The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 8

 

8 – Mosek – Return to the Grand Market

As he walks slowly through the tunnels, Mosek uses his staff for balance. Shaatka silently pushes the cart, whose wheels squeak a bit on the travel-worn path.

“Thank you for helping me. I’m sorry that I am moving so slow.” Mosek.

Shaatka Niiwazi sympathetically smiles, “I am honored to help however I can, Hairy Old Bear.”

“I wish I were younger and stronger. You’d make an enjoyable bedmate.”

“Even at full strength, I think I would exhaust you.” She teasingly responds.

Mosek, smiles, it’s the first joke she’s made on her way to the Grand Market.

He looks appreciatively at her strong, but fluid form wearing the linens and silks of a Protector. “You are probably right. I’ll have to find me a lonely Mama Bear within the Clans.”

Her small glow-moss lantern hangs from a hook on the cart, casting moving shadows along the tunnel walls.

“Instead of entering the Market with the cart. Let’s take the Merchant’s Tunnel. Peacekeepers will inspect the cart before we cross the border.” He explains.

She nods and points to her unstrung bow and arrows sticking out of the central portion of the cart. “Will these cause problems? I could have left them with others.”

He thinks for a moment as he sees the first markers.

“You are a Protector, and you are guarding me, so it shouldn’t be an issue. But I’m glad you are thinking.”

“Will you need me to cross the border?” She asks.

“Maybe. I might have one of the Bimkor help me, but I haven’t arranged anything.”

She nods as she steadily pushes the cart.

The light of the Cavern changes from solely Shaatka’s lamp to the brighter blue-green lanterns and yellow oil lamps of the Market staging space.

“Mosek!” an older Naawaii-wakwan loudly says as he stops unloading his cart.

Shaatka stops and watches as a variety of Bimkor rush to greet him.

Children hug him, then run under the red rope of the not-yet-opened Market entrance.

“Happy to see you.”

“Heard you were crushed.”

“Blessings of Bruna”

“Her Holy Blood healed you.”

The rush of voices merge around him.

 

After a moment, Shaatka steps forward. “Please let him rest a moment.”

Mosek lets out an exaggerated sigh as he feels overwhelmed. “It took almost twice as long to return. I wanted to be here yesterday.”

On the Market side of the red rope, a small crowd gathers. A slightly impatient dwarf says, “When you have time, we have accounts to settle.”

“He will, he always has.” A goblin instructor from Two Forges says, and then yells to Mosek. “Take your time. Your slate is probably filled with more than we expect.”

 The Market Peacekeepers raise the rope. “Market is Open,” they call.

 Mosek motions for Shaatka to push the cart to the Merchant’s tunnel, but the impatient Metal merchant comes up to Mosek. “I understand you were hurt, but you had been gone so much longer than usual. Your account is overdue.” He points to Shaatka. “Have your goblin woman unload and bring things straight to my table.”

Shaatka silently grips the handles of the cart and tightens her lips.

But Mosek nods and leans on his staff. “You are correct. I have been gone for a long time, and accounts need to be settled. Return to your stall. We will be there after we unload.”

The grumpy dwarf comments “Don’t take too long.” As he returns to the Grand Market.

In a soft voice, Mosek explains. “You might hear some ugly slurs. I didn’t realize my delay had caused problems. If you can carry and deliver the goods to the tables, I’ll bring the slate and my purse.”

She nods and removes the items he points to, laying them on the ground. “We’ll deal with the Smith Guild first. They are apparently the most worried.”

He looks at the slate, and most of the metal tools are marked Khur-dathun. Shaking his purse he counts the gold coins. He’ll purchase them directly. There are a few cooking utensils that were purchased with chitin and woven blankets. Some rolls of spider silk, dried mosses, and lichen were traded for School-made items. Mosek has Shaatka separate the items based on which merchant needs to be paid. “Before the Guild gets too impatient, let’s pay them first and then return for the others.”

She nods, picks up the items, and a few unsold tools.

Shaatka puts on a pair of carapace slit shades to help with the bright lights of the Grand Market. She notices she is one of the few wearing them, so her eyes will probably adjust quickly, and she feels more comfortable wearing them.  Mosek doesn’t react.

 With his slate in one hand and his staff in the other, he slowly enters the market. He feels hands patting him on the back, while others are extended for a shake. He smiles, holds up the slate, and nods to the Guild run tables. Soon the novelty of his return as lessened.

At the Smithing Guild Table, he smiles at a scowling old dwarf, flanked by his apprentices, all wearing guild badges.

“You called, and I am here,” Mosek says in a joking manner. He passes his slate to the Guild Dwarf, who starts counting off items. Shaatka places each item on the table as they are called off, starting first with unsold items, then moving to the carapace pieces, bone dust flux, and finally the woven blankets.

The Guild apprentices look with wonder at the strange shimmering silk blankets.

“Without a mechanical loom?” one whispers. The other nods before the Guild master grumpily says, “Silence. We are balancing the ledger.”

He then gets to the items marked Khur-dathun. He scowls. “I suppose I am to take a loss because you were hurt in the wilderness and they treated you.”

Mosek shakes his head, pulls out his purse, then counts out gold coins.

The apprentices gasp, not expecting to see coins from a Bimkor trader.

“You’ll not lose a thing, Guild Master. All accounts are settled.”

A few of the other customers notice the gold coins and then look at Shaatka standing silently.

“Never seen a Deep-deep trader pay in gold”

“Pay it. They wired him up with it.”

“Are those official royal marks on them?”

“She’s wearing a prybar.”

“Paid for it with gold?”

