Where did all the time go? wondered Mayor Daevy Helper as he stared through his gold-rimmed spectacles at the invoice in his large, calloused hands. He glanced over the rims at the two young men who stood before his redwood desk in his office—a small chamber in the back of his shoppe, crammed with scrolls, books, and a bit of storage for items he couldn’t fit elsewhere. It gave the office a pungent, though not wholly unpleasant smell. A resourceful man, Daevy repurposed the bolts of cloth, skeins of yarn, heavy sacks of grain and coffee as makeshift shelves for parchments, ink wells, and quills. He used a whiskey barrel for his chair. The young men stood before the only legitimate piece of furniture in the place—a beautiful hand-carved desk, gifted him by the villagers when he became mayor.
Young men, indeed! It seemed only months ago that these brats were scampering about Hylan in nappies and feeding from their mothers’ teats! These lads are younger than my Wyll who’s just fifteen—no, fourteen! Of course, they are considerably larger than my youngest son, but he may yet have a growth spurt. Daevy had to admit to himself that it really wasn’t the passage of time or the fact that his son still looked like a small, skinny boy instead of a strapping young man that had him concerned now—it was the invoice in his hands. Particularly the note at the bottom of the page.
Mayor Helper had never been a strong man. Much like his Wyll, he’d been a bit smaller than most boys while growing up. Now, nearly sixty-four years old, he’d made up for that by being clever with numbers and with people. And by outweighing nearly every man in the village, of course. That was one hazard of running a shoppe, a tavern, and sitting behind the mayor’s desk for most of his life—he ate well but had little opportunity to work off those good meals. His hands were calloused more by shuffling books about and handling quill pens than by lifting loads and digging in the mines or the dirt, like most Hylaners. Still, many of the village looked up to him—not literally, of course, as he was shorter than the majority of them. But a good many folks called him the Village Father. And as the Village Father, he wasn’t happy with the invoice or that note.
“Did you see Ekatern write this?” the mayor demanded.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir,” stammered the taller of the two boys. The mayor recognized him as K’Van Cmyth who was tall, like all nine of the Cmyth children, with long, black hair. He couldn’t have been more than twelve, yet he looked strong enough to plow a field. Or dig out a shaft, Daevy reminded himself, as mining and caring for the miners were the chief occupations in Hylan. The boy looked nervously at the shorter boy by his side—a Dahjer by the look of him, stout and dark—who shrugged and said, “We didn’t reckon we was supposed to spy on her.”
“Alright, alright!” Daevy growled, calming the boys with a wave of his hand. Then he rubbed both hands across his large, wobbly face that was cleanshaven except for the sides near the ears that were covered in curly gray whiskers—what his wife called mutton chops. “It’s just that … boys, these numbers don’t add up. I have a tally here,” he picked up another small piece of parchment, “of the carts brought into Clayton Field today—nineteen wagons. I am led to understand there’s one more coming, which my son was bringing when he was injured. But this invoice from the witch says she only sent ten carts. Ten is also what we agreed upon almost a week ago, now.”
The young men stared back at him as if he’d just spouted a phrase in Franstongue. Mayor Helper wiped an arm across the cluttered desk—papers, quills, pastries, and coins scattering as he cleared a space for the invoice. Putting his round finger smack in the middle of the parchment he said, “You brought me twice the wagons and food she accounted for!” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you only took the carts you were directed to take?”
The two boys nodded vigorously.
“Fine,” the mayor sighed, “fine! I don’t want to be held accountable for stealing from a crystal witch—that would not bode well for any of us. I’ll work it out. Stay close by. In fact, have all the boys stay close by. If I understand the message on the bottom of this invoice you brought to me correctly, she wants us to move the carts to another location, today.”
The boys looked at each other, but didn’t move.
“Skedaddle!” he shouted, and they jumped then hopped away like rabbits.
Daevy reread the note at the bottom of the invoice, hoping to glean some sense out of it.
As agreed in our contract, you will store the foodstuffs where they will be safe. I encourage you to put the carts well inside the entrances to the mineshafts and to post guards. I cannot tell you more than this but be prepared to move village folks into the mines at the first sign of trouble. Your Servant, Ekatern of Hylan.
