The miner dusted his hands off as he walked. He greeted his fellow workers along the way. He heard wooden wedges being struck by stone, heard stone being struck by stone.

The place was invaded by strings and bits of sounds. Lamps were installed at every interval of ten meters. The ground was clean, the air fresh. It was a rare luxury accorded to him and his friends, before the air became thick and saturated, with the stench of ammonia and ethanol.

He was in a cave - a small cave. It was somber, hallowing and dank, as he proceeded.  Arriving at a joint, the miner twisted his way into an alcove - one often overlooked. There, the ground was gravelly, and the space inside afforded his body barely any room for maneuvers.

Even then, the miner smiled. This place was where he had saved the most ores to later sell in all secrecy. He bent to brush aside the gravel, revealing a blackened shovel, which had one large crack running from the base to half its length.

The miner took the shovel, and proceeded onward, along the alcove, before turning to the side. He headed towards an exit different from the one he had come from.

As he crept along, the walls constricting him thus, he heard people speaking ahead of him; “I’m done working in the mines. At first I enlisted because of the money, but since the person I love rejected me, I don’t need to suffer through all this.”

Another man chuckled. “You are a fool. That’s good money. Even if we both work inside the mines, you are still getting a larger cut than me, so be grateful.”

“You are just a poor spectacle. Don’t put me on the same boat as you! Besides, it’s just money, right? All you need, Brown, is only plant your funny-looking fruits, and you can live the rest of your life. That’s totally different from me!”

“Well, yeah, you are right. I’ve been a lazy bum all my life, and can be just that for the rest of it. I don’t feel the need to seek to influence people or consort materialism. As for you, what’s your next job gonna be?”

“It’s going to be… Oh man, I forgot about it!” The man laughed, and Brown, while initially maintaining silence, joined him. The miner smiled at the resolution of this conversation, and gripped his shovel tightly, remembering the face of the daughter who was dependent solely on him.

He sighed, before moving forth with renewed vigor; he felt like joining in the merriment. As he crept, he suddenly sensed a presence behind him. Something pierced through his back before he could even turn his head. His vision darkened and sizzling pain struck him.

The scream which ensued was inchoate. The miner thrashed about the narrow space, banging his head until it was bloodied, and slumped down, unconscious. “Hey! Did you hear something?”

“No, must just be your imagination,” Brown said. The man, not seeming to hear him, turned to look at a crevice.

“Did Router turn up yet?”

“Not that I know,” answered Brown.

The man hurried along the cave, grabbing a lamp from its post, and came back to investigate the place which now served as cradle for a corpse.

***

Elysia stared at the river; her own face, all prim and proper, was reflected into it. She convinced herself that she was only doing this to check whether a smear of mud was still left on it, but then, a boy came along, saying:

“You are gazing at the river again? Don’t you get tired of this narcissistic act?”

“Duff!” Elysia exclaimed, standing there speechless.

“I gaze at the river pretty often too, but hey, could you give me one of those buckets if you are not gonna deliver them?”

“No, thanks. I was just about to get going,” replied Elysia, facing away from him. Duff smirked and followed after her.

“Say, do you know the story of the ‘Happy King’?” he asked, easily matching her hastening steps.

“No, do you?” returned Elysia, distrusting him. Duff was a thief, from what she had heard. He was a parent-less vagabond.

“Well, I do. So here’s how the story goes: There was once-”

“Hey! Wünder! Thank god you are here. Could you help me carry these buckets to Mrs. Detroit’s?” She was relieved to find a boy, barely four feet tall, even when she knew him to be fifteen years old. He was standing near a tree, eating some candies.

“Elysia… How are you?” Wünder asked.

“I’m doing fine, except for someone tailing me despite my unwillingness for him to do so.”

“I can see that. How are you doing, Duff?”

“I’m fit as a fiddle, if I were to honestly answer,” answered the latter, while smiling in an abashed manner. “Do you have some extra candy?”

“I do. By the way, did you mean to follow Elysia till she reached Mrs. Detroit’s place?”

