Klair saw Tarrant’s dim silhouette against the stark darkness, but his voice rang clear through the night, as Klair climbed the last few steps of the sharp incline. “Did you bring them?” His friend asked.
Klair rested two unlit lamps on a pile of rocks next to the waterfall. Mist moistened his cheeks as he faced his stout friend. “Nearly broke my neck getting up here,” he said, shivering.
We should do this in the summer, he thought. But what do I know? I’m overly sensitive. Often he had to just ignore his discomforts so no one would notice his enhanced hearing, touch, smell and sight. After so many years, it almost became natural. I’m a Norm like everyone else.
His friend grinned. “If someone saw our lights, they’d want to investigate. We’d never get the chance to explore the river.” He rubbed his hands together. “Drace can never call us pollywogs again. He wouldn’t dare do what we are going to do.” He started up the incline. At sixteen Tarrant was already corded and apprenticed under his father as a hunter. Klair, a half year younger hadn’t yet chosen a profession.
“Tarrant, this is stupid.” You want us to explore tunnels filled with turbulent water at night? Klair raised his hands next to his ears and waved them. “You’ve gone Hurrisick.”
His friend snorted, ignoring the jib. The war at Hurrisick Pass, 17 years ago, caused some of battling wizards to go a bit insane and now anyone acting stupid was called a Hurrisick brain. “You’re just jealous that I thought of it first.”
“If your uncle finds out—“
Tarrant placed a heavy hand on Klair’s broad shoulder, drawing him up further along the mountain, stepping over a series of canals beneath them, and strode past the stilts holding wood piping above their heads. They stood amongst Merrsain’s new water system that would direct water from the waterfall and river to the series of terraces lining the mountain side. “Who gonna tell? It’s just you and me, and I don’t plan to be opening my mouth.” He chuckled eagerly. “In a few spans we’ll be dried off and in our beds.”
A few spans… right, Klair thought. Sixteen spans was the length of time the sun traveled from sunrise to sun set. A span was measured by the width of a man’s hand raised against the sky. The two of them had done pranks within a few spans of time before but nothing as daring as this.
“Let’s wait at least until the moons are up. That’ll give us some light.”
“Don’t weasel out on me, cub,” Tarrant countered as they reached to a collection of stones higher up the waterfall. “The light can’t help us underground but we can use the moons when we’re climbing out of the well.” He thumped Klair’s shoulder. “Stop fretting. Your mom will never know and Uncle Maken won’t get the chance to report us to Constable Trenny.”
He would, even if Tarrant is his nephew, Klair thought. Tarrant’s uncle had his own secrets. Talk about a stick in the mud.
Klair’s thoughts turned to Constable Trenny. “Let’s definitely avoid Trenny,” He murmured. Talk about Hurrisick, the constable is definitely it. The peacekeeper of the Merrsain Township took a little too much pleasure in punishing some errant citizens especially when they were youngsters.
Klair offered his token objections but he was just as eager for this little adventure as his best friend. It would create great bragging rights to Loginna tomorrow at the TossTi game and put an end to Drace’s taunts once and for all. Tarrant’s right. Drace would never dare do this. There was a third reason for this adventure that his best friend couldn’t understand. Klair really wanted to see how the men of Merrsain built the underground waterway. No other town where he lived had a system quite like it. Elder Maken, the designer, was brilliant and Klair’s requests to go underground remained ignored.
There’re a lot of things we’ve done and never got caught, he reminded himself. Those are not the only secrets I’m good at hiding.
They walked across the narrow path behind the waterfall to the opposite side. The roar of water deafened any chance for conversation. Klair was proud of the fact he helped gather many of the rocks used to construct the small ledge. It’s a sturdy path, Klair thought; his mentor gave good advice on building it. Next time maybe he’ll let me lay down rock.
The small cave on the opposite side barely contained the two of them and their equipment. Tarrant finally give the signal for the two lanterns to be lit. They were of very high quality that miner Scov normally used for his work in Merrsain’s mines. The minor had given them to his mother. They were the closest thing to waterproof light.
