“Well, that’s certainly...grotesque,” Kiva managed, visibly gagging.
The moment he’d introduced himself, Wimbleton simply walked out of the room, venturing up the steps connecting his, admittedly comfy, home to the rest of the cave. At first, the dwarves freaked out, many of them without their air helmets. He assured them the helmets aren't necessary, but the dwarves seemed adamant. They hemmed and hawed at his heels, demanding he wait. But he didn’t. Even at Harvir’s stern beckon, Wimbleton simply continued on, forcing them to trail behind or become, once again, lost.
Now, they stood before the giant Caramisc corpse that Trenton’s group had faced earlier. Even in death it was an abomination. Its white, wrinkled skin like folded paper was torn in a thousand places, revealing a complicated weave of shattered bones and rotted, oozing flesh; Its many hands were loosely attached, nearly ripped out at the joints from the burden of the damage it had sustained in Trenton’s earthen flurry; and, Its head was completely blown apart, the stalagmite easily having smashed through the creature's soft and fleshy skull. It seemed even a beast of this stature was weak to being hit with something really big, really fast.
Most everyone stood clear of the corpse, not daring to soil their clothes with the foul smelling guts. Wimbleotn, however, had no such reservations. He happily waded through the waist high remains, the corpse squelching and squirting blood and other unknowable liquids as he moved through. Frankly, it was disgusting, a twisted reality Trenton almost didn’t want to believe. Little boys dressed in black cloaks prancing through crimson fields? Not an ideal image.
“You killed this thing?” Kiva asked again, brows knit tightly together.
Trenotn nodded, “I tore the stalagmite from the ceiling. It looks like it can’t live without its head.”
“Most things can’t,” Wimbleton said, running his hand through the creature's remains, plucking out stray eyeballs drowning in pools of blood, and pulling them from the beast's skull, despite the very visible dagger and sword sheathed at his waist. The optic nerves stretched for a moment, resistant to his efforts, but they all eventually snapped, springing back at him like little coils suddenly coming unwound. “...most,” Wimbleton to face Trenton, holding up one eye in front of himself and squinting. “Perfect fit. I knew it was in here somewhere. Catch,” in one clean motion Wimbleton cut the impossibly long tail attached to the rear end of the eye, trimming it down, and tossing it towards Trenton.
Everyone else cringed away from the flying object, but Trenton remained still--calm--gently catching the eye in one hand. Trenton inspected the eye closely, noting the particular brown coloration with a stray ring of green clinging close to the pupil.
“Is this my eye?” Trenton called out to Wimbleton, who was making his way out of the beast's corpse and onto the higher ledge they were all standing on. Notably, everyone else seemed to give him a rather wide berth, several dwarves keeling over and vomiting whatever breakfast they’d had that morning in between cracks in the stone.
“Should be. Feels the same as your other eye, anyway. It’s bad luck to leave bits of yourself attached to abominable monsters,” Wimbleton said, making a finger pistol and pretend shooting the eye still lodged within Trenton’s head.
“Feels?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to elaborate?”
“Later.”
“One hell of a tactile,” Karfice whispered in Trenton’s ear, forcing a small chuckle to bubble from his lips.
“Alright,” Wimbleton leapt into the air, arms splayed wide, landing with both a great sense of bravado and a flurry of loose blood and chunks of skin, “are you ready? We’ve got a mole to cull!”
“Lead the way, and by a couple dozen feet if you don’t mind,” Karfice said, taking a step back.
“Oh don’t worry. It’ll dry off in a couple minutes or so. Follow me. It’s just this way…ish,” Wimbleton said, picking his way over the rubble of the arena and back through the cave system the way they’d come. He didn’t carry any lantern, his path and body obscured in darkness, but he never once stumbled as they moved, his steps and turns made with absolute confidence. One could almost mistake that he knew where he was going with how surely he moved about.