Daevy snorted. “Your Servant … of Hylan,” indeed! My father and my father’s father told me that she sat above Hylan for countless decades, doing little more than hiring a few servant women and judging those beneath her. And of course, there are the less savory rumors. Why more carts than fewer? He wondered. I’ve often been cheated with invoices inflating the amount delivered by warehouses in Lolan or by wandering Hahn Traders, but never have I seen more someone give more than they told me. It was this detail, Daevy decided, that bothered him more than anything else about this transaction—as if trading with a known witch weren’t bad enough.
The mayor rubbed his thumb across the lettering of the message, written in a purple-looking ink and with completely different handwriting than the black ink of the invoice above. This purple ink wasn’t quite smooth—it felt a bit lumpy. The hairs went stiff on Daevy’s arms. This was crystal ink, a very expensive concoction made of the juices of several rare plants and ground dead crystals—those that no longer glowed. But as he touched it, he could swear the lumps were lighting up, just for an instant, as his finger passed over them. Daevy jerked his finger away with an exclamation and the ink dimmed, like embers in ash. Live crystals from a crystal witch! The thought gave the mayor shivers.
Better do as she instructs, he determined, warily. No need to invoke some spell or curse she has put on this invoice.
“Boy!” the mayor shouted, still staring at the paper on his desk. Three young men dashed into office looking terrified of him. “Gather all the young men back to the Field. We’ll be storing the carts in the mines until after the Feast.” The youth nodded and dashed away. Daevy heaved his body off his whiskey barrel chair and made his way outside to supervise and see that his instructions were carried out. He wound his way through the clutter of bolts of cloth, skeins of yarn, heavy sacks of grain and coffee—all items Hylaners could buy from his shoppe—to the front porch where he could see Clayton Field. The shouts of young men he’d sent away were echoing off the nearby mountainside and the mayor could see they were already gathering others to help move the food-filled carts to the nearest entrance to the mine: Clayton’s Shaft, only a quarter mile away, but up a fairly steep road. Daevy sighed; it would take some effort, and he’d better help out. He found and donned his coat--it was getting closer to dark, which came earlier this time of year, especially in the mountains and it was getting chilly.
What Mayor Helper had not noticed as he walked out of his tiny office was the purple ink on invoice beginning to glow brightly once more. The brilliance lasted on a few seconds, then a faint, ethereal purple cloud formed over the paper, coiled for a moment like pipe smoke in a gentle breeze, then gathered itself into a faintly glimmering ball of light and followed Daevy Helper out of his office, toward Clayton Field.
The hazy ball of glowing purple moved above Clayton Field and watched silently as the mayor organized the two dozen young men and one young woman to move the carts. The ball of light neither knew nor cared that the young woman was a sixteen-year-old named Jeanna Doughty; but it could tell immediately that she was larger and stronger than any of her male counterparts. Most carts required two of the young men to move them, but Jeanna easily handled one on her own. Mayor Helper grabbed a wagon himself and conscripted five adult men to take those remaining—he obviously wanted to get all the foodstuff put away before dark.
With Daevy Helper, three other adults, and Jeanna at the lead, the purple sphere observed the group form an irregular line that snaked up the East Road and onto the mountainside, with the final two adults shepherding from the back. It was slow going. While the East Road had seen a lot of traffic over the years—men, llamas, and crystal-laden carts—it was steep enough to be quite difficult when pushing a load upwards. Both boys and men demanded several breaks to catch their breath (though Jeanna did not and seemed frustrated by the delays). Despite the struggle, the purple ball of light saw the head of the line reach the opening to Clayton’s Shaft just as the sun began to touch the craggy peaks of the western horizon.
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Without making a sound or stirring so much as grain of sand, the ball of light swooped over the boys, men, and Jeanna, and into the mine entrance where it secreted itself high in the roof among the crystal stalactites. The white glow of the living crystals was so bright that the ball was effectively invisible to viewers below. It continued to watch the people and carts as they made their way into the entrance. Daevy Helper pushed his cart in first, with one of the adult men and Jeanna and their carts on either side of him. After his cart was pushed into a clear, flat area where it could remain still, the mayor released the handles of the cart, blew on his hands, then put them on his knees and gasped for air.