The Guild Master sweeps up the coins and then hands back the slate. “Mosek Broad-Path. Your account with the Smithing Guild has been settled.”

Mosek nods and motions for Shaatka to lead the way back to the cart.

 

A Priest of Durn softly places his hand on Mosek. “When you have completed your commercial obligations, please find me. I have a healer who wishes to inspect your injuries. We have to verify that you do not carry any infection or rot before you move into the Clan strongholds.”

Mosek nods and grips his staff. “Of course. I am a Child of Durn and obey his laws.”

 

Shaatka is more comfortable when they take the items to the Two Forges School stall. The Master Instructor there speaks directly to her in Mishikwe, asking whether she is enjoying the market and if her journey was peaceful, before focusing on Mosek and balancing the books.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 7

 

7 – Ana / Ashke – Patrolling the Grand Market

Once again, the wool uniform feels stiff and confining against her skin. Ana adjusts the bright red sash crossing her chest and the bronze badge pinning it in place, wishing she had her eye protectors.  “I feel like a dwarf beacon lamp, and it’s so bright.”

Ashke laughs softly. “That’s what you are today, Red Shadow. You’ll get used to it. It makes it easier to watch things in the Market.”

His own uniform hangs comfortably on him, the fabric softened and wrinkled with years of use. She tries to smile back. “Shall we report to the station and meet our new partners?”

He nods and leads the way. Merchants are still unpacking their wares as the two goblin guards step over the thick rope marking the Grand Market as not yet open for business.

The Protectors’ booth is carved directly into the stone wall — a remnant of the old border post. The last piece of the original dividing line still survives inside, while elsewhere it has worn away smooth by time and traffic.

Ana is relieved to see Waad as the Elder on Duty. She knows Ashke, but rarely works with him. Waad nods to them both and lifts the roster, written in both Mishikwe and Durask.

“You are early. Good. It sets a strong example for the Peacekeepers to see you already here and ready.”

Ana feels a brief smile of pride before she forces her expression back into the steady, neutral look expected of a guardian.

“Is she always so stiff, Waad?” Ashke asks.

“You know shadows don’t like light,” Waad replies. “She’s fine. Aren’t you, Ana?”

She nods, then glances toward the dwarven entrance.

All three Peacekeepers march in synchronized steps, the senior softly singing a cadence to keep them in time. Ana shivers. They don’t look like the vigilant border guardians she’s used to — they look like the Iron Legion of legend, boots striking stone in perfect rhythm.

Her hand drifts toward her baton.

Ashke gently places his hand over hers. “Relax, Red Shadow. This is how they arrive. Dwarven merchants expect them to march.”

“The previous times I patrolled the Market, they were already here,” she murmurs.

Waad smiles. “Yes, the couple of times you’ve been here, you arrived after them. This changes nothing.”

The Senior Peacekeeper calls, “Halt.” The three stop as one. He steps forward and bows his head to Waad.

“Today’s Peacekeepers, reporting for duty. May I see the roster?”

Waad hands it to him.

The Senior turns to his two subordinates. “According to today’s roster: Dulmir Iron‑Vigil, you are paired with Noonda Ashkwa‑Mishig. Kavran Stone‑Oath, you are paired with Ashke Wenii‑Gwenewin. I will remain here if you encounter any problems or require assistance. Questions?”

Both dwarves bow their heads. “No questions, Senior Peacekeeper.”

They separate and approach their assigned Protectors to introduce themselves.

Dulmir shakes Ashke’s hand, then Ana’s. “Shall we begin on the dwarf side or the goblin side?”

Ana expects Waad or Ashke to answer — but all three pairs of eyes turn to her.

She straightens her back, imitating the Peacekeeper’s posture. “We should start on the dwarf side. Show the merchants we are here and ready for the Market to open.”

Ashke nods, suppressing a smile. “Good for me. Shall we head out, Peacekeeper Stone‑Oath?”

Kavran bows his head and follows Ashke toward the goblin entrance.

Dulmir turns to Ana. “Are you ready, Zhul‑durak? The Market will open soon.”

She nods, though her eyes narrow with caution.

They begin their morning patrol in silence. Ana moves with the quiet precision of a Scout, watching shadows, corners, and the flow of early foot traffic. Dulmir walks with his head high, smiling at each merchant as if greeting old friends.

Twice, Ana notices Bimkor children whispering and pointing at red‑tagged items — the start of the Market game. Each time she flicks a hand‑sign toward them: ‘seen’. The game is lost before it begins.

She adds a second sign toward Dulmir: ‘stone warrior’. A warning.

The children scatter, suddenly very interested in being helpful runners instead of troublemakers.

Dulmir glances at her, amused. “Efficient.”

Ana shrugs. “Today is not a good day to play.”

 

The rest of the morning is calm as they move from one side of the Market to the other. Slow, steady steps — the kind that reassure merchants and customers alike that guardians are present, watching, maintaining the peace.

Only one thing unsettles Ana: the whispers.

They drift from stalls selling metal tools, rope coils, and other supplies she associates with lone‑wolf miners.

“Use golden wire to patch wounds.”

“So much gold they spin it into thread.”

“Never seen any on the border.”

“Gotta dig deep. Deep‑deep.”

“Priests say Durn’s Gifts belong to us.”

 

Each time Ana and Dulmir draw near, the whispers stop. Voices rise, suddenly loud and mundane.

“If the handle breaks, you replace it for free, yes?”

“How much weight can this rope hold?”

“Is this spider‑silk or river hemp?”

Market questions. Safe questions. Questions meant to hide whatever they were saying before.