“Yeah, of course I was!” Duff affirmed, “A lady needs protection after all.”

“Who are you to decide that I do?” retorted Elysia, her face flushed. She was about to turn around and storm away, before remembering Wünder’s presence. “Come along with me, Wünder. Mrs. Detroit will be pleased to see you.”

“That I would, but I’m waiting for my brother. Could you allow Duff to help you just this once? I promise that he won’t try to steal from you or anything.”

Elysia stared at him, her face livid, before deciding to let it slide. “Okay, I guess I can let Duff handle it just this once. Come with me next time, won’t you, Wünder?”

“Alright, I will.” Wünder smiled at her, before presenting Duff with red and orange sweets. “The red ones are made from raspberries and sugar, while these are made from oranges.”

“Got it!” affirmed Duff, before stuffing his mouth with three candies already. “By the way, where did you get those candies? They are certainly different from those minty ones you would give me before.”

“They are from the new store, in the Downtown quarters.”

“Town? I can’t remember the last time I’ve been there,” mused Duff, “well, I guess I’ll try to explore things this weekend.”

“Wünder, I hope your brother returns soon,” Elysia said, before smiling and ensued. “Let’s get going then, Duff.”

Duff faced her. “Okay.” Elysia handed over one bucket to Duff, telling him to be careful as he held it, and they went on their way to Mrs. Detroit’s.

Wünder pocketed his candies, and whistled an old tune, all mirthful. He touched the tree besides him, exploring its texture, before breaking contact, albeit reluctantly, and headed for the mines.

***

It had been one hour since Wünder started walking. The path was rocky, the wind hoarse; it screamed and hollered with inanimate devices, making him shiver. His skin felt cold to his touch. The surface he walked upon was errant with gusts of air.

Wünder smiled. The cave was found above and deep into the mountains, so he had to make an arduous climb to reach his destination. Above him, alpine swifts swiped across the sky, their white underbellies barely perceivable under the clouds.

Just as Wünder got to within three miles of the mines, he found himself face to face with his brother. The latter was alone, and often so, did he walk alone. Wünder nodded at Brown, and gave him an accolade, before walking past him to see any fellow miners.

Wünder saw none. “What’s up, brother? Did something happen at the mines?” His brother, a man with scraggy beards, and a pair of piercing eyes, looked at him gravely, and deigned to reply only after nodding to himself, a long span gone.

“Something indeed happened, Wünder. In fact, more than one thing happened.” Brown looked back the direction he had come from. “Men disappeared, and two were even killed.” Brown looked at him gravely. “And you know what that means, Wünder?”

“...That means you are going to the village to ask for a search party?” Wünder answered.

“No, little brother,” Brown sighed, resuming , “it means that entry to the mines has been forbidden. I won’t be a miner tomorrow.”

“And what about the search party?” Wünder asked, all expectant, in wanting to keep up with his brother.

Brown resumed walking. “Well, you are the first one to think of that. Let’s go to the village and get our party. Our search party.” He had repeated the word ‘party’ like it was something important, and Wünder wondered at the way his brother contorted this word, as he was often used to doing, like the word or idea seemed foreign to him.

His brother, though known to be a lax person, was someone Wünder respected for doing all the things he thought important, as well as for considering Wünder’s words, even when he was a kid; Brown was attentive, at least only to him.

“Yeah, we had better hurry along, brother,” Wünder acceded, more worried about his brother than the men his brother had pronounced dead. For sure, the search party would take care of things for him. He matched his brother’s pace, before noticing a dark red patch on his brother’s left arm.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“What’s that, brother?” he asked.

“It’s just a scratch I got while walking,” he sighed, “should have pulled down my sleeves.”

“Okay,” Wünder breathed in, “and what about your friends? What about Router?”

Brown studied Wünder’s face for a second, before relenting. “He died.”

“I see.” Wünder remained quiet while they walked. The wind swirled and picked up, like a living organism, sweeping through the ravine. And they silently moved at the bottom, at times hearing canorous echoes, and at times a mere din.

