Over The Sunken Realm - Part 6
The Pirates are dead, but the journey is far from over... To what eerie destination is the Druegans' train leading you now?
You decide to remain Zvakar’s master.
Thunder rumbles over your head. Whether you open or shut your eyes, the darkness around you remains impenetrable. You try to move, but your floating body does not respond: you can feel it floating about in the dark, as if under water, but you cannot feel anything – not even the need to breathe.
READ PART 5 HERE:
How long you have remained here, suspended in the inscrutable aether, your mind wide awake in a cold, dead-like body, you could never tell. Though you have no knowledge of how you came to be here, you can tell time does not pass here. You may have been there for the length of a millisecond or since the beginning of time. You are only aware of one thing: you are waiting – for what, you cannot say – and may have been waiting for all eternity.
And something else: the rumble over your head is getting louder.
Then a shaft of blinding light bursts through the darkness above you, like a gigantic blade, cleaving it to pieces. It is cold as ice, yet hot like molten steel. It is colourless, yet hues of blue, green, gold, red, and many other colours you cannot name shine around it. You look on in terror, thinking your eyes should melt, your flesh evaporate, your bones grind into powder before its blazing might…
And you start falling.
You blink the pain away and shake your head. The hard pillow under your neck has left it stiff. As you blink, your eyes become accustomed to your surroundings. You turn your head again, and wince: a streak of light, pouring out of the window on your right, has just struck your eyes. You groan, and sit up, rolling your shoulders to stretch your aching muscles.
“Ah, finally you wake, Elmorlèm! Good, good! We are home!”
Bazkior’s cheerful voice startles you. You had not noticed him, sitting with his back to the door of your small temporary chamber. You ask him if he has had any sleep. He laughs it off:
“Oh no, I do not sleep when I watch over my friends!”
You have learned to trust the odd dwarvish creature after all that has happened in the past few hours; but trusting a Druegan on the battlefield does not make his ogling you all night long any less creepy.
With a smile as genuine as it is unconcerned, Bazkiór continues: “now, get up, get your drapnor! We step off in five minutes,” and he holds up five fingers. For a second, you start to think you are back in a dream: you can count five fingers, and a bent thumb.
Bazkiór gives you a concerned look, a half-hearted smile, and leaves the room, giving you a few seconds alone to come to terms with the realization that Druegans have six fingers.
The train’s door slides open as silently as ever, revealing a vast curved wall, bathed in orange light from above. You shake off the first idea that pops into your head: no matter how bright and warm, this could not be the sun.
And indeed, as you step off, you see the ‘sky’ above you is dark grey rather than blue. With a sigh of relief mixed in with a tinge of disappointment, you realize you are still underground.
The encircling wall stretches all around you, in a jagged circle of uneven columns strung together. Whether this is a natural occurrence of a feat of architecture beyond your understanding, you can hardly tell. Your mind goes back to what Bazkiór said before, as you walked in dark corridors: and we grew mountains, and lived in them, pouring our art into them…
Something tugs at your arm: Bazkiór, looking even more concerned than earlier, motions you forward. You march on with the rest of the yellow Druegans, up to meet the other group that has silently poured out of some crack in the wall of rock.
They are about fifty, all dressed in black and gold, with thickly braided dark beards circled with golden rings. Their dark helmets bear one golden gem each, evoking some sort of specific rank or function. Among them, his head high above the rest, walks a white-haired Druegan with a face so wrinkled you cannot tell whether he is smiling, frowning or simply disinterested.
Once at a short distance from each other, the two groups assess one another in silence. You decide it would be best to wait for something to happen, but as the seconds pass, the tension becomes palpable between the black and yellow Druegans. You repress a shudder. Your mouth feels dry as sand.
For the second time today it seems, you wait for something to happen without knowing what.
Thankfully, the ranks of the black Druegans split, letting the elder walk up to us. Bazkiór leaves our ranks, and they shake each other’s hands. The old Druegan seems to chuckle as he speaks what you assume are congratulating words to Bazkiór. You breathe out a sigh of relief.
The old Druegan then addresses you directly: his eyes are almost entirely dark, yet a spark shimmers deep inside them. A spark of white light that seems to give off colourful reflections…
With an even rougher accent than Zvakar, the elder speaks: “Good meet, Elmorrlèm. In CarwenZäarn. You come.”
And with that, he grabs your hand in his own knotted fingers, and shake it vigorously. His grip is so strong you believe it could shatter rocks! Then, he motions you all forward.
As the group advances, you cast an interrogative glance towards Bazkiór, who quickly explains:
“The CarwenZäarn, a family of mountains. Now, only this one remains – while the Heart lives.”
He points up, and bows his head reverently. You look in the same direction, and gasp.
