Chapter 30: Cows? Octopi? Mermaids? Dwarves? What Next?

I cursed as I took a wrong turn, according to the map I'd swiped from the information centre before bumping into Jack, and ended up in the back of a dark alleyway. I could sense the fear setting in, as I looked up at the looming buildings on either side, the ghostly light streaming through barred windows. These were a far cry from the cheerful buildings clad in blue banners bordering the streets in daylight.

This was the place nobody wanted to live, the slums that were always there no matter what. The ones even present in Kaleveh—we'd tried to improve the living conditions there, but their situations were too bleak, funds too low, relocation always too hard. I heard the crack of a wooden crate splintering as it fell to the ground, toppling from the teetering pile in the corner. Absent-mindedly, I ran the tips of my fingers along the wall. No doubt Jack could be looking for me at this very moment, but surprisingly, the thought did not make me hurry along. I was so tired of running. It was time to stand and face whatever pitfalls came with this power, the magic that had been granted to me by a stroke of luck.

The paint flaked off with a single touch, leaving white dust and who knows what else on the pads of my fingers. The people here had barely two coppers to rub together, yet some people all over the world were drowning in wealth they couldn't possible use up themselves. The thought made me feel a little depressed. Sure, some celebrities were kind and donated to charity, but there were always more of the poor. They just kept coming, like flies in Kaleveran summers. No matter how much I fought, no matter how much I tried to get up, it was not enough. They kept coming.

And it was a lot harder to climb up than to fall down.

The pile in the corner swayed again, and the vermin in the alley went silent as another box, made of cardboard this time, went crashing to the ground.

Two heartbeats passed. The mice's chattering was silenced again by the sound of a milk crate falling. What was happening? The wind wasn't particularly strong tonight, and the cobblestones weren't that unstable.

I took my hands off the wall, reaching for the dagger by my side. Something was wrong. Felt wrong.

There was a strange power humming through the air, feeling me out, scouting the deserted strip of concrete.

I felt tension ripple through the alley, like a bowstring pulled back.

I backed up against one wall, looking to both sides, trying to gauge how long it would take me to get far away from here. To hopefully lead whatever lurked in the shadows away from the seaside city. I took all of one step to the right, back where I had come, before the wobbling towers of crates fell to the ground with a CRASH that I'm surprised didn't wake everyone within ten miles.

They scattered along the tarmac, but I didn't see what became of them before the earth began rumbling, tiny bits of debris crumbling from the ceiling.

And the ground caved in.

I screamed like a little girl. I felt the terror of falling, as if I would be buried under the earth forever. It wasn't exactly every day the floor collapses in on you in a perfectly stable location.

As the ground closed up above me, the city bathed in moonlight fading from my sight, my fingers grazed concrete. A chute —a passage, that's what this was. But for what?

An oomph escaped my dry mouth as I slammed into whatever was at the bottom of this shaft. Too soft —almost like pillows were scattered over the floor. A dark cackle, more like a monstrous giggle, the way a beast with bouncy pigtails and bows in their fur might sound, echoed behind me. I twisted but roared in pain as my bones dislocated and shifted back. I pressed my hands to my side, only to find that they had been bound behind me. Instead of my cloak, I felt grains of wood.

More carefully this time, I turned, craning my neck. But I couldn't see anything.

That's when I felt the slightest whisper of fabric over my eyes, binding my forehead. I opened my mouth to protest but got a mouthful of cloth instead.

I swore in my head, barking a curse that would've made my father recoil in horror (Jack taught it to me).

I squirmed enough to know that I was strapped to a chair, legs rendered immobile. How had I not noticed? I'd been awake the whole time. Hadn't I? The things that had cushioned my fall…they had been hands. I thrashed, but only succeeded in bringing myself to my knees, the weight of my body and the wooden chair toppling over my tied ankles. Panicked, I tugged on that chain inside of me. But it wouldn't respond. However much I tried to summon heat, my hands remained stone cold.

Riazalcite—that metal Aquanaya said could smother magic. That had to be it.

I cursed again, forgetting the feather-light strip of fabric forced into my mouth. I bit my tongue, mouth not having enough room to move under the gag. Then I cursed at the new welt in my mouth. I tasted blood.

