Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

“Are those vubrí ?” she asked.

Certain Dwarvish words weren’t always written in separate letters. The sages’ own Begaine syllabary used symbols for whole syllables and word parts, and might have once been inspired by such symbols. The harsh strokes of Dwarvish letters could be combined into a vubrí, a patterned shape. These emblems were used only for important concepts or the noteworthy among people, places, or things.

Ore-Locks’s eyes narrowed as he tried to see marks that were higher than Wynn’s light would reach.

“Chane, hold your light as high as you can,” she said.

He did as she asked, and she squinted up once more. The symbols were worn and faded.

“I think that one is Wisdom,” she said, pointing. “And that one might be Virtue, but I’m only guessing. The strokes are different from the vubrí I know.”

Ore-Locks appeared to be chewing the inside of his cheek as he started forward again, walking through the archway. Now curious, Wynn didn’t try to call him back, and stepped through.

She’d barely taken three steps inside when Chane rasped, “More.”

They were in a small tunnel now, wide enough for two to walk abreast. Chane held his crystal toward the left wall.

Dwarvish characters and more vubrí filled the wall in multiple columns, just like in the room of “stone words” Wynn had seen in the temple of Bedzâ’kenge—Feather-Tongue—at Dhredze Seatt. Those engravings had chronicled exploits of that saintly dwarven Eternal of history, tradition, and wisdom.

A sense of hope began growing within Wynn. Had they found a temple deep in the bowels of the mountain? If so, what did it mean?

Every few paces, she or Ore-Locks stopped to try to read the symbols, but many of them were too etched by grime and age to make out. Then she spotted one small, clear section and almost gasped.

“Stálghlên ... Pure-Steel!” she whispered. “And look there ... that has to be for Arhniká—Gilt-Repast.”

“Bäynæ?” Chane said. “References to the Eternals? On the walls?”

Wynn’s thoughts raced over the implications. Dwarves practiced a unique form of ancestor worship. They revered those of their own who attained notable status in life, akin to the human concept of a hero or saint. Any who became known for virtuous accomplishments, by feat or service, might be graced with a thôrhk and become one of the Thänæ—the honored ones. Though similar to human knighthood or noble entitlement, it wasn’t a position of rulership or authority.

After death, any thänæ who’d achieved renown among the people over decades and centuries, through continued retelling of their exploits, might one day be elevated to the Bäynæ—one of the dwarven Eternals. These were the dwarves’ spiritual immortals, held as honored ancestors of their people as a whole.

“Is Feather-Tongue mentioned anywhere?” Chane asked.

At that, Wynn almost stopped trying to decipher more symbols. Why would Chane ask that?

“No, but give me a moment on this next one.” She couldn’t make it out. “Ore-Locks, can you see any reference to ... ?”

He was already heading down the tunnel at a fast pace.

“Where are you ... ? Wait!” she called. “Chane, Shade, hurry.”

With no choice, they trotted after.

By the time they caught up, Wynn found herself standing before a huge set of doors at the tunnel’s end, but they were knocked outward into the tunnel. Each was one piece that must have been hewn from an immense tree trunk. Both had to be over three yards high. But both were broken like twigs by whatever had shattered the mountain peak above.

She stepped through to see Ore-Locks’s expression no longer so impassive. His eyes shifted rapidly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

They’d entered the center point of a great hall that ran lengthwise, left and right. It had taken some damage in the catastrophe, but was surprisingly whole. Chane and Shade came in behind Wynn, and the sight gave them all pause.

Six effigies stood in the hall, three lining each longest wall, but as with much of this seatt, Wynn was struck first by their sheer size. All of them were at least twice the height of Feather-Tongue’s effigy at Dhredze Seatt. Even with her crystal, she could barely make out their heads high above in the dark.

She glanced at a large breach in the hall’s right end, but then turned back to staring at the titanic stone statues. She and Ore-Locks both walked farther into the hall’s center for a better look.

“The hall of Eternals,” Wynn whispered.

“And these are all in one place,” Ore-Locks added hoarsely.

In Dhredze Seatt, each Bäynæ had its own temple, except for the three warrior Eternals, who shared one temple.

“The main tunnel down connected directly to the passage leading here,” Wynn noted. “This hall must have been open to the entire seatt.” Then something else occurred to her. “Only six here?” she wondered aloud. “There are nine in Dhredze.”

Ore-Locks appeared as perplexed as she was.

“I will start seeking an exit,” he said.

Again, he turned away, as if the effigies suddenly no longer mattered. He walked over to stand between the nearest two.

Wynn felt Shade press against her thigh, but she watched Ore-Locks. For the first time, it dawned on her that he’d led them directly down here, and yet he’d never been here before. He was doing everything she asked, but always leading them. Was it her purpose that brought them here or his?

Ore-Locks rounded an effigy’s base that was taller than his head and disappeared along the far wall. Wynn turned to quietly tell Chane her concerns, but he wasn’t there.

Chane stood back by the broken doors, studying them, and Wynn hurried to join him.

Upon entering the hall of immense statues, Chane had looked for one without even thinking. Among the six present, none looked like the figure of Feather-Tongue that he knew. Perhaps that dwarven Eternal had been born after the war, lived in the aftermath, and was unknown among either Thänæ or Bäynæ in earlier times.

From what Chane fathomed, Feather-Tongue had been a scholar of the world rather than choosing to stay in any one place to teach. Perhaps he had gone among the scattered dwarves who had escaped Bäalâle, offering his tales and lessons. Somehow, he had proven himself worthy enough to be remembered and been elevated to Bäynæ.

Chane put that puzzle aside, for he had greater concerns. Control over Wynn’s safety seemed to be slipping away with every step. While she studied the effigies, he went to the hall’s far right end, looking into the wall’s great gash.

A raw shaft went straight down, too dark and deep for his crystal’s light to reveal the bottom. It may have always been there inside the stone and was only exposed when the wall had collapsed inward. But though rough surfaced, it seemed too round to be a natural rift. Why would dwarves excavate a vertical passage of such size, leave it unfinished and unusable, only to be exposed by the breach?

Chane turned next to studying the entrance doors. The hall was reasonably intact, so what had broken them? One leaned against the archway’s edge, while the other had been knocked outward into the tunnel, its great hinges ripped from the frame stones. The remains of a rotating iron bar, nearly as thick as his thigh, was still bolted to the door. Clearly, this entrance had been sealed from the inside.

Half the bar was gone, shorn off near the center spin point. Glancing around, Chane spotted the missing half tucked in against the outer tunnel’s wall base. His brows knitted.

The cataclysm might have caused some damage here, but judging by the doors’ inner hinges and that bar, they would have more likely fallen inward. Yet there was the sheared bar lying in the outer tunnel, as if the hinges had been ripped from the stone as the door was forced outward.