Under Fragile Stone (34 page)

‘We have to get outside,’ Nayalla breathed.

‘Right,’ Cullum muttered, as he used Khassiel’s helmet to cover her face. ‘Let us know when they surrender.’

Suddenly, a jolt passed through the ground and moments later, a section of the roof crashed in, sending a cloud of dust over them. They all stared upwards in desperation. Cracks snaked out across the stone ceiling, dust raining down in light sprinkles like the first leaks in a dam about to burst.

‘Oh, no,’ Nayalla whispered.

‘Go!’ Draegar bellowed, picking up Paternasse’s inert body and charging out of the tunnel. The Noranians
followed
close behind.

Taya and Lorkrin grabbed Noogan and half-led,
half-dragged
him over the Reisenick bodies and around the corner. Mirkrin and Nayalla stumbled out after them, frantically trying to get ahead of their children. Behind them, the tunnel
collapsed
with a tremendous roar of breaking stone.

The Reisenicks were waiting. Draegar was ensnared in a 
net, ropes winding around him to bind it closed, the
clansmen
falling on him and beating him with rocks. Cullum was caught too, and thrown to the floor, struggling violently to cut through the mesh before their blades finished him off. Mirkrin and Nayalla were knocked off their feet by three snarling men, falling under their attackers, and fighting back wildly as they tried to reach their children.

Lorkrin and Taya scrambled forwards, still trying to
support
Noogan. They stopped short when Ludditch stepped in front of them. He smiled grimly and raised his knife.

‘Your uncle’s goin’ tuh see your insides before I take his skin!’

The Myunans’ fear turned to disbelief when they saw the blade. Rust was crawling up the steel like a swarm of ants. Ludditch saw their faces and glanced down at his weapon. He dropped it in shock and as it hit the floor, it shattered into pieces, corroded right through.

Around them, the Reisenicks were finding their knives
disintegrating
in their hands and they cried out in fright.

‘Ludditch,’ someone near the door shouted. ‘The old folk are caught!’

He grabbed the two Myunans by the necks, pulling them away from Noogan, and dragged them with him to the
doorway
. They punched and kicked, scratched and bit him, but he paid them no mind. When they reached the entrance, they were stunned by what they saw.

The land was erupting outside the cave. The last light of evening was fading, but even so, they could see that most of the trees on the slope had disappeared, the ground where they had stood churning like a stormy sea. The clay of the clearing was breaking apart. Harsq’s disciples were backing 
towards the cave, staring in abject terror as the edge of the krundengrond crept closer and closer, the clay pulling
asunder
and writhing with a force that cracked stones and
swallowed
everything that stood upon it. The wagons were being dragged down into the ground and torn apart.

On the back of the largest truck, Harsq stood with the old Reisenicks, his hands raised in the air. They had been cut off, the krundengrond coming up from beneath them; there was nowhere to run, even if their stiff, arthritic legs could have carried them.

‘The blessed ground will not harm us!’ he intoned. ‘We need only pray to the almighty Brask and he will protect us. The land is our ally, our friend. There is nothing to fear if we all pray together!’

The wagon sank lower in the earth, its wheels buckled and disappeared with the tortured sound of rending metal. A lantern fell from the side, but instead of smashing, it
disappeared
into the ground with barely a burst of flame.
Ludditch’s
aged relatives screamed and held each other as the vehicle tipped to one side.

‘Have no fear!’ Harsq shouted to them. ‘We must all pray and Brask will deliver salvation. Pray to Brask for your lives!’

His voice was faltering, his face drenched in sweat.
Ludditch
ran out as far as the edge of the krundengrond, hauling the two struggling Myunans with him, a despairing moan escaping from his lips. His father was on that wagon.

‘Pappy!’ he wailed. ‘Pappy, hold on!’

But the wagon’s back broke, the chassis was ripped apart and the two halves tilted into the air. Harsq tumbled over the side and hit the ground. It came up to embrace him and with a shriek he was gone. Two more men fell in and were 
swallowed whole by the churning earth. Ludditch watched as his father slipped down the upturned flatbed and rolled, flailing into the krundengrond. The last lantern on the truck went out and the vehicle was plunged into shadow. They could hear the others on board calling desperately for help. Ludditch let out a sob and shoved Taya and Lorkrin aside, launching himself out over the seething ground. He
managed
one step, then another. By the third, he was caught and was being pulled in. He reached out for where his father had fallen and howled into the evening sky with grief.

And then the earth around him went still. He heaved
sobbing
breaths, putting his hands down to push against the ground, which was up to his waist, solid and motionless. The krundengrond was losing its force. The violence of the earth receded into the darkness, stillness settling over the ground and the noise gradually dropping away to silence. In the eerie quiet that followed, Taya and Lorkrin walked out past where the Reisenick chieftain stood, his legs embedded in the ground. They gazed around them. Lorkrin jumped up and down as Taya looked at her feet, twisting her toes in the clay. The krundengrond was gone.

