Op'skith walked down the hallways towards the sounds of metal on stone. He knew what he would see. That black archway with its endless void of stone awaited him. The center of all his dreams of escape was now trying to drown him in blackness. But there was nowhere to hide from it in this stone trap he lived in. When there was only one possible way forward, it must be taken. That did nothing to quiet the roiling dread he felt as he drew closer. It dragged at his heels as he walked.

But then there were others. T'kena passed him carrying something. She paid him no mind, focused on her own business, and he found that oddly reassuring. As he rounded the final corner he saw the yard before the Doors bustling with movement. Where the work previously had been a ragtag business, driven by stubbornness more than anything, it seemed that affairs had been put in order. The Doorway was still filled with the void of stone, but now that void bustled with work as steel cracked stone and a steady line of obsidimen and trolls moved through, hauling chunks of rock, or rolling carts of gravel. Around them, the much smaller t'skrang hustled back and forth, directing the loads of stone to appropriate places, keeping paths clear of debris and running supplies back and forth so the pace of the work could be maintained. Other shifts of workers rested and drank nearby at some tables apparently dragged out here for the purpose. Op'skith had never seen so many all working together on one project. This was nearly the entire kaer. Even the largest harvest didn't have use for more than a quarter of this number working at once. It was astounding.

And yet... through that Doorway the wall of stone had only moved a few feet. The light and people in it only seemed to highlight how unyielding it was. What good did it do to carve away one layer only to reveal another? Was there anything else out there? His reverie broke and he began moving again. Movement, light, life. These were the opposites of the stone. Op'skith picked his way around the edge of the work, being careful not to get in the way. He noticed Jata with a table to himself fussing over a collection of odd tools and went to join him. The large green-black obsidiman was bent over an assortment of strange implements of metal and wood. Some were clearly broken while others... Op'skith couldn't even tell. Op'skith stepped close by and spoke, the question clear in his voice: "New tools?"

Jata rumbled happily. "Yes. Worked through the cycle on them. Finally, they let me at the old implements. And the furniture. Don't need to keep it in storage if we're leaving." Materials had been a constant challenge for the craftsman adept all his years. Metal was absolutely irreplaceable and the crop fields hadn't been used to grow wood in generations, which left Jata with only what worn out possessions he was permitted to recycle into new projects. "Not sure how to use these." He said, gesturing to a collection of oddly curved metal spikes. "But they're good for mining somehow." Like Op'skith, Jata was an adept. Where Op'skith could pick up any weapon, or any item even, and fight with it as if he had trained all his life, Jata seemed to be able to make the right tools for any purpose. Even when he didn't understand that purpose. Though the motion of his hands was always steady and precise over the tools, Op'skith could tell from how he touched them and from the way he spoke that the stolid obsidiman was practically bursting with excitement. Well, for Jata at least. From Jata, four sentences in a row, without much prompting, even, was the equivalent of climbing on a table and bellowing Rotall poetry from anyone else.

But then Jata broke from his inspection of the tools and looked up to stare at Op'skith with those deep-carven eyes of his. He took a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he spoke. "How is your head, Op'skith?" There was a little embarrassment in his voice.

Op'skith met his eyes and gave a weak smile. "It feels better than the rest of me does, my friend." Jata nodded and looked back to his table. He was clearly self conscious about knocking Op'skith out, but it had been necessary. Op'skith wouldn't hold a grudge over doing what had to be done.

Op'skith looked over the tools with interest himself. There were hooks, chains, shovels, hammers, and some kind of tool like a hammer, but with a long crescent top that ended in a point. Jata said it was called a 'pickaxe'. That one Jata had known about from some of the old books and several other pickaxes he had made were in use in the Doorway. The one here had splintered at the handle and he was trying to determine how the joint should be affixed to reduce the stress to the wood, as well as if he could make them with less metal without weakening them. Even with all the old tools they didn't expect to need being given to Jata, metal was still a precious resource. Op'skith was impressed at the sheer volume of work that Jata had managed, but it seemed it had cost him. His eyes still sparkled, but his eyelids were heavy. He was clearly exhausted. Op'skith doubted he had rested much, if at all, in the last cycle. When he said that he might rest and return to the work later Op'skith didn't argue.

