Book 2: Dirt Diver’s Dance

Cumbaya… Ch:7

“It’s primitive, but very nicely wrought… This thing is designed to strike the immaterial and ghosts, without any protections for the living. To a person, this is just a nasty, little stone headed mace.” Gary murmured over Ivy’s find. “A goblin had this?”

“Yeah, we mopped up a band near Bridgewater or Bywater… Some little human town across the mountains. Nice folks.” Ivy mumbled to her mad wizard friend.

“This thing felt… like it should definitely be out of goblin hands.”

“It’s goblin made, I think… but it’s really good… If I had only primitive tools to work with and no access metals… yeah… This is something I might have made…” He looked concerned for a moment and peered closer at the faint markings on the worn lump of jadeite.

“It almost feels like I did make this…” He whispered.

#

“I’m telling you, papa made these.” Wilf muttered angrily. “I know it’s impossible, but these are his skills and techniques.” He draped a rune and glyph embroidered cloth over the filthy ‘musical instruments’ laying on his workbench.

“The flesh, bones and sinew are all human; but the motive force and Will inside is definitely an outsider… these things are someone’s vengeance… on a demon, or rather, three demons.” Ward said softly from his seat in the circle of concerned schemers.

“These have no trace of a living human’’s essence or soul. That I can tell you, these were made from flesh that was empty. All these body parts have been completely cleansed with a very fine funeral rite.”

“Well, that sounds like our boy…” Liam grumbled sourly. “But there’s no way he made those horrible things.”

“Like I said earlier, these… objects were made within the last year…” Wilf insisted quietly. “Perhaps two years ago at the most. We were in Wheatford; and he was under the eyes of the clerical council the entire time.”

“Aye, he hae been by mine side all these years, save when he were…” Shai halted there for a moment and took a deep breath. “Tis impossible.”

“Shai…” Becky whispered gently, with her arm around her giant sister’s shoulders. “Think about what you just said…” She sucked her teeth quietly and smiled.

“His soul is still here… But so are Harry, Perry, Larry, Barry and Ward…”

She grinned at the gathered company and laughed just a little madly, like her mad brother from another world...

“He’s still out there, somewhere, shouting the one thing he’s always insisted on: He always answers ‘impossible’ with ‘I’m possible…’ Every time.”

#

“Ugh… why Malus?” Barry groaned softly, when the pug ugly, short and stocky warrior stomped out to meet their party on the parade ground with the other patrol groups.

Seven small clusters of armed and armored young people waited on the pavers, six groups bearing blue and golden yellow pennants on their spears that signified the countess’ ducklings.

The small warbands were each joined by a veteran warrior as their commanding officer, familiar and friendly faces all. First squad drew Jeng, the scout, second got Bran, the enormous heavy fighter who was Malus’ second…

And so it went until the squat, grumpy man stood before the Wards and scowled.

“Bad luck for me and for you… we are stuck with each other…”

“Yeah, stuff it you old geezer.” Harry grumbled right back, followed by a jeering wink and a scowling sneer.

Mortified, Lindsey dropped her helmet’s visor and tried to shrink back into the group, as the two started quarreling like an old married couple, right there on the parade ground. “Try and keep up, you stump legged old fart. You’ll get left behind.”

“Wretched spratling! I’ll have you over my knee again, as when you were a babe, still messing your drawers!” The older warrior shouted in Harry’s face, showering him with spittle and stale coffee breath. The rest of the warbands departed quickly and quietly, lest whatever mess was going to rain down on the weird new kids should splatter onto their bands as well.

“...Don’t take your erectile dysfunction out on us, you limp donged coot! Shove your withered cock up your own ass for a thrill instead!” Harry shouted right back, getting all up in the shorter veteran’s space aggressively.

The muscular older man raised his hand high and brought it down in a loud slap on Harry’s armored shoulder, as the man chuckled and smiled. “Nice one… Come on kids, let’s get moving, you can gear up once we’re out of town.”

