Barb Hendee: Through Stone and Sea

Wynn reached down, scratching Shade's back. "It's all right."

Chane piled their packs next to her and climbed into the next empty bench.

"Did you pay for passage?" he asked.

"Transport inside the mountain is a public service," Wynn answered. "The tribes and clans take pride in the upkeep of streets and access that serve their settlements."

Chane barely nodded, watching the last travelers board—all dwarves. She and he were the only humans. Then he leaned over the rail wall, peering forward along the tram.

Wynn knew he was trying to see the lead car—the "engine," as he'd called it. But he wouldn't from their current vantage point.

"Are you acquiring a taste for dwarven culture?" she asked.

He leaned back, and any wonder had already faded from his eyes. Perhaps someone like Chane couldn't allow himself to enjoy anything too much.

"It is orderly," he answered, "even in its occasional chaos. I can appreciate this." Then he paused as if thinking. "Do they have a constabulary … or a city—settlement—guard?"

Wynn frowned suspiciously.

"Not precisely," she answered. "Each tribe has a warrior caste, somewhat like human armies, but they haven't known outright war since … I don't know when. Some clans man local constabularies in their areas, but there's little to no crime. Justice is handled by a clan conclave."

"Conclave?" he echoed. "A council?"

"Not exactly," she countered. "Council members are usually elected or appointed. It's more complicated with a dwarven conclave, from what little I know. And it always meets behind closed doors."

"So, politics persist in all cultures."

"It's complicated," she repeated, "in who sits on a clan or tribe conclave. Disputes between clans, and families of differing clans, or more complex issues are settled up at Seattâsh—Old-Seatt. That's where representatives meet for the conclave of five tribes. Why do you ask?"

Chane glanced away.

Wynn grew anxious to press him for answers, but then the tram car lurched. She grabbed the seat's edge as Shade let out a pitiful moan beneath it. The tram picked up speed, and Chane settled with his back to her.

The journey through dark and stone began.

Still in the tram tunnel's darkness, Sau'ilahk had to know where Wynn was headed. In the end, he had little choice but to expend preciously consumed life. Pulling back against the tunnel wall, he focused inward.

In his mind's eye, in midair, he shaped a glowing circle for Spirit the size of a splayed hand. Within this, he formed the square of Air. And in the spaces between these nested shapes, he stroked the lines of sigils with his thoughts.

Sau'ilahk fixated upon the glowing grand seal, and a part of his own energies bled away in a brief wave of weariness.

A silent breeze built inside the tunnel.

He ignored this side effect and called the air inward, into the seal that only he could see. There was no change of temperature in the tunnel, but the pattern's center space warped like the horizon across a hot desert. That nearly invisible distortion held its place within the seal's center—a servitor of Air.

The most base of elementals, no more than a mindless automaton, awaited his implanted instructions.

The effort of its creation left him lethargic, but he was not yet finished. He focused his will upon a tiny fragment of Spirit infused within the construction of Air and embedded five simplified commands in proper order.

Target the being in gray robes.

Record all sound.

If target leaves this area, return to origin point.

Reiterate all sound.

Banish!

Sau'ilahk released the glowing lines in his mind's eye.

They faded to nothing—but not the small twist of Air. Freed of restraint, the faint warp of the servitor shot down the tunnel into the station's cavern to fulfill its purpose. Not even a breeze was raised in its passing.

Sau'ilahk drifted toward the tunnel's mouth.

No one noticed the fist-size warp. All were far too busy, including Wynn, as she led her companions to the nearer platform. This at least told him where she was headed, but he waited as the trio boarded and took their seats, and yellow-orange light erupted with steam at the tram's head.

It gained speed and hurtled toward him in the tunnel.

It could do him no harm, but he backed to the side before its glow bore through him. As the second-to-the-last car passed, he glimpsed Chane sitting before Wynn.

Sau'ilahk still sensed nothing from this man. Chane seemed no more than an illusion of light and sound that somehow had gained physical presence.

Who— what —was he?

In Calm Seatt, Sau'ilahk had tried to drain that one's life with a touch and found only emptiness where life should have existed. Chane was indeed undead, but not like any that Sau'ilahk had ever encountered. Were he a vampire, his presence would immediately be sensed, and the dark majay-hì with Wynn would have attack him.

The last car dwindled in the tunnel's distant darkness.

The servitor's warp reappeared before Sau'ilahk.

He tensed in anticipation, waiting for the tunnel's Air to shiver with its recorded sounds. Wynn's voice echoed lightly and he listened.

Most of the sparse conversation was useless, but one utterance brought him some revelation.

Shirvêsh Mallet believes High-Tower's family resides below Sea-Side. If we can find them, we might find his brother … and then the Stonewalkers and the texts.

The servitor vanished with a pop as normal air rushed in to take its place. Its last command completed, it returned to nothingness.

Sau'ilahk's thoughts filled with fragile hope amid puzzlement.

So the little sage's reason for traveling to the mountain's ocean side was to search for the kin of Domin High-Tower, for his brother … and for the Hassäg'kreigi. What could she possibly know of Stonewalkers? That dwarven sect was all but a mystery, even to its own people. Yet, she now seemed to believe they were connected to the ancient texts. She had sounded resolute in her deductions. She must have learned something critical.

Sau'ilahk's mild fatigue from conjuring left him with no regret. He was on the correct path, and Wynn would lead him the rest of the way. He let himself slip down toward dormancy.

This time, he did not recall a memorized place. He focused instead upon the tram's distant glow and held it within his consciousness.

Sau'ilahk vanished from the tunnel, swallowed in an instant of dormancy. He immediately struggled to reawaken.

The tram's clatter erupted around him in the tunnel, startling him for an instant. Its last car was so close he could touch it, as if in one blind step he had crossed the long distance to catch up. Then it quickly rushed onward.

Blink by blink, to dormancy's edge and out again, Sau'ilahk followed Wynn's night journey through the mountain.

Wynn gripped the bench's edge—not from panic but from growing nausea. Poor Shade had long since gone silent.

The tram constantly shuddered, rocking slightly whenever rounding a gradual curve. It didn't agree with Wynn's stomach, and worse, Chane appeared annoyingly immune. He glanced back at her now and then in concern.

"On our return, we will take a forward car," he said. "Being closer to the engine may minimize the rocking."

Wynn bit down on her lower lip. Such ideas were all well and good, but they didn't help her now. Rationalizing every problem was always his way of helping, but she wondered if he possessed any true empathy. She was also beginning to feel trapped.

Even with a welcome breeze from the tram's rush, there was little to see along the way. The absolute blurred sameness throughout the night made her feel as though the tunnel were closing in.