Escape From Riddler's Pass (5 page)

Jesse was slightly less calm. His trembling hands were still braced against the iron cart, and he felt like screaming at the top of his lungs. Since that would use up most of the air they had left, he settled instead for clutching his walking stick in a white-knuckled grip.

The roar gradually died away, becoming nothing more than a sifting of dust and pebbles plinking against the cart. “All right,” Bern said, after what seemed to be years. “We can go out now.”

Silas pushed the cart off of them, bearing the weight of the cart on his shoulders. “Go,” he grunted.

Jesse hesitated for a second, not wanting to be crushed by a stray rock the moment he crawled from the cart.
And do what? Let Rae go first?
Jesse scolded himself for being so timid and scrambled out.

The mines were in even greater disarray than they had been before. Stone cluttered the neatly marked path, and one large boulder had crashed down on a cart, denting it nearly to the ground.
I'm glad we weren't in that one
.

Yet, the metal overhang they had been under still stood strong, though fallen rocks lay all around it. “Good Roaric metalwork,” Bern said, sounding satisfied.

Clearly, though, the worst of the cave-in had not occurred in the mines. Jesse saw the worst when he followed Bern to the tunnel. There, past the archway, a wall of stone blocked the way back.

“What did you do?” Jesse asked again, staring at the dwarf in awe.

“We have a powder that can blast through rock,” he explained. “That is how the mines were created, long ago.”

“Of course,” Silas said, nodding. “I have heard of it.”

Bern shrugged. “I am not of the miner clan. I did not know how much to use. So we hid under the cart.”

He could have killed himself and us
, Jesse realized. If Bern was shaken by the cave-in, he didn't show it.

“Come,” he said, turning back toward the mines. “The shaft is just beyond Miner's Supply.”

“Maybe we don't want to go with you,” Rae pointed out. “After all, you held a spear to my throat.” She glanced significantly at Bern, and the rest of her meaning was clear.
The spear you no longer have
.

“You must follow me,” Bern said simply, nodding at the heap of rubble that was once the way to the ruins of Urad. “You can't go back now.”

 

The shaft Bern had mentioned was just a rough hole in the ground that had been dug by Roaric miners. At least Jesse assumed they had dug it. Bern didn't know what the shaft was originally used for—just that it now held the iron stairs leading to New Urad.

Jesse did not feel comfortable descending into the ground. But, like Silas had muttered to a very agitated Rae, “We have a better chance of survival by following Bern peacefully.”

Even though the glowing stones provided enough light to see the stairs, Jesse still tested each step with his walking stick.
This deep in the mines, there might be pits and holes anywhere.

Then, abruptly, the stairs stopped. Jesse tried to imagine how far down into the ground they were, then shuddered.
Focus on getting to the surface
.

At the bottom of the stairs was a small archway, which Silas, at least, had to stoop to enter. “Welcome to New Urad,” Bern said simply, leading them into a small cavern.

A quick scan of the buildings of New Urad told Jesse the city's population had shrunk drastically. Only two-dozen homes, all of them tiny and shabby, crouched against the rock. Jesse took a closer look at one nearest the path and saw burn marks scarring the wood.

They built their homes out of rubble from the original Urad
, he realized.

No people were in the dwellings or sitting outside of them. Jesse got the strange feeling he was walking through another set of ruins, until Bern led them to the center of the city. Standing quietly in a town square of sorts were the Roaric dwarves of New Urad.

The dwarves turned to look at the procession of strangers as they passed, but only the youngest began to whisper. The rest looked away and returned their attention to the platform, where a female Roaric stood, addressing the people.

“Kasha, of the ruling clan,” Bern muttered. He had straightened to attention and held his head high as he led them through the crowd to the platform.

“…Rations this month will be slightly smaller than last,” Kasha was saying. “Reports from the hunter clan show that….”

Bern cleared his throat, and the woman looked down at him. She expressed only the slightest surprise at seeing three ragtag Above-grounders with him and motioned him to join her on the platform.

“Go on,” Bern said gruffly, shuffling them up three short steps onto the platform. He stood back in the shadows, clearly not used to the attention.

Jesse, Silas, and Rae stood in front of Kasha, waiting for her to question them. Dozens of faces looked up at them. Although Jesse could see they were all different ages and had different features, they all had squinting eyes, just like Bern.
And no wonder
. Without torches, the only light came from the glowing stones that paved the streets of New Urad.
I imagine the first Urad was the same before it was destroyed.