Ana’s ears twitch, but she keeps walking.

Soon, the Mid‑Bite Caller’s chime echoes through the Market. Merchants finish their last transactions and begin to close their stalls for the meal break.

As the tables are pushed into the center and benches are brought out, Ana sees Waad and the Senior Guardian bring large baskets. “Hopefully, they packed something good.”

“Don’t they usually?” Dulmir asks as he sits down.

“I’m so used to packing my own along the border, I’m not sure what’s normal here.” She sits next to him. From the baskets, tin plates and utensils are pulled out, and then Waad lays out a platter of Root-mash patties, right next to a large plate of some sort of sliced meat.

“Mmmm Iron-cured marching meat.” Dulmir says as he licks his lips.

Ana looks a little confused by it. Waad winks at her and pulls out a large, wrapped bundle. He unwraps stacks of Glow-moss sweetcakes. “Zhooniyaa‑mashk‑miin!” she excitedly says.

“Of course.” Waad explains, “We need to share our favorite things with our new partners. Isn’t that what the Listeners-of-Bruna would tell you?”

She nods, takes a tin plate, puts a cake on it, along with a root-mash patty, then hands it to Dulmir. “If you try the root-mash patty, I’ll try some ‘iron meat’.”

“Iron-cured marching meat,” he unthinkingly corrects her, as he dishes a plate for her, and they switch. Durable tin cups are placed in front of them as Ashke and Kavran arrive. They take a bench next to them and start filling plates too.

“Sorry for the delay. There was a misunderstanding about the value of some items.”

The Senior Peacekeeper looks up.

“Is it something that needs reporting, Peacekeeper Stone-Oath?”

“No, sir. It was a simple misunderstanding between a merchant and the visiting customer. If we’d apprehended anyone, we’d have reported it immediately.”

Ashke nods, which Waad sees and returns.

 

The ceramic pot of Stone stew makes its way down to their table. But before anyone can dish up, the Mid-Bite Caller offers his blessing. At the end, Dulmir makes the sign of Durn while Ashke drums a prayer to Bruna on the table. Ana takes a moment of silence. It is broken by “Do you want some of the stew? Maybe the salty sliced meat goes well with it?”

She ladles some on her plate and then passes the pot.

The meat is salty. She takes a drink of root-tea to wash it down.

She then cuts the meat up into chunks and moves them into the spicy sauce of the stew.

That is a more familiar flavor for her.

Soon her plate is mostly empty. She notices that Dulmir hasn’t touched his glow-moss sweetcake yet. Ana picks hers up and takes a small bite. Nodding for him to do the same.

“Mmmm that’s sweet. It looks so different, I wasn’t sure how it tasted.” He admits.

“Down in the caverns, my family makes these a few times a month. We have them sparingly because they are so good.”

Ashke chuckles, “And a fat shadow is a poor protector.”

“I can’t imagine her being fat. She is every bit the Zhul‑durak of our stories.”

She turns towards Dulmir. “Is that why you always call me that, because I look like the shadow hunter from your stories?”

“No. My Grandfather was a Peacekeeper. As I was growing up, he told me of the stealthy but honorable ‘shadow hunters’ who guarded the border. He was always in awe of their skill. When I first saw you, bringing in prisoners, you were his stories come to life.”

Ana refills her cup and thinks about it. “Are all your family Peacekeepers? I hear that dwarf clans try to stay to the same professions when they can.”

Kavran comments, “Not his family, but that’s how it is in mine. We’ve got generations of Peacekeepers, both inside the mountain and out.”

Dulmir nods, “Most of my family is in the military. We have long ties to the Iron Legion. My parents were not too happy when I became a Peacekeeper, but I told them I’d rather be an active guardian of the peace than a warrior without a war.”

Ana reflects on this as she finishes her meal.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 6

 

6 – Tesh – Making Rope at Two Forges

“Pull, twist, keep the pressure even, twist, pull,” Tesh says quietly to himself as he braids the three strands of silk cord into a single rope. His callous fingers keep the strands tight. After braiding for a while, Master Varu-Gashki checks the progress of his work.

“Good tension. Keep the twists tight.”

“Master, if I need such a tight twist, why can’t I just use the dwarvish twist-braiding machine?”

“When you were taught the machine, what did you learn?” He asks with that tone like Tesh is asking a foolish question.

Tesh pauses braiding. “Machines have metal clamps and gears.”

Varu nods, “What else?”

“That means the ‘hands that twisted it’ were mechanical.”

“Which means?” He asks, as he runs his fingers through his braided beard.

Tesh thinks for a moment longer. “Oh. There might be some people who won’t use it.”

“Very good, my young apprentice. The one you are making right now, we can offer to a Listener-of-Bruna, who thinks of rope as made from the ‘living body of Burna’.”

“Or if we encounter someone who doesn’t like ‘dwarvish goods’?”

“Yes. Also, you are getting skilled to the point where, if the machines break, you can still braid high-quality ropes for sale as you wait for them to be repaired. A machine is a tool, but what are the greatest tools?”

Tesh nods as he pulls the lines tightly again and continues braiding. “Our brains and our hands are the greatest tools we’ll ever have.”

Master Varu turns and checks on the work of another student.

 The bell and horn sound for Forge-Breath. Tesh feels his stomach rumble with the promise of the coming meal. He ties off his work and goes to wash up. The washroom smells so differently from the weaving and braiding rooms. The scents of smoke and sweat clash with fragrant soaps and water.

“Need a beard comb?”  Britta Stone-Breaker, a smithing student asks.

