The rhythm of hammers and picks pounded into Hasil’s head. In the deep darkness, ears were more reliable than eyes, and Hasil had learned months ago how to tell the nearness of his peers. He learned the sound a pickaxe makes when striking bedrock, shale, clay or, worse, the void. Striking the void was devestating. In the few seconds it took to register the muffled emptiness of an iron pick breaking through into an empty pocket, one could already be incinerated by the ignited gas, buried under a slide or stabbed by the spinning head of a tool launched sideways from the pressure. Hasil always had half an ear attuned to void strikes.
For nearly four months now, he had been working for Jeremiah Vane. Hasil had more money than he ever dreamed, and he had only broken a finger twice and burned his leg hard enough to be off the crew for two weeks back in July. What’s more, the scar from the stab wound on his left forearm was healing nicely. Most of the town had signed up for Vane’s work effort, which was a bit more secretive than they had assumed when they signed up.
Originally, Hasil had agreed to be a digger for Vane’s new City Hall project. But what began as a foundation dig had kept going. Deeper and deeper into the earth the men and boys had dug. Soon, they had cleared enough of the Hall to build three full stories down into the earth. And then, Vane’s towering and speechless overseers had directed the crew to adjust their efforts.
Hasil had heard of the mines in the Great Mountains, and he knew a mine when he saw one. While a whole new set of workers began walling up the depths of what would become the Hall with bricks and mortar, Hasil and others kept on digging. They dug downward into the deep dark, where no sun shone. Where lights were not lit for fear of the unseen, unknown gas that seeped up from Below.
It was a mine, well and true, Hasil knew. It bore the same support structures, makeshift rail lines and blueprints as the mines old timers described to Hasil on tavern breaks. These men had worked their lives in the dark, and they taught him how to search for veins of precious material. They taught how to avoid what was inevitable for so many—missing limbs, mangled extremities and coughing fits that ended with a bloody rag held to your face. Mining was not for the faint of heart, and thank God Creed came with Hasil most days, quietly helping him move boulders, tapping him when he missed the telltale dullness of a void strike or calling him to rest after a long stretch of work.
The funny thing was, they never found any silver or gold or even coal in the Deep. Granted, months of work is not even a heartbeat in the life of a mine, but Hasil was unnerved by how vigorous and violent most of the men of Temperance worked into the Deep. It was like they were on fire, and the only way to work it off was to plow through the earth’s flesh with the efficiency of the best butchers. They worked consistently and steadily, like tireless ants.
Hasil still wasn’t sure why they were digging so deep, since the below ground levels of City Hall were coming together day by day. When his shift ended, long after moonrise, Hasil walked to the canteen where Miss Piper Holloway had laid out an evening meal for a few bits’ pay. That’s when Hasil saw the real change. To him, it seemed like each and every man of Temperance, Tennessee–whether they worked in the Deep or built the wide stone support columns of the basement levels–would deflate the moment they sat down in Piper’s canteen. Hasil was positive these men literally became less than they were not an hour before as they swung a pickaxe or laid stone. Skin would hang like a wet shirt after a summer swim off the once robust bodies of workers. Hasil was sure he saw Billy MacGregory’s face half slide off his skull one day, till Hasil blinked and the young man looked as normal and tired as the rest of them.
Some men disappeared altogether. Like that stranger who came over from Tullahoma, who just went down into the mine at shift start and was nowhere to be found at shift end. Oh, they went looking for him, and everyone was told to keep an eye out, but no one ever saw hide nor hair of him again. Others had, Hasil assumed, just quit or walked off, never to be seen again. By his recollection, the toll of human life ate up by Jeremiah Vane’s vision for Temperance was steep, paid in full by blood and life.
Creed never came with Hasil to the canteen. He just walked off into the woods at shift’s end every day, melding into the verdant wildlife like he was the Spirit herself. The next morning, sure enough, there he was sitting by the mine entrance, passed over by the other workers until Hasil arrived. It’s like Creed knew the sound of Hasil’s gait, because even when Hasil tried to sneak up on the kid, Creed would whip out a hand and clasp him without even turning around. Other times, he would look up and over his shoulder exactly to where Hasil was hiding and sign to him to “Come out, fool of the sky, join me and walk into Death.”
That’s what Creed called the mine: Death. It’s like he half expected to die every day he went into the Deep with Hasil. He never took a pickaxe. And no one ever bothered him for it. He never took a lamp, but he always seemed to know the orientation of Hasil and the other workers and every stone. Creed was invaluable to Hasil’s survival down in the Deep. Hasil was sure he’d have died thrice over if not for Creed’s guiding hands or tapped messages.
Today, though, even Creed’s eerie assistance wouldn’t save them. Today, the mine truly became Death.