“Moles, monsters, and a boy living 1,000 feet under…what a mess. It’s no wonder Drawven wanted you lot. He never expected you to come back alive. I wouldn’t be surprised if he told (Guy) to kill you if you ever did make it out alive somehow,” Harvir muttered, nervously rubbing his hands together and eyeing the blanket of darkness.
“Oh he absolutely did. Drawven is a notorious, and do pardon my foul mouth, prick. Couldn’t count on ten hands every shady deal he’s been a part of. In honesty, I wouldn’t even be helping clear the mines if it weren’t out of consideration for you miners. You’re contracted, right? A separate company working with Drawven, not his direct employees?” Wimbleton said, turning around and talking, continuing moving backwards without the slightest hesitation.
“Yeah, we are. He pays well, so the higher ups like dealing with him, regardless of the safety concerns. 17 teams of miners before he even called a damn meeting,” Harvir replied.
“I’m not surprised. I spoke to him once some time ago, tried making a deal with him, but he was…unreasonable, to say the least,” Wimbleton said.
“How long have you been down here?” A dwarf from the back called out, jumping up and down to get Wimbleton’s attention.
“Great question! I don’t know,” Wimbleton replied, his grin wider than the world half around.
“You don’t know?” Kiva asked, struggling under the awkward weight of two ample boys. Trenton took Leo from her, relieving her of some of the burden.
“I hate to break this to you, but it is remarkably difficult to keep track of the days when you’re buried underground,” Wimbleton said, shaking his head.
“Thought you said it was Sunday?” Karfice said.
“I guessed. When you say things with a lot of confidence, people generally tend to just believe you,” Wimbleton shrugged.
“So then it might be Tuesday after all…have to look into this…” Karfice mumbled to himself.
“Confidence, just like you’re doing right now?” Kiva asked. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“More or less. I can feel their shifting off in the distance. Hard to miss falling dirt and a mole the size of a mountain,” Wimbleton said.
Trenton perked up, his attention suddenly caught and ensnared, “You can feel it? The life?”
“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me. It’s making me really uncomfortable.”
“The…the energy, the movement everywhere. Like the entire world has been plied open.”
Wimbleton hesitated, leaning over to mutter in Karfice’s ear loud enough for everyone to easily hear, “Is he alright? Does he typically act this way?”
Karfice shrugged, stifling a yawn with his free hand, “Only on Tuesdays.”
“Uh-huh. Well, Trenton, whatever you’ve got going on, which is a lot, I’m aware, will have to wait. As much as I would love to help you,” Wimbleton vaguely motioned at Trenton, “that needs a case study.”
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“You’ve been acting a little odd since we got separated on the elevator. Are you alright?” Kiva asked, gently bumping her shoulder against Trenton’s.
“Yeah, I think so. When I struck that boulder, everything kind of opened up. The stone, the earth, it feels almost alive, all the little creatures wriggling about. It’s a little hard to describe, but I can really feel it, like it’s…part of myself–my body. And whenever I call for it,” Trenton raised his hand, vaguely swishing his hand about. Immediately, a pillar of free moving stone rose to meet him, twining through the air, following his every little movement like a faithful little servant. As they kept moving, parts would crumble off of the sides, fresh stones automatically rising from all around them to add to the little mass like little soldiers reporting to their battalion. “...it answers.”
Karfice looked mildly interested, vaguely gazing at the shifting mass of stone; Kiva was intent, circling around him with a new found vaccination, watching as the little piles of earth rose and fell; the dwarves looked somewhat interested, somewhat surprised depending on the individual; and Wimbleton, he was deeply confounded, eyes tearing into Trenton, absorbing every little detail.
“Neat,” Karfice said.
“How are you doing that?” Kiva asked, almost breathless, several of the dwarves crowding around Trenton along with her.
“How are you doing that? That’s no geomancy,” Wimbleton said, taking a sudden onto a downward incline.
“I wish I could tell you. It just kind of feels right, like I’ve been doing it my whole life,” Trenton shook his head, dropping his hand and the stone pillar with it.
