The Voice of the Mountain

The Dwarfen Crown - Chapter I

Light was scarce in the lower levels of the mines, but the workers were used to seeing in dark caverns. They were able to see which parts of the rock were easier to dig through and aimed their pickaxes and drills in those directions, saving the tougher ones for building blocks. They were quick to pick up those bits of stone and use them to prop up the ceiling of their tunnels, letting the drills progress forwards. The entire digging operation was orchestrated by Ffyý'ývoîn, an old and tired Dwarf, who marched along with the others, just behind the ones who took care of the digging supplies. He had been in charge of tasks like this for many decades, and the glimmer he used to see in the rocks had begun to fade long ago. As he trotted, he wondered why it was he put up with these undertakings for so long " albeit this was king's decree, but respect was given to those who had served the kingdom for many years, and had he not been digging deeper and deeper by order of the king for sixty long, hard years now? One day, he thought, he would tell the king that he is resigning from his post, and will pass the command on to the next eager assistant. He would like to sit in his study, high above these accursed catacombs, and read about what's happening in the rest of the world. Surely something of interest had happened in the last two years, since he had first left his small stone shack.

A harsh metal clang rang throughout the tunnel as one of the picks hit a hard piece of rock. “™vbh, ™vbh” Ffyý'ývoîn said, placing his hand on the shoulder of the Dwarf in front of him. “™gvp ѳcsvy sdyv’v Llbffîn dhmrtîn.”

“Llhy’ybîn” the young Dwarf flushed, raising his fallen pickaxe from the ground. He placed it against one of the groves in the soft rock and muttered a few short phrases in Nghpllvîn under his breath. The pick began vibrating, it's pace growing quicker and quicker, chipping the stone as the Dwarf guided it along. When it had caught a suitable rhythm, he eased his grip until his gnarled hands were held a few inches apart from the tool, guiding it from afar. His pick joined the others in their slightly declining row, and he resumed his place between the other five digging Dwarfs. Ffyý'ývoîn walked in the center, with a Dwarf from each side asking him occasional questions about how long the tunnel must be and giving suggestions on how to overcome certain boulders. Ffyý'ývoîn was hardly listening to them, and gave his opinions by nodding and grunting. He knew that the Dwarfs themselves weren’t listening, each one of them just using his presence as a means to converse with himself, and so he reluctantly continued to play his part in these disguised monologues, as he had for the last couple of years. Behind them, the younger Dwarfs ran about, moving large bits of rock so to form pillars that held the roof from caving in on the party. This task could easily be done quicker and better by older workers that had even the most basic of training in Dwarfen Magic, but this gave the younger ones a way to excrete part of their bountiful energy and also a means for the kingdom to edge them into the society of workers from a young age.

In hindsight, Ffyý'ývoîn didn't see this process as brainwashing, as he had for some time during his teenage years. He now saw that these procedures were entirely up to the young ones " no one was forced to work, and most did it because it seemed the best way to vent out adrenalin while helping shape the kingdom. Everybody wanted to play a part and leave his mark on the generations to come, and pushing rocks around the newly forming mines was the best way to do it. He himself had done so before pursuing a career that was of greater help to the kingdom and to himself, and was something he had enjoyed doing. He was now a wealthy Dwarf, and was considered a wise member of the mining force. Most of the Dwarfs that were then his peers now acted on his command and saw highly of him. Although he was quite content now, the work he had enjoyed most had been piling up the pillars of rock in order to stop the cave roof from falling in. Nowadays he could probably do it with a wave of his hand, but the feeling of physically moving the stones and making a difference, that was a feeling that filled his heart with joy and satisfaction. He didn't have to worry himself with managing other Dwarfs or calculating the angle of dissent. Back then, he didn't know why they were digging, but knew what his role was in the grand scheme of things and did so as best he could.

The hours passed, and Ffyý'ývoîn ordered a halt. The party sat down for a rest to gather strength for the rest of their expedition. They didn't have an actual sense of time, deep as they were under The Mountain, besides the Dwarfen Pocket Watch Ffyý'ývoîn carried with him, and that was a rather tricky piece of equipment to follow. As they rested, the old Dwarf's assistants took out their scanners and began devising the route that they would follow later on. Ffyý'ývoîn eyed the chromatic tools with suspicion. He never cared much for the Humans' tools, and neither did any other Dwarf. Magic was more than enough while working, and the tools that were necessary were forged in The Mountain. The Humans' tools were complicated, and often required charging and monthly maintenance and so many other things that made them adequate. They were interesting to play with, at least at first, but after the first feelings of wonder passed, they became obsolete and unused.

But these new ones, the Dwarfs claimed, were different. There was Magic in them, and they are better than what we have. Rubbish thought Ffyý'ývoîn. The process is the same. The results are the same. The only difference is that the instrument is the one doing the work. And when the tools work and the worker remains idle, who is the one using who?

As the two Dwarfs bickered about which path would get them the lowest faster, Ffyý'ývoîn closed his eyes.  He dug his fingers into the ground as though he was a tree, digging his roots deeper and deeper beneath him. He took in a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the rich aroma of the earth and his lungs with the cold air of the tunnels. He breathed out, exhaling what he did not require of the air, leaving only what he needed. He cleared his mind of all thoughts and fears, of all speculations and opinions. He left behind him thoughts of his house, of his family and of his kingdom. He let everything go, until he remained as hollow as the tunnels they had been digging.

