While the Litany said Tek gave dwarves hearts of ember, Tali suspected under the charcoal lay diamond, at least for Geim Morthurann, the Master of Gems. Firm hardly covered it: nothing could shake the old dwarf, nearly three centuries old and still as sharp as ever. She waited patiently with her face towards the floor and her hands clasped in front of her as Geim mapped each of the sapphires she’d cut, first with the exacting rulers and calipers gemcutters used for measuring their art. When he’d finished there, he’d check the refraction of the gems with a light tied to a scrying eye to ensure each facet was correct, then the smoothness of her polish with the sensitive pads of his fingertips.
Warranted or not, Tali felt a familiar knot forming in her gut. Her father’s approval was one thing, but Geim was the final arbiter of whether her work was ready for shipment to Dhir Daral, and he was absolutely merciless. Gemcutting demanded excellence, and the shoddy work an apprentice at the smithy might skate by with was wholly unsuitable and impermissible as far as Geim was concerned. Even on waste diamonds, Tali had heard him snap, “Measure five times, cut once!” with a ferocity easily invoking tears in young apprentices more times than she could count.
If the workshop was a fire for purifying and perfecting the heart of a gemcutter, her father was the encouraging breath of air, and Geim was the relentless heat of the crucible.
She stood until her hands hurt from clenching tightly, until the back of her neck ached from looking down, until she was absolutely certain she was about to get the tongue lashing of a lifetime for ruining such high-grade sapphires. Tali forced herself to breathe and knew better than to lock her knees. Geim took his time and passing out before he finished would be mortifying.
Tali focused on her breath, trying to stay calm and centered. Her lungs swelled in her chest like bellows and then gradually released the air in a slow, controlled exhale. Part of her mind was still in relentless motion about her mastercraft, at least: a fine distraction.
“Four are acceptable.” Geim’s words sliced through Tali’s nervousness, as sharp and cutting as an artificer’s knife.
Her heart sank: she’d worked on five stones.
Geim approached and pushed the last stone into her hands. “Find the flaw.”
Tali mapped it with her fingers, running the sensitive pad of her thumb over each facet and then each cut line and angle. It took her almost a full minute to find it, the tiniest of misalignments at a complicated corner. It was slightly too wide, a little extra material left: salvageable, perhaps, but a mistake nonetheless. Without really thinking, she blurted out, “I can fix it!”
“Risky business that might just ruin it further. Do you know how many sapphires we get of this quality even here in the City of Gems?” Geim had a way of clipping his words when he was disappointed, which always made her feel about an inch tall.
Tali felt absolutely wretched. “Not enough, Master Geim.”
“Gemcutting is the most sacred art given by Tek. Our purpose is to remind the dwarves, to remind the world, that our God loves them through beauty and the perfection of form. It doesn’t allow for this messiness.” Geim prodded her in the forehead with two fingers. “If this was focused properly, there’d be five gems sitting on that table for Dhir Dharal.”
“I was focused, Master Geim,” Tali protested weakly. She’d never been good at rebutting when the criticism came from Geim. “I can’t be perf—”
Geim clicked his teeth sharply in annoyance, cutting her off. “Next time, when I give you five gems, I expect five cut cleanly enough to send, apprentice.”
Tali’s head hung in shame. “Yes, Master Geim.”
A heavy tread approached and a familiar weight of warmth settled on her shoulder. “You’re being awfully cantankerous for four beautifully cut gems and one little flaw, Master Geim,” her father said firmly, respectful even as he pushed back. “Tali’s learning still and did a damn fine job for an apprentice.”
“This work reflects on Dhuldarim’s reputation, Garran.” The old dwarf gestured to the flawed stone. “You think Dhir Dharal would be satisfied with a flawed gem?”
Tali’s father gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “They’d still trade it to the surface for a tidy profit. Skyborn are always hungry for anything dwarven-made.”
“God forbid we lower ourselves to such a standard,” Geim groused. “Tek teaches—”
“I seem to recall something about improvement, Master Geim. So let Tali improve on her cut. If the stone’s ruined, it’s ruined, but you’ve already said it’s unsatisfactory as it is.”
Geim grumbled something inaudible under his breath. “Fine, Garran,” he said grudgingly. “But I’ll be the judge of if it goes on that table.”