Lindsey looked at her new team, kitted out in standard light training armor and did her best to disappear, while wondering what kind of madness she had signed up for.

“Malus is an old family friend.” Barry whispered. “We’re going to be on ‘disciplinary patrol’... so the other bands don’t think we’re getting special treatment.”

“Wait… Did you just get me put on discipline duty… as a joke?!” She snapped at Barry and the rest, sounding furious behind her visor.

“We learned our lesson in Wheatford…” Harry explained as they marched. “We fight differently, our gear is different, we have different methods and priorities than most warbands, that makes us stand out.”

“We wind up hanging out with the veterans, instructors, clerics and even nobles… cause they all know our folks or visit the inn.” Perry complained. “The others started treating us like rich kids…”

“But you are ‘rich kids’…” Malus opined cheerfully. “That’s why we put you right on punishment detail, stuck you with a shitty, really long patrol route and saddled you with a hardass for your supervisor.”

“This way, our ‘special treatment’ is because we’re a huge pain in the ass. They’ll assume our weird stuff is just stupid kids being stupid and rebellious.” Larry said with a wide, happy grin. “Welcome to team Clownshoes…”

“We all vetoed ‘Clownshoes’. It’s not happening, bro.” Harry sighed tiredly at the weird one.

“Team names are important…choose wisely, kids.” Malus rumbled happily as they marched along. He would begin berating them at random when a strolling citizen neared, or when they encountered any guards or patrols on their eastward march out of town.

“We’ll have several days to think that over, while we’re tracking these little goblin bands back to their source. Reports suggest they’re coming from the mountains to the northeast.”

“I thought we would be on local patrols…” Lindsey asked, sounding a little querulous and unsure.

“Nope, punishment detail roughing it in the woods with me and a pair of the count’s ‘rangers’.” He answered eagerly as two people stepped out of a narrow lane, with two horses behind them and a man riding a small, two horse wagon at the end of their little parade.

“Oh, good… there’s no way I can carry enough supplies for a week in my shadow.” Barry sighed when the wagon appeared.

“You have a storage gift?” Lindsey asked quietly while the wagon was clattering into formation.

“We all do, mine’s just the strongest. The others all have some weird limitations we’re working out… new Contracts.” He shrugged sheepishly, as though that were something embarrassing.

“So that’s where all that armor and those weapons came from…” She murmured quietly.

“I can carry any amount of weapons, armor, clothing or gear, as long as it was made by one of us, or our folks.” He whispered. “After that, I can manage about a hundred pounds of regular stuff, like food.”

“That’s amazing!” She cooed eagerly. “Who… who is your Contract with…” She asked gently. “Do… do, you mind?”

“Sure, I have Axio’tielele… it’s hard to say, we just call him Axio. He’s the spirit of high mountain lakes and waterways, ponds and slow moving canals…” He spoke a little more softly, as if hoping she wouldn’t hear, but Flash was as keen of hearing as any mortal horse. “...and mortal decomposition.”

“Fascinating… is he one of the mysterious fae beings we’ve been hearing about?” She leaned in closer, excited by the prospect. “Mortal decomposition… interesting! Forensics was a personal field of interest… when I was at the temple.”

“Forensics?” Barry asked, as they marched.

“It’s a new field of study, lady Trelawny and count Liam are keenly interested in how biological processes can be used to reduce undead occurrences and help track monsters by examining their… residue to determine how long ago the… spoor was…. Deposited….”

“You study rotten dead things and shit?” Larry asked loudly from nearby.

“Yes, yes I do, mister nosey.” She answered tartly.

“I’ve heard of this new study… Perhaps we shall all find this time together instructive.” Larksong murmured from the head of the column.

“Learn what you may about monster poop while you can, lest you become monster poop in your ignorance.” Runningtree announced, as though quoting a proverb; much of what she said sounded like a proverb handed down by the ancients, packed with hidden meaning and subtle shades of deeper wisdom…

A perception fostered by the tribal finery she wore.