“I’ll use it on my hair if you think I need it.” He replies, trying to deflect the tired old joke about being a bare-faced, half-heat Bimkor.

His friend Zhaawa moves closer, “Oh, Britta, did you singe part of your beard? You might want to keep your comb.”

The smith quickly looks down and checks herself.

Zhaawa takes Tesh’s hand. “That will keep her busy. Let’s go eat.”

They both sit down with some of the other students. Garin Flint-Eye hands Tesh the platter of mushroom bread. “How is your line coming?” He asks in accented Mishikwe.

Taking a piece of the warm, soft bread, he passes the platter to Zhaawa. “Firm and steady,” Tesh replies using the market slang.

Britta looks a little flustered and glares at Zhaawa.

Tesh overhears Thorek reassuring her, “Your beard is fine. Stop teasing them, and they won’t tease you.”

“Tesh, did you hear news from Deep-deep?” Kweze asks as she passes the earthenware serving bowl for the stew.

“What’d you hear?” he asks as he chews a piece of bread.

“Mosek is up and walking.”

“Really! Thank you. That’s great news! Did Mihkwa get our bandages?”

She nods as she takes a sip of root tea. “Not only that, but they pulled the 'Holy Blood of Bruna' stitches and replaced them with silk.”

“The blessings of Bruna to all those involved.” Zhaawa softly says, as she taps a prayer on the table. Those sitting nearby silently nod.

“Do we know when he’ll return to the Grand Market?” Tesh asks.

“The runners didn’t say. But when we’re back working in the tunnels, we’ll keep an ear to the wind.”

Tesh hears the metalworkers muttering under their breath — not loudly, but loud enough:

“Gold for healing… strange way to use a gift of Durn.”

“Spider‑silk and prayers… always their way.”

“Blood of Bruna… sounds like superstition to me.”

He tightens his fingers around his spoon in frustration.

Zhaawa places her hand on his. “Forget them. We can keep trying_”

“But some stones can’t learn.” Garin finishes.

Tesh smiles at his friends and continues eating.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 5

 

5 – Mosek / Ashke – Healing in the Deep-deep

“Time to wake up, you old sleepy bear,” a warm, familiar voice says in Mishikwe.

Mosek opens his eyes. He’s still in the healer’s room. The mixture of golden lamp light and blue/green phosphor is something he’s getting used to.

“Are you here to wash me or feed me?” He asks with a smile.

“Time for you to wash yourself. Though you might be pleased to know that you still have some Protectors who volunteered to help you.”  Ashke says with a friendly grin.

“Female Protectors? I haven’t shared a bed in a while, and as much as I enjoy your company, someone younger and softer would be welcome.”

“I haven’t said you can do things like that yet, Mosek,” Mihkwa says from his other side. Mosek feels fingers on his back, softly examining the area.

“How does it look, honored Mihkwa?” he asks politely.

“The spider silk stitches are holding better than I thought.” The Binder-of-Flesh says.

“Spider silk? I thought you used the ‘Blood of Bruna’?” Mosek asks confusedly.

“I had, but we use the wire to fix what does not easily close. Silk finishes the healing that gold has begun. When the danger passed, I switched them out as you slept.” Softly, he continues checking the closure. “Beneath all that hair, your skin is smooth. I thought it would be tough like bark, but you, trusted traveler, continue to surprise me.”

Mosek understands what he means and simply nods.

“Mihkwa, how much longer shall I stay on these pillows?”

“That is why I wanted you awake. Let us have you roll over and sit up. You will feel pain, but I need to check the healing.”

Mosek nods and stiffly rolls over. There’s pain as the weight of his body presses on the wound, but he sits up, which relieves it.

“Lean forward and let me look.” The Binder says.

Mosek once again feels the fingers gently probing the area and checking the sutures.

“Nothing came loose and nothing separated. Ashke, hand me one of the new bandages. There are some Miskwa‑bishikaabe‑winiin. I need one of those.”

“Mihkwa, won’t that stick to my skin and rip things open?” Mosek asks.

He hears the Binder softly chuckle, “No. The honey in the bandage will prevent infection and aid in healing. I had to shave all the hair on your upper back, so it won’t pull out hairs either.”

“At least right now.” Ashke jokes.

After they apply and wrap the bandage, Mosek asks, “Can I stand?”

Mihkwa nods, “Yes, let us see if you can stand.”

He helps to steady him from one side as Ashke assists with the other. The stone floor of the cavern feels so hard compared to the pillows he has been lying on for so long. He takes a few gentle steps to get used to being upright again. He can move, but slowly. Trying to stretch, he stops as he feels pain where muscles are still trying to knit together.

He slowly walks to the wash basin against the cavern wall and dips a woven cloth into it.

“The bandage appears to be holding Mihkwa. I think we can move him to the main hall.”

The wet cloth feels good as he rubs it against his face. Seeing a small patch of the cultivated fungus known as ‘Bruna’s Hair’, he pinches off a tuft and rubs it into a lather, then washes his face. Soapy drops fall from his beard and mustache. Ashke holds out a woven towel. “You can do your face, but for a while, you might need help with other parts.”

A broad smile splits Mosek’s face, “Which female Protectors do you have lined up?”

“Did I say there were female volunteers? Your translation skills are fading, Old Bear. I lined up a number of strong, male Protectors who all want to feel the warmth of your fur.” Ashke jokes.

Mihkwa turns to leave.

“Honored Mihkwa. I need to give you something in exchange for what you have done. I know you won’t take payment, but I have items that will be useful to you. Can we go to my cart?”

