and Cassy clambered their way through mud to the top.

Torrullin and
Elianas slid to the bottom and hit it running for the entrance.

Fierce
muttering brought about a solid rock sealing, but it took time to
seal against the forces of nature and the water was at knee-height
by the time the two enchanters were satisfied the sealing would
hold.

They waded
back to the slope. The elemental nature of the magic around them
reduced transport power and diminished the talent for
communication.

“We are in for
a dunking,” Elianas called out.

Lightning
zigzagged across the sky and a bolt smashed with awesome power into
the slope. It exploded in a rain of mud, and caved in. A wall of
rock and soil charged at them.

Elianas
groaned and placed his back to the onslaught and braced. Torrullin,
without options, did the same.

On high
ground, a petrified crowd struggled desperately as more and more
ground gave way. A hut burst into flame, thunder shouting above it.
Women screamed.

Further away,
a natural depression used as a dam around the stream flowing
through it, surrendered to the force of water and poured into the
makeshift village. Huge men were hurtled off their feet and women
were swept into what was now a raging river.

“High ground!”
Caballa screamed, dragging a failing Cassy with her.

Those that
could, climbed. Those that could not, crawled. There they waited
for the storm to pass, shivering and frightened.

In the
amphitheatre, Torrullin and Elianas swam upward through gritty mud,
rock and other organic material, tearing cloth from body, skin from
bone. In darkness they struggled, with only instinct to guide them
in the right direction.

They reached
the surface and took in great gulps of air, and then were washed
over the edge of the hole by the overfill, powered by masses of
water and debris from behind. They tumbled down an adjacent slope
and fell hurtling into a torrent of water to wash up bleeding and
gasping on the other side.

Again instinct
kicked in and they crawled their way up to higher ground before
collapsing.

They were at
least four sals from the others and had no idea how those
fared.

Elianas, on his
stomach, lifted to spit mud, and laughed. He flopped onto his back
and laughed harder.

Torrullin,
struggling up, looked himself over, and then fell back muttering,
“What is so funny?”

“This! This is
the first time a storm has left me with only a desire for dry
clothes and a stiff drink.”

“We got a bit
more than expected.”

Elianas
laughed again. “The green junkies got their wish - no more
mining!”

“And the
shamans will claim redress from ancestors,” Torrullin said in
amusement.

Elianas craned
his head backward. “There is a cave up there.” He rolled over and
stared at it, and managed to stand.

Most of his
clothes were shredded and blood dripped from various cuts and
grazes. Mud clung everywhere. Torrullin, who was as bad, followed
him up as he climbed.

It was less
than a cave, for they had to crawl in. There was no standing room
and it was not large, but it was dry, and old branches gave
solidity to snap a decent magical blaze into being. They huddled
over it shivering until warmth crept back, and then set about
healing the worst of their injuries.

“I hope Cassy
is all right.”

Torrullin
said, “Caballa is with her.”

“We need to
get to that door.”

“From above.
There’s no safe way to clear the cave-in.”

Elianas peered
through a curtain of rain. “How long before this lets up?”

Torrullin
shrugged.

Elianas
studied him. “What is wrong?”

“I am
beginning to think this door situation is the opposite of the Void.
A void is open, a door is closed. Always there are opposites, there
has to be.”

“Yes, but you
are reaching. We do not know what the door looks like.”

“No visions
after the Void, visions here. An ancient world versus a new one.
Grinwallin, long delved, this one recently intruded upon. The
coincidences add up fast.”

Elianas shoved
his hair behind his ears. “Maybe.”

“I agree,
though, that we won’t know until we stand before it.”

Elianas was
silent, staring into the fire. “What would lie on the other side of
a door like that?”

“If the Void
was empty …”

“It was not
empty, Torrullin. Everything lay in that eternal space.”

“Then
absolutely nothing lies beyond the door.”

“True
void?”

“From
everything comes nothing, thus from nothing comes everything, like
visions renewed.”

“Gods, that is
a frightening thought.”

“Indeed.”

They looked at
each other and both smiled.

The rain
stopped eventually and the crowd on the hillside descended to a
ruin of a village.

One woman, an
environmentalist, had died, and two men, miners, suffered broken
bones. Of the mine entrance there would not again be a sign; nature
had reclaimed it.

Torrullin and
Elianas, dry and smelling of wood smoke, joined the disheartened
and disgruntled bunch milling amid torn planks and corrugated
sheets.

While Elianas
bent over the two men with broken bones, Torrullin approached the
woman who seemed to have the most authority. He introduced
himself.

She shook his
hand. “I am Allith. Thank you for the warning. This could’ve been
far worse.”

He inclined
his head and asked, “Are you qualified to speak for Echolone?”

“I am the
representative, yes.”

“Good, then
maybe you can tell me what is happening.”

She led him
away. “At first it was adventure, then greed, and miners started
arriving by the hundred, dynamite in hand. This is only one mine,
damn it; there are others. The environmentalists followed and
stirred things up more, although, truth be told, I laud their
efforts. Then our shamans started acting up, saying the ancestors
were displeased, and they found the door. That’s what brought you,
right?”

“Yes.”

“That bloody
door has affected my people, the miners, even the greeners. It
brought archaeologists and further heightened the tension. What you
came upon earlier was a showdown. The businessmen, those arseholes
in red jackets - red, I ask you - sorry, sorry.” She took a
breath.

He grinned.
“It’s all right. I think they’re arseholes, too.”

She laughed
and then wiped a hand over her brow. “Anyway, it’s moot now, thank
Aaru.”