Tali exhaled in relief as the Master of Gems stomped away, over to his own section of the workshop. She tightened her hand around the stone, already trying to think of how to fix it. She could recut the facet, but that could also lead to more misalignment rather than less if she wasn’t careful. Polishing it to alignment was another possibility, but would require a great deal of time and effort.
Her father squeezed her shoulder again. “Don’t let his grumping go too much to your head, Tali-ali. We’re all works in progress under the hand of the divine, which means mistakes. If we never made them, we would never learn. Besides, I wasn’t doing complex cuts on sapphires for Dhir Daral at your age, let alone four even Geim couldn’t find a flaw in.”
Tali clicked in an agreement she didn’t really feel. As much as she loved her father and believed him, she still wanted Geim’s approval.
“Take a break. Take a walk. The answer will come to you.” Her father pried the gem out of her hand gently and gave her a little push on the back. “Remember to breathe. The beauty intended by the Great Artificer only comes when our minds are open to the wonders around us.”
“But I need to–”
“Go visit the Grove,” Garran said more firmly. “Come back when you’ve relaxed. Tension means unsteady hands, Tali-ali.”
Tali sighed and nodded. Her father knew her better than anyone. If he thought she wasn’t in a state to finish it, she would take him at his word. The defeated dwarf slumped her shoulders a little as she stepped out of the workshop, catching a smithing chant rising from a lower workshop on the cavern zephyrs. A little tinge of envy hit her. Gemcutting consumed most of her life, as expected for an apprentice, but there were so few gemcutters that she didn’t really have a chance to form friendships with those her own age. Hearing the communal chant punctuated by the ringing blows of hammers marking a smithy in full swing made her wistful and a little jealous.
Dwarves were creatures of community, and while she was still very much a part of Dhuldarim, her role forced her into a sort of apartness. Her father always said it would change once she wasn’t devoting all her time to learning, but Tali wasn’t as confident.
Tali followed the suspended walkways across the great gorge, the echoes of her clicks plunging into emptiness stirred by air currents moving below. The bridge beneath her swayed slightly in the wind, built to draw its strength from its flexibility. The guidewires were spun of special tefia silk, thousands of times stronger than steel, and soft to the touch. It spanned the gap entirely enclosed in a sort of silken sleeve to prevent falls. Even those as surefooted as a dwarf might plunge if a quake hit.
While charted and known to the very millimeter, the Lands of Tek and all the dwarven artifices within were never without risk and danger. Tali’s thoughts wandered, as they always did crossing the Gap, to the unknown. So many catastrophes seemed built into the Great Artificer’s plan. Whatever the Forge-Tender and the Litany said about dwarven resilience, it seemed like an oversight to Tali. Even if dwarves could learn to smooth rough edges, why build imperfections in the first place?
She wanted to pose the question to the Forge-Tender. It ate at her in moments like this, when her doubts started to crowd out her other thoughts. Seldom did she have the chance, however. Problems chased Dorn Urald like nipping cavern lizards since he was Tek’s chosen to answer them.
Tali picked up her pace, comfortable with the sway of the bridge. A lifetime of climbing just to get to home and to the shop every day left her with excellent balance. After another few minutes, the first smell of the Garden caught the young dwarf’s nose: earthy damp and the peppery scent of growing fungi mingling with the clean scent of water. As much as her brain didn’t like letting go of problems, she found herself relaxing a little despite Geim’s harsh words still ringing in her ears.
Stolen novel; please report.
She chattered her teeth to send out waves of sound, eager to take in every inch of the Garden she could reach. Near and dear to Dhuldarim’s heart, a veritable forest of fungal growths populated the many outcroppings and crevices surrounding Lake Darim. Some were tall and broad with spore-shedding caps phosphorescent in the darkness, a glow perceptible even to blind dwarven eyes. The greatest of those standing tops was Old Thom, almost ten meters in height. Others were stout puffballs or wiry hanging lichens draped across otherwise unforgiving stone. Their names all came from their uses: some edible, some fuel, some for construction of houses or tools and others for mulching waste, some fermentable, some appetizing to the oami—beetles about a meter long each, a core staple of the dwarven diet.
Nothing was purely decorative in the Grove: cultivation followed utility. Even the little stunted mhenzhan, with spongy caps no bigger than her thumb, provided life-saving disinfectants.