“Yes, Ashke explained what you need to do and why. You are always a welcome member of our family, but I know your ways are different, too. Yes. Let’s go to your cart.”

They all slowly move to where the cart has been placed. As Mosek walks, Mihkwa watches carefully.

“Would a staff or stick help?” Ashke asks.

“Let him decide. If he feels unsteady, we can give him one.”

Mosek leans against the cart and takes a few slow, deep breaths. “The Hairy Old Bear is now just a Tired Old Bear.”

“You did well, my friend. I’ve seen many who were hurt less than you, cry like a babe to just sit up. Rest for a moment. I will set out your items.”

Mosek nods as Ashke takes the blanket from the center of the cart and lays it out. He then lays out the various metal trade goods and glassware. Finally, he lays out Mosek’s personal items, including a small purse of gold coins.

“Honored Mihkwa, please choose what items you want and will make use of.”

He points to the collapsible chair hanging on the cart, “Ashke, can you unfold that for me?”

His friend sets the stool by the blankets and then helps him sit down.

They watch as Mihkwa ignores all of the metal items but slowly picks up three glass jars with lids and latches. “Amazing. Like living crystal but smooth and clear.”

“Yes, we got those from The Weaving River School.”

Mihkwa lets out a small gasp of amazement, “From Ziibi‑Aashkibwe‑Gamik? They came so far.”

“If they please you, take them. I know you will use them well. Do you see anything else?”

Mihkwa sets the jars down on the blanket and looks at the small sewing kit and spool of dwarvish linen thread. “Mosek, you bind with this?”

“Yes, these are the items of my people. Very commonly found and easily used. If they give you pleasure, take them. I would be honored.”

Looking closely at the metal needles, he touches the tips, frowns, then sets them down, slowly shaking his head, “Dead metal, sharp but no life in it.” But he unspools a section of thread and pulls it. It holds under the tension of his pulls. “Not as strong as spider silk but finely made.”

“Yes, Mihkwa, we call it 'flax-drath. ' It comes from a plant the Hill people grow and harvest. I think the students of Two Forges told me your word for it is zhiibaa‑wiiyaab‑oonh.”

“You have a spool of river plant fibers? You are amazing, Old Bear.”

“If these please you, keep them. I know you will use them for the betterment of all.”

Mihkwa gathers up the jars and the spool of thread. He makes the old traditional trade sign for “an exchange is complete”.

Mosek smiles broadly and makes the same sign.

After he leaves, Ashke asks, “Are you strong enough to do more trading, or shall we try another time?”

Mosek slowly exhales. “I need to rest, but I have one more debt. Do you know who the Protectors are who pulled me from the stones?”

“Of course, why?”

“I remember hearing the sound of tools against rock and want to gift each one a dwarven-made steel tool, if they will accept them.”

“We will be honored. The tools you brought in the past have been used and shared. More would be well received. I will talk to them during the next meal.”

Mosek takes his slate and marks next to each jar: Khur-dathun – paid to honor a debt.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 4

 

4 – Ana – The Hall of Disputes

Ana stands outside the doors of the Hall of Disputes. The doors always look so imposing and solid. The Hall was the one place where goblin custom and dwarven law met as equals, and every ruling inside shaped the fragile peace between their peoples. She adjusts her red sash and badge denoting “guardian of the border”. She is always so uncomfortable wearing the formal uniform. Its wool fabric always feels limiting and looks so much like the Peacekeeper’s.

“Stop fidgeting, Ana.” Waad comments, standing next to her.

“I know Waad. I prefer our silks to this.” She says as she moves her shoulders. “This always feels so limiting.”

He smiles, “Imagine wearing Peacekeeper’s armor instead.”

She visibly shudders. “I’m uncomfortable when they wear it. It reminds me of furnaces at Two Forges.”

Waad shifts the beaded Aashkibwe‑maan belt across his shoulder and rotates the rough slag bead in his hand. “If this were the early days of peace, they’d still be in armor.”

“Yes, but we’d be in body paint. Can I change into that instead?” she brightly smiles.

Playfully mocking, he responds. “Of course. We’ll both enter wearing body paint, silk ropes, and strung bows across our bodies. Looking like the ‘shadow warriors’ they fear.”

She likes the thought of wearing only body paint, but also knows how zhul-durak – shadow warrior – of legend can easily be twisted into zhul-rakkaz – shadow killer – whispered about in fear. She rotates her neck and pulls at her uniform collar as the announcement bell sounds.

Straightening up, she holds her barkskin pad.

The large stone doors open, held by Hall Protectors. Ana rarely entered the Hall—border guards only come when a violation is serious enough to threaten the treaty itself. She lets Waad enter ahead of her. He silently holds up the Aashkibwe‑maan belt. Clearly and loudly, he announces, “This is the official record of Aniniwiin Sukaniniwinin. We come forth seeking justice.” The Truth-Speaker and the Stone-Judge both nod, each from their seats. Waad then turns to the Listener-of-Bruna, who nods, followed by the Priest-of-Durn, who also nods. While staying on the Goblin side of the chamber, he approaches the dwarf Record-Keeper, who nods, and finally the Weaver-Who-Hears-Meaning takes the belt and lays it on the table below the Loom of Peace. Every bead added to the Loom became part of the shared history of both peoples—an unbroken record of the treaty’s survival.

Ana silently walks into the great circle, staying on the goblin side and waits.

Two Peacekeepers enter from the other side. The senior one holds up a glass bowl with three large beads. “This is the rule of Law. We await the decisions of Truth and Justice.”

He offers the bowl to each member of the Hall, who ritualistically nods until he moves down to the Loom and waits next to the Record-Keeper.

