The workshop had come to life with the noise of automatons writhing like captive beasts. Klane scrambled over the messy workshop as the constructs in the stowage space above the ceiling planks flailed and churned in their chained confines.
But why?
Klane couldn’t help but wonder at the purpose of it all. What had closed the mine to begin with? What was wrong with Gilmer, the insane, old man? Nothing made sense in this place, nothing was certain, not even death. The only constant seemed to be a malevolent presence that radiated from every inch of the confines. Maybe the miners had stumbled onto a gateway to the underworld, or awakened anguished spirits from their slumber. Either way, it wasn’t a good place.
The rain outside came down in sheets. Klane could see no sign of the old man anywhere. Heavy fog still churned within the valley, writhing around the faint anchor-beams of the mining platform. The large buzz saw hung in the same lifeless position it had been when Klane had first seen it.
Everything out here was … normal.
Klane sheathed Pride, raised his hood, and hastened down the platform to the raised catwalks that would lead him out of the valley.
* * *
After running for minutes without any sign of enemies around him, Klane slowed to a trot. Squinting back toward the platform, now just a faint mirage in the mists, and thought he could see the lanky silhouette of the old man watching from the rails.
Klane gulped. It’s just your mind playing tricks.
He continued toward his gentle ascent to the valley’s edge. It would be a long walk back to the village, but at least he was alive. As he drew further from the platform and the ghastly mines, he felt a pressure he hadn’t noticed before alleviating itself and releasing its tendrils from his mind.
Klane found shelter from the rain under the cover of the tree line that marked the start of the Bend Grove, a sliver of forest that spanned the west banks of the Amethyst River distributary he’d voyaged down earlier. Unfortunately, his leaf couldn’t travel against currents.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
The chaos he’d known less than an hour earlier had been replaced by the peaceful drumming of droplets on a dense canopy above. The minor rotting smell of peat faded, replaced once more by the sweet smell of flowers blooming from gaps in flaky tree bark. It was warmer beneath the trees as well, all around more welcoming and calming.
“That’s more like it.”
Klane glanced over his shoulder hesitantly. He was alone. Part of him knew the old man wouldn’t pursue. Perhaps he couldn’t pursue, bound to a miserable life of insanity within the mining platform’s grips.
The journal he’d stuffed in his pack came to mind. He shuffled around and cracked it open.
Gossamer strands of spiderling web broke between the two caramel covers. It hadn’t been opened in years, and not much had been written in it. The jagged ends of pages torn from the journal clung to the spine of the book, leaving only three pages intact.
He frowned. Most of the insight he’d been hoping for into the mine appeared gone forever, destined to remain a mystery. He started to read what he could. Some of the page was illegible or pocked with holes, but clearly dated along the top.
“32nd of Fall, Vroli Dynasty-”
Drat. Klane wished Imperial dating had been more accurate, he couldn’t be sure what year during the Vroli Dynasty this had taken place, but tried to remember the year the Dynasty fell. Nearly fifteen years ago, or so. The frail pages crinkled between his thumb and forefinger. He read on.
“Gilmer worries me. What was once a sharp, admirable mind has …”
Klane squinted to try to make out the words. Admirable mind, what? He couldn’t decipher the smudged lettering. He continued.
“… murmuring to himself. I can’t help but wonder if this has stemmed from the cavern that Mine 2-T broke into days prior. Yes, perhaps. A few of those men have died in strange ways, or taken to madness themselves and leaped to their deaths. What a terrible way to go. Their families have been sent recompense, but …”
A black stain covered the next few lines.
“… I can only hope things return to normal. Three more days can’t come soon enough. The thought of pleasure at having my dearest in my arms once more, and finally being able to meet little Andrew, is almost more than I can bear. I can only hope she understands that I take on this dangerous work for her, and a better future for our son. I can only hope she forgives me for being so absent. So far away. She will be thrilled to hear this will be my last season before we move to Red Reef, where I have been promised new work. I know she’s always dreamed of a life there.
“—Allen”
Klane flipped through the next couple pages. The crinkled pages were blank. The rotting face he’d seen within Aldo flashed back into his mind.
“I’m sorry, Allen.” Klane sniffed, a feeling of despair falling upon him as suddenly as the storm had. He tucked the journal back into his sack, next to the ruby casting stone. Maybe he could find Andrew and bring some closure to the family.