The Hammer Unfalls

4.69 Buried Flame

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅

Glim descended the stairs and immediately realized his plan had become even riskier.

The stairway opened onto a platform that led to a shaft leading straight into the mountain. Three metal posts ran along the sides of the black void which ran so deep, Glim could not see the end.

Attached to one of the poles, right in front of him, hung a massive brass sphere. The door on its side looked familiar, and Glim realized he was seeing a shuttle from the outside for the first time. It helped him understand the movements he’d been experiencing; presumably the inner chamber could rotate within the sphere, which was clearly designed to roll whichever way was needed. In this case, straight down.

It had taken two hours for the last shuttle to get up the mountain. Given the time it would take to descend and get back up, Glim would have a little over half a day to explore once he reached the bottom. Assuming he slept and stopped to rest.

Also, assuming the shuttle stopped there.

If it did not, Glim was risking everything on either finding more food at the bottom of an underground shaft, which he doubted his odds of doing, or deciding to forge ahead into whatever lay beyond and abandon his plan to return halfway through. That left one other option: hopping in the other shuttle now and heading back to Wohn-Grab, properly resupply, maybe recruit others for the exploration, and return.

That seemed like the logical choice. He knew he’d probably make it home before his food ran out. He knew he had warm enough clothes for the journey. Logic surely demanded that he return.

But he rebelled at that choice with a vehemence that surprised him. The idea of turning around made him irrationally angry. He pictured Wohn-Grab decaying into piles of compost that used to be people, with weeds sprouting from their former bodies. His heart told him to go forward, and discover whatever he’d come here to find.

Neither choice honored the other. The thought of turning around made him heartsick. The idea of stepping into this shuttle and descending to what could very well be his death terrified him.

That left one other consideration. The third voice that only surfaced when his mind was free of distraction. The one that had brought him here in the first place. When he asked it, it asked back: which choice honors your path?

Glim sat on the stairway and pondered the question. The vine, which Glim guessed was far more than a vine, had sparked something in him he’d never even guessed could be there. It had ignited some unknown part of his brain with its crazed light, touched his heart, and sent his perceptions reeling. He’d never witnessed anything like it. If he turned back now, he feared he’d never reconnect with that energy.

As a plyer, it could mean everything. Because in those scant moments of connection with the vine, he’d felt true balance. He’d felt whole for the first time. Whatever entity had given that vine movement had led him to this place. There had to be a reason. Just because he couldn’t see the path didn’t mean the path didn’t exist.

His feet responded to the third voice. Glim entered the shuttle hovering above the black depths and pushed the only button available to him.

The shuttle door closed, enveloping him in darkness. The lights inside barely flickered, like a candle attempting to light an entire hall. A booming chime rang out, startling Glim. A second one sounded, then a third, each chime closer and closer together. Glim scrambled to a seat and fumbled for the belts he expected to be in the wall. But they weren’t there. Glim looked across from him and saw the attachment points above the shoulders. He reached awkwardly behind himself and found two buckles, which he dragged over his torso and clicked into his seat. One of the straps ripped in half. The chimes rang until they became a blur of noise, then stopped.

The shuttle plunged downward. Glim felt himself plummeting, much more intensely than any of his previous journeys. He felt pressure and his ears popped. His stomach seemed to adhere to his ribs, as if trying to climb its way out of his throat. He grabbed his seat and held on tight.

The shuttle shimmied in a way that did not seem entirely by design. Glim felt sick and wondered if time had broken some important part of the apparatus keeping him safely in place. His earlier sense of wisdom evaporated. The logical half of his mind kicked the rest, with the biggest “I told you so” it could muster. For several minutes, which stretched on and on in a timeless strand, Glim pictured his imminent death. Centuries from now, explorers would find a jumble of bones inside a giant brass testicle and wonder who’d perished inside.

Instead, the shuttle found its groove once more, descended smoothly, and started to slow before it bumped against the ground.

Glim did not let go of his seat, but sat, rigid, waiting for any other surprises. But the shuttle had definitely stopped.

He stood on shaky legs, grabbed his pack, and opened the door.

A blast of cold air knocked the breath from his lungs. Glim opened his pack and started stuffing wool crumbles into his tunic and pants. He tried to distribute the insulation evenly around his body, with mixed success. Glim wrapped his head in his spare undertunic, tucked his items back into his pack, set it in place, then draped himself in the blanket. It didn’t stay on very well, so he cut a slit in the middle with his knife and stuck his head through.

Glim walked into a wide chamber with three shuttles at the bottom and one tunnel leading out, which gave the only source of light: a hint of reflected sunlight from somewhere in the tunnel. He followed it to a guardroom with arrow slits and a metal gate, which had wedged halfway open. He slipped through the opening and found himself in a natural cave.

He couldn’t put his finger on why, but Glim felt invigorated by the walk. Each step raised his spirits more and more. As though the cave walls had memories of ancient energy that somehow remained. His earlier anxiety melted away. Curiosity took its place.

The tunnel branched in two. Glim followed the energy into the left passage, the brighter of the two, which wended between rocky walls and eventually widened. He walked into a cavern open to the sky. To his surprise and relief, he saw apple trees growing along one side. He ran to them and searched, finding several scrawny apples, which he shoved into his pack. The movement caused cold air to seep into his makeshift cloak, and Glim shivered. He munched on one of the sour apples, which made his mouth pucker.

“It’ll have to do,” he said out loud. Mostly to break a tension that had been growing since he arrived in the cave.

He started to continue his exploration, but one of the walls caught his attention. Vibrant flecks of color dotted the rocks. Glim shoved his way through the trees and sucked in his breath. Before him, painted on the wall, a portrait of some creature he’d never seen before stared back at him. Furred, but with humanlike features, and kind eyes.

The artistry of the painting stunned him. The layers of color intensified each other, causing an uplifting effect of dimensionality, as though the face would start talking at any moment.

In fact, in looking at the lovingly rendered portrait, invigoration surged inside him so intensely that Glim could scarcely stand it. His insides hummed, resonating with an energy he could not see. The feeling reminded him of the time Master Willow had used the Elderkin device to warp his essentiæ. Only instead of pain, Glim felt euphoria, as though his blood were coursing freely for the first time in his veins.

The painting became more alive the longer he gazed upon it. A black trickle between the rocks simmered and turned red before his eyes. His own blood surged at the sight. Fetters inside himself fell away.

Glim had visions of fire. He thought of every time he’d opened a door and been met by sputtering flames from dim coals. Or the indicator lights of the Elderkin flickering to life at his presence. He’d always rationalized it as currents of air, or internal working he was not privy to. But now his body and spirit knew a different truth.

Turning away from the wall, Glim stretched out his hand, took a deep breath, and snapped his fingers.

The air above them ignited.

The fire came so easily that he couldn’t believe it at first. So he tried again, and again, each time conjuring higher flames than the last.

Laughing, with a resonance that sounded unhinged to his own ears, Glim stared at the fire flickering from his fingertips, and felt his mind simmering.

He could ply phyr.