Her panoply was a splendid display of bones, beads, antlers and such, cunningly wrought and sewn onto a flexible, monster leather armor suit.

She moved in near silence in her elaborate gear and could vanish among the trees in a moment, despite the bright colors and polished bones.

“You like this armor of mine?” The veteran Adventurer asked, dropping back to chat with the nervous looking girl and her silly horse.

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“Yours is just as fine… and suits you well, young equestrian.”

“This? It’s wonderful, but this is just training armor for sparring and riding ‘bikes’...” She murmured, looking down at her sculpted, wooden half breastplate with all those ventilation holes.

“On that note, it’s about time you kids got dressed for action.” Malus opined mildly. The boys shrugged four sets of shoulders as if they were one person and called a halt near a small clearing.

Barry and Perry started roaming the grassy field, laying out six small stacks of… stuff. Separated into distinct, orderly piles. Out came armor pieces, strange shaped objects, weapons and supplies all neatly placed.

The boys paired off quickly, each one helping the other with their things in ways that were difficult to understand. Before three minutes had elapsed, all four Ward boys were kitted out in their distinctive, but uniform looking armor of wooden plates, monster leather and spider silk.

Barry was a pale green suit of medium heavy armor, with a long sabre and his strange, sword-hilted iron bar slung, one above the other at his hip.

Larry was a dark, yellow-brown light armored scout, with a light crossbow slung on his back and a long, straight sword at his waist.

Perry was heavy armored, in dark brown and green lacquered plates of wood and steel over a suit of braided spider silk. His wide bladed spear and quiver of short, fletched javelins had replaced the warclub he’d used in their goblin battle.

Harry wore very light armor and held only a flute of some strange, yellowed bone with bronze fittings. He had small tufts of feathers tucked into loops all over his gear, in all the muted shades and hues she could imagine, laid out in an orderly pattern.

Closer examination of his odd costume revealed them to be feather tufted darts, clusters of them in different shapes and colors. Some were blunt; others, needle or chisel pointed. They were all different substances too, steel, bamboo, bronze, and bone were all represented, along with a variety of woods and stranger things.

Harry caught her looking at his getup and smiled. “I’m only just fourteen… I’m along as a support member, non combatant, officially.”

“You’re not quads?” She asked the slightly smaller boy. “I thought the ‘four triplets’ thing was some family joke…”

“Barry…” Harry called out angrily. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I couldn’t find a way to…” He mumbled, looking deeply ashamed. “I was gonna tell her…”

“I’ll explain while we get you two kitted out.” Harry sighed as he came over to where Flash and Lindsey were standing beside piles of stuff. “You two clowns… work on the horsie. Perry, Help me with our new sister.”

Barry and Perry went over to ‘work on’ Flash, while the other brothers turned on her.

“We’re not really triplets, or brothers even.” Harry murmured quietly as he began fitting sculpted wooden plates onto her training armor.

Each one had cunning pins, pegs and clips that slipped into the ‘vent holes’ and clicked into place solidly, slowly becoming a suit of light, comfortable, medium armor suitable for mounted combat.

“We’ll leave the rest off, but there’s a full suit of heavy field plate in your kit.” He handed her a spear much like the one she’d stolen from them in the goblin battle.

It had been stolen back in the confusing aftermath by one of the rascals and she was determined to find it again, but this one felt even more deliciously dangerous.

Like the other, it was bronze, hefty, on the short side for a spear, with a heavy, iron knob on the safe end for bashing.

This one was embellished with elaborate scrollwork decorations, etched deeply into the metal point and knob, as well as the red and brown striated ironwood shaft.

It balanced and spun as lightly as a bamboo rod, while feeling as solid, reliable and hefty as any finely made weapon could.

