Author: Cynthia Echterling
“Aah, shut your meat trap, you mewling marmot nestling, and go feed the Old One!” his father growled, not taking Utti's outburst seriously.
Besides ladling out what didn't pass for beer at dinner, cleaning the distillery, bring in firewood, malting barley, and polishing off the tarnish on his father's nose, Utti's other major duty was feeding the Old One.
Now the Old One was the only prisoner held by the Spalt. The only reason he was held in confinement instead of having his tongue pulled out with tongs, or his head bashed in with a bludgeon, was that he was one of their own – a Spalt – and he had, at one time, been a hero. No one remembered what he did that was so heroic, but killing him outright for his offenses seemed extreme considering. And so they kept him in a cave and kept him fed and he didn't seem to mind it much.
Ullulli Long Beard, for that was the Old One's name, was kept in confinement for no greater offense than telling stories that began with, “Once upon a time,” or “Back in my day,” or “When I was a lad.” Dwarfs, if you must know, prefer stories that start with, “Can you best this” followed by farting, or “Did you hear the one about,” or “There was this guy, see,” or “You think that's bad, well” generally followed by a joke that was very easy to “get” or a tale involving plundering, pillaging or ravaging foreign women, preferably tall ones. Utti, didn't mind the plundering and pillaging stories, but the jokes were frequently aimed at him or his father and the ones about ravaging tall, foreign women reminded him that it was probably something he'd never get to do. He didn't always “get” the stories Ullulli told him, but Ullulli didn't beat him either and that was almost as good as a friendship.
And so, every morning after his ritual walloping, Utti would strap a load of fire wood to his back, fill a pail with barley mash and marmot jerky and ladle out a portion of beer to take to the Old One. Sometimes Utti would bring him useless pieces of rubbish that scroungers had collected from the Above World to give him something to fuss over. Loaded up, Utti would traverse the warren of tunnels to the cave where Ullulli was kept.. Then, lest he be mistaken for a Cave Troll and be pelted with whatever the Old One found at hand, he's stand to one side of the tunnel and call out. “Heigh Ho! Old One, it is I with your dinner!”
And Ullulli would call out, “Heigh Ho! Young Short Beard, and welcome!” Utti didn't mind being called Short Beard by the old one. He meant nothing insulting by it. It was preferable to being called Pustule, Maggot and Vermin Spawn or, worst of all, Hey Waiter, which were the names with which the other Spalt had dubbed him. While he cleaned the ashes from the fire pit and swapped out the waste bucket, Ullilli would ask him of news. There usually wasn't any, unless someone had a body part cut off or died, or their was a tunnel collapse in a mine, which usually resulted in a combination of the other two happening. The Old One was not interested in the results of wrestling matches and belching contests. If there was no news, the Old One might show Utti what handiwork he had made with the rubbish the boy had brought him on previous trips. “Do you remember these?” the Old One asked, showing Utti a strange object. It was smooth and shaped like a handleless cup, but longer and narrow at the top. A group of scroungers had frightened an old Manfolk with a push cart full of trash to be dumped off a cliff near Mount Frothbeard. Upon seeing dwarfs, the man had hurried off, pushing his cart as fast as his hideous long legs would take him, not bothering to stop for the gunny sack that had fallen onto the grassy middle of the track.. The scavengers had brought it back, thinking at the very least, the gunny sack might be useful. But the sack had never been opened, because, when shaken, it made a rattling, tinkling sound – the kind of unfamiliar sound that dwarfs fear but would never admit to. So, it was left for Utti to dump and Utti had brought it, unopened to the Old One who had the courage to look within. It was not full of some sprite objects as Utti had expected, but these strange cups.
Being as utilitarian as any dwarf, Utti asked,“What are they for?” He picked one up by the narrow part and hefted it. “They're too light for weapons.”
“And more fragile than obsidian.” the Old One told him. “Have a care! They break into pieces sharp as blades.. But look what can be done with them.” He held up a green disk that shone in the torch light.
“It shines like a jewel,” said Utti. “Like an emerald.”
“But it is not,” said Ullulli. “I made it from the bottom of one of these that was broken and smoothed it's sharp edges with a grinding stone, then polished it with polishing sand and wet leather.”
“I am pleased you have found something to do to occupy your time.” said Utti,”but what do you do with … do they have a name?”
“Why, yes!” said the Old One, pleased at having been asked. “I call them … Shades!”
“Shades?” asked Utti, trying the word. “Why?”