So Op'skith was again left on the edge of the work. He could take some comfort in seeing the progress being made, but watching others busy without any purpose of his own left him feeling increasingly anxious. He considered leaving them to it and going elsewhere, but he could sense the shadow of his fear at the edge of awareness. He could feel that it would return in full force if he gave it the chance. Even now it was building. His own uselessness fed the fear that the task was impossible, that no matter how much stone they broke or moved, there would always be more. The floor was an implacable grindstone, he would be crushed to powder against it. He forced the fear down and made his way to one of the tables where a crew of trolls slouched tired bodies and drained jugs of water. Soora seemed to have been acting as the foreman for the group, so he made his way to where she sat, exchanging a few greetings with the others as he passed them.

Soora was an imposing figure, as trolls generally are. She stood near seven and a half feet, with curling horns adding another inch or so. At forty years of age, she was one of the older trolls, though not quite an Elder. Her face was stern, in a matronly way, framed by neat tusks and long black hair with only a few streaks of grey tied back into a bun. She wore loose work clothing made from the heavy canvas-like cloth the trolls generally preferred and lounged back against the table, watching over the younger trolls. As Op'skith approached her, she nodded respectfully and greeted him. "Adept." Op'skith winced internally at the title. Some in the kaer, especially among the trolls, seemed to grant him respect on the basis of his abilities. He didn't mind it most of the time, it could be convenient, but it unnerved him for someone twice his age to act like being able to fight or do a few tricks with his body made him any wiser. Regardless, he gave her a slight bow and made his request.

"Soora, I hope you are well. Is there anything I can help your group with?"

She appraised him with the eye of an experienced mother, though when she replied her tone was modulated with that same peculiar respect. "Adept, I think that rest might be-"

"Please" He cut her off. "I just want to be useful. It doesn't need to be anything strenuous."

She seemed to hear something more than what he had said in his voice because she examined him again, with less respect and more doubt. It reminded Op'skith of the way Jata had examined the damaged tools, looking for what had caused their failure and how to repair them. She seemed to come to a decision and jerked her head towards the obsidiman in her group, Risi, as she spoke. "Have him show you what he's been doing then. Maybe you'll learn something for when you've recovered."

Op'skith accepted the offer and made his way to the obsidiman, who was sitting quietly to one side, eyes closed. He was shorter than most of the trolls at a 'mere' seven feet, and in fact, from a distance, he looked smaller than they did in every way. But that did not account for the impossible density of obsidiman. They were flesh and blood like anyone else, though their blood had been an odd blue-green color the few times Op'skith had seen it. However, their bodies were impossibly strong and dense. Op'skith knew that part of Jata's deliberate care came from his skill as a craftsman, but part of it also came from the fact that tools and furniture made for t'skrang, or even trolls, could easily snap if he wasn't careful.

Op'skith didn't know Risi well. He knew few of the obsidimen very well, despite the small community of the kaer. They simply didn't fit well among the others. With no family ties beyond their brotherhood, or any need to form them, they remained apart from others. In addition, their seeming agelessness set them out from the hierarchy of the kaer. In fact, Risi was probably older than Soora. Perhaps by a century or more. But the obsidimen rarely tried to use age as authority the way the other races did. At least, not that Op'skith had seen. How they managed their own affairs seemed to be a closely kept secret. They allowed the younger species to play out their politics and then did their part quietly. As a result, they had little say in the normal running of the kaer. As a result, when they decided to speak, everyone listened.

Risi cracked his eyes open at Op'skith's approach, like fractures in stone. He didn't show any other reaction. Op'skith briefly fidgeted under the steady gaze before giving a slight bow and speaking. "Risi" the name felt awkward in his mouth without an honorific of some kind "Soora suggested you could teach me some of what you've been doing." Risi considered for a moment, then nodded and closed his eyes again. Op'skith found a place of his own to sit and waited as well. Obsidimen always made him feel awkward. Well, except Jata.