***

Elysia sighed while looking at Duff eating the snacks Mrs. Detroit had graciously offered to him. The boy she looked at had a scar just above his left eyebrow. He looked poor, sloven, and yet, she could not help noticing the air of vulnerability about him; it seemed strangely endearing to her, even if she had made it her habit not to look at things she deemed vile.

Mrs. Detroit, in contrast to Duff, was a tall, slender woman, who was, for all intent, a jovial person, and liked to talk a lot. The room they were in was roughly four meters by six - it was pretty large for the neighbourhood. Mrs. Detroit was asking Duff if he had any place to stay at, while Elysia was mulling over the merits and demerits of Duff

She had grown up prejudiced, and yet, was being told off by her father as of late - or rather, ever since her mother had died. Elysia did not like the way he would address her, and yet, she would feel lonely without him around. The room was decked with two bookcases, and one long table. Mrs. Detroit was her mother’s sister; she was Elysia’s aunt. Elysia had thought Mrs. Detroit would approve of her reproaches about Duff, but found no ally in her as well.

Perhaps it was because she had so many things in common with the latter, not to mention Wünder. It had already been three years since her mother had left her. Elysia pondered over her father’s occupation, and about what her mother had seen in him. She thought that she would rather live in a more distant age - in a future more distant from the present she was living. It made her dreamy, as she reminisced about the princes her mother would tell her about in bedtime stories.

She could not talk about these stories with her father. And her friends talked about other topics, like what to cook, and about their other house chores. She thought them unimaginative, except that for herself, Duff would call her lazy if she talked about her ideal future to him. The young boy would soil his clothes planting a cabbage here or a carrot there, and would proudly tell people not to run over the places he had planted these crops as if the land itself belonged to him.

‘Oh, how I long for the cities,’ she thought to herself.

Duff, listening to Mrs. Detroit carefully, affirmed that he indeed had a place to stay, and upon her further inquiries, confirmed that he had taken a proper bath. Mrs. Detroit smiled at his replies, and asked him if he would like to read some stories from her fardel - her collection of short stories, and interesting chitchat about personage and emotions. As for Elysia, she knew them all.

She wanted more adult-like stories. However, she had yet to find an interesting book for adults like her, as she so believed herself to be, at the age of sixteen. Mrs. Detroit had done her best to narrate stories to Elysia - stories which were heartwarming and kind. But what Elysia sought were stories of ghosts and myths, and chivalrous knights. She however felt distant from those ghosts, as much as their tales would give her a good scare.

It was the most impossible notion for her that adult stories could resemble the stories she would read as fairy tales. Duff soon closed his book and asked Mrs. Detroit to read stories for him. Duff was rather inquisitive in nature, and asked a lot of questions to Mrs. Detroit, such as why Redbeard would kill his elephants. Elysia took part in the conversation when the legend of the valorous knight, Arbott came up. A knight who would go to wondrous places, and save princesses from dragons, and who was loved by the villagers, whenever he happened to meet them.

Mrs. Detroit narrated Arbott’s adventures in a timely fashion, with much puns on the words found in the story. Duff laughed heartily at each of her antics, and was going to continue doing so, until a knock came at the door. Elysia found herself relieved at the sound; she jumped to her feet, and went to open the door, even though Mrs. Detroit asked Elysia to wait for her.

As Elysia opened the door, she found a tall figure looking down on her.

***

Wünder walked along the cobblestone path, looking out for unhinged round stones to put back into place. He carefully took his steps, idling away as he was used to doing. The scenery in front of him was the same as always. It included the same blue sky, and a black path laced with undergrowth here and there. Wünder took care not to rustle his brother, who was carrying lumps of coal.

Brown had gotten these hefty lumps from the storehouse at the base of the mountain. The mountain had occupied the most part of Brown’s life since his father had died. And pretty much the same could be said of Wünder. If let alone, nothing would happen to this duo. Brown was Wünder’s support; Wünder was Brown’s support. Whether it was laughing or crying, Wünder would do these only in front of Brown.