He sighed, letting his shoulders sag and eyes droop. He’d been holding himself together decadently, but the exertion from the fight with the caramisc was taking its toll. Swirling all that earth around himself like that was no light task, even with this new found strength. It was everything he had just to keep himself upright and walking, let alone give his demonstration. If they ever did get out the cave, he’d probably take a nap, relax for a little bit if he had the wherewithal for it.
“I’m not even going to bother taking a guess. Frankly, I have absolutely no clue what that was. I’ll leave that to a more qualified expert, or a rainy day at least. For now, why don’t you tell me a little bit about what’s been going on. I’ve been dying to know,” Wimbleton said.
“Walibeld didn’t tell you?” Trenton asked.
“No, oddly enough, he didn’t see it necessary to spill your life story in the 14 word message he gave me, so I’m rather in the dark. Just give me the summary, I’ll fill in the details later.”
Trenton dug through his mind, dredging up all the old memories from the murky depths of his memory. Even though it’d only been a couple months, it felt like it’d been years, each event just another drag on his slowly declining mental state: the ball, Terraphage, the cathedral, the Veil, the blood crazed man and the sleeping soldiers, the vault, Yuleye and Godfrey, the Bloody, the Liafer, Kullisates, the spirits, Petrichor, the Final Spire, the salamander temple, the salamander palace, the revolution, the traveler, the archdemon, the Conqueror, and now the mines. One mess after another, that’s all it had turned out to be. That he was still alive and fighting was remarkable, a testament to his will and resilience, although Trenton would not see it that way.
Wimbleton was quiet for some time, turning around to face the direction they were headed for the first time in a while, “...hard to believe I’ve missed so much. Has the Conqueror declared war yet?” He called over his shoulder.
“No…he hasn’t,” Trenton replied, suddenly realizing the peculiarity of the situation. An entire city gone and another besieged, yet still no war. It was uncharacteristic for any leader, let alone THE CONQUEROR, the man known for war.
Kiva frowned, deep creases settling themselves across her face, “Yeah…why hasn’t he? I guess I was so focused on surviving, I never even questioned it.”
“The silent war,” Harvir said, gazing vaguely off into the darkness as he spoke. “War isn’t a simple thing. It takes time, preparation. Your soldiers have to be recounted, regeared, retrained; your people have to be stirred in support; your infrastructure has to be fortified; siege weapons have to be made and distributed; intel has to be gathered. These last couple months our contracts have nearly doubled. Dasellium wants materials, and they want them bad. It’s only a matter of time before it’s all out warfare.”
“It’s the perfect blunder. The Bloody can’t possibly fight a war and chase after us, he’d split himself too thin. We just need to bide our time,” Kiva said, beaming wide enough to almost light up the dim cavern, almost.
“No, he would never make such an easy mistake. If I were truly his only target, he would have killed me already, silently, quickly,” Trenton said, trying to finish the blurry thought forming somewhere in the depths of his mind.
“He can’t kill you. He already tried, and it didn’t work,” Karfice said.
“And he made a lot of noise doing it. Even if it was a rushed job, it was sloppy, too many loose threads. It almost seems purposeful, like he wanted it to slip out that he’d been involved with Aria’s collapse. This war is no accident. I’m not his primary goal, the Conqueror is,” Trenton said, slowly piecing the puzzle together in the space before him. With so many moving pieces and motives, it was hard to tell what was what, but of this much he was certain. The Bloody was not the one after his head.
“So this whole plot to kill Trenton was just a mens to war. Why? He lost handily to the Conqueror before. What could have changed in the last 10 years that he’d think he could win this time?” Kiva asked.
“The circumstances,” Wimbleton pitched in. He’d been slowly nodding along, like a teacher watching his students debate, and now he was joining the fray as well. “The Bloody lost to the Conqueror before, but now the world is in a frenzy thanks to you, Trenton. Everybody’s panicking, attention is spread thin. If ever there was time for war, it would be today. The only real question is why he’d be involved with you at all, Trenton. You’ve enough enemies at your hems to claim yourself a nation, yet he was the one to make the first move.”