Many of the old folk were still alive on the
wood-and
-metal island that was all that remained of the wagon. They called out fearfully for their kin. Seeing the two Myunans walking safely on the earth, the Reisenicks rushed out to their family, helping them down and hugging and kissing them passionately.

‘He made it, then,’ Taya said.

Lorkrin nodded. Rug had found his way home.

E
PILOGUE

The Reisenicks made no more trouble for the Myunans and their friends, leaving them alone to tend their wounds. Cullum was able to retrieve Khassiel’s body from beneath the rubble and insisted on burying her alone. He marked the grave with her crossbow. They all paid their respects and then turned their attention to making camp, none of them fit for anything but sleep.

It was some time before any of the Reisenicks bothered to dig Ludditch out. He stood there, staring at the ground, not saying a word, until Spiroe came over with a shovel and sourly freed his legs. The Reisenicks set out for home on foot as the moon came up, the younger men supporting or
carrying
their aged relatives, others bearing their dead and injured on makeshift stretchers. Ludditch followed behind, unable to endure the bitter, hateful stares of his clan.

Lorkrin and Taya were the last to fall asleep. They lay gazing up at the cliff face, exhausted but eager now to return to the Myunan Territories, both wanting to look up at the face of Absaleth again. Eventually, they too drifted off into a deep, healing sleep.

They all slept late into the following morning. Draegar was the first to wake. He salvaged what was left of their
supplies
from the cave and the rest woke to the welcome smells of breakfast being fried up. There was a chorus of groans 
and grunts as all their injuries made themselves felt, but seeing what a sorry sight they were gave them all something to laugh at.

‘It’s a long walk home,’ Emos said, as they tucked into their food. ‘And I think a visit to old Shindles wouldn’t go amiss. We’re a right state, altogether.’

‘Look at that,’ Noogan gestured with his head, his mouth full of bacon. ‘I’ve never seen the like.’

On the hillside below them, what looked like freshly ploughed land stretched out, littered with the remains of rocks, trees and grass.

‘Wonder what’s happened back at the mining camp?’ Paternasse mused. ‘If it’s anything like this, I think I might be heading back home to the wife and kids.’

‘I think there’s going to be lot of grief coming out of this,’ Emos said, solemnly.

‘At least the view’s changed,’ Lorkrin commented. ‘I was getting sick and tired of trees.’

‘It’s the ugliest landscape I’ve ever seen,’ Nayalla said. ‘But I love the sight of it. Anything’s better than being stuck down in that cave.’

‘We owe our lives to you all,’ Mirkrin said, looking at their rescuers, and smiling proudly at his children. ‘And I think you two are going to get spoiled rotten when we get home.’

‘Does this mean we can have our tools back?’ Taya asked.

‘Absolutely,’ Nayalla grinned.

‘And will you teach us how to sculpt feathers?’ Lorkrin put in.

‘I think we might be able to do something about that.’

‘And a dog. Can we get a
dog
?’ Taya added, excitedly.

‘Don’t push your luck, young lady.’ 

As their children put their heads together to plan how to make the most of this new opportunity, Mirkrin and Nayalla touched hands and smiled in happiness and relief. Draegar looked out over the devastated land, wondering how long it would take to heal and what maps would have to change. Cullum spared a glance for his dead comrade’s grave. The miners were lost in thoughts about the friends who hadn’t made it and their own victories over death. Emos stood up, stretching his stiff legs, his eyes fixed on the dark entrance to the cave.

‘Will you tell us more about Orgarth some time, Uncle Emos?’ Taya asked, seeing the distant expression on his face.

‘I’ll tell you all I know about the legends,’ he replied, giving her a subdued smile. ‘But you two probably know the real Orgarth better than anyone now – you’ve become part of his history. Some day somebody will tell stories about you.’

‘Damned straight,’ Draegar exclaimed. ‘That’d be worth a good tankard of mead in anyone’s storyhouse! Pass the last of that sausage, if nobody’s having it.’

They finished their breakfast and relaxed for the rest of that day, eating and drinking and talking. If felt good to be safe, with full stomachs and true friends and to know that they had played a part – if only for a short time – in a great mountain’s history.

Born in Dublin,
Oisín McGann
spent his childhood there and in Drogheda, County Louth. He studied at Ballyfermot Art College and the Dún Laoghaire School of Art and Design, and then worked in advertising, design and film animation. He now lives in Drogheda and works as a freelance illustrator and artist. He is the author of
The Gods and Their Machines
and
The Harvest Tide Project
(Volume I in
The Archisan Tales
).