It was not surprising. After all…

…

“Broward, your mother died.”

Brown gripped his hands into fists, and bite his lips. “What about the child?”

“He’s alive. And healthy.”

“I’m glad,” said Brown, tears flowing from his eyes. One could not be sure whether he was crying of relief or sadness. He tried smiling, but a sob choked his breath, and before he knew it, he was crying like a baby. “Father, I’m happy for the child. I’m happy.”

Brown was a perplexing child. His father, an old, bearded man with a pair of glasses, patted Brown on his shoulder, before hugging him tightly. “You can cry all you want. I know it hurts.”

At that moment, Mr. Loxias was much surprised that his seven-year-old did not resent his little brother for his mother’s death. He was very surprised. Afterwards, Brown helped with bringing up the child earnestly, and even after some time had passed, after some friends had pointed out to Brown that it was because of his little brother that his mother had died, Brown had taken no heed of them.

However, as for Wünder, he knew nothing of the privilege he had been denied. He would grow up seeking assurance mostly from his brother, and look at the other children and women like he was afraid of them.

The father was a teacher, and would often leave Wünder to a nursing woman, all alone in his house, while Brown attended school. The woman would bicker and complain, but kept to the house. It was irrational for her to be kept alone with a baby for days upon days, and yet, the father did nothing to amend the situation. The woman eventually refused to continue no matter how much money Mr. Loxias offered her.

What Wünder had gained in solitude had been hours of tutoring to him by a woman who had a fierce love for stories. When Wünder was four years old, his father decided to seek his fortune in sheep-rearing; he had had an accident with a horse which had caused him to lose his sense of hearing in one ear. It was also the age when Wünder was allowed to study alongside the other children.

However, Wünder had finally got to understand what mothers were, from his fellow playmates. He started growing depressed, and would cry everyday. His brother kept asking him about what was wrong, before Wünder finally said:

“Broward, mother’s dead.”

“It’s alright Wünder. It’s alright. Your brother is here.”

Brown instigated a love for sceneries in Wünder; he would often take him on hiking trips, or visit strange towns together. He would present him with gifts at times. Slowly, but surely, Wünder had recovered from feeling the absence of a mother. When Wünder was ten years old, his father died, and Brown got to working as a miner.

…

Wünder whistled along as he walked. Their path soon transformed into an alley. Trees with blue blossoms aligned each side of it. Wherever the eyes went, there was nothing but trees. The wind was gentle, filled with a delicious perfume which put even Brown in a good humour. Soon, these blue blossoms would turn into berries. As they walked, they reached a bend; around the bend, the village revealed itself, some hundred yards away, and the grove abruptly reached its end.

The pair soon entered the village. They got across the houses, and reached the village square. Among the crowd which manifested in front of them, Wünder perceived a familiar face, and waved his hand. It was a person who looked gaunt and bitter despite having a youthful appearance. It was Pan Faunus, the forester’s son. He looked more anxious than usual, and approached them the moment they were four yards away.

“Brown, how were things like at the mine?”

Brown looked up at Pan. “There was nothing good in there today.”

Pan stared at him with unease. “..How was it?”

“Like I said, there-”

“I don’t mean that!” Pan said in an urgent voice, before composing himself. “Anything. Did you see anything unusual in the caves? Some growls or grunts… which seemed like those of animals?”

“Well, I didn’t. What’s the problem?”

“Earlier, this morning, I had seen some monsters in the forest,” Pan imparted, motioning for them to resume walking. “They were golden in color and were heading towards the caves.”

Brown’s brows creased. “Are you sure that you didn’t get drunk and start seeing things?”

“I didn’t,” Pan sighed, before inclining his face away from Brown as the latter smelled the air about him. “And even if I did, I’ve never been more sober than now.”

“Certainly,” Brown noted. “So? What kind of monsters did you see? Bears? I assure you that I haven’t seen a single animal in the mines since I started working, let alone yellow bears.”