He became one with the earth.

The last thing he held on to were the words of the Song of Tunnels, the song the let him feel the earth. Although his throat had become cracked and hoarse with age, it seemed a different voice was singing through him. He had left that old body behind him, and was now hardly anything at all. He was part of the Great Whole. A gradient in the color spectrum. A note in the melody that was the world. With eyes still closed, he sang:

Sll ™vgysîn sg'gѳ shngѳwv hff, ѳnvw hff výîn,
Rtve Vnîn bvhv llg vhv býîn.
Rîn ѳsve vogî bn Lldoywîn výrswmîn,
Rîn ѳsve ocsѳv'vyw bn Vsyѳgîn mѳw Rnwmîn,
Llmd ffýg ѳng'gy îll Llbffîn Rîn nѳîn -
™îy yînll Oînѳvîn mѳw Ocsffllwîn mѳw Ghvynѳîn.
Vog Vnîn vhv sgv ѳdb sѳ'ѳvwîn,
Llh sg'gѳ Rîn ѳnb scsll'llvh ™un rhvwîn.
Vog Vnîn vhv sgv ™dbîn!

As the last cry left his lips, spasms of color seemed to shoot before his eyes. Although his eyelids were still held tight, he could see the walls around him in vivid colors of aquamarine and teal. He concentrated on the far wall, and it seemed to give way to him, becoming translucent under his will in order to let him see beyond them. He was able to see what he called the True Colors of the rock " not just plain grays and browns, but wondrous different shades. He did not know how it worked in a scientific sense, but it didn't matter to him. He could tell by the colors. Each color was different just as every rock was different.

He filled his now vacant mind with the path that they would follow. As he did so, the colors began to slowly fade away, as if pushed out by his thoughts. Ffyý'ývoîn knew this, and so tried to work as fast as he could, to maximize the efficiency of the song's magic. He curved around the harder bits of rock, forming a tunnel that would lead them even deeper into The Mountain.

Suddenly, his tunnel came to a stop. Beyond a particularly soft bit of earth there seemed to be a wall of blackness. At first Ffyý'ývoîn thought that his time as one of the Earth had come to an end, but he could still see the colors in the stone around it. Something seemed to be here, buried who-knew-how-many miles under the mountain top. But something seemed wrong to the Dwarf. This thing was obviously not part of The Mountain, but how had it gotten itself there? For something to be this deep under The Mountain, it had to be either very, very old or very new.

A bad feeling told Ffyý'ývoîn that it was the latter.

As the surrounding colors began to dim, the Dwarf used his last bit of magical connection to the earth to sense about it. The song that he had sung was mutual " he became part of The Mountain, and The Mountain was now part of him. The earth gave him the power to feel the rocks, and Ffyý'ývoîn gave the rocks the power to feel. The smallest bit of life was drawn out of the Dwarf and into The Mountain, filling it with life and feeling. Knowing this, Ffyý'ývoîn awakened the earth about this wall of blackness. Now the earth could feel, and the Dwarf asked of it what it felt. He was answered with a sound which no other living being had ever heard or will hear, and Ffyý'ývoîn was certain that, if asked, he would have chosen to join them.

The Mountain screamed.

The Dwarf opened his eyes with a start. He called out to his assistants and told them of what he had seen and heard. The two of them looked at each other and then back at Ffyý'ývoîn. It was clear that they didn't believe his story, and part of Ffyý'ývoîn understood them. It was something that had never happened before and seemed unnatural, but the Dwarf insisted that this was the reason it was so important. Whether it was natural or not, something out there was harming The Mountain, and that was something that had to be stopped.

The two young Dwarfs looked at each other again. They held a lot of respect for Ffyý'ývoîn, but they couldn't understand his stubbornness against the Human's technology. This was exactly the reason why the Human's tools were better " there was no one to make mistakes like this. Both of them had scanners bought from different peddlers and produced by different companies. They didn’t sense any abnormalities in the rocks below them, and they clearly were more reliable than an old Dwarf that hadn't cast a spell since his sixty seventh birthday. They were surprised that he even remembered the words of the old song, let alone had enough power in him to get it to work.

Ffyý'ývoîn scowled at the two of them. “Veby vdoo.” he said through clenched teeth. “Vd'oo vog Sgv Llnmffѳgmrîn vwrcsvw sdll hr rystgîn”. He ordered the miners to get up and start digging. There was only one way to find out what really lay behind the earth that had changed its color from red to violet when given life. He would answer the scream of The Mountain, even if he had to claw his way there by hand.

The Dwarfs raised their digging supplies and edged them into the wall of stone. Soon the humming and clicking of the drills and picks was heard again as the party advanced downwards, towards the unknown.

Author's Note

You don't have to try and pronounce the words in Nghpllvîn. If you do, note that it's pretty throaty, and sounds a bit like vowel-less mumbling and grunting (as you would expect of bitter Dwarfs)