Tarrant knelt down near the single hole in the cave. The pounding of water from below filled the cavern with a thunderous patter.
“Where’s the map?” Klair asked.
Tarrant lifted his shirt and pulled out the parchment tucked in his pants. Klair kneeled beside his friend and studied the illustration in the flickering firelights while Tarrant began to tie a rope around his own waist.
“Remember to do a bowline knot,” Klair said without looking up.
“Yeah, yeah.”
Klair ran his finger on an illustration representing a series of drops from the waterfall to a succession of various-sized caverns where the underground river would carry them all the way to the juncture. There, they would follow the canal that led beneath the streets of Merrsain and the succession of wells that lined the street. “This is a copy of the original, right?”
“Gesh Klair, stop being a Wog. Tie your rope already. Uncle Maken still has the original. He’s so obsessed with so many maps and pigeon communications; I doubt he noticed if one was missing for a bit. We’ll have enough rope to reach the main reservoir with double lines, then we’ll tie one end and finish our trip to the first well.”
“You got the rope ladder down the first well?”
“Klair!”
“Okay, okay.”
“Grow up before you apply for Elder, Wog.”
Klair grinned. He didn’t take the name calling personally. They took turns harassing each other. That was what best friends were for. His heart began to pound in anticipation.
They spent less than a span of time checking knots and ensuring everything was ready before Klair moved to the edge of the hole and lifted his lantern high to note the position of rocks. “Who’s first.”
“Oh for sands sa—”
“You weigh a boulder, Tar. What if I have to lift you out?”
Tarrant answered him with a hit on his arm before shoving himself past Klair to go first. Klair watched as his friend took a heavy sigh for courage. Tugging at the rope tied to a post impaled in the ground, he started climbing down into the pit with one of the lamps handles held within his teeth.
No wonder these lamps are so popular in the mines, Klair thought for the tunnel became well illuminated.
His friend’s voice echoed from below. “Come on.”
Bracing himself, Klair followed him in.
“Boy, it’s chilly down here,” Tarrant said as they reached the river edge.
Klair merely nodded trying to ignore his own goose bumps. He thought to wear a heavier jacket, but once wet, it would only weigh him down. An underground river. I finally get to see one. Rock and moss surrounded them as they continued down through the tunnel leading from the hole to the underground river. The roar of water echoed against the damp walls. Cold mist from the spray of water filled the air. Looking up, Klair saw the roots of plants spotting the ceiling. “How much dirt do you think we’re under?”
Tarrant ignored him as he stood next to the raging water of the underground, Tonosh river. His voice trembled a little, “Let’s get this over with.”
Klair rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “The water’s gotta be cold. We still might be able to do this in summer.” He shivered against the chill of the air. “It’d be safer. We could—“
Stoned face, Tar ran to the water’s edge and, with a yell, threw himself in. Water went everywhere, drenching Klair and making him gasp from the cold.
Before he could change his mind, he made his own flying leap. He came up on the opposite bank. He began treading the frigid water. “S-shards, I can’t feel my butt,” Klair called out.
“I can’t feel my—”
“Let’s hurry,” Klair said, pushing at his friend’s back, only realizing too late neither of them had set up the pull ropes to direct them down the river. They were already caught in the swift current and there was no turning back. He felt his friend shaking so hard his lamp wobbled. “Let’s get to the well.” Stupid number one we thought late spring runoff would be warm enough to swim in the river. Shards! Stupid two is forgetting the ropes. They were moving very fast.
Tarrant didn’t answer but just floated in the water, hardly kicking at all. To Klair, it felt like they were lying in a tub filled with ice in the center of one of the ice houses.
“Tar…”
Their bodies swirled as the Tonosh rushed them down the mountain side twisting and turning through rocks and embankments. The ceiling got closer at times, just above their heads, and they watched for outcroppings of rocks. Their bodies shook so fiercely the flames of their lamps reflected erratic patterns against the dirt walls. Tarrant tried once to lift a limp hand to grab one of the roots from a low overhang, but his response was too slow and his lamp went under water.