So they waited. Eventually the groups started rotating and one of the t'skrang running around let Soora know where they would be working next. Op'skith saw the young t'skrang returning to the center of the organized chaos, where a group around a table was arranging collections of markers representing people, work, assignments and time. No paper, of course, it was too precious to be used for something so mundane. To Op'skith's surprise, he saw Op'tan in the thick of it. He was in vigorous discussion with several others while passing on orders to the messengers that approached at a rapid pace. He had always been respected, for his age, for his skill as an artisan and for his wisdom, but he rarely took the lead directly. He preferred to change minds quietly and let results speak for themselves rather than ever raise his voice in an argument. He looked fierce in the center of all those people but also... haggard. He looked as if he hadn't slept and his normally immaculate appearance was rumpled. He never let himself slip like that. Then Op'skith noticed as his chaida glanced towards him quickly before immediately pulling his eyes back to the table. A stolen glance. Op'skith was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of emotion. They rarely saw eye to eye these days but... He blinked the moisture from his eyes and rose. Soora's group was getting back to their work and he fell into line behind Risi.

Their group had the job of moving in behind the group digging in the doorway and pulling the broken fragments of stone out, then organizing them into the several piles now forming in the nearby fields. It was the same thing they had been doing before, but now there was some kind of complex system governing it all. One team moved in collecting large rocks, as they left another moved in shoveling dust and gravel, then as they left to haul the debris to a determined location they handed off their limited number of shovels to another group going in. The result was a constant stream of people moving through the Doorway while the sounds of digging echoed from the small tunnel as it grew. Groups rotated out, taking time for rest and water, and rotated back in. All of it seemed to be being managed from the one table in the center, where messengers regularly came and went. They must also be organizing the rest of the kaer from there. With every spare hand occupied here, the kitchens, the reservoirs and the gardens would need to be well organized to ensure that none of the upkeep of the kaer fell behind.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The kaer had never been this busy in all Op'skith's years. In the confined space with limited resources only a fraction of the population ever had truly useful work to do and the rest were left to fill the hours however they thought best. The unified purpose that filled them was... refreshing. Like a pool of water, grown stagnant and stale, rushing to fill a new channel at last. But his part in it was small. Risi's task was to break the larger rocks as they were rolled in so that the fragments could be packed more efficiently. It seemed like a simple matter, but Risi seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time examining each stone before taking his hammer to it. Op'skith just stood there, feeling useless, before he broke his silence.

"Risi, pardon me, but what are you doing? Why not just break them and move on?"

Risi started from where he had been running his hands gently over the surface of a stone and turned to Op'skith as if he had forgotten about him before responding. "Don't need to rush. They can only carry so quickly. So, I check where it will break. I find the seams and open them, so they break cleanly. No wasted force. No fragments in my eyes. Here, feel."

Op'skith knelt down at his direction and awkwardly ran his left hand over the stone. It was rough and irregular, but he had no concept of what he was expected to find. Risi seemed to take his confusion in stride and gestured for Op'skith to back up as he lined up a swing with his sledgehammer. He swung it gently, Op'skith knew he could have struck with far more force, and the stone sheared into two chunks along a flat surface. He knelt again and ran his hands over each fragment, and had Op'skith do the same, before rotating one and then giving each a tap that split them into smaller fragments. Those were added to the growing pile and they moved on to the next stone. "This one, try to tell where it will split before I hit it." Risi said. Op'skith tried, but all he could do was guess. Risi didn't give much reaction. He only went on with the steady pace of his work, asking Op'skith to make his best guess at where and how the stone would split. It took time, but eventually Op'skith's guesses seemed to become somewhat reliable. It was a subtle thing, but as he watched it happen many times Op'skith began to sense a pattern between the irregularities of the stone and the fractures that formed.

The obsidiman didn't seem inclined to talk much, preferring to let the rhythm of the work speak for him, but that suited Op'skith well enough. It was pleasant to focus his attention on the pure sensations of the stone and the satisfaction of the progress that was made. He became so lost in the work that he hardly noticed by the time two hours had passed. Soora's group again took their chance to rest and he walked back with the others, finding the spirit to start joking with a few of the trolls he knew again. But his banter was interrupted as S'tess, an one of the Elderly T'skrang matrons hobbled up to him on her walking stick and asked in her slightly rasping voice "Skith? Op'skith? Do you know where I could find T'kena? She ought to be getting a lesson now but I can't find the girl anywhere."

Op'skith winced internally at the diminutive nickname, but he wasn't about to bring it up with old S'tess. His naming ten years ago had been recent as far as she was concerned. He glanced around, though picking out small T'kena in the chaos would have been quite impossible. "T'kena? I think I saw her running messages earlier, maybe if you asked at the central-"

"Oh, I couldn't bother them over this. Look how busy they are. Ah, could you walk with me a moment? It's much too loud here to talk."