I stopped moving when I felt the cool touch of steel at my throat. I resisted the urge to wipe away the beads of red liquid dripping from my neck, wondering what would happen to my body if I died here, far away from home.

"Take off the gag." A voice croaked; from where, I couldn't tell. I wanted to turn, but I couldn't if it meant I would decapitate my own head by accident. "She cannot tell us where she got the blade from if she cannot speak." Brutish hands yanked my hair up, drawing a yelp from my stuffed lips, and another pair of hairy hands made quick work of the knot. The knife withdrew; I swallowed in relief.

"And how can she tell us the truth if we do not even show ourselves?"

"Uh, boss, how do we show ourselves without taking off her blindfold?"

"Take it off, you idiot!" the voice barked.

The creature that had spoken grumbled, but suddenly, with the faintest nudge of material, I blinked at the darkness that flooded my sight.

I was about to tell them that I couldn't see them anyways, but suddenly, my eyes adjusted, a dim lantern flickering on in a cobweb-covered corner, illuminating a section of wet, rotting wall.

The thing in front of me grinned grotesquely from ear to ear.

There was nothing else I could call it. Standing at less than half of my height, it had white stubble all over its cheeks, a wispy goatee hanging off the end of its chin. A round nose looked so red that it seemed like it was perpetually sneezing, while long, knobbly ears stuck out from under a moth-eaten cap. His unproportionally large feet were flat and wide, like slabs of tile—but spindly fingers stuck out from the end of a fraying jacket whose buttons were nearly popping.

Out of the darkness, more creatures, copies of the pudgy midget before me, emerged. Some had missing teeth; others' shirts had been ripped almost in half to reveal hairy chests. I shuddered.

I shuddered again when I realised that these creatures were… dwarves.

Dwarves of legend, the little garden decorations with pointy hats, renowned as great smiths. Never had I imagined they'd be so buff, although if they hammered away in forges all day, it didn't make sense that they would be fat and smiley either. They were runty but muscular, the complete opposite of the cheerily plump beings that watched creepily over dying tomato plants in backyard vegetable patches.

A dwarf behind the one who had spoken with such unnatural eloquence wielded a hammer almost as big as his head, beating it slowly on his palm.

I looked up, but my eyes found nothing but the acrid depths of the cave. Only undisturbed silence met my ears.

"Have you forgotten what we are? Let us show our guest a proper welcome!" The dwarf, who wore a tall crown decorated with golden filigree and spirals of jewels set into the metal, gestured to the crowd like an overenthusiastic conductor. A few dwarves grumbled something that sounded like, "ooh umph agolah duh."

"What was that? I'm afraid I can't hear you!"

A rhythmic booming shook the walls. "UOH UMPH AGOLAH TIK DUH!" Even dwarves had hierarchies, apparently. And the lowest of the low, the ones with the most threadbare coats and the most patched caps, seemed to not have to speak the common tongue, a universal language in the normal world. I didn't think it would be polite to tell him I had no idea what that meant.

"That's better," he nodded. "Welcome, child. Welcome to Elgalesi Duër. Now, the banquet!" He clapped happily.

My eyes widened in horror as a moulding table was set before me. Magically, the dirty dishes on it filled with dwarven delicacies fit for a king: earthworm stir fry, eggs floating in pond scum, steaming plates of soggy bacon, some bugs encased in gelatine, and a half-eaten cheeseburger.

Fit for a rat king, that is.

He chuckled, malice alight in his eyes. "Oh, I forgot. Your hands are tied, so you cannot eat! Alas, there is no other option…but wait!" His dark eyes lit up as if he hadn't been planning this all along. "I will feed you myself." Without warning, he scooped up an egg with grubby hands and held it to my mouth. "Now eat." He snarled.

I pressed my lips together, the urge to stand up and whack him to the next continent with the chair stronger than ever. Looking into the eyes of the dwarven army, some holding burning tongs, others brandishing red-hot pokers, I decided it wouldn't be a good idea. But was it a good idea to refuse the food of their king? I struggled against my bonds, but the rope did not even budge.

As the dwarf-king smeared my mouth with swamp goo, I saw bets exchanged in the audience. Precious jewels and weapons the workmanship of which even I could admire passed from hand to hand. Dwarven treasures, hidden beneath the earth for all eternity.