“You liked that spear, so we had the Ragamuffins finish it off, while we worked on your armor; Amy, Rio and Wilf do fine work.” Harry murmured.

“Like I was saying all four of us are… in many ways, the same person. We’re scions of our dad, cut away from his soul by a malignant demon worshiping cult and rooted in this plane as new and unique souls.”

The two boys kept clicking parts and plates in, tightening straps and essentially dressing the stunned girl while she tried to digest that.

“So, you and your brothers…”

“We’re different people; like quadruplets, we started the same, as babies, just like the normies.” He smiled a boyish, charming grin, one not even a little like the mad death’s head grimace their father usually displayed.

“We grew up together and are brothers in all the ways that matter, but we’re also still the same person in a few ways that can be… confusing to outside observers… and new friends.” He finished with a fond smile at her, holding her eyes for a moment. “We’re just people.”

“I’m pretty confused…” She offered helpfully.

“If you take a tree… take cuttings of that tree, get them to grow roots of their own, and plant them in different places, what do you have?” He asked gently, before providing the answer a moment later.

“The same tree, each living their own lives and growing into a shape that is unique and reflects the challenges and conditions of their individual environments.”

“Just think of us as quads. Don’t hurt yourself trying to figure it out.” Perry suggested. “If it comes up, you know; if it doesn’t…” He shrugged. “Tell her about her gear… that’s more important.”

“Right…” Harry agreed readily, glad to be done with that. “Your armor is magical. A construct of rare and highly magical components enspelled into a potent defense and utility tool.” He held up a hand to silence her.

“Just accept that. Otherwise we’ll be here all day. There’s a little tube sticking out of your gorget that will give you fresh clean water on demand; two gallons a day in even the most arid environments, be sure to drink up.” He had a little parchment sheet in his hand, as he read off his list.

“Your armor won’t sink in water unless you want it to… and there’s a tube in the helmet that can provide fresh air for fifteen minutes under water… remember that if you encounter any airborne toxins or irritants. It can filter the air indefinitely as long as you’re above water. It has good elemental resists built in, with a focus on kinetic energy… that’s bashing attacks.”

He smiled when she just nodded.

“We’ll be able to track you as long as you are wearing it and it has a deep pockets enchantment that will hold your full medical kit and about sixty pounds of other gear.”

“Slow down bro.” Perry grumbled. “We have time, they’re getting the bikes ready now.”

“Cool… where was I?” He grinned and consulted his note again. “Pockets… sixty pounds… Oh, yeah! There’s a full camping kit in Flash’s gear, enspelled to repel bugs, parasites, spirits and minor predators.”

“We’ll catch you up on everything when we encamp.” Larry said from atop his bike, while Barry pulled his tandem up beside her.

Wordlessly, the poor girl mounted the saddle, wrapped her arms around her armored boy and held on while her horse totted down the road, giggling at the mad stew her mind and emotions had become…

#

“Forgive me, Daisybelle… I’d always been told that goblins were… aggressive and unreasonable…” He said very carefully, as she and her three hounds bedded down in his formerly private camp.

“Oh yeah, they’re ‘unreasonable’ little cannibal shits. They’re all ballsacks and appetites, never turn your back on a goblin.” She agreed. “That’s goblin boys, filthy buggers.”

She had a stretch, kissed each of her doggies and curled up in the middle of them. “I gotta sleep. There’s food in Nightshade’s bag. He wanted to eat you so he gives up his snacks.”

“Hey…” The black hound grumbled a little but shoved a saddle bag out of his thick, furry ruff with his nose. Gandree picked it up carefully, since those huge teeth were still right there.

“That’s trashworm pemmican, goblin maidens don’t share that with just anyone.” She bubbled merrily. “Hash some up on a hot rock… so tasty tasty.

Daisybelle paused, rubbed her tummy and smiled. “That sounds good… Petunia, go get him some firewood. Now I’m hungry too.”