Op'skith couldn't dispute that, he could barely make out S'tess' quiet words over the cacophony here. He moved to walk with her as she turned and she maneuvered to his left side where she steadied her steps with a hand on his good arm. She herded him out of the flow of travel towards one of the side passages that was practically unused as it didn't connect the chamber to the kitchens, supply rooms or anywhere else of use. The matron continued to question him as she walked, slow but quite unwavering. "A messenger you say and who would she be taking messages to now?"

"Er, the kitchens I suppose? I only saw her a moment in the Eastwise corridor but that was hours-"

"The kitchens? What would be going on in the kitchens that calls for her to miss a lesson? We were on the Tursin Clan and the Three-fork War today. Vital history! You remember Surkis' Folly and the scuttling of the Whiteprow? How is a young t'skrang supposed to appreciate the significance of kyaapas and kiatsu without proper examples! You remember don't you Op'skith?"

S'tess slipped back and forth, mixing Sut'sung, the traditional language of the T'skrang, with Throalic, the common language spoken by all in the kaer, as she tended to. Op'skith could remember the story in question. In one of the conflicts between river clans one captain had been goaded into pursuing a rival into rocky waters, where the mighty Whiteprow was run aground and scuttled while the smaller ships they chased escaped. It was a tale told to teach T'skrang about the limits of their bravery and the importance of balancing their courage with preparation and duty. Something about that tugged at him, but he never had the chance to finish the thought.

T'valla strode up to the pair and gave a slight bow to S'tess before falling into step beside her. "S'tess, I have heard you were looking for T'kena?" T'valla was another of the t'skrang matrons, though nearly a decade the junior of S'tess. She seemed unaffected by her age in comparison. Dulling scales and slumping frills only seemed to lend gravitas to her proud bearing as she strode confidently beside them.

The trio continued onward down the passage. S'tess still steadied herself on Op'skith's arm, obliging him to keep up with the two. He listened with half an ear as their conversation continued, glancing back towards Soora and the other trolls.

"Yes my dear, she had a lesson today and I can't seem to find the girl anywhere! Let a hatchling pick a name and suddenly they're too good to listen to their elders."

"Apologies, but we've pulled all we could into helping with the effort at the doors. I wouldn't expect much of the old schedule to hold while that's in progress."

"Oh? Well, I suppose. Though I wish someone had told me. Anyway, I can hardly blame the girl if you've got her doing what's needed. How is the progress on that anyway?" Something in S'tess' words tugged at Op'skith again, but he couldn't lay a finger on it.

"Passions, I haven't a clue about the digging. We've got our hands full trying to pull some semblance of order out of this. Everything still needs to get done in the kitchens and the laundry, but with every other person being pulled to work something new so we've got to pull replacements who haven't worked those stations in years and..." Op'skith tuned out the conversation as they walked. He wondered if the rest of the vanguard would be training or if they would be worn out from the work. He had seen Vars and Bokk in another crew. It made sense, they were young and strong. But where would Saij end up? He would probably be somewhere near the organization hub. Wait, where were they going now? The women had lead him into a sitting room as they talked and he found himself being seated beside S'tess as T'valla fussed with a kettle behind him. He was considering how to go about excusing himself when S'tess spoke to him directly.

"Tell me Op'skith, how have you been recovering from your condition?"

"Well enough. A few days and I'll be fully recovered." This was an odd change of topic. Why had she- T'valla spoke from behind him, forcing him to swivel around to face her and losing his train of thought.

"Oh, and what exactly do you have to recover from?"

Again, Op'skith responded automatically. Respect for the matriarchs was instilled well in most t'skrang. The list of injuries he had catalogued earlier rattled off his tongue. "Mostly muscle strain and fatigue, cuts on the hands, some strained tendons and one big tear in my right arm. That's what'll take the longest." He was matter of fact about the list, though from T'valla's blanch she wasn't nearly so used to considering injuries as he was. Well, she had asked. But what were they- S'tess spoke up then, forcing him to turn again.

"Well, it's good to hear you're recovering. We were rather worried when we heard how you slept so long. Normally you bounce back from these things like a weed! Why, I remember when you broke your arm for the first time. You were nine years old? You wailed like you were being eaten alive one day and then as soon as we managed to get it splinted you were dashing around like a little Florannus again! Op'tan had his own war keeping you from doing any more damage to yourself!" She ended with a cackling laugh as Op'skith lowered his eyes. He knew he hadn't made life easy for Op'tan growing up and even now felt some chagrin.