No questions came.
Maybe it's customary for strangers to introduce themselves first
.

Apparently Silas thought the same, because he stepped forward. “Greetings,” Silas said, his voice echoing in the hollow cavern, “I am Silas, of Davior in District Two, and these are my friends Rae and Jesse. We stumbled into this cave by accident on a journey. Bern found us near the entrance. We are merely lost travelers who mean you no harm.” He paused, clearly not sure what else to say.

Jesse hoped Bern wouldn't mention the cave-in and the Patrol members who were chasing them.
That would be hard to explain after Silas' story about “lost travelers.”

The Roaric woman, Kasha, stepped toward them. “It is good that Bern brought you here,” she said, nodding at them. “We have not seen one from Above-ground since the Fall.”

“And when was that?” Jesse asked, not able to help himself.
Maybe she knows the history of her people
.

She sighed, as if adding up the years took too much effort. “Twenty-six years ago.”

Jesse blinked. From the way Bern talked, Jesse thought centuries had passed since Urad was first destroyed. Then he cleared his throat. “Would you like to hear news of what has happened Above-ground during that time?”

Kasha stared at him blankly. “It does not concern us.”

Jesse scanned the crowd in disbelief, but not one face looked eager to hear from the Above-grounders. Kasha was clearly not alone in her opinion. “But it might. A new king rules now, one who might not remember your offense…whatever it was.”

Jesse hoped that might prompt the leader to explain what had caused the destruction of Urad. Her hair, twisted into a coil at the back of her head, was gray.
Surely she was old enough to understand what happened only twenty-six years ago
.

But Kasha did not say anything. Instead, she stared at them, squinting in thought. At last, she sighed. “No one must know of this place, or the Fall will occur again.”

“We won't tell anyone,” Jesse offered lamely. He looked to Bern for support, but the younger dwarf was looking humbly at the ground in the presence of his leader.

“No,” Kasha said calmly. “You will stay here with us in New Urad. We cannot risk letting you return to the surface.”

At that, Rae stiffened and looked to Silas.
She couldn't stand to be trapped down here for the rest of her life
, Jesse knew.

“That won't be necessary, Kasha,” a voice from the back of the crowd said. As if by magic, the Roarics parted to show a young dwarf, standing beside one of the dwellings. His face was different than the others in two immediately noticeable ways: he was clean shaven, and he wore a slight smile.

“We have nothing to fear from them,” the young dwarf said. Although he was talking to Kasha, he was looking straight at Jesse.

Kasha glanced at them, her squinting eyes cloudy. It seemed to Jesse that she was looking through them, or past them, instead. “But….”

“Kasha,” the young dwarf said quietly. “My father's judgment never failed you, even through our darkest hours, though you may not remember. Trust me, I beg you.”

There was silence in the cavern for a moment. “Yes,” Kasha said slowly. She turned to Jesse. “You will go with the History Keeper. It is decided.” As one, all of the Roarics in the group, young and old, nodded their confirmation.

Bern followed them as they stepped down from the platform. “Thank you,” Jesse said to him, before they walked over to join the History Keeper. “For saving our lives, I mean.” Bern just nodded crisply at him before joining the crowd of Roarics, who now stared fixedly at the platform.

“Come,” the History Keeper said. “We must go to a place where we can speak freely.”

He led them through the straight, orderly streets, past shacks that looked like a heavy sigh would make them collapse.

“I think we'll be all right,” Rae whispered to them. “He stood up for us in front of everyone.”

Silas shook his head. “No. I don't trust him.”

Jesse said nothing, choosing instead to watch the History Keeper, who was now a few paces ahead of them.
I imagine that all Roarics, deprived of much of their sense of sight, have excellent hearing
. But if he heard them, the History Keeper did not say anything.

The History Keeper stopped at the very back of the cavern, in front of a dwelling set into the stone wall. Jesse noticed it was a distance away from all of the others. “Much different than what you're used to, of course,” he said, turning to them, “but it's home.”

“So you're the History Keeper,” Jesse said thoughtfully, looking him over. He seemed much like the other Roarics. Same rags, same pale skin, same squinty eyes….
But no. The eyes are not the same, somehow.

“Yes,” the History Keeper said, “that is my title. But you may call me Noa.” He sighed and looked away briefly. “It would be nice if someone did.”

