Chapter 109
Goodbye Goodmoss
Ogo
No land, not even the volcanic isles, were as barren as the comb. The land from the tundra on was nothing but rolling hills of basalt. The distant mountains were jagged and looked to be snowcapped, but that was a lie for the granite tops. A long line upon the mountains made the granite tops look like they floated upon another horizon, and that was if it could be spotted in rare breaks of the raging winter storm.
Without our golem guide, we would not have found the valley of golems. They called the valley rock their comb. Innumerous tunnels, round as curling waves, led underground. How deep into the earth did such tunnels go? But what sense did it make to say this place had earth? There was no soil.
We were led into one of the smooth tunnels. Our golem guide stretched its bulbous arm and ran its hand along the walls. As its fingers grazed the wall, dust and fragments rained between those fingers.
There were boulders along the way, and they began to uncurl. The tunnel was suddenly filled with golems. As they began moving, the world felt like a constant earthquake. The sound became droning and nearly intolerable. I couldn’t help from squinting against the sound, and lifting my shoulders, and feeling my neck go tense.
Some of the golems rose to reveal that they seamlessly blocked tunnels. It seemed to be that they were guardians. Against what? What would disturb the golems in this landscape?
As tunnels opened, acidic warm air blasted up. What a relief warmth was!
Yet we could not go too far within, for our carts would not fit. In our carts, only a few piles of barrels remained. But the light that those barrels threw against the tunnel entrance was magic. They were colors I was still not used to seeing. The rest of the carts hauled goodmoss and the rest of our collected trade treasures.
the goodmoss and the beer and the food needed to come inside. Stepping back into the raging snow storm was like navigating through curtains of shifting sand. The cold was something else. It was so deep, it could be seen in the air because it had its own color. It was a cold that shrunk the lungs. It was a drowsy cold, the dangerous kind of cold.
Pilo’s singing voice guided the orcs that unleashed from their carts.
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Lost under lake
Where sparrows fly,
Clear water shows bones
Yet, to me he’s alive!
Oh, the mighty Tusk Kade
Sailed from womb to his grave!
Like the needle of a compass, that song kept my orcs from wandering to their deaths in the storm. With our hands full, and our shoulders bearing barrels, we brought our treasures in.
Golems by the dozens began appearing with armfuls of obsidian. There it was: Jix’s negotiation with the golem was successful. Without consulting me on anything, they must have agreed to pound for pound. The golems seemed untroubled by the unnavigable storm. Obsidian heaped most of our carts.
As the golems rambled by, I snatched a stone of obsidian from one of the armfuls. Touching the stone filled me with visions of home back on the volcanic isles, and the annual swims during venting season. I went through memories of fresh magma cooling into glass.
I wrapped my fist around the stone. Blood raced through me. Veins throbbed in my arm, which shook. A long grunt began to escape my throat. My lips rolle over my tusks, and I felt my face wrinkle.
Faf, watching, regarded me with a grin. “Thought it was like the crumbly stuff back home, didn’t you?”
“It is impressive,” I said. With a giant pop, the stone crumbled through my fingers. “I can see why the cats work with it.”
Perhaps crushing that stone was the reason the orcs and golems later clashed together in a friendly brawl. The strength of the moving rocks against the strength of the meat-wrapped skeletons of orcs.
Golems could throw a punch. But no knuckle of quartzite nor elbow of granite could wipe the smiles off of my orcs. Unconscious orcs, still smiling, were laid away for more brawls to sprawl.
Against the blows of two golems at once, it had become hard to breathe. Those two golems were the only ones laid to rest unconscious.
Wiq sat beside me, nursing her shoulder. She hacked blood and took in a rattling breath. Then she eyed me. “How’s the jaw?”
“Jaw’s fine. It’s my knuckles that throb.”
My throat throbbed too, but from thirst, and the air was dry. The light from Hawkin’s barrel swirled against the tunnel as I knocked it over. I caught the barrel with a leg, but I was unable to lift it. My fingers wouldn’t bend, and the barrel kept rolling off the lump of flesh I had for a palm.
Exhaustion had me pausing my efforts, and laughter bellowed between my tusks. What a brawl! And what would a tournament like this be upon the sea of Ogo, where all creatures could fight tusk to tusk!
I licked my tusks, once my laughter died. Perhaps my tongue was reaching for beer. I opened my eyes to find that one of the golems had squatted before me.
It pointed to a barrel and ground its jaw.
Jix translated. “What’s that say?”
“Name of the brewer.”
“One of you?”
“Might as well be. The Sea of Ogo might not have happened without him.”
Like the sound of bare flesh falling splat from the sky, fists continued to fly into fists.
“Drink!” I bellowed.
Impossible colors were hefted. A barrel was punctured and offered to me.