Tali trudged down from the bridge’s stairs to the soft soil of the Grove, carefully tilled and fertilized to keep the growths here happy and healthy. Herds of oami clicked in greeting, trundling about the business of eating lichen. Two inquisitive smaller beetles scurried over, mandibles waggling with an excited whining drone. “I don’t have anything,” the young dwarf said with amusement, turning out her pockets. “You’re out of luck.”
With no food materializing, they were quickly off again, but not before Tali had run her fingers over their carapaces, smooth as glass to the touch except for ridges down the middle of each segment. One of them spooked, curling into a ball and rolling back to the herd with a surprising speed and the frantic wiggling of spindly legs as it struggled to keep its balance audible as a series of staccato taps against the earth. The dwarf smothered a laugh at the comical chirping sound it made as it upended itself right in the middle of its herd.
The older oami didn’t so much as pause in their browsing. Very few things could get between the beetles and their meal, calm and docile as long as no predators were near.
Tali settled herself at the base of Old Thom, near the water’s edge. The garden’s central feature was a large pool both fed and channeled by clever aqueducts, gated to precisely control the flow of water into the Grove. A few lazy splashes meant the cave fish were feeding, jumping to catch the little water-skimmer insects that made their home here. Dobar and Uuno kept to their work over on the other side, spreading nightsoil to fertilize the soil for the fungi, chanting their shovel-song in gruff bass voices.
The twins hailed not from Dhuldarim, but the garden city of Mirndahr, and it showed in their broad, lazy accents. Tali still remembered the day they had come on the wagon: two bright and tall boys with a passion for growing things, albeit with some scars of a troubled path. In some ways, she saw more of what Tek intended for the dwarves in them than in herself. All she did was cut gems, while they gave life to every soul in Dhuldarim through their work.
She listened intently to the crisp thumps of their shovels, turning the earth with ease. The song was nothing complicated, easy to follow even with the accent difference. Tali heard Dobar stop as they worked their way around towards Old Thom, a familiar chuckle rolling out of his chest like a drumbeat. “Well be meetin’ ya, Khondurahl. Ya’re a way bit far from yar work.”
Tali stood up when he approached, reaching out to map his face with her fingers and letting him do the same. Under the sensitive pads of her fingers, even scarred by the artificer’s knife, she could feel the scars across his face. His hands were rough and smelled like earth, even after he’d dusted them on his trousers. He gave her an affectionate thump on the shoulder after the traditional greeting. “Good to hear you, Dobar.”
Uuno bounded over, sweeping Tali off her feet in a crushing hug. They said he was simple-minded, but he made up for it in heart and hard work. “No work, Tali?” Uuno asked, squeezing tight enough that she thought her ribs might crack before releasing her.
“I’m taking a break.”
Dobar chuckled. “Didna think ya took breaks, Tali.” He leaned back on his heels for a moment, peeling his twin off Tali. “Le’ go, ya oaf. Gal needs her bones not crushed if she’s gonna cut gems.”
Tali rubbed the back of her neck. “I messed up,” she admitted quietly. “One of the gems I cut needs fixing, but Vadr wanted me to calm down before I try.”
“Yar Vadr has a good head on his shoulders. Ain’t a what o’ sense digging roots when yar frustrated,” Dobar said. He tugged at Tali’s sleeve. “If’n calm is what ya need, ain’t nothin’ better than a little turnin’.”
Uuno chattered his teeth in enthusiastic agreement. “Ya want to feed Old Thom?”
“I’m not that good with a shovel,” Tali said, following the brothers back to where they’d left their tools and wheelbarrow full of nightsoil. It wasn’t a very pleasant smell, but it was a vital task.
“Ya’re Aethrum’s daughter, ain’t ya?” Dobar said with a chuckle. “Ya’ve got mine in yar blood.”
Tali grabbed the spare shovel out of the wheelbarrow. The brothers always had extra tools, both in their wheelbarrow and on their persons, in case something broke. Dobar and Uuno wore overalls over their clothes that had all manner of loops for various digging trowels and gardening supplies, not to mention the special spore pockets for seeding areas after harvesting. “Okay, tell me what to do.” The shovel felt a little unwieldy, but she’d helped with many tasks throughout Dhuldarim involving such tools.
“First ya spread, then ya turn. Go careful, though. Old Thom’s temperamental about his hyphae.” Once he heard Tali’s clicks of observation, Dobar scooped a shovelful of nightsoil and deposited it near the giant mushroom’s base, then deftly carved up a chunk of the thick loam and flipped it. “Just like thar.”