Hasil had been assigned to the deepest drift in the plan–the tunnel furthest into the earth from Temperance. They had been working for ages when Hasil felt the void strike. He saw the spark ignite off his pickaxe as time slowed down. His eyes met Creed’s for a moment before he was blown backwards against the far side of the cut, where everything went black. When Hasil awoke, the first thing he heard was Creed’s screams. This was followed by the screams of the two other miners on his shift. New workers had arrived and were mulling around, removing the stone that kept Hasil pinned in place. Miraculously, he was unhurt. The two out-of-town miners were bent at unnatural and gut-churning angles. Looking at Creed, he could see the boy’s left arm trapped between two monstrously huge stones. One of the stones was shifting slowly in Creed’s direction, simultaneously crushing his arm and threatening to flatten him entirely.
“Help him!” Hasil screamed, pointing at Creed, “I’m okay, I’m okay. Help Creed!”
“Who?” the shift boss demanded over the clatter of stones and screams.
“Creed!” Hasil enunciated. “Oh God. Spirit’s love. Help him!”
Hasil feverishly rolled stones off his limbs as the shift boss and others looked around dumbly. They just couldn’t see Creed through all the dust, Hasil thought. Freeing himself, he leapt across the drift tunnel and immediately threw himself at the slowly rolling monster of stone crushing his friend.
“I’m here, buddy. I gotcha. For Christ’s unarmed sake, help me you, sapsuckers!”
Hasil was screaming at his coworkers as much as he was the giant boulder stubbornly refusing to shift. Finally, he felt other hands on the stone, and the momentum slowed, stopped and reversed. A few heartbeats and Creed fell free. Hasil slumped against the stone.
“Thank you. My friend is free.”
The miners, however, were not looking at Creed, or even Hasil for that matter. They were staring into the depths of the earth behind the great monster of stone that Hasil’s void strike had broken loose.
“My God, someone go get Vane. We found it.”
Hasil looked up and saw the shift boss towering over. “Go boy! Get Mister Vane, now!”
“But my friend! I’m not leaving him!” Hasil spat back.
“What in green’s hell are you talking about, Hasil? I said git!”
Hasil wouldn’t have it. He backed up and helped Creed to his feet. That’s when he saw it all. In one glance, Hasil bore witness to the mangled, glowing brilliance that was once Creed’s arm and his golden, glowing blood seeping from multiple lacerations. Where fingers bent at odd angles, blue glowing light radiated from his skin, but instead of creases and textures, Creed’s skin was covered in some kind of symbols. Were they words? Did Hasil never notice his friend’s tattoos?
“Hasil!” The shift boss’ voice drew Hasil back to the drift tunnel. That’s when Hasil received his second shock in as many heartbeats. In the depths of the rock, lit by Creed’s glowing blood and skin, was the mouth of what looked like an ancient church. One of the fancy ones he saw in Brother Ayden’s Psalter. Like in Eggland or Franz or someplace foreign. Hasil never quite got the names right.
Imposing there, just as real as Hasil himself, was a carved doorframe and ancient iron-bound wooden beams. The frame was carved to look like dozens of small men and women holding arms, legs wrapped around each other, seemingly holding the door itself in place. The emotion on their faces ranged from determination to terror to fury. All of their carved forms faced the same point at the center of the door itself. There, in shining silver, was a circular sun-shaped symbol, except the rays of the sun looked more like tentacles. Were they moving? Hasil wiped his eyes and looked again. There it was: a center circle of black shining glass, like the polished flint he once saw in Cawled Creek, surrounded by a silver ring of outstretched tentacles, slowly moving as if driven by a breeze. Hasil looked back to the carved human figures of the doorframe and almost lost control of his bladder. All the faces were looking directly at him. Expectantly. Longingly, even. Hasil tore his eyes away, grabbed Creed’s good arm to pick him up off the floor. In one motion, Hasil flipped Creed’s impossibly light frame up over his shoulder and started sprinting up the shaft. He didn’t stop til he was in the City Hall basement, and even then it was only long enough to look around for today’s exit ramp among the scaffolding and brickwork and rising massive columns on which City Hall would be built.
Hasil ran. He ran like the demons themselves were chasing him. He ran out of Temperance, up into the low hills, and he stopped at his and Creed’s special spot on Cawled Creek. He set Creed on their sitting rock and finally looked at his arm. It was caked in gold flakes, and the blue pulse beat in rhythm to Creed’s wildly fast heart rate.
“Are you ok?” Hasilk asked. “What should I do? I can take you back to the Brothers. They’re the best healers in Franklin County. Can you walk?”
Creed only signed: “No. No churchmen. No help.”
“I know townsfolk don’t much react to you, Creed. But this,” he pointed to Creed’s mangled arm. “This needs help. We need help.”
Creed stood, his good arm signing: “No help. Granny. Must go home. Up. Granny is home. Granny heals. Go now.”
“Okay, okay, Creed. I’ll go with you. Just let me-”
Creed full on slapped Hasil with his good hand. Then he signed: “Not listen, heart brother. You go now.”