The king saw me looking.

Something like sadness was reflected in his grey eyes as he told me, "They are wondering whether you stole the sword that killed the Branokann, as a nobody thief. Or if you will be the one to free us from our curse at last. The idiots do not realise that whoever stole a weapon like that one would find themselves with their throats slit mere hours later."

I retched at the slime that coated my tongue as I opened my mouth. "What curse? What sword?"

He fingered the hilt of my curved knife, which had been hanging at his hip, almost dragging along the floor, unbeknownst to me (who stupidly hadn't even realised it was missing). He pulled it out with reverence, tapping a crooked finger on the blade. It didn't draw blood, as if the weapon, forged from gold and iron, recognised him as a friend. "One of the dwarf empire's finest creations."

"It's mine."

"Ah, but did you take it, or was it won? It will never see you as its master—not unless it is yours by right." A grim smile. "Many people over the ages have learnt that the hard way—often paying a bloody price."

"It was given to me." By Mama.

He smiled, dipping a finger into a pot of brown stew and sucking contentedly. "There is only one way to prove that."

Whispering arose among the dwarves, more outlandish riches somehow pulled from sagging pockets. A trident towering over a dwarf in a brown tunic, each of its three prongs gleaming. An emerald the size of a fist. A war diadem, inlaid with opals and carnelians, like fire and ice.

"Give it back." I gritted my teeth.

"Then set us free." The dwarf king retorted, planting his feet on the stone. He was not going to stray, not going to budge. Not until his people were freed. Which I had no idea how to do.

"I don't know what you mean."

My eyes flickered with wary recognition, remembering a village fairytale whispered over the wrinkled pages of an open book years ago. All training in disguise, for this day. For this journey. "How old are you?"

"Ah, but you would not understand, mortal, even if I told you. Think back to the oldest conflict in history—the very first, the bloodiest, and the almost forgotten."

I interrupted. "But Kirasea hasn't seen war for almost three centuries."

"You see? How you would not understand?" He managed to sound condescending, though I dwarfed him by a metre. "It was twice that long ago. Even longer. We were all there. And we all know it is not true peace that reigns now, but one manufactured because the voices of the fallen are stifled." He gestured to his subjects. "I should think you would know."

And then I realised that in spite of the bodybuilder's bodies, the keen eyes, I did not see a single black hair on all the heads combined. Many—over half—didn't have hair at all. No dwarf's back was straight; their tiny bodies were bent like crones. No young stood amongst them. Their curse. "Your curse." A curse of age. So that their souls were forever trapped in mortal bodies, unable to move on.

His eyes, aged with centuries of knowledge, hardened. "We have been waiting, for so, very long. And forgive me…my subjects are rather restless." A dwarf leered at me, causing a black tooth to fall out of whitened gums. "They will stop at nothing to be free."

"But I can't! I can't set you free!"

"Then, my dear idiots," he grinned at the dwarves, who snapped to attention, canes tapping on the stone floor. "She is yours. And be warned: for a people who long so much for peace, they are surprisingly bloodthirsty."

I had a terrifying vision of being run over by an army of tiny people, before they truly began their stampede. This dude was crazy. Pitiful, but absolutely mad.

"Wait!" I yelped, trying to keep calm in spite of the midget army calling for blood. The dwarves grumbled, as if expecting an interruption. I suddenly wondered how many bodies were dumped in the sewer canals that surely crisscrossed this underground hideout. "I have something for you, a treasure the likes of which you haves never seen before." I tried to sound cunning and mysterious. More like stupidly scared. I had a feeling being impaled on that trident I'd seen wouldn't be fun, if this failed.

The dwarf-king turned. I found I did not even know his name. Did not know his name, and he was more than twenty times older than me.

My plan seeming crazier by the second, I improvised, "but it's in my backpack." I nodded towards a slack-jawed dwarf holding my pack like a prize. "You'll have to untie me first."

"Why can't we get it for you?" One whined.

"Ah, but it's in a secret compartment."

"You could tell us how to find it."

"Well, I could, my dear idiots," I preened, putting especial emphasis on dear, as the dwarves appeared to like being lovingly called dumb, "but that would take ages! Don't you want to see it as soon as possible?"