“Proactive action, play the game before it begins,” Karfice said.
“Close, but not quite. It is true that targeting Trenton served the purpose to facilitate war, but it was hardly the only means of doing so. As the head of a nation, it’s his duty to negate unnecessary risk. The more certain he is of his hand, the better the odds will be that his nation prospers. Hunting Trenton is just about the riskiest option he could’ve taken. It would’ve been far safer to simply wait for someone else to hunt Trenton, rally his nation with the promise of revenge against Verulik, and go to war while the Conqueror is distracted. But he didn’t. Why?” Wimbleton said, looking around at all of them, scanning for answers.
“To some degree he does want me dead, it’s just not his primary goal…” Trenton trailed off. He lashed out for the last remaining piece, its shape just barely visible to him, but he couldn’t quite find it.
“So who is really your enemy?” Wimbleton asked.
“The Veil,” Kiva supplied.
“Correct, and what does that mean?”
“The Veil…are the real hunters. They aren’t helping the Bloody. The Bloody is helping them, which means the war is…” Trenton said, clicking together the last missing chains.
“...a distraction,” Kiva picked up, eyes wild. “He’s distracting the Conqueror so he can’t intervene.”
“Bravo! Now you’re thinking global affairs. People’s motives are never so simple, never so single minded. I’d wager the Bloody’s purpose in this war is two fold: 1. He distracts the Conqueror and ensures that he’s unable to come to your aid, Trenton. And, as a reward, 2. He is given the perfect opportunity for revenge against the Conqueror and Verulik, reclaiming what he lost a decade ago. He’s an aid to the conflict, a benefactor, not the perpetrator. This theory encompasses both his motive and his current actions,” Wimbleton cheered.
“If it’s their main motive, then why haven’t they sent someone to finish the job?” Kiva asked.
“Several reasons, if I had to guess. For one, you’ve got a lot of attention on you right now, and a lot of allies as well. Likely the Guardians are stalling the Veil from acting to some degree. Likely they’re scared of Walibeld and Era, their presence complicating a direct assault. Likely they still don’t know how to truly kill Trenton. All things that are buying you very limited time,” Wimbleton said.
“And with what limited time we have, we still don’t know why they want me dead, or where they’re connections are coming from,” Trenton said.
“Correct. Without more information, it’s impossible to say one way or another. But for now, it doesn’t matter. I can see why Walibeld wanted to send you to Era. His wisdom could be a turning point to all this. However, staying at the academy long is risky. It’s neutral territory, so harboring an international target isn’t ideal. It would only serve as an excuse for the Bloody, the Veil, or the Chosen to try their hand at the Conquering game, something Era can’t afford to deal with right now. So, I’ve got a new idea of where you head, a new end goal to shoot for. Until you’re strong enough and fully understand your enemy, you won’t be able to fight back proper, which means you need time, a refuge away from the world. And what better refuge than a floating group of nomadic islands miles above the world,” Wimbleton said.
“Do you mean the Cloud Isles? I thought they were impossible to enter,” Trenton noted, recalling the place from his old readings. The Cloud Isles were a nomadic group of floating islands that hovered over Elteran, away from the rest of the world. They were the only nation to be completely isolated from every other, no contact in or out.
“Difficult, yes, but not impossible. There’s exactly one way into the cloud isles, teleportation. And there’s exactly one man capable of doing so, the ambassador to the cloud isles. For most people, finding him is completely impossible, let alone convincing him to let you into the Cloud Isles. I, however, happen to know him quite well. I’m not sure exactly where he is, but if we can find him, I can get you all into the Cloud Isles, the safest place on Everill. But enough of that. We’re entering mole territory. Best to keep your eyes sharp.”