“You … know,” Daevy said between breaths, “my son was … named after Wyll Clayton.” His red face bobbed up and down as he sucked in and blew out his breaths, trying to calm down. “Oh yes. One of … my wife Hyacinth’s ancestors … you know.”
“This was originally a cave, wasn’t it?” asked Jeanna, calmly. She hadn’t even broken a sweat pushing her cart up the mountainside.
“In … deed,” the mayor huffed, nodding. “Wyll Clayton stumbled upon it while … while tending his goats. Originally, this opening was just … a crack. But the lights,” Daevy pointed upwards to the glowing stalactites, “caught his … eye. When he squirmed through the crack and into this cavern, he found himself … surrounded by all kinds of live crystals, as far as he could see. He harvested just a pouch full, which was all he could carry, and made the long trek to Lolan.” Daevy took a deep breath, then smiled. “And he became a very wealthy man. Not to mention,” he said with a groan as he stood up straight again, “the first mayor of Hylan.”
The mayor took a break from his story to guide the carts of the young men who just arriving into semi-straight rows in the larger cavern. Then he stood back and scratched his head. “Doesn’t look very secure, does it?” he said out loud, though it was more to himself than to anyone around.
“Do you think one of us is going to steal it?” scoffed one of the other adults. Neemin Sucram was tall and thin with long gray whiskers and bits of unkempt gray hair that flew out from beneath his miner’s helmet. Combined with his well-worn gray llama wool clothing, his appearance reminded Daevy of the ghosts of unfortunate miners that were rumored to roam deep within the shafts, rather than one of flesh and blood. It would be a mistake to think that the mayor knew, for Neemin was considered one of the strongest and most prolific miners in Hylan.
“Of course not!” Daevy barked. “It is a condition of our agreement with the witch. And it makes sense,” he continued. “I don’t know how she did it, but Ekatern delivered us fresh fruits, only days after harvest. The cooler mine shafts out of the sunlight and the moister cavern air is the perfect place to keep them fresh. The guards are here for ….” Daevy shrugged. “I don’t know, really. It’s just something she asked for and I thought it was worth the effort. If you wish, I will stand guard.”
“You?” Neemin scoffed. “What would you do to possible thieves or vandals? Threaten them with legal action? Brandish the sharp edge of a parchment? No, we’d better have guards who could actually protect the food.” The tall gray miner looked around and nodded. “How about Jo’l, Jeanna, and myself?”
Daevy nodded. He was used to Neemin’s frankness and knew he intended no ill will, though his words stung a bit. Still, his suggestions were sound. While Jeanna was not a miner, she was definitely as strong as one. Along with strapping miners like Neemin and Jo’l Doughty—Jeanna’s father—the guard would be more than sufficient. “Jo’l, Jeanna, you alright with that arrangement?” They both nodded their approval.
The mayor gave a loud whistle and all the young men—who had been wandering around the cavern gawking at minecars and the huge redwood struts supporting the walls and the roof as the shaft continued onward into a tunnel that went downward into the mountain itself—turned as one to look at him. “We’re going home!” Daevy shouted, his voice echoing loudly in the cavern. “All of your sweaty bodies are stinking up the mines!”
They all laughed together at the mayor’s joke, as he was the sweatiest among them. It had the effect Daevy hoped for and the subtle tension that had built up during the trek was released. In a few moments, he had the team organized for the return journey. He was about to lead the team out of the cavern, when he heard a strange noise coming from deep within the mine shaft—a low, echoing growl accompanied by a regular scrape … scrape … scrape. It was as if something large was crawling slowly towards them; something massive. Was this why the witch wanted the carts guarded? Daevy wondered, his palms tingling with anxious dread. Did she somehow know this … this creature was going to crawl out of the bowels of the mines?