“Because they come in different shades – shades of green, shades of brown and look.” He held up a darker one. “I was trying to see the symbols on the bottom. I think it is Manfolk runes. So I held it to the torch to see more clearly and the smoke turned it black!”
“Nice,” said the boy, humoring Ullulli., “But what can you do with these shades?”
“Hold it to your eye and look.”
Utti took the disk carefully and looked through it. “I can't see anything! What is the use of that!”
“Look at the torch.”
Utti hesitated, looking directly at a torch, while not as dangerous as looking at the daylight in the Above World, could hurt your eyes. He held the shade in front of one eye and closed the other, then gradually he let his view move toward the torch until he was looking directly at the sputtering glow dimmed by the darkness of the disk. “That's very interesting, Long Beard, but why would I want to look at fire, or make torches look dimmer. It's dark enough already to trip me up if I'm not careful.”
“I swear your father's beer has sickened your brains, boy! Of course you wouldn't use it to look at torches!” He stroked his long, white beard and studied the young dwarf. “Have you ever seen gold under torch light?”
“Well, of course, how else would I see it?”
“And what does it do?”
Utti thought for a moment, not understanding the addle-pated old dwarf “It glows?”
“Of course! It glows!” Shouted Ullulli excitedly. “And a lot of gold?”
“Glows a lot?” Then it dawned on him what the Old One was getting at. “A pile of gold, a very large pile would glow very bright, bright enough to sting your eyes!”
“It would indeed! And if someone happened to find a treasure of gold, and silver and jewels...”
“It might be blinding!” Dwarfs adore looking upon treasure almost more than anything else, but Utti's excitement quickly quieted back down. “We haven't got a treasure to look upon.”
Ullulli was fumbling through the piles of tools and food and useless things on his table. “But if we found one...” He held up another strange object for Utti to see. It was two of the shades, but Ullilli had woven cord around the edges so that each disk had a frame of macrame. These he had tied together in the middle and had attached long woven strands on the outside edges opposite of each other.
What is that for!” scoffed Utti. “Looking at two torches?”
“No,” laughed Ullulli. “It's for looking with two eyes!” He took Utti by the shoulders and forced him down onto a stool. Holding the contraption by the strings he moved the disks in front of Utti's eyes. Then he tied the strings around the back of his head. “There how's that?”
Utti looked around the room slowly. “Uncomfortable. But it does leave my hands free while I look through the shades.” “Yes! Hands free to run through piles of golden nuggets!” suggested Ullulli, trying to motivate the boy.
Utti still looking around at the strange darkened room, smiled upon hearing what Ullulli said, then he frowned and pulled the shades of his eyes.”Or free to fight Trolls! There's always Trolls guarding treasure! Everyone knows that!”
“Oh, that's just an old tale,” scoffed Ullulli.
“Trolls or no! There's no treasure! This is all just a waste of time!” He was beginning to sound like a dwarf should sound, cranky and sensible and not given to foolish notions. He wasn't sure he liked that in himself. He looked around at all the little treasures and trinkets lying on Ullulli's table. They weren't gold, or silver, or iron. They weren't useful machines, But they were strange and interesting to look upon. Why couldn't he wonder what they were and what use Manfolk made of them? He picked up one of the long cups. “What use do you think Manfolk make of these? They certainly don't make them just to cut off the bottoms for shades.”
“No,” Ullulli answered, studying one of the long cups himself. “I think they carry drinks in them.”
“Really? What's wrong with a bucket?”
“What's wrong with slopping beer all over the floor?”
“Well,” laughed Utti, “It's pretty funny when somebody slips in it.” Ullulli was not amused. Utti studied the long cups, sniffing at the opening. “What is this? I mean what was in it?” He sniffed again. “It smells familiar, but somehow different. It smells....” He gave it another sniff. “Good!”
Ullulli patted down his moustache and took a sniff. “It's beer. Actually, old stale beer.”
“No!” said Utti in disbelief. “It doesn't smell at all like beer.!”
“Not that you would know what beer should smell like. All you've ever smelled is that swill your father concocts. Why when I was a boy...” Utti tried to make a run for it, Ullulli stopped him. “Oh, very well, suffice it to say, that beer was very different then. It was good! And all dwarfs enjoyed their cups and flagons and tankards of beer.” Then he remembered something else. “It had a head on it too!”
“A head!” Utti looked disgusted. “Whose head!”
