The Collapsing Tunnel - Introduction and Chapter 1

 

Introduction

My Dear Reader, welcome to this story. Before you begin, I’d like to give you a few things that will help you in this world.

I: This is not an allegory. At the time this was written, yes, there were events in various parts of the world that were similar to what takes place in this story, but what I wrote was based off of historical trends, not specific acts at the time of writing. Whether you choose to believe this is up to you, but I am a student of history, languages, and culture, all of which influence my writing.

II: In this world, dwarves and goblins evolved from a common ancestor and can intermarry and have children. Before you cry “Blasphemy!” because this differs from the versions you know, remember that many cultures across our own world have stories of “little people of the mountains.” They go by many names. For this story, I chose Dwarf and Goblin. That is all.

III: The languages are fictional but inspired by real ones. Durask, the dwarven tongue, draws from Icelandic, Norse, and English. Mishikwe is shaped by Algonquian languages. The cultures in this world grew from the logic and rhythm of these languages.

IV: Everything is translated into English for the reader, except for certain names, items, and terms that lose their texture when translated. You will also encounter people using formally structured phrases at times. This reflects characters operating in official spaces or showing honor and respect through formal speech. If you find yourself thinking, “They’d be more casual than that,” remember: that is your expectation. In this world, the speaker at that moment would choose formality.

V: This story is part of a larger world, and there may be more tales set within it. After the epilogue, you will find glossaries and world‑building notes if you wish to explore further.

Welcome, and I hope you fully enjoy this story that takes place in a mountain range shared between the Children of Durn and the Children of Bruna.

 

1-Ana - Guarding the Border

Ana moves like a breath of cool air through the stone. The tunnels of her people curve and dip around her, familiar as the lines of her own hands. She keeps low, letting the rough cavern wall brush her shoulder as she listens. Noonda Ashkwa Mishig or Ana is Aniniwiin Sukaniniwinin, “one who guards the border”. She is deep in the border tunnels, where the lands of the Children of Bruna press against the carved domains of the Children of Durn.

 A narrow ventilation shaft opens to her left. She pauses, sniffs, and feels the faint pull of moving air. A larger tunnel lies ahead. She slips into the shaft, climbing downward with practiced ease. Her climbing claws find every ridge; her spider‑silk uniform whispers against the stone.

She stops and presses her listening tube to the wall. Voices. Echoed. Distorted. But unmistakably Durask. Harsh, clipped, like stone cracking under strain. She thinks of Waad’s voice: ‘Peace comes from understanding. Do not judge. That is the Speaker’s duty, not yours.’ She continues, stopping now and then to listen again. Yes, Dwarf voices — but whose? She slides the tube back into her belt and moves on in silence.

Lamp‑light glows ahead. She wishes she had more scouts with her — a runner to send for aid if needed —, but it is only her. ‘Don’t give in to doubts or fears’, Waad would say. ‘A single silent scout is more than a match for anyone who crosses the border. Trust your skills and knowledge’. Her uniform, dyed to blend with the stone, makes her a soundless shadow as she approaches.

Lamps mean Dwarves. If it were the blue‑green glow of glow‑moss, it might be Bimkor traders or tunnel keepers. But dwarven lamps mean miners — those who dig into Bruna’s flesh. “I see a quartz seam here. There might be some gold,” one voice says.

“You’re dreaming. There’s never gold in the gobblers’ tunnels. That’s Durn’s gift to us. Besides, what would animals like that do with gold?” the other replies.

 ‘Two treaty breakers’, Ana notes silently on her barkskin pad. She moves closer, using stalagmites and rough walls to mask her approach.

“Ding.” The iron pick strikes stone.  She moves faster.

 Two dwarves come into view — miners, no guild insignia. ‘Lone‑wolves’. She makes more notes, then draws her speaking horn. In her best Durask, she calls out, “Stop. You are in violation of Goblin lands and the peace treaty. Drop your tools and prepare to be arrested.”

Her voice echoes. The dwarves freeze. One lifts his lamp, searching the shadows.

“I don’t see a Peacekeeper. Must be a goblin guard.” He draws a knife. “I bet I could find and skin it.”

His companion turns, pick still in hand.

They are broader and a little taller than she is. Stronger, likely. Waad’s teachings steady her: ‘Shadows have no substance, no strength, yet can cover the strongest object’.

 She pulls her bolo free. “Stop where you are or you will be stopped,” she warns, projecting her voice off a different wall. The shift in direction makes both dwarves hesitate.

She steps into the center of the tunnel and throws. The bolo wraps the knife‑bearer’s legs, sending him crashing down. His knife clatters across the stone; the lantern shatters.

The second dwarf drops his pick and raises his hands. “Don’t kill us! We were just prospecting. We didn’t see the border.”

Ana is already behind him, binding his wrists with spider‑silk ties. “You can tell your story in the Hall of Disputes.” She secures the fallen miner as well.

She blows her security whistle and taps the code into the stone: “Violators captured. Meet at the border post”. The vibrations carry down the tunnel walls. In near‑darkness, she guides the prisoners, a rope linking them, their tools bundled in one pack. The dwarf who surrendered carries the other pack on his back.

 Closer to the border, she whistles again and taps the message once more.  A whistle answers, followed by the tapped reply: “Message received. Awaiting prisoners”. Ana exhales in relief. The Peacekeepers she has met before deal just as harshly with dwarf treaty‑breakers as with goblin ones.

 The rough natural walls give way to polished columns and carved stone. Border lamps cast a bright reddish‑yellow glow, harsh compared to the deep caverns’ darkness. The dwarves squint; Ana slips on her slit‑eye carapace shades.

 Two Peacekeepers wait, clad in dark blue wool and leather, armor‑styled but helmetless, their beards tightly braided. One lowers a lamp shade to soften the light.

“What fish have you caught in your line today?” he jokes in Mishikwe. One miner scowls at hearing a dwarf speak goblin.

Ana answers in Durask so the captives will understand. “These fish swam in dangerous waters. I saved them for you.” She drops the pack; the broken lamp rolls out, the pick clanking on polished stone.

The other Peacekeeper manacles the prisoners, then returns her silk ties and rope. “We’ll inform you when to be at the Hall of Disputes.”

She nods and hands over her notes. One Peacekeeper copies them onto a slate. “These will be added, along with the evidence, to the charges.”

Ana rolls her rope and lines. “Thank you. Let me return to my watch.”

“Return to the shadows, vigilant watcher,” the first Peacekeeper says in Mishikwe.

She replies in Durask, “And maintain the steadiness of watchful stone,” before slipping back into darkness as the lamp shade lifts and bright light fills the cavern.