The cavern was silent; everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen to the strange noises. The younger boys were either rooted to the spot where they stood or were slowly backing towards the cavern entrance. The mayor made his way carefully past the terrified youngsters to the rear of the group, nearer the sound. Standing boldly before the main shaft were the three guards, Neemin holding a heavy pick in huge hands, looking quite menacing. Daevy assumed he’d either brought the pick with him or had retrieved it from somewhere in the cavern.
“What in MaHo’Ni’s name was that?” Jeanna whispered.
As if in answer, a cloud of dust suddenly swirled out of the mineshaft, glittering with crystal powder. Daevy cried out in shock then quickly shut his eyes tightly and covered his mouth with his hands, but not in time to block a mouthful of crystal-sprinkled dirt. He coughed violently, expelling the dust from his lungs. He waved his hands about trying ineffectively to clear the cloud around him. Others around the cavern joined him in an echoing hacking cacophony, nearly drowning out the oncoming threat.
The mayor stood up and squinted through the dust, trying to make out the thing coming towards them through the tunnel. Without warning, the sounds around him became muffled and the dust cloud vanished as if an invisible hand wiped had placed a bell jar over Daevy. The lights in the chamber faded from white to green, making the entire cavern look unreal. Daevy now had a clear view of the shaft, and he saw … people. Dozens … no … hundreds of people running. Strangely, they were not running out of the tunnel but running past Daevy and into the it. Some of them were pushing the food carts the team had just parked in the entrance, but most were simply sprinting as if to get away from something. He recognized the Cmyth family, Father Cmyth pushing a food cart while Mother Cmyth and oldest daughters carried their smaller, shrieking siblings. The sounds of the children were muffled and didn’t echo at all like all other sounds in the mine. There were muted shouts and screams coming from all round him. These people were terrified, Daevy realized. And there! There was the Shivadis and the Djonzes and the Sucrams! It looked as if the entire village was fleeing into the mines!
As Daevy shouted out, “Where are you all going?” the clear and echoing sounds of men coughing, the white lights, the cloud of dust, and the ominous threatening scrapes and growls returned just as unexpectedly as they had vanished. He felt as if he had just woken from a vivid nightmare.
“Doubt anyone is going anywhere, right now, Mayor,” Neemin Sucram said from Daevy’s right. The mayor blinked heavily, clearing his sight with sudden tears. What just happened? he wondered. Have I been dreaming?
Through the thinning dust, the mayor could tell that Neemin had pulled his kerchief up over his mouth and nose; he seemed to be breathing normally. “Whatever is coming,” the miner continued, “it’s here.”
The mayor’s heart leapt. He whipped his head toward the mineshaft again, peering through the slits of his squinted eyelids at the tunnel in front of him. Neemin was right; a dark, shadowy figure that looked absolutely huge was emerging from the shaft, backlit by the bright glow of the white crystals the lined its walls. It was an improbable creature with two heads that looked almost human, the bulk of a horse, and the feet of a llama. Davey’s hacking breath caught in his throat when he saw it. He wanted nothing more than to run as fast as he could. But he was mayor and surrounded by those who depended on him, so he stood his ground with weak knees and shaking hands.
As the creature made its way out of the tunnel and into the cavern proper, the overhead crystals brought the image more clearly into focus. The creature with llama feet, horse’s body and two human heads solidified into … a large cart being pulled by two llamas and driven by two humans. Shocked, Daevy recognized the cart as the twentieth food wagon! The wheels of the cart, Daevy could now tell, were making that awful scaping noise, magnified by the echo of the mine. Finally, the two human heads resolved out of the swirling dust into familiar faces.
“Wyll?” Daevy shouted! “And Karl?” He paused and tried to figure out how his best friend and his own son had just ridden out of Clayton Shaft.
“I’ll be damned!” Daevy and Karl said together. Karl looked at Wyll and said, “Just as Ekatern predicted.”
Wyll glanced at his father’s sweaty terrified face and Karl’s stoic visage, started to grin and said, “Why that old crystal witch! She’s been right at every turn!” Quickly, the redhaired youth became somber and his eyes grew wide. “Oh no!” he said softly, his voice tinged with alarm. “She’s been right at every turn! We’re all in terrible danger!”