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.