“The beer's head!” Ullulli laughed. “A white head of frothy bubbles that stuck to a dwarf's beard like it longed to be there!” he sighed remembering. “And it tasted good to lick it off too.” Utti sighed along with Ullulli, regretting what he'd never known.
Ullulli glanced at him out of the corner of one eye and smiled. “Maybe, just maybe, if we had a treasure, we could trade for this beer with Manfolk.”
“Buy beer! From Manfolk! When we make...our...own.” His outrage trailed off into regret that he would never taste what had left that wonderful smell. He sniffed at the bottle again and sighed. “Even if their was a treasure, we don't know how to find it.”
“Well that's the thing,” Ullulli said, moving quickly to an ancient chest and pulling out clothes and scrolls. “I wouldn't have mentioned it, but for this.” He brought a stained old piece of deerskin vellum to the table and laid it out before Utti. It was covered with pictographs, and lines and runes. Utti had never seen the like of it before. “I found this amongst the trash you brought me when they did the annual cleaning out.”
“Uh, Snow Beard, I can't read.”
“Not to worry.” Ullullli sat down next to him. “I can, and I can teach you what it means. You're brighter than you seem. You can remember what the drawings and the lines mean.”
“Why? What is it?” Utti was getting frustrated and tired with so much strangeness all in one dawning.
“It's a map!” The old one announced. “A treasure map!” Utti stared at him blankly. “It shows the way to the treasure!”
“What treasure are you talking about!”
Ullulli shook his head sadly and reminded himself that it was all new to the boy. “The treasure of the Great Saazi War!”
“The war that took my father's nose? But...that was just a tale, I mean about the treasure. The Saazi never had a treasure!”
“They most certainly did! But it wasn't theirs. They stole it!”
“From who?”
Ullulli shook his head. “I don't know for certain. I was only a boy at the time, it was even before the time of your grandfather, Uzzi as Brewmaster. They stole from all the Clans of Dwarfish kind and it was then that all Clans began their fall into decline.” The old one sighed again. “Dwarfs were once a great people and, perhaps not well liked, but able to get along well enough with other Kind. The time of your grandfather Uzzi, was the final gasp of greatness for our Clan.” But Utti never heard the sad end of his tale. He had fallen asleep, his head on the table. Ullulli covered him with an old sheep skin and took himself off to bed.
In the evening, Ullulli awoke refreshed and Utti woke with a stiff neck. Ullulli made him a poultice for it and warmed up the left over barley mash. While they ate, Ullulli explained the map to the boy – the map, whose secret they have kept to this very day.
“It will be a long journey.” Ullulli warned. “And you'll need to leave this very night before you father misses you and sends someone looking, who can sniff you out. He certainly couldn't.”
“I, you said I! Well actually you said you, but you meant me! Are you saying you expect me to do this alone!”
“Well, you can't expect a dwarf of my years to make such a long and difficult journey. I'd just be tripping over my beard and alerting the Trolls – not that there are any, mind you. I haven't seen one in years.”
“You've been locked up for years!” But now that Utti thought about it, he'd never seen a Troll either. Members of his clan had threatened to throw him and his father to the Trolls if they didn't do something about the beer, and when he was younger he had feared them. When he was older he thought of them as a myth used to frighten young dwarflings, but now....
“B.b.but you have seen them?”
Ullulli realizing his mistake, tried to lessen Utti's fear. “Seen? Did I say seen? No one sees Trolls anymore. Now, when I was a boy...”
“Stop!” shouted Utti, covering his ears. “Just tell me the truth! Are there Trolls or aren't there?”
Dwarfs have their faults. They may be cranky and they may steal, but if you ask truth of them, they do not lie and Ullulli held it a matter of his honor that he might exaggerate, but never lie. “The truth as I know it, young Utti, is that, yes, there are Trolls. Or there were Trolls. In years long past, there were Great Troll Wars and when I was a boy...” Utti tried to stop him, but he went on, albiet briefly. “Trolls were still seen.” Utti sighed in relief and amazement that Ullulli was capable of brevity, but he went on. “I would say, that since the time of the Great Brewmaster Uzzi, your honored grandfather, no Spalt has ever seen a Troll.”
“But, just in case...” The older dwarf began digging under piles of whatnot and whatever and came up with several objects wrapped in hides and bits of old cloth. “Being a prisoner, I have no access to weapons or a forge, only my cleverness. Look, I fashioned these just for you.” He laid them out on the table and stood back, waiting for Utti to gasp in wonder.