Jesse blurted out what he was thinking. “I expected someone…older.”

“An ancient relic hunched over faded manuscripts, no doubt,” Noa said, laughing. “No, although the History Keeper before me, my father, came close to that description.” He waved them in through the door. “Come in, please.”

“Not yet,” Silas said, planting his feet firmly and crossing his arms. “First tell us why you stood up for us at the meeting.”

Noa turned his squinting eyes to Silas, looking up at him without judgment. That's when Jesse realized what was different about his eyes.
They have something behind them
.

“You are right to be cautious,” Noa said at last. “But, believe me, I mean you no harm. I simply do not trust the ruling clan to make a wise decision about you.”

Rae grunted. “No wonder. That Kasha woman would have imprisoned us here for the rest of our lives!”

“Because her own life is built on fear,” Noa said. “All these years, my father tried to get the other Roarics to see that, but they would not believe him. Sometimes, I wonder if they were even listening.” He shook his head. “I am sorry. We do not need to stand here and talk. Come inside.”

This time, even Silas followed, although reluctantly. Noa's dwelling was brighter inside than the dim streets of New Urad, and Jesse blinked and waited for his eyes to adjust before looking around. When he did, he was surprised at what he saw.

One wall was made entirely of the glowing stones that provided the cavern's light. A solitary bench stood on one side of the room, and a makeshift desk on the other, crowded with ancient-looking books. A ragged blanket roll lay beside it.

But what caught Jesse's eyes most of all were the paintings—rows of parchments attached to the wooden wall with iron nails. Each seemed to bear a different, intricate design. He stepped toward them to get a better look in the dim light. The lines were dark and smooth, with shades of color here and there. “These are beautiful,” he breathed, tracing one of the outlines.

“They are the histories of Urad,” Noa said simply.

“Then you can tell us what happened,” Jesse said eagerly, turning to him.

Noa just stared at him, and for a moment, Jesse was afraid he was wrong, or that he had misspoken in some way. “You really want to know?” Noa said at last.

“Yes.”

The smile lighting Noa's face was grateful and sad at the same time. “None of the Roarics care to hear the histories,” he explained. “Really, they don't care to talk to me at all, shunning me as they did my father before me. But at least my father had me. He told me the histories almost every night.”

For a moment, Noa's face showed deep sadness. Jesse thought he understood. Even though he didn't know if his parents were alive or not, he knew what it was like to lose a father.

“Now that he is gone,” Noa continued, “the histories have gone untold for two years.”

“Until now,” Jesse pointed out.

“Until now.”

Rae and Silas sat down on the bench to listen, but Jesse stood transfixed, as Noa pointed to each painting and described what happened in each.

When he reached the eighth painting, his story began to describe what led to the destruction of Urad. The scene was a cart full of uncut gems, pulled along a track by a Roaric miner while a Patrol member looked on.

“Of course, they mined for iron as well,” Noa narrated. “But all of the materials went to the king, and our people were paid only a small portion of what they were worth.”

The next painting showed five Roarics, four men and one woman, in front of a group of Patrol members.
Is that…Kasha?
The dwarves were, as the Roarics would say, Above-ground.

“My father and a few others decided to demand their rights. The Patrol members refused, and when my father threatened to incite the rest of the Roarics to a rebellion, they left in a fury. My father knew something terrible would happen, so he urged the people of Urad to leave the city. They would not, though he pleaded with them day after day. Then the army came.”

The paintings became dark and ominous, filled with smoke and swords and death. Jesse could almost smell the burning buildings, hear the cries of the people, feel the panic that must have come with the Fall. “The king's retribution was swift, and nearly complete.”

Here Noa paused, his face full of sadness. “Many—including my mother—were killed by the king's Patrol. Only a few escaped. My father was one of them. In the confusion, he ran with me to the mines, hiding in one of the shallow shafts that had not yet been fully drilled.”

Jesse was drawn to that painting in particular. It showed a man huddled in little more than a deep ditch, shielding a small baby and looking upward in fear, as the gray boots of Patrol members ran by above them.

“Eventually, once the Patrol members were gone, the survivors found each other. Because remembering brought so much pain, the Roarics decided to forget—to forget what life had been like before, to forget the Fall, to forget their troubles, hoping that would make them disappear. My father refused to forget, and so he was called the History Keeper. After some time, the survivors built New Urad with the scraps the king's men had left behind.”