“Here, yes,
but the other mines?”

“Do you know
anything about Echolone’s history?”

“Some.”

“Then you may
know we live in harmony with nature and this situation goes against
everything we stand for. The universe doesn’t need more coal,
diamonds or gold, Elixir. Have we not advanced beyond that?”

“Men need it,
greedy men. Are you able to bring all parties to a table?”

“I’ll
threaten, if necessary. Will you talk to them?”

“I will talk,
yes.”

She smiled.
“Thank you. Shall we say in three days at Two Fork Tree?”

“You have a
date. Now, to more immediate matters. We will help you clear up
here …”

“No, no. Those
idiots brought the mess, and they’ll take every scrap out of here,
trust me.”

His lips
quirked. “They are wet and hungry.”

“Good, then
they’ll work faster.”

Torrullin
laughed outright. “I like your spirit.”

She smiled and
then was serious. “The door, it’s gone.”

“It is there.
We use other methods to get to it. Speaking of which - would it be
possible to talk with your shaman leader? And maybe you know of one
or two who will share their visions?”

She watched
his face. “This worries you, doesn’t it?”

“Not knowing
worries me.”

“Join us, all
four of you, in the village upstream. A dry place to sleep, good
food, much talk, and our head shaman lives there.” She grinned.
“He’s my father.”

Torrullin
bowed. “We thank you.”

“The
archaeologists and environmentalists board there also, and they
love to share.”

“All birds
with one stone.”

“Yes,” she
laughed.

“Thank you. Is
there a place in your village that receives little sunlight?”

“That’s a
strange question.”

“We are
bringing a linguist in. Sunlight will kill him.”

“My father
prefers the dark as well; his home is set into the hillside. Your
linguist will be quite safe there.”

“Thank you
again. You have been helpful.”

“Well, I’m
counting on you to help me, so we’re even.”

Allith smiled
and then strode into the milling crowd and started issuing
orders.

Personality
drives action. It is, after all, how we think that causes us to
move in one direction or another.

Awl

Echolone

A
llith’s village was called Still Pond Rock.

She explained
all villages were named according to its featured natural landmark,
and always with three words. Still Pond Rock perched beside a deep,
tranquil and natural pond and, exactly in the centre, a strange
rock formation pointed at the sky. It reminded of a unicorn.

Two Fork Tree
apparently sported a giant tree that split in half centuries ago,
and then there was Four River Crossing, Red Flower Hill, White
Boulder Plain and so forth.

Caballa
murmured it was romantic. Allith glanced at her, smiled and
agreed.

Still Pond
Rock was ablaze with night’s fires when they entered. The
environmentalists were already in, clean and dry again, and subdued
after having lost one of their own. The archaeologists sat
despondent around a huge central fire pit; they had lost their
purpose for being on Echolone. It was time to go home. A group of
shamans sang quietly around a smaller fire to one side. Resident
villagers laughed, drank and cooked the evening meal - a communal
duty - upon a string of raised fires.

Beautiful,
sturdy huts flickered in the firelight, beckoning welcome.

As they
entered, Torrullin reached out to Lowen and sent her the
co-ordinates, and was then taken by surprise when she and a Cèlaver
male appeared before them immediately. Allith gave a small, shocked
cry.

“Sorry. We
didn’t mean to scare anyone.” Lowen looked them over. “By God, what
happened to you?”

Torrullin
said, “Tell you later. Lowen, this is Allith, civic leader. Allith,
Lowen and …?”

Lowen shook
the woman’s hand. “This is Carlin, a linguist.”

Carlin was
like to all Cèlaver, human, but for the chitinous skullcap and
pronounced spinal ridges. This one, mercifully, came robed; Cèlaver
wore little in their humid habitat.

The linguist
shook Allith’s hand and then bowed low before Torrullin. “My Lord,
I am deeply honoured to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you.
Allith has opened her father’s hearth to protect you.”

Carlin bowed
to Allith. “I thank you, lady Allith.”

“Just Allith.
I’m a village girl.”

As Lowen
introduced Elianas, Cassy and Caballa, Allith led the way to a hut,
which appeared to have sprouted from a tree. She preceded them
inside. The tree took pride of place in the centre of a beautiful
dwelling.

“This is my
home,” she said. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. There’s
running water through there and a guest chamber there …” She smiled
and retreated. “I must speak with my father.” She paused to add,
“Carlin, we’ll have you installed by morning, and please, once you
have refreshed, join us for the evening meal.”

She vanished
through the open door.

“This is
fantastic,” Caballa breathed. “I can do this back home.”

Bright rugs
adorned a sturdy and polished wooden floor, and glorious landscapes
led the eye through far vistas upon the walls. A beautiful
chandelier hung from one side of the tree, filled with fat candles,
while colourful lanterns swung from a raftered ceiling on the other
side. One side was a kitchen, the other a comfortable sitting room
with big, sprawling couches and hosts of scatter cushions.

Doors led off
this central space. The guestroom had thick straw mattresses piled
against one wall and could sleep eight or more. Another room was
obviously Allith’s bedchamber and another contained a long table
where various artistic projects were in progress. Painting,
pottery, drying flowers, a half-completed rug. Her studio. The
other was the bathroom. A natural stone shower boasted hot water, a
carved wooden bowl served as basin and a wooden platform, with lid,
was obviously a toilet. It smelled of flowers and herbs.

The women
hogged the bathroom, while Torrullin and Elianas donned fresh
clothes. They laid out mattresses, found warm eiderdowns and fluffy
pillows and readied the beds for the night.