Klair kicked his stiffening legs, panting from the cold and reached for his friend. He’d lost all sense of touch long ago. He grabbed Tarrant arm, his friend’s face was unresponsive. They had only been in the water for moments but it felt much longer from the cold and the speed of their descent down the series of drops. “Tar!” Klair shook him, his own heart racing as he tried to get his attention.
Tarrant’s blue lips mumbled, “Sh-should have lis-listened to you about waiting till late sum-summer.”
They neared the divide between the main river and a tunnel that led to the wells of their village; but, they were too far to the right. Miss the juncture and they’d continue down the Tonosh to who knew where. We’re not going to make it, Klair realized as he glanced at his friend. His friend’s eyes were closed and his face was wooden and Klair’s stomach tightened with tension. I’ve got to use magic.
No one knew he had inherited magic from his father except his mother. Years ago, she once worked as a lady of the evening. She stopped her profession the night she met Klair’s biological father. He was her last customer and identified himself as a Kapawn wizard. “You’ll have your much desired son, Norah,” even though she dutifully took Barron, a drug that prevented pregnancy.
Klair was the result.
Because of the war, the use of magic in the northern provinces of the Fist nation was illegal so Klair and his mother hid his abilities. He must use it now if he hoped to save both their lives.
It’s now or never. With that frantic thought, he felt a burning in his chest. Klair held his friend close as an invisible force suddenly shoved their bodies sharply to the left, barely in time to direct them into the man-made canal. High magic usually knocked him out or made him sick but since his daily practice neither was as frequent. Fortunately shoving them to one side was low enough magic to not trigger a reaction, though it did enhance Klair’s senses. The coldness of the water seemed to increase tenfold.
He held Tarrant’s head above water. “Keep moving your legs if you can, Tar,” Klair hollered above the noise.
It was getting hard to move. If we don’t get out of the water soon, we’re dead. He knew from the map they were almost to the first well. He was surprised with how quickly they had traveled and finally the current began to slow. Klair kicked against the water to move them along.
Finally they reached the crevice beneath the well and he looked up. From the illumination above, Klair could tell the twin moons were up, and true to his friend’s word a rope ladder hung down the shaft of the well. But his friend was a dead weight beside him.
I can’t leave him. Klair grabbed the rope and it drew tight under their combined weight. The prickly weave of the ladder bit into his hands. Ow! Thorn rope? This should only be used to keep animals confined.
“Tar, wake up.”
Silence.
If he’s conscious enough, he’ll know I did magic and I’ll need to, to get him out of here. Klair normally used magic alone or only with his mother. Stupid wizards, he thought. If the Kapawn were not so hated here, he wouldn’t’ have to worry about using magic which could result in execution or banishment. Klair’s father abandoned his mother after one evening with her, leaving her to flee for her life, once the city council learned she was pregnant. Mother and son wandered from city to city ever since. Klair bore the same black sheen of hair as other wizards. His mother constantly dyed it with nut husks to hide his identity.
The problem in tossing Tar’s weight upside meant Klair would need to tap into high magic and that would deplete his physical reserves. His body was already weak from the frigid water. He would either pass out and drown or simply be sick. Sometimes he could delay the reaction if he concentrated enough but the reactions were often worse as a result.
This is one of our most stupid ideas, Klair realized. With anger to fuel him, he drew magic from within. His chest felt as if it would burst. With a thrust of his hand to direct his concentration, Tar’s body suddenly erupted up and out of the well. Klair heard a distant thud as his friend landed on the ground above beyond the mouth of the well. Klair’s scalp began itching like it was crawling with snakes. His stomach clenched and he choked on a gag reflex and unconsciousness tugged at his mind. He had a choice of one or the other. Magic was never free but fueled by emotion or physical strength. Not yet, he thought, climb the ladder first and don’t foil the water. Being unconsciousness he couldn’t’ save his friend. Through magic practice sessions he learned to hold off a physical reaction from using magic. Now I really need to delay it.