“Utti looked at the largest object. “Uh, that's a cauldron, a small and badly rusted one.”
“No,” said Ullulli, not at all discouraged. “It's a helm. True, I made it from a cook pot, but it is cast iron, and we all know, Trolls shun iron. I think they're allergic.” He picked up the pot helm and showed Utti the inside. I've put leather straps on the inside to fit it to your head and to cushion your head from blows. And I have removed the handle and fashioned a leather chin strap to keep it from being knocked off.
Utti wasn't going to argue with the elder Dwarf. He picked up another object – or tried to. It was heavy.
“That.” the old one said, “is also iron.” It was made of old chains, leather loops and strange, heavy oval-shaped pieces of iron. They had holes along their sides and Ullulli had pulled leather strapping through the holes and tied them to links of chain. These he had tied together to make a vest. Ullulli explained. “Sometimes these are found on the trails. Do you know of the beasts that Manfolk sit on when they travel instead of walking?” Utti had heard of them, but never seen one. “Well, they say, that these things come off their feet!”
Utti examined one. It was not like the hoof of a deer or a sheep. It was definitely iron. “That's impossible!”
“No, I think the Manfolk put them on the beasts' feet so they can walk on stones. I think the are the soles of boots for the beasts.” He didn't know how that was possible. “But whatever they are, I have used them and some chain to make armor for you.. He picked up the rattling mass of chain and beast boots and tied it around Utti's torso. Utti had to struggle against the weight of it to remain standing upright.
“And!” Ullulli announced. “I would never send you into battle unarmed.” He picked up a long metal rod and held it aloft.
“That's a meat spit.”
“That was a meat spit. I've sharpened it. But you don't use it like a sword. ” He slashed it through the air. “It is a spear. You thrust it like so.” Ullulli thrust the spit forward, impaling the back of a chair. Utti was impressed and Ullulli made him practice with it until he was assured that the boy could use it properly
Utti sat down exhausted and Ullulli brought him a cup. Utti took a drink and spit it out. “That's cave water! It tasted of frog.”
“Yes,” said the Old One. “It's good for you.”
“You drink that?” Ullulli nodded while he brought the boy some softened jerky to eat. “But I bring you beer every day.”
“That?” He nodded toward the bucket Utti had brought. “That's not beer.”
“Then, what do you do with it?”
Ullulli paused, wondering if his reputation for honesty was worth keeping. “It keeps the cave crickets away. I thought that's what you brought it for. No one wants cave crickets hopping into bed with them. Ugh!” He shivered in disgust.
“Well, I prefer to drink it.”
“Speaking of which,” said Ullulli as if he had suddenly remembered something. “You'll need provisions for your journey. Just in case.” He found a sack and filled it with loaves of barley bread and jerky. “And to drink.” He looked at the bucket of beer again. “If you insist.” He paused, thinking. Then he found all the long cups he had that weren't broken, filled them with beer and tied pieces of leather over the openings to keep them from spilling.. There were six. He packed them into the bag with the other provisions and added a copy of the map. Then he handed Utti a large white stone. “This you use to mark the walls so you don't get lost.”
“”I know about that.” Every dwarf child learned that before they were ever allowed off on their own. He stuck the stone into a pocket in his tunic. “Well then, Young Utti,” Ullulli said, checking to see that he had a fire starter kit in a pouch secure around his neck and that it contained everything it should – flint, steel and tinder. “ I supposed that means you are ready for your quest.”
“Now?”
“Yes now, before your father comes looking for you.” He dressed Utti in his armor and helm and tied Utti's shades around his neck so he couldn't lose them. Ullulli took up a torch and a bundle of extra torches. That and the spit and the sack of provisions he carried for the boy into the tunnel
“I have one more surprise for you.” Ullulli announce. “Oh, I can't wait to find out what it is.” Utti answered with a false tone of enthusiasm.
“Oh, I think you'll like this. It has wheels. All young dwarfs like things with wheels, don't they?” Utti did , but wasn't sure he'd like anything else that Ullulli had crafted. They worked their way down the tunnel to a secluded alcove. There in the torchlight was hidden, not one of Ullulli's inventions, but an actual ore cart. It was not the large sort that holds a night's worth of diggings, but a small, low, wide one that can be pushed by one dwarf. “You can't very well carry a chest full of treasure on your back.” Ullulli told him.
“Where did you get this!” Utti asked, somewhat amazed.