The stuff turned out to be stiff, fatty blocks of a dense clay like substance that, when heated with Daisybelle’s flat rock hash method, became a thick, meat gruel that was savory and faintly sweet smelling. She scraped it onto slabs of flat, dry bread from her pack, handed him one and crunched down on hers eagerly.

His first bite was questionable… it was a little greasy and had some strange spice and fruit thing going on. A second bite sealed the deal as it exploded in a rich, roasty, meaty flavor that reminded him of the mince pies served at the clan lord’s table.

Or how he imagined they tasted. He’d only washed up the dishes from the head table. His meals had always been with the lowest ranked apprentices.

Gandree shoved those thoughts down and savored this deeply strange moment of peace and camaraderie with a blood enemy of his former clan.

“I knew those dusty old cunts were full of shit.” He mumbled to himself, right before the world turned upside down.

#

Krulguth smelled them, they were close, and close together… he smelled food too… he’d wait till they slept… Daylight held no more fear for him… he’d left his fear of light and open spaces behind with his feeble gobb form. He was more, now… and hungry.

After a terrible long wait, with that spear pointy thingee jabbing his guts with every hungry convulsion of his bowels, he crept around the outcropping to see what he could find…

Nothing. They were gone gone! He stomped his one foot, raged in his desperate hunger and howled at the uncaring sky.

#

The creature was awful. Twelve feet tall and long limbed in a very unnatural way, it was gaunt to the point of starvation. Some obstruction or foreign object was lodged inside its emaciated abdomen; poking out from behind the tough gray-green skin unpleasantly.

The thing only had one leg, the other was shorn off just below the knee, leaving the maimed troll crawling on three limbs.

It howled and stomped, flailed and beat its breast then finally it fled. Furious and ravenous, it scurried down the mountainside on three limbs like a hideous crippled spider.

Gandree saw all this unfold upside down, from where he’d been grabbed, hauled up and shoved into a ball behind the three wolfhounds and little Daisybelle, who had a short, stone headed mace in her right hand and a long, wicked looking, wooden paddle shield, edged and studded with obsidian shards in her left hand.

“Shh… Troll!” She hissed, as he started to extricate himself from where he’d been shoved so suddenly.

“How does he not attack? Is he double stupid?”

“I warded my camp against hostile creatures… it can’t see, hear or smell us, so long as we stay under the stone roof.” He pointed up, to where a bas relief had been freshly carved in the native stone.

A smiling and benevolent female face gazed down on the little flat space under the granite slab, among the thorn bushes, granting them a subtle grace that gorse, bramble briar and prickle poke seldom enjoyed.

“Only a truly natural beast will be able to find us here. Their aggression is without malice, and a part of this world.” He whispered reverently. “Under the veil of the goddess Cowl, lady of Joy, malice cannot see.”

He smiled shyly and shrugged. “I’m kinda good at wards, runes, glyphs and inscriptions.”

“So confident in your goddess, you feared not a troll? Maybe he’s not the only one who’s double stupid.” She complained.

“I’ve seen trolls before. I even talked to one…” He grinned wickedly. “Once it was safely stuck in my warding circle.”

“Oh, there’s a story there! Tell me your storytime tale, boy with too many names.”

He smiled at the thought of a living person actually listening to him for once and sighed happily.

“I’d just turned eight years old, when a young dwarf gets his first trial apprenticeship… and I got some bad news…”

He began as she got comfy in her nest of furry friends, with Gandree leaning against Jasmine’s warm flank.

#

“ClansWard…” The dwarf boy grumbled as he stomped through the lower levels, scrounging for low grade ores or small gems in the waste chutes and corners of the mine workings. “Clan’s slave, more like…”

A moment later, his ire was briefly forgotten, when he spotted a treasure jammed in a cleft in the stone.

He swooped on a rusty, broken pick head and whistled a merry snatch of birdsong, when he found the tool steel edge still intact.