“What do you mean temperamental?” Tali asked curiously, mimicking the older twin’s motions. Hers was far less graceful, a little more of a struggle, but she deposited the night soil and then rotated it into the earth.
“He’ll move ‘em away from the nightsoil if you nick the hyphae. Contrary ol’ fella.” Dobar patted the great stalk of Old Thom affectionately. “He don’t know ya’re tryin’ ta feed him.”
“How do you avoid the hyphae? Aren’t they everywhere around him?” Tali asked, self-consciously feeling around the soil she’d just turned.
“Oh, aye, but most of tham are big ‘uns. The little ‘uns run deeper than we shovel.” Dobar clicked his molars together in amusement. “Ya gonna sing with us?”
Tali’s face burned with embarrassment at even the idea. She knew she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. “I think we’d all rather I not.”
Uuno picked up his shovel. “Can’t turn without singin’. Bad luck.”
The young gemcutter groaned a little. “But I’m terrible. I’ll wilt the fungi.”
“We’ll sing for ya, then.” Dobar cleared his throat, resuming his chant. “All-Father turns the world, brings good luck unfurled. All-Father his children tends, a dwarf his land mends. All-Father gives food and fire, his people make art and shire.” He punctuated each verse with another turn of the shovel, a soft thump as the earth fell into place.
Tali could appreciate both the skill and gentleness of the exercise. The brothers moved lovingly around the base of Old Thom, perfectly in time with each other as they spread about the nightsoil. She tried to help as much as she could, but mostly it seemed better to stay out of their way. It felt good to be included, even if she was more of a hindrance.
Maybe her father was right. Maybe she wouldn’t always be apart.
By the time Old Thom was fed, which was quite the project given the mushroom’s size, Tali’s shoulders and back ached. “I don’t know how you can do this all day.”
Dobar chuckled. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. “I don’t know how ya can sit still all day an’ cut little stones into glittering gems, Tali,” he said, leaning on his shovel. “Uuno, ya want to fetch more soil?”
“Oh, aye.” Uuno grabbed the wheelbarrow and trundled off back towards the great stacks of night soil on the eastern edge of the Grove.
Tali sat down on one of Old Thom’s protruding hyphae, gently patting the big root-like strand as it curved above the surface of the loam. “I suppose every dwarf has their knack.”
Dobar clicked in agreement, still leaning on his shovel. “Ya’re right thar. We all need each other. Dhuldarim’s been real good to Uuno and I, givin’ a home and a proper place. It weren’t the same in Mirndahr.”
Tali cocked an ear towards him. It wasn’t often Dobar talked about the artifice of his birth. “I thought Mirndahr was nice.”
The burly dwarf rocked on his heels. “Nice enough if ya fit, Tali. But the livin’ there is easy, an’ that means thar’s time to push ya to the edges if ya don’t. Not to mention bein’ close to Dhir Dharal, so them surface-touched can throw their gold aroun’. There’s lots of good in Mirndahr, Tali, but there’s bad too. Reckon so o’ anywhere ya go.”
“Were the scars before or after you left?” Tali asked.
Dobar shuddered at the question, bringing his hand up to the four deep cut-marks across his face. They were twisted and uneven, not like the mark of a blade. “Ya ever hear tell o’ the Forsaken, Tali?” he asked in a hushed voice.
“Only once,” Tali admitted. “Thorgin got deep into his cups and started talking about monsters in the darkest places with a hatred of dwarven fire.”
“Oh, aye, they hate,” Dobar said blankly, rubbing at his scars. “Uuno and I joined up with a caravan headed here from Mirndahr. Wanted to see if things would be better.”
Tali stilled. Only one wagon had arrived from Mirndahr on the day the twins came, not a whole caravan. “What happened?” She kept her question soft and easily refused.
Dobar picked up his shovel. “Keeps me up at night, the sounds. Them things came crawling out of a ravine, one of the entrances to the Deep, when we camped. Got the caravan guard real quiet-like, but the silence didn’t last long.” He shouldered his shovel and gave her an apologetic little tremor of sound. “Don’t much like thinkin’ o’ it.”
“Sorry, Dobar,” Tali said.
He patted the top of her head as he passed her, headed to join his twin. “Ain’t yar fault, Tali. Ya get back to yar gems an’ put them things out of yar head. No need to think o’ dark things like that.”