One of the Peacekeepers whom Ana handed the miners to enters the circle and stands silently on the dwarf side. This is followed by the two miners being escorted in by two more Peacekeepers. The Protectors who were standing by the goblin hall door move to stand just outside the circle as the prisoners are put into it.

The Stone-Judge hits his mallet twice, and it echoes in the Hall. He looks directly at Ana. “You bring a grievance into this Hall. Do you require a translator?”

Her hand nervously tightens around her notes. “No, Great Stone-Judge and Truth-Speaker. I will make my words heard in Durask, so they know what they are accused of.” She says as she points her empty hand at the miners.

Both the judges nod at each other. The Truth-Speaker also directs, using Durask, “Bring forth your grievance, Aniniwiin Sukaniniwinin.”

“Thank you. I am Noonda Ashkwa Mishig and monitor the treaty border. These two were found in violation of that border, with picks and mining tools. One drew a knife, but both were safely subdued and handed over to the Dur-khazrim.” She then holds up her barkskin notes. Both justices nod upon seeing them, but motion for her to continue standing in the circle. Waad holds up the rough slag bead and hands it to the Weaver, who adds it to the Loom of Peace, as the Record Keeper takes notes.

The Stone-Judge looks to the Peacekeeper. “What is your role in this?”

“Stone-Judge and Truth-Speaker, I am Dulmir Iron-Vigil. My partner, Kavran Stone-Oath, and I received two border violators from this Zhul-durak.” He holds up a slate with notes marked on it. “And these two men are those violators.”

Ana flinches when she is called a “shadow warrior”, but she’ll worry about that later.

The Stone-Judge addresses the miners. “What do you have to say in your defense?”

One of them clears his throat. “We followed the will of Durn. We seek his gifts in the unmined lands. We did not know we crossed the border.”

“Yeah, we didn’t see any signs. We were just following a shaft.” The other one comments.

The Listener-of-Bruna asks, “May I read the notes from the border?”

The slate and the barkskin are collected and handed to him. He reads them and then has them taken to the Priest-of-Durn. The Priest reads them and scowls. “I think the border guards overreacted. These appear to be lost lambs following the voice of Durn.”

The Listener-of-Bruna shakes his head. “I disagree. The notes are clear. These men were well beyond the border in clear violation. But, as always, I respect the judgment of Justice.”

Both the Stone-Judge and the Truth-Speaker request the notes from the Priest. A few moments after reading them, they whisper to each other. Ana is unhappy with Priest’s argument, but she, like the Listener-of-Bruna, trusts the justices.

She sees them nod and then deliver the notes to the Record-Keeper.

The mallet bangs again. “Thank you, Noonda Ashkwa Mishig, and thank you, Dulmir Iron-Vigil. Step from the circle.” Once they do, the Stone-Judge continues, “Brokkan, son of Durvak, and Helmir, son of Thuldren, you have both been found guilty of willful violation of the border and disregard for prohibitions of mining in goblin lands. You are both sentenced to a year of hard labor in Mining Guild monitored tunnels and barred from working near the border lands for five years.”

The Hall Peacekeepers escort them out as the Senior Peacekeeper holds up the bowl, and a polished iron stone of “guilty” is placed in the Loom. Ana looks at the beautiful patchwork of beads hanging down from the statues of Bruna and Durn holding hands. The Loom of Peace is beautiful to behold. Waad picks up the Aniniwiin Sukaniniwinin belt. They silently leave the hall. 

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 3

 

3 –Tesh – The Grand Market

As an apprentice rope-maker, Tesh Varu Dagan helps to lay out the items that they carried from the Two Forges School to the Grand Market. His master, Varu-Gashki, hangs up a couple of nets and then fastens overhead ropes so items for trade can hang. Tesh unrolls the sample trade goods and ensures that the stock items are properly rolled and tagged.

He listens to the chatter of the Bimkor market kids as they share gossip faster than the elders.

“Silent ones caught two stone sniffer cross-border, down-below.”

“Trussed ‘em like spider food, I heard.”

“Runner says one of us got hurt down below, too.”

“Border down-below or Deep-deep?”

“Deep-deep.”

“Who and how?”

“A hairy-bear Bimkor crushed by stones”

“Not a Half-heat?”

“No. Runner says he still breathes.”

“Must be a big hairy bear.”

“Mosek.”

 Tesh stops checking the stock and looks for the speakers. He is about to leave the stall when Varu stops him. “Where are you going? We’re not done preparing, and the market opens soon.”

He wants to explain what he overheard, but realizes his Master is right. As an apprentice on Market Day, it is his turn to learn and practice the skills of trading and exchange. Everyone in the school does it. Spinning, braiding, and weaving are done at the School, and trading is done at the Market.

“Yes, Master Varu. You are correct. I was distracted by the gossip of the runners. I won’t let it happen again.”

Once the Market opens, there is a mixture of voices. Mishikwe, Durask, and “Market Speak”. Tesh wishes he were a runner again. Then he’d know the latest rumors, but his place is in the stall.

An old goblin, with the earthy reek of damp fungus, walks up to Varu and begins making hand gestures. Tesh moves closer and says in Mishikwe, “There is no need for the old trade language. We speak the words of the Children of Bruna.” But the old goblin glances at Tesh, wrinkles his nose, and focuses on his non-verbal discussion with Master Varu.

Tesh is used to dwarves looking at his mixed-blood heritage as ‘impure,’ but not goblins. Regardless, he steps back and waits for Master Varu to tell him what to do. Soon, the elderly goblin holds out small bags of dried powders. Master Varu examines samples of each one, then nods silently and makes a number of hand and arm gestures. Finally, they both clasp arms.