T'valla chuckled. "Oh yes, that was our Op'skith."

"It was Skithes back then, years before he chose a name. By the time he did it was much worse. The boys are always worse than the hatchlings!" They shared another chuckle at his expense before S'tess turned serious again. "Oh yes, that's all well and good. I'm quite sure you can survive any injury, we've seen that already, but the injuries weren't what I was asking about." Wait, where *were* they going with this conversation?

T'valla replied to S'tess, not giving Op'skith the chance to speak, sounding surprised by the turn in the conversation. "Oh? What could he have to worry about? He's tough as an oak door!" She *sounded* surprised, but that response had been-

"Oh, T'valla, a door never falls apart at the center. It wears at the joint first and breaks from there." She drifted into silence for a moment before continuing. "All that strength is no good if there's a problem at the crux. That's where you need to put your attention and care." S'tess' hand was on his as she gazed at him with earnest, caring eyes. She was talking about- Wait. Wait a moment. Had he been- Suddenly the pieces clicked into place in Op'skith's head. He had walked into an ambush. Op'tan's words came back to him. His chaida had explained a few of the tricks and schemes the matriarchs used to keep things running the way they wanted and suddenly the whole conversation took on new meaning in his head. There had been no reason for S'tess to come to him to learn about T'kena, and besides there was no way she would have been ignorant of all the changes in organization. She played the old woman but he knew from Op'tan that she was as sharp as she had ever been. Oh and that reminder about Surkis' Folly, naturally. And then they had pulled him in here and positioned themselves to keep his head spinning while they set up their opening.

Drawing the enemy onto prepared ground, flanking, harrying, exploiting weakness. It wasn't how Op'tan had explained it, but Op'skith couldn't help but think in the martial terms. Exploiting weaknesses. They had brought up Op'tan on purpose to put him off balance. All this so he would be feeling vulnerable when they got to what they actually wanted. All Op'skith's uncertainty and embarrassment melted away into anger. Of course. They couldn't treat him like a person and just ask their questions. They needed him disarmed and unprepared to they could pull the answers they wanted from him. Op'skith's hot anger ran cold. He knew how to deal with this from Op'tan. He just needed to remain calm, answer the questions and demonstrate control and they would be satisfied.

He leaned back in his chair, his hand slipping from S'tess' as he settled himself. "Oh, and what is this crux of mine that you are so concerned about?"

S'tess continued, her voice filled with compassion. "The weight of the ceiling, the pressure of the walls... The sky-sickness holds you." There was such calm certainty in her words. Such empathy. Such pity.

Op'skith snapped back, iron in his voice. "It is not the sky-sickness." No, was supposed to be calm and collected now, to put them at ease-

T'valla now spoke from behind him, the same *feeling* in her voice. "There is no shame in-"

He couldn't take this. Op'skith cut her off with a sharply raised hand, but didn't turn to face her as he spoke. "It is not the sky sickness. I'm not afraid of walls." His words were cold, but not scornful. He knew the sky-sickness was not cowardice. But it was a false fear, a fear of crushing or suffocation that wasn't coming, and it was not his. "I could take life down here for all my years if I had to. What I fear... What I fear is that there is nothing. I fear that there is no world above, no sky or wind left. I fear that it was destroyed, never to return, after we abandoned it. I fear they took it from us forever." He realized he had started speaking too loudly. He rose to his feet, towering over the pair. He leveled his gaze at S'tess and then T'valla in turn before continuing in a more controlled tone. "If you can tell me that my fear is without reason, if you can tell me for certain that there's something to be found out there then I'll listen to what help you think I need, but until then..." His final words came out as a whisper. "I ask you why you aren't just as afraid as I am."

After a moment, S'tess started speaking hesitantly. "I'm sure that-" Op'skith's eyes snapped around to meet hers with fierce intensity and the platitude caught in her throat. She fell silent and lowered her eyes. Op'skith felt... a little ashamed. His tone and his words had hurt them, and they truly had wanted to help him. But he was still ruled by his anger over the ambush and the manipulation. Don't draw steel unless you're prepared to shed blood. He turned for the door and growled. "I'm going back to work. Thanks for the tea." It was still warming in the kettle as he left.