“Oh, someone left it just sitting around, so I stole it.” Utti looked at him, shocked. “What? Do you think I stay in that cave all the time?” He whispered to Utti confidentially as if someone might hear. “Sometimes, I sneak out.”
Utti checked the cart over, holding the torch close to see. He had expected it to be old and barely usable, but it was well put together and in good repair. He checked the axles, the wheels and the hubs. They were not only sturdy and well fitted, but greased. The only thing wrong was that one of the hinges on the back gate that allowed the ore to pour out had come off and the gate was lying in the bottom of the cart. The cart had probably been left out for one of the smiths to repair it.
“Don't need a gate to haul a treasure chest, do you?”
Utti's brain suddenly learned to add two plus two. “You've been planning this a long time, haven't you!”
“Oh yes,” said the old one. “A very long time. I've just been waiting for you to be ready. Still young enough to want to do it, but experienced enough to get it done.”
Utti didn't understand what that meant, but he didn't think he liked it. He also didn't like saying no and running home to his father and... “Well, I suppose I'd better get on with it then.” Ullulli put the torches in the holders on the front corners of the cart and lit them. He walked with Utti as far as his old legs would let him and went over the plan and the map again and again, making Utti repeat it back to him. The lad seemed ready, but Ullulli was reluctant to watch him go, so he stood watching the torchlights until they faded away into darkness.
Utti was looking back over his shoulder too, watching the torch that Ullulli held, watching it grow smaller as he pushed the cart along the tunnel. Eventually, he could see it no more. He stopped and strained his eyes to see it, but no, he was alone – more alone than he had ever been in his life. He took a deep breath. Now the decisions he would make would be all his own and his first decision was to take off the armor and put it in the cart. It was too hard to push wearing a pot on his head and beast boot armor on his body. He wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled back his long hair. Now he could feel the cool tunnel breeze on his forehead. This was easier. So he pushed, and on and on he went.
Finally he came to a turn. He turned and went on. Then he past two more and went on. At the third he stopped. This was where Ullulli had told him to stop and rest. He would need his strength when he went on to find the treasure on the second night.. He leaped up int the cart and while he ate his bread and drank his beer, he looked at the map, he went over everything he had done, every turn he had made and every white mark he had scratched on the tunnel walls to find his way home. He was sure he had made no mistakes and was proud of it. He put out all but one torch, made sure that his fire kit was right next to his heart and fell asleep, trying hard not to think of Trolls.
When he awoke, Utti stretched himself good. His legs and arms and back were sore from the unfamiliar work of pushing the cart, but he was not deterred. He lit up the torches, made a meal of bread and jerky and ate it as he pushed on. By the time his stomach growled at him again, he swore he must have traveled so far as to be directly under the peak of Mount Frothbeard. He thought about how its snowy cap and frosty beard shimmered in moonlight, and he longed to see it again. He drank more beer and ate his bread as he pushed. It seemed he should have reached his destination by now. He would know it when he reached a split in the tunnel divided by a stalagmite that looked like the body of a rat standing up, but wearing a cap with the tip fallen over. He came to the stalagmite. It looked more like a rabbit to him, but he wasn't going to quibble over details. It wore a cap. He took the right turn and far in the distance, he heard water dripping slowly just as Ullulli had told him he would. He was near!
He continued on. Then barely perceptible, he saw light ahead. Ullulli had not mentioned any light, no phosphorescence. He thought his eyes were tricking him as sometimes eyes did when they stared down tunnels too long. He closed them for awhile. He didn't need eyes to follow the sound of water down a tunnel. Then he opened them again. The light was brighter and glowing larger. It had to be real. Perhaps, he thought, it was the treasure, glowing in its own light by magic. He continued toward it, following the light and the sound of water, his heart beating faster in anticipation.
As he continued, as the light grew, he noticed that the sound of the water was changing. It was dividing itself into the sound of dripping and the sound of something else. He couldn't make out what it was, so he continued on slower than before, listening. Then his heart stopped, his blood went cold and his knees gave out under him. He sat against the tunnel wall shivering. It was voices! Voices were not part of the plan! He tried to believe it was rats scurrying and squeaking, but he knew even rats didn't come this deep into the tunnels and rat's voices were high-pitched. These were not. They were not dwarfish voices, either, or Manfolk. These voices were nothing he had heard before – deep, thick timbred. He knew what they had to be. Trolls! And there was more than one! He had never imagined more than one!
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