Resignation replaced anger. Klair no longer possessed the will or concentration to lift himself out. It was enough of an effort to not throw up. Always hiding what I am… Better that I drown here and keep the secret and Mother remains safe; but the water was so cold.
It’s be easier to die if it was more comfortable.
Treading in the water, realizing it was not so cold here but his body was numb from the river. Stop being a wog, Tar needs help. With barely a conscious thought, Klair hooked the handles of two lanterns together and strung them over his shoulder.
With weary concentration he began to climb, panic fighting against hypothermia.
Ow, the weave of the rope felt like thistles and his hands became slippery from blood spotting the rungs of his latter, making his holds slippery. Klair began to hyperventilate as he fought a rising panic. Body and clothes dripping, he felt the weight of the water tug at his body and clothes as he pulled himself out. Normally he liked water, but it provided little comfort to him now.
It felt like an eternity passed before he reached the top.
Over the lip of the well Klair found his friend sprawled on the ground. Dropping to the opposite side of the stone wall, he crawled over to Tarrant and tried to shake him awake. There was no response
He fought unconsciousness as he pressed a bloodied hand against Tar’s wrist and felt a weak pulse. He moved his friend’s legs up and down, trying to get his circulation going again. All home lights along the street were dark leaving only the oil lamps lighting of the street and Klair knew he would need help if his friend was to live. Trenny and Maken can do whatever they want to me, Klair thought. I’ve got to get help.
Ironically, Elder Maken’s house was on Main Street and Klair briefly abandoned his friend to stagger toward the door. It was hard keeping himself upright as he lurched about the street. He paused briefly to throw up. It was getting hard to concentrate and he wasn’t certain if he had the right house—A few frantic knocks drew an occupant from his sleep.
Elder Maken only had to view Klair’s dripping form to rush into the street leaving Klair by the door. “Where is he?” Maken demanded and returned to grab Klair so he could lead him back to Tarrant.
“Fool boy, what have you two done now?”
“Just save him,” Klair murmured as the two headed back to the street. The Elder drew an arm over his broad shoulder to hurry him along.
“Lead me to him,” Maken demanded. The return back to Tarrant was much quicker and Klair dropped to the ground beside his friend.
The Elder began his ministrations but paused long enough to press his two smallest fingers to his lips and execute a series of high shrill whistles. He pulled off his nephew’s soggy shirt and resumed vigorously rubbing Tar’s body to restore circulation. Maken took off his own night shirt to cover the unconscious lad while others of the town opened doors and began running to the well.
His friend gasped.
Klair sighed. Tarrant will live. He smiled. Gotta tell Mon how long I was able to stay awake, he thought before letting unconsciousness claim him.
*****
“Klair, Klair Klair, what am I going to do with you?” a voice said in a tone of weary resignation.
He opened his eyes, and found himself in an unidentified room. His head was throbbing and his body ached. Magic isn’t worth this, Klair thought. His mother sat on his bed. Oh great, he sighed, hello Mom.
Constable Trenny framed the door with arms folded, his gaze hard, with a brass crest of imprinted crossed swords hung from his thick neck. Normally people wore their craft hall crests beneath their clothes letting the cords braided through hair to signify their occupation. It’s because he’s— Klair sighed preparing himself. He shifted and felt a strange pressure on his hands. Lifting them, he found them bandaged. Just as his mother opened her mouth, he interrupted, “Is Tar okay?”
She paused. Her golden hair was in a rare state of disarray and face shadowed from lack of sleep, she answered in a low murmur, “He’ll live Klair.” Her voice hardened. “Whose idea was this?”
Klair pressed his lips.
“The boy needs a firm hand, Norah Lee,” Constable Trenny said from the door.
Stop calling her that, Klair thought. Her name’s Norah. His mother slowly faced the man.