"Yes, but—"

"It will change your lives forever, and you're still unwilling to unhand me? Come on, I know you want it."

Snap! said the cords as they fell to the ground limply, cut away by a cluster of dwarves.

The mahogany loosed its grip—like a suffocating blanket—on me, and legs wobbling slightly, I walked over to the dwarf holding my pack and held out my hand. "If you please." I smiled widely.

The dwarf gave me my backpack.

I made a big show of rummaging through it, pretending to find the 'secret compartment.' I was keenly aware of thousands of pairs of cautious eyes on my every move.

If this didn't work, I was dead.

I concentrated so hard my ears popped. My hands warmed, a familiar tingling awakening my probing fingers.

If I lost my grip on the magic before I could escape, I was dead.

I pulled out a handful of glowing red gems from the depths of the bag, hoping the fabric wouldn't start smoking. They hadn't been there before.

"Fire rubies!" I announced, my concentration fraying with every word. "Put one in every corner, and you will never see darkness again!"

The dwarves grumbled with malcontent, so I added, "Life-changing! Let me go, and all of them are yours!"

"Life-changing, my bottom," the dwarf with the hammer muttered.

"At least you'll stop hitting your fingers because you can't see," the dwarf next to him mumbled.

I seized my chance. "You will never poke your fellow craftsmen with half-finished weapons again because the darkness blinds you!" I glanced at the single lantern in the corner, giving off a sorry glow. "Never will you go home with sore fingers because you keep smashing them with hammers!"

"HAND THEM OVER!" The dwarves bellowed. A few confused ones finished a little late, while others didn't even speak the same language.

A triumphant smile spread across my face as I told them, "Come get them."

And as the dwarves crowded me, I tossed the kernels of flame into their midst.

That was when they realised that I was not a trader, not a swordswoman, but a child of the Flamekeeper. Eternal. The god who had shown the power of kindness once and paid the price.

The little men—no women amongst them—scrambled to put out the fires. I swung my bag onto my back and pointed my hands to the sky, where I had seen it last. A fissure spread from where an invisible blast of magic met concrete, the ceiling cracking like an egg. For a split second I thought of my old life—how my cousins, my friends would've reacted when they found out I had met creatures straight from their storybooks. The nostalgia passed—and the ceiling ploughed open, raining dust on the horde.

I hadn't wanted to harm the dwarves. They seemed simple enough, but their bitterness had turned to hate over the centuries.

I snatched the golden sword from the king, cutting the bonds on my ankles. I slammed my hands up, causing a column of earth to shoot up from where I was standing, carrying me to ground level.

The king didn't even seem surprised, or mourn for the dwarves who'd perished. Perhaps, by destroying their mortal bodies, I had in a way set them free.

Or maybe their souls would be forever chained to this dark place.

It was my turn to be surprised when the dwarf king addressed the onlookers, who immediately shut up. His next words seemed to ride the wind, carrying all the way to me. I looked down at Elgalesi Duër, the dwarves looking up with hate yet tentative hope at someone who might be their saviour.

"Tonight, you have hurt many of my people. But you have also given them a purpose. Renewed hope in this…" His voice faltered. There was no word strong enough to describe what one second, one moment of pure hate, had done to an entire generation of innocent dwarves. The suffering that sliver of evil from many years ago had put them all through. "…world." For a moment, the king's voice filled with bitterness.

"When you claim your destiny, child of fire, do not forget us." He turned to the dwarves as I fingered the thin slice on my neck, already scabbed over.

"The prophecy has begun," he announced, spreading his stubby arms. I had not even the inkling of an idea of what he meant. "Have faith, my friends." He looked up at me, silver eyes lined with creases shining. "You think you do not know the way, but the path has been hidden inside your heart for years. Find it—star, show us the light."

"Soon, we will finally be freed!"

-----

The last thing I saw of the underground dwarf kingdom was the swirling spires of their king's crown, pointing towards a sky they had not lived under for a hundred years.

I heard the clamouring of a thousand trapped dwarves waiting, waiting to be let go of a curse that had plagued them for centuries.

Then the ground closed up beneath my feet, leaving me panting quietly, alone in a dark alleyway lit by stars.