“Tesh, he gets one net and two of the short coils.”

“Yes, Master,” he replies, pulling a net from the cave wall and then removing two red-tagged rope coils, using the shears to cut the tags. Handing them over to the elderly goblin, he says in his most polite tones, “May the blessings of Bruna be on you as you return home.”

Silently, he nods, but still has that look of uneasiness at being so close to a Naawaii-wakwan. A moment later, Varu quietly strokes his intricately braided beard and says, “Tesh, don’t take it personally. They rarely leave the swamps and almost never see your kind. Let me show you the rare dyes he brought.” Varu shows him a small pinch of each: The Wahkom Blue, Miskwa Red, Mashk Brown, and Zhingwa Purple. Each is highly valued by the weavers and cloth merchants. A valuable exchange, benefiting the whole school.  Master Varu locks them in a storage trunk.

The rest of the morning is less exciting. Dwarves are buying ropes with gold.

“Master Varu. Do you think most of them were miners?” he asks after selling his fifth coil of rope.

“My young apprentice, we are not to judge who we trade with, are we? Isn’t dwarf coinage as useful to use as goblin-traded goods?”

“Of course, Master, but after the news this morning about stone-sniffers, I mean miners who were captured by scouts…”

“Tesh. Don’t worry yourself. We craft fine items and exchange them at the market. We don’t worry who uses them.”

Tesh has heard this before. “Don’t judge. Don’t assume. Don’t fear.”

 It isn’t until the Market pauses for Mid-Bite that Tesh hears how Mosek was hurt and had to have a “binder-of-skin” heal him. If he were a runner, he could visit Hairy Old Bear, but he’s no longer a child. He has responsibilities. The large tables are pushed to the center of the market space, and food is set out. Varu and Tesh unwrap the platters of “Fry-Flats” they kept covered at the back of the stall until now. They also place their personal bowls and carved utensils on the table. Tesh hands the platters to the other merchants.

When he was a child, he would have taken a fry-flat fresh off the plate, but now he has to wait until they come back around to get one. A hot earthenware pot of Stone stew is passed around, and he quickly ladles some into his bowl. A pot of warm root-tea also makes the rounds, and Tesh unfolds his waxed cloth cup. Varu uses an old stoneware mug, but most of the cloth-craft apprentices use their handmade cups as a sign of their skill in crafting and proof to their masters that they can make something that can even hold liquid. When all have filled their plates or bowls, the Bimkor Mid-Bite Caller offers a blessing of thanks to the workers who prepared the meal that they will share. Dwarven merchants make the sign of Durn while Goblin traders tap out blessings of Bruna. Then they all eat.

As bowls are emptied and platters are passed, news and rumors are shared. Tesh keeps listening for news on Mosek.

“You look disturbed, my apprentice. What weighs on you?” Master Varu-Gashki asks Tesh.

“Master, I heard that the old trader Mosek was gravely hurt. I wish I knew more.”

Varu lifts his mug and slowly sips his tea. “He’s a good man. I’ve known him for years, too. He’s carried many of the School’s goods to both the Clan strongholds and the Deep-deep. But if he’s being tended by a Mihkwa, he’s under the best care he can receive.”

Tesh looks sadly at his cloth cup and the texture of its tight weave. “I just wish I could help.”

“When we return to Two Forges, spend time at the loom, and weave bindings and clean wraps. We will send them the Deep-deep. That way, if fresh bandages are needed, you’ve supplied them. Does that help?”

Tesh thinks about it for a moment. As a child, he would have yelled and cried, ‘But he’s my friend. I want to go to him.’ But he understands the meaning of his master’s words. So, he softly smiles. “Thank you, Master. When we finish, I’d like that. Yes. I want to be helpful any way I can.”

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 2

 

2 – Mosek / Ashke - Rendering Aid

Mosek happily pushes his cart deeper into the goblin tunnels. If he were in a Dwarven tunnel, he’d be whistling, but the Goblins taught him to “rhythm tap”, a form of music that is less harsh in the “smoothed through wear” pathways. Gently drumming a tune on the handle of his cart, he knows it will mark him as Bimkor – ‘Between Folk’ – those who freely share the border. He enjoys moving among the “Children of Bruna” even though his long beard marks him as “other”. But he also knows that there are those who want dwarvish-made iron and glass, but fear leaving the safety of their caverns. Besides, to get freshly made mushroom flatbread, you must be in the Deep-deep Caverns. The wheels of his cart squeak, sending a gentle echo down the dark tunnel. His eyes search for the blue‑green glow of the fungus trail markers. He chuckles as he taps each one — his cousins still think he’s mad for going without even a miner’s lamp. He tried to explain that to earn access, he had to pass the “scout’s test”: walking the paths in total darkness, finding the unlit cave markers by touch alone. It took time, and he failed the first attempt, but the older Scouts and Protectors encouraged him. They wanted the Truth-Seekers and Listeners-of-Bruna to meet honest, friendly dwarves in a safe place. “Bruna, protect the soul of Zima,” he whispers, thinking of the aged Protector who vouched for him, long dead now.

 “Greetings, Mosek,” a voice quietly but quickly says behind him. He notices a runner and pauses to let them pass and move ahead of him.

“Tell them, I’ll be there soon”, he says in his accented Mishikwe.

“I will. Don’t trip in the darkness, Big Hairy Bear,” the youth says as they sprint ahead.

He smiles and nods as the runner is out of sight. “Yes, that’s what I am to them.”