Hasil stood and stared, confused. He was broken out of his reverie by a familiar voice.
“Hasil? Hasil, boy, are you there?” came the unmistakable baritone of Brother Ayden.
“Yessir. My friend. He’s hurt, I need to get him help. Can you help me?”
Ayden stepped out of the bush. “I knew you’d be here. They said there was an accident in the mine and you tore out of the worksite faster than Brother Hrothga at supper.”
Ayden looked right past Creed at Hasil.
“Can’t you see Creed, Brother Ayden? He’s hurt, and… and… wounded and-”
“Lord, boy. You hit your head too? There’s no one here but you and me, Hasil. Come on, let me get you back to the Cloister. Get you some food. Take a look at you.”
“You too?! They couldn’t see him even as the monster crushed his arm. No one cares about Creed! He’s just some filthy mountain kid to all of you, ain’t he?” Hasil was sobbing at this point.
“Hasil, boy, you’re hurt. Come with me.” Ayden’s tone was kind and quiet.
Hasil looked at Creed. Creed shook his head once. “No, heart brother.” Creed immediately ran off into the deep woods that slowly gave rise to the Great Mountains. Hasil stared, unbelievingly, watching his friend lurch and stumble over the trees he’d so easily danced on just yesterday.
“He’s gonna die if I don’t help him.” Hasil muttered.
“Help who?” Ayden cried. “Hasil, no one but us is here, son. Please, come with me.”
Brother Ayden took two steps toward Hasil, and that’s when the boy finally understood. All these years. No one once talked directly to Creed. No one ever mentioned the two of them. Only Hasil. Was he losing his mind? Had he been crazy all these years? Was Creed a figment of a wild imagination?
There he was, though, tripping and stumbling through the woods, slipping farther away. Hasil then understood something else with absolute clarity. If Creed left his sight today, he’d never see his only friend again. That’s what Hasil Angeline decided on this terrible day. He looked at Brother Ayden. His daddy, in truth.
“I love you, Ayden. You are the best human I ever knew, and I thank the Holy Fathers and Spirit for bringing me to you as a kid. But I have to go. I’m needed.”
Hasil stepped toward Creed and turned. “Don’t let them open the door, Brother Ayden. Don’t you let them look into the Deep Sun.”
Hasil looked over Brother Ayden one more time, in case this was indeed the last time he saw him, and, not thinking of anything better to say, muttered, “Tell Piper Holloway I think she’s real pretty.”
Once again, Hasil ran.
Ayden’s cries and demands echoed through the trees as Hasil quickly caught up to Creed. As his name echoed through the deep woods, cried by the only man who ever showed him true love and kindness, Hasil scooped up his dying friend and tore off up through the hills. Higher and higher he ran, not once did he need to stop for air. He never felt the usual stitch in his side when his lungs couldn’t keep up with his body’s demand for oxygen. Creed never got heavy. Every once in a while, he’d raise his free, mangled arm to show Hasil where to run.
The sun was gone and the sky was the blue gray of the coming night when Creed signaled Hasil to stop. They were in a clearing. They were surrounded by trees, but looking up, Hasil could clearly see the twin-horned moons of the night sky, one pink and the other bone white. Stars twinkled far beyond, like gemstones in the Deep. There was a stone bald at the center of the clearing, and Hasil set Creed upon it.
“Here. Granny. Patience. Granny. Help.”
Creed’s signs were sloppy. Loose. Hasil knew he had wasted too much time. Too much of Creed’s precious golden blood was spilt on the journey. He started to weep again.
“I’m sorry, heart brother. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. Holy Fathers, Sacred Mother, I don’t know what to do, Creed. Help me. Help me!”
This last was shouted with every ounce of power Hasil could bear. His throat ripped raw, a cold sweat accumulating, his vision dimmed and his blood boiled hot. Creed Beaumont, the only friend Hasil Angeline had ever known, signed two more times before he died: “Granny. Patience.”
The flood of emotion erupted from Hasil as he held his friend’s unmoving body. Hasil wept.
When he finally looked up, a form stood before him. Silhouetted by firelight, an impossibly tall form stepped onto the bald. Muscular legs wrapped in tattoos and clad in skins bent and lowered a great horned head into view. It was neither masculine, nor feminine, nor even really…human? Antlers as tall as a person reached out into the darkness from their head. Brilliant red lips parted and spoke words that made no sense to Hasil, and it didn’t matter anyway, because the sight of pointed canine teeth made his head swoon. Hasil knew he was in the presence of the Other. Something from the other side. The terror of it and the uncertainty of the situation clouded Hasil’s already exhausted mind.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry. I have to go.” Hasil made to stand, but in a blindingly fast gesture, the figure moved, Hasil felt pain in his face, saw stars and fell into blackness once again.
Ealdsmyth Tabletop Role Playing System 