“Then… Did anyone get injured? Did someone report having heard grunts or the sort?”

“Nobody heard grunts, but people did-,”.

“Oh, the knight!” Pan looked ahead eagerly, before ensuing. “Excuse me for a moment, Brown. I called a knight to investigate the caves.”

“Nah, no excuse given. I’ll talk to the knight as well.”

Pan stared at Brown. “Come along then.”

Brown turned to Wünder, telling him to follow them. But the latter seemed distracted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I think I just saw Elysia passing by us.”

“Don’t worry. The other workers will inform her about what happened.”

“I see,” Wünder muttered. “She’s gonna need some comforting later on. Can we buy something for her next time we head to the town, brother?”

“We can.”

Brown and Pan greeted the knight in their loud voices, as Wünder observed, followed by Wünder’s own greetings. The knight had a high nose bridge, and fierce-looking eyes. He looked frightening to Wünder, though, Wünder noted, that Brown seemed to think nothing of it. The crowd around them started whispering, wanting to know why the knight was here.

“Sir Rudeus, I am the one who had requested for your assistance,” Pan bowed.

The knight, Sir Rudeus, nodded in acknowledgement. “State your business.”

“Sir, strange animals were sighted in the forest - animals which were heading for the caves. I request that some investigations be made upon it, as it may endanger the miners.”

The knight remained quiet, seeming to consider Pan’s words. “Have the miners reported anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, yes. I actually have something to rep-!”

“I was not addressing you,” said Sir Rudeus drily to Brown. The knight raised his head and said at length. “It was a waste of time coming here. I shall see myself back to my station.”

He turned to leave. Pan was dumbfound, while Brown asked him to wait up, and said. “Sir Rudeus! Strange things have indeed been happening at the mine! Some people were found killed in there today itself!”

“Wait a minute! You didn’t really mention that to me!” becried Pan.

“Well, sorry about that. I was just about to mention it.”

“You should have said things like that sooner!”

“Well, I’ll hear you out later. Things are getting busy at Ellion right now” indicted the knight, stamping away. Ellion was the knights’ headquarters,

“Please wait up!” shouted Brown, but Sir Rudeus did not even stop his march. Brown hastened to the knight, pleading him to send a search party to the mines, and talked about the disappearances, as much as the gruesome details in which he had found Router’s dead body.

The knight paused in his steps. “Well, alright. I’ll send some squires after I get back to the headquarters.”

“Thank you very much!” exclaimed Brown, followed by similar words from Pan. Brown wondered about the knight’s previous act of marching away while trivializing their problem like this, just because of some confusion. Maybe he had considered their matter trifling precisely because of that little confusion - but it seemed unjustifiable.

‘Knights these days sure are proud,’ thought Brown.

Once the knight was gone, Pan asked. “Where are the other miners, Brown?”

“They should have come back by now,” he looked behind Pan, and nodded, “yeah, they are already here!”

Pan turned back, and saw that Brown’s words were true. He came up to the miners, and said that he was glad to find them safe. They responded with gratitude and anxiety, speaking of the mysterious disappearances and narrating the grimy murders committed by god knew who. They were tired, sweaty, and their faces seemed drained of all colour.

Wünder approached the lot, searching for Elysia, before looking back the way they had come. He found no signs of her. Brown watched the scene silently, before sighing. “Let’s go home, Wünder.”

But the boy stood still. “Elysia is not coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“The person I saw back then was definitely Elysia.”

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, let’s leave her be. Maybe she wants to be alone for a while.”

“But she was accompanied by somebody I didn’t know.”

“Maybe it’s one of her distant relatives?”

Wünder kept quiet.

“Okay, we’ve still got some good hours before sunset. I guess we can afford another trip. Should make for some good exercise,” said Brown, ruffling his brother’s head. “But only until the start of the ravine, alright? I wouldn’t know what to do if Pan’s words proved to be true.”

“Alright.”

“I’m not really sure. But I’m curious about this man, now that I think of it. It’s bad enough that Elysia is a girl.”