“Thank you, Constable, for your help. I will remain here for the night and will need no further aid.” She forced a smile. “As I recall, you favor the woodchip soaps. Please come visit me at next market to obtain a bar.”
He stepped over to the bed. “I can stay and attend to Klair. You need to rest.”
“It is a mother’s duty, Constable.”
“I’ve asked you to call me Trenny.”
She stiffened, and Klair wanted to curse. Klair’s foolery had forced her into indebtedness to the constable. “Your position demands respect.” Her voice turned to a near monotone. “Have a good evening, for what remains of it.”
“We still need to discuss Klair’s recompense,” the man warned, as he eyed him.
Klair stiffened. Here it comes.
“Yes, it is something Elder Maken and I have yet to discuss.”
“A six-day with me and I would ensure he will never—“
“Good night, Constable.”
With a murmur the man left the room, and Klair and his mother sighed with relief. Norah’s firm gaze settled upon him. “Are you suicidal?” she challenged.
Sometimes, Klair thought, but not this time—
An abrupt tap on the door interrupted them and preceded Elder Maken’s arrival. Both Klair and his mother looked to the door. Maken’s scowl matched Trenny’s but wasn’t quite as scary. The man was tall and well-muscled from his work as a smith. With the duties of helping run Merrsain, managing the construction of the terraced water system and who know what else, Tarrant’s escapades added to the worry lines accenting the sides of his eyes. “Tarrant will live,” he announced, “in spite of your foolery. We have yet to determine what damage has been done to the water system.”
Klair’s heart settled a little at the news of his friend. “We didn’t damage anything,” he said with a scratchy voice.
“Just nearly lost your lives,” the Elder’s gaze settled upon him. “This hasn’t been the first time my nephew has led you into one of his campaigns. I thought you possessed more intelligence than you’ve shown of late to resist doing something particularly idiotic.”
“We didn’t realize the water would be so cold,” Klair admitted.
“At the end of winter run-off and you thought you’d enjoy a steam bath?” the man countered.
Klair’s body twitched at that reference. Definitely not steam a bath, another secret he and his mother hid from the village. Hot water threw his body into spasms and made him extremely sick.
Maken’s gaze intensified and he folded his arms expectantly. “How did you get Tarrant out of the well?”
His mother stiffened next to him.
Klair knew their future depended upon how he answered. Tell him I’m a bastard son of a Kapawn wizard and that’ll be the end of it. Maken held a prominent position in the town council. He never liked Klair’s willingness to participate in a number of Tarrant’s ‘stunts’. “I carried—he climbed out, I guess—I, I don’t really remember.”
“My nephew wasn’t even conscious when I arrived. His hands weren’t bloodied like yours. You’re strong but to carry him while climbing a ladder…” The man sighed with frustration.
“I don’t rem—“
“Yes, most convenient, that.” His fingers drummed across folded arms. “Whatever you did, your actions saved my nephew’s life.” He raised a finger. “I won’t pursue how yet, but I’m watching you, Klair.” He shook his head. “A ladder made of thorn rope? Was that the only thing my nephew could scrounge together? Tarrant’s idea too I suspect.”
He gaze intensified, voice hardening. “I ban the two of you from associating with each other for the next year. From this point on, you’ll be working full shifts at the canals until they are completed, in addition to your apprentice work. Maybe if we keep you busy enough we won’t have to constantly monitor what other pranks the two of you compose.” The Elder’s gaze hardened. “I have yet to decide if I’ll give Constable Trenny a turn with you.”
“But Tar and I just—“
“Tarrant will be having his own punishments. Fortunately for him gnu season is upon us. He will be absent, with his father, from future temptation for the next season. Maybe Merrsain will be much quieter without the two of you working together to stir things up. It is unfortunate your actions must shame your mother so.”
Klair seethed, particularly defensive where his mother was concerned. Maken knew how to rile him. He’d gotten in fights defending his mother’s honor with other kids when they first moved to Merrsain three years ago. He sulked instead, gaze centered on the floor.