Notched, rusty and blunted, but a two ounce shard of high carbon goodness would be his, once he got the mild steel peeled off and recycled.

Deeper and deeper he went, until his greater height became a problem. He took the last branch he could stand upright in and went into the oldest delvings, down where the mountain was so still and quiet, you could hear your own hair grow.

At the rune wrought slabs of granite sealing the ancient, forbidden mines, he pressed the tip of his little knife to his thumb and drew a few short strokes in his own blood.

With a soft hiss, the forbidden portal opened for him, absorbing all traces of his blood, after it slid silently back into place.

He sat on a high ledge above an endless rift into the deepest earth and pulled his greatest treasure from his shadow. Shining brass, bronze, copper and even a few elements of precious silver glinted strangely in the endless dark.

His eyes saw clearly in the lightless cavern, as the oldsters said their great great grandfathers could… They saw the things moving in the dark too.

Shades, spectres, ghosts, haunts, spooks… men, women, dwarves, humans, elves and other kin, some with the forms of beasts, but the shades of thinking beings passed by in an endless shadowy parade down that chasm…

They never paid him any heed; until he played for them. At the first, sweet note, a legion of heads turned to look up, pausing in their endless march into the darkness to listen.

With gentle care, he spun the music out for them, letting them dance or simply listen, or pass on by…

He felt that he could possibly enforce his will on them in some way, but that would be a desecration of this sacred space. Instead he played on, while some stopped and danced for him, swirling through the lightless void, where only he could see… and hear their soft voices.

They were his friends and companions, called forth with the songs and melodies that had touched their living hearts and lingered long after death.

They taught him their songs, in return; sung in wordless, breathy whispers. Their stories and songs spun out in dance and pantomime, shared with him,as he shared his with the endless shadow parade.

This was his secret alone, the only place where someone listened to him, even if they were the long dead shades of other folks’ kin.

At fifteen he’d received more bad news… Some dusty old scroll, conveniently found tucked up the fat arse of a lazy priest of the law, said that a blood relative must stand a bond for any young dwarf to receive a formal craft apprenticeship.

Just because no one had actually enforced that law in a thousand years and none of his contemporaries bothered complying with the forgotten rule was no excuse.

As a foundling, that meant Gandree would remain the ClansWard until his majority at twenty.

The day he’d turned nineteen, more bad news…

He’d been commanded to come work on a project for old Flintknapp, the clan’s only ‘carpenter’. He spent most of his time leaning over Gandree, watching his every move from the master’s bench high above, studying the lad’s quick, sure hands and flashing tools.

“Sorry, Foundling.” Master Flintknapp had rumbled happily, while admiring the ClansWard’s latest work piece. The runes, glyphs and inscriptions were perfect, clear, concise and fairly crackling with energy.

“They ruled just today. No one without a formal apprenticeship can undertake the rites and pass into adulthood.” He chortled and tucked the trinket away.

“My wife’s going to love this… a magic powered rolling pin!”

He was still chuckling as he stomped away, leaving tools, scraps the remnants of his lunch scattered on the master’s high bench.

“Clean up this worksop, foundling, it’s not fit for pigs to work in.”

#

“They thought I would just be their slave for the rest of my life, making wonders in silent obscurity, to enrich those lazy, empty beards.” He sighed quietly into the cool mountain morning.

“When they changed the rules the first time, I decided to leave when I could. I started pilfering supplies and tools in earnest, stashing whatever I could and planning my escape… I also hid what I learned from the whisperers in the dark… giving them nothing but pointless trinkets that only served to distract and amuse, while concealing what I could really do.”

“Sneaky sneaky…” Daisybelle murmured happily. “You give good storytime, just like king papa… Keep going, boy.”

He smiled at the adorable creature and carried on.

“I found an old escape tunnel, sealed and locked, but that was no trouble. I started sneaking out to explore the mountains outside… that’s when I met Iznitz, the troll.”

#