Soon, instead of just faint blue-green trail markers, the bluish glow of a large, communal cavern is visible.

 At the entrance, he is greeted by Ashke Wenii-Gwewin or Ashke, “I heard the big, hairy bear was on his way.”

He extends his arm in greeting. Mosek takes it and then moves into a full hug. “It brings me much happiness to see you. I was thinking of Zima, on the way in.”

“My mentor’s spirit is always with us, as his body fed the spores,” Ashke replies.

He leads Mosek to the center of the cavern. Children of all sizes and ages duck in and out of the shadows to watch as Mosek unpacks his cart.

 Ashke is an Ashini-waki-mishig – a Protector of the people. He helps him by spreading out blankets and rugs. He frowns a little at seeing the red merchant tag attached to items. He knows it isn’t Mosek’s doing but that of the merchants who produced them. All Protectors and Scouts know dwarven laws, but it always saddens Ashke to think that a person will not freely share items with those who need them.

 The children circle closer, but Ashke keeps an eye on them. For some, living in the Deep-deep, it is a game to take an item without being seen, remove the tag, then wear it as proof of quickness and stealth. Protectors, Scouts, and Peacekeepers, more than once, in the Grand Market, had elders punish youths for attempting it. Luckily, now Bimkor children are more common in the Grand Market, and lessen such games just out of peer pressure.

 Mosek lays out pots, pans, and other cooking utensils, then the steel tools — hammers, saws, axes, and knives. Last come the glass storage jars and bottles, which he unwraps carefully from their wool and silk protective coverings.

 “My friend, should I call the elders and tell them you are ready to trade?” Ashke asks.

 But before Mosek can respond, a goblin child runs up, grabs something from a blanket, and runs away.  In a playful laughing tone, Mosek yells, “You lose, little scamp. I saw you. Bring it back, or the Hairy Bear will catch you.”

 The child ducks into a cubby along the rough wall. Ashke starts to move, but Mosek tells him, “I’ll get them.” He moves his bulky form into the mouth of the cubby and sees the child trying to bite the braided cord of the tag of a ladle.

“Give it to the big Hairy Bear, or I will eat you. I am still hungry from my trip.” He jokes, but instead of laughter, he sees fear in the youngster’s eyes. “No! Children of Durn eat us like wild bears.”

The child cries and throws the ladle at him. He leans forward to get it. “Don’t cry, little one. I was only joking. I don’t eat the Children of Bruna. Let’s have some fresh mushroom bread and stew.”

As he picks it up, he braces against what he thought was a rock but was just a dried calcium deposit, which gives way. The area shakes around him as rocks loosen and fall. The child screams in terror.

Mosek hears metal tools against stone as rocks are pried up and then pulled free. Multiple Protectors come to clear the area, checking Mosek and the child for wounds.

“Bring the Binder-of-Flesh. Mosek is bleeding.” Ashke yells as he applies pressure to the large gash on his back. Soon, the crying child is consoled by elders while also being chided for causing this. Mosek tries to defend the child’s youthful prank but is given an herbal tonic to drink as he is carried in a blanket to a healer’s tunnel.

The last thing Mosek remembers is “Hold still, old friend. This will hurt.” Then there is pain and blackness.

 He wakes lying on his stomach, in a soft pallet of stuffed silk pillows. The room is lit with a mixture of fungi pods and oil lamps. The lamp wicks are set low, but the gold and brass reflectors amplify even this. “The big bear will live, but maybe I should hibernate some more?” he tries to joke, unsure who is in the room.

“Yes, you will live, my friend,” Ashke tells him. Mosek tries to roll over, but a firm but reassuring hand presses on his lower back. “Please don’t move. Mihkwa said you must stay still. When the rocks fell, your upper back was cut open.”

“Oh.” Mosek, lies still. He thinks about Mishikwe words for a moment. “I am cut so deep that a 'binder-of-skin' was called for?” The pressure on his lower back eases, and Ashke moves where he can see him.

“Yes, hairy, old bear. We feared our silk wrappings weren’t enough. He had to use some of Bruna’s holy blood to help repair the damage.”

Mosek thinks about this for a moment. He’s always heard of sacred golden tools made from Bruna’s holy blood, but he has never seen any used. His throat tightens; tears sting his eyes.

Ashke holds a cup of medicinal tea near him. “Are you in pain?”

Mosek shakes his head. “I’m not worthy of such a gift from the Children of Bruna. How can I—”

“Hush, my old friend. You are part of us. You bring us items for trade that the elders would never see otherwise. You are welcome at circles, and you play with our young. You are the ‘Hairy Old Bear’ of our stories. Saving you is saving one of us.”

“But I must repay….” He tries to protest.

Ashke nods. “Of course. You explained how Children of Durn must do equal exchanges. Let Mihkwa weigh the value of it, and we’ll have the Listeners-of-Bruna agree. Does that seem fair?”

He thinks it over. It is almost dwarven in its proposal; the healer will decide the cost of the treatment, and the priests will oversee it. He smiles and extends his hand. “I agree. Shall we shake on it?”

Ashke gently takes his hand and squeezes it. “Now drink some tea for the pain and sleep. I soon need to check that your cart has been moved to an alcove.”

“Who picked up...”

“The Protectors carefully repacked your cart. I found your slate list and accounted for each item. The elders declared your cart a ‘red tag item’ and scouts have told all the children that any caught trying to play the ‘red tag game’ will be punished in the ‘Hall of Disputes’.”

“But..that… seems…harsh,” Mosek tries to say before the medicinal pain tea takes effect and he drifts off to sleep again.