“Now rest, you’re going to be very, very busy for the rest of the season,” The Elder said before leaving the room.
Along again, his mother took a turn. “Not only that Klair, imagine how busy you’re going to be at home. I’ll keep you busy repairing Kindred’s houses? Each night you’ll drop in your bed from sheer exhaustion. It’ll be amazing all the things you’re going to be doing.”
Klair sighed, Geesh.
*****
Klair woke to his mother’s heavy breathing as she lay in a cot near his bed. He needed to use the chamber pot and the payment for using magic was now behind him. Chamber pots were normally placed on the back porch of each home. He padded to the door, still a little weak from his activities in the river and using magic.
His magic enhanced sight enabled him to hurry down the hall with ease. Once done, he was returning to his room when a flicker of a flame caught his attention from one of the rooms. Its door was slightly ajar as the latch hadn’t caught. The light of the sputtering candle dimly illuminated the room as he entered. The room was filled with rolled parchments on shelves and papers scattered across a large table. Elder Maken’s study, he realized.
He bent down to blow out the flame and noticed a large map of the nation of Fist spread across the wide table and Klair paused to study it. We have a beautiful land, he thought, remembering the various cities he lived in with their separate friends and mentors. Happiness spoiled because of what I am. As a Norm, I could be a real part of Fist. He imagined himself married with kids and being a famous wood crafter like Bejja, his favorite mentor. His love of the land merely increased the longer he spent amongst its woods and rivers.
I shouldn’t be in here, Klair thought.
With the look of small pieces of curved papers laying across the table it appeared that Maken was communicating with numerous people. Tarrant thinks he might have been a high elder once? The high elders were the combined leaders of the provinces who made decisions on a national level. They normally kept low profiles. They were the ones who enlisted the Kapawn wizards to help Fist fight their last boarder war against Anvil to the north. The men and women who represented the leadership of the cities normally owned the most pigeons and used them for correspondence between provinces. He still has his hand on the pulse of our nation, Klair realized.
So what are they talking about?
Klair picked up a piece of paper: Our neighbors refuse to help us and our people are getting sick with Qwadda signed at the bottom. He picked up another. We have an infestation of snakes that are more aggressive than ever before. We’ve lost several children, signed Penostat. A third, this is our third year that the gnu migration has never reached us. Without the necessary source of meat and another bad year of crops, our people are starving, signed Sescriss.
A fourth note, the elders of Turnmoss are at a loss of what to do or what is causing it. Please assemble the high elders to solve this.
Klair looked at the map, where is Turnmoss? Making him realize he wasn’t as familiar with the continent as he thought. They’re starving, what are the High Elders or the Kapawn doing about it? He shook his head. What’s causing so many and different kinds of problems? There were over a dozen notes. He searched the map for the city of Petta and was relieved to see that a pin was not attached to it. Good, he thought. That was where his favorite mentor lived and he didn’t want Bejja to be in any danger. The magnitude of pins and their associated problems felt overwhelming. His gaze settled on the collection of pins spotting his homeland and he knew they each must have given a similar report. Pins were concentrated in a ragged line, mainly in the center of the country. Their alignment looked like a scar strung across the center of the land.
His heart lurched.
Klair picked up the missive from Penosta and briefly tried to imagine himself as Maken reading the plea for the first time and followed by another and another. His stomach clenched and his heart began to pound as he felt the pressure build on his shoulders as well as a sense of helplessness. He envisioned himself running down the roads throughout Fist trying to fix problems that had no solution. With thirty snakes in Penostat everyone could go hunting but hundreds… thousands? What can a Norm, high elder or a wizard do?
He shifted his shoulders. It’s too much. He dropped the paper realizing his fingers were trembling. I’m worried about extra chores and Maken has to hassle with all kinds problems in the other provinces. His heart sunk. Klair He didn’t like the feeling of helplessness.
The nation of Fist is dying.