Up to now, you have always been glad to see the strange glowing orange crystals, which dotted and lit your way in the stygian subterranean darkness. Yet now they all seem as small and unimpactful as a pebble when compared to a mountain.
For far above you, hanging from the ceiling of the cave at an unguessable distance, glows the biggest crystal you have seen yet. It is no wonder you mistook it for the sun: it visibly pulsates, sending wave after wave of light and warmth. You can feel the rocks become ever so lightly brighter, and the air become ever so slightly warmer, with every wave.
The elder’s rasping chuckle brings you back to the present moment. Your awe is not lost on the old man. You smile at him, and he responds with a nod. In spite of the barrier of language, you are glad to share some understanding with a person of high authority.
As you march on, more and more Druegans come out of their stone towers. Some even seemingly sprout out from the very ground. In an instant, you are surrounded by well over three hundred of them. They all have darker eyes and hair than Bazkiór and his companions, but seem to treat them with friendship, clapping their backs and bantering cheerfully as they go. And yet they had remained hidden when you arrived, and it took time for their delegation to break the ice. Perhaps seeing their Elder so confidently walking with them has reassured the rest of the population.
You would like to ask Bazkiór some clarification, but you can see he is in an agitated discussion with two or three black-beards. You have badgered him long enough with your questions! Better to let him talk with his kin. There will be time for questions later.
As you go on, the group grows into a crowd, until you start to feel like an attraction for all these creatures: after all, your size makes you completely stand out from the crowd. These hundreds of eyes fixed upon you start to weigh you down. You would like to disappear, to vanish into the crowd…
With a tinge of surprise, you realize you still yearn for the solitude of Down Under.
But how could you go back to the void, now? After having met Bazkiór, and Zvakar…
You turn around violently: you had almost forgotten about him. Is he staying in the train due to his wounds? Perhaps you should go back there… You are his Basquionná, after all, and you are responsible for him… It would be better to leave… You could come back at any time…
You try to turn away, but a dozen Druegans are on your heels. You can’t even put your foot back on the ground, with how many there are around you. You stretch out your arms to balance yourself, but then another Druegan bumps into your leg, and you fall over.
A few Drueganic curses erupt from under you. Your arms have cushioned your fall, and you are not hurt, but you did put your fingers in a Druegan’s eye. Sputtering excuses, you try to get back up. You can tell the other Druegans are staring at you. Not a second ago you were a giant to their eyes, a promise of strange tales and adventure: now you are just a clumsy fool who can’t even stand up. Blood rushes to your face.
A hand lands on your shoulders. Turning your head, you catch the Elder’s strange, yet peaceful face. His smile gives you some courage, and although no words pass his lips, you can sense what he means: have no fear. All who approach the Dreamer feel improper, as you do. But you must meet her. She has answers to your questions. Do not worry about your friend, he is taken care of. The quickest way back is through.
You give an assenting nod, and stand up again. How these words appeared into your head, you cannot say. Did you invent them, as a means to make yourself feel calmer? As you walk on, you attempt to rationalize it all, but never quite succeed.
Finally, you find yourself in a large corridor, so wide that fifty or so Druegans can pass in a row. Yet the crowd is so massive now that hundreds more still stumble onward as far as you can see behind you. The ceiling is dark, but after a few paces, you notice the light becoming bluer. A few minutes later, the entire place is bathed with swirls of blue light.
As you turn a massive column, you finally see it: another gigantic crystal, but this time encrusted into the wall of the cave. It shimmers with a thousand changing hues of blue, like how the sunlight dances upon the waters. And you soon see why.
A shadow traverses the crystal, and vanishes, startling you. Another passes by, then another, but slower, giving you enough time to notice their long, bulky shapes… A shiver of excitement and fear shoots through your spine: this is not a mere crystal, but a window on the ocean!
The crowd still moves on, so you cannot stop to look at it too long, but as you walk by, you can see strange animals, some square, some oblong, and some with many long tentacles. A myriad creatures pass by this crystal every minute. Enough to give you vertigo.
It’s at this moment you notice the growing noise around you: all the Druegans are chattering, some even shouting words you cannot understand. It echoes under the vast cathedral of stone like so many buzzing insects.
An instant later, you are shoved to the side by the heads of fleeing Druegans. Others run into you from the other direction, and you quickly find yourself on the ground again. You see the panic on their faces, their blabbering mouths twisted in an agony of fear.
You shout Bazkiór’s name, but cannot find him in this mayhem. All you can see is the Elder’s face, as cryptic and closed as ever. But his eyes speak, and you hear words pierce through your skull and echo into your head:
“The Drake. The Drake is here.”
Should you go on and meet the Dreamer, or go back to save Zvakar?
The votes are in! Check out Part 7 here: