Rock Salt and Sapphires
Mount Dolmed - FA 87
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Private)
“Astounding,”
Rúauth said of the ripples’ perfect symmetry. How could nature create such perfect forms? Intricate and lovely as the patterns in woodelven craftsmanship might be, she saw now that the artists were at their best when they took their inspiration directly from the simple perfection of the natural world. This peaceful series of concentric circles on the water drew her in and set in her a sense of calm which she did not expect, the miniature waves’ little crests flashing golden in the torchlight against a deep blue backdrop. The elven princess’s green eyes followed the first line of ripples to the pool’s edge, and she smiled.
“When was the last time someone saw this pool?” she wondered aloud. “Or are we the first?” She lowered herself to sit cross-legged upon the cool stone ground and removed her sketchbook and pencil from her pack once more. “If we are, I must have a record of it to share with the others!”
Callontúr crouched beside her, holding the torch dutifully aloft so she could work in its light.
Rúauth tucked her short golden locks behind her ears and set about her task with an air of studiousness, brow furrowed as she tried to trace an outline of the pool which showed its true form. She shaded the corners of her sketch to illustrate the dark depths of the cave, and then she drew
Callontúr facing the pool, torch in hand. She sketched his hair falling over his eyes and the sword at his side. She paused after drawing the sword.
Why did it choose him? she wondered. He was one of many who’d trained to serve her family, and she had yet to see what made him so special as to be granted that weapon of heroes. With a single downward stroke of her pencil, she drew the serious line of his brow and laughed lightly to herself.
In sitting,
Callontúr had come closer to the water’s edge, and while
Rúauth sketched, he leaned forward to watch the ripples as they diminished and slowed to stillness once more. Before the pool smoothed over, he saw dark shapes flitting about within it: it seemed the stone had disturbed more than just the water’s mirror-like surface.
What could be living here, so far below the earth? he wondered. He edged closer to the water to peer into its shadowy depths. Small silver-mailed fish dashed about, and he saw a few pale, slender somethings moving sinuously through the water with tiny legs kicking furiously, too. Where had they all come from? No river ran through this place that he could see.
Rúauth noticed him leaning over the water, closed her sketchbook upon the pencil, and scooted forward to join him. “Fish!” she exclaimed. Her voice rang lightly around the little cavern and stirred up the creatures in the water once more. As their tails or fins skimmed the surface, a series of smaller ripples ran across the pool again. “There must be an underground stream that feeds into this pool, and another that leads out. No wonder it doesn’t smell horrible here!”
Callontúr was surprised by the certainty with which she drew this conclusion. There were many things he knew, but the workings of subterranean rivers and lakes were not among them. And who knew? She might be wrong. It was no use questioning her, though - not if he hoped to gain her trust, however begrudging that might be. He would simply accept that, somehow, fish and those pale, liazardlike creatures had come to live here in a tranquil, underground pond. In a way, he regretted the intrusion upon the peace of their lonely and lightless existence.
With this in mind, he stood and backed away from the water. As he moved, he hummed a merry tune his father had sung countless times throughout
Callontúr’s youth. He was sure his father was still singing the song to this day. The torchlight cast their shadows long and lean upon the walls, and the sound of
Callontúr’s voice strengthened the illumination until its fluttering rays caught something shining off along the far wall.
“Oh,” he murmured, his eyes drawn to the glittering shape. He moved around the pool toward it. It seemed that sparks of pale blue-green light bounced off it as he and the torch came closer. Finally, he stopped and reached out a hand to touch it. The surface was strangely smooth and glassy; if he pressed his forehead to the cool stone, he could almost see something glowing softly within.
“Oh,” echoed
Rúauth, without irony. She was as surprised by this strange, glassy boulder as he was. “It glows! But how?” She ran a hand across its surface and found herself surprised by the contrast with the cavern’s walls. “I wonder how this came to be,” she mused, stepping back and opening her sketchbook again. “Stand next to this stone, won’t you?” she commanded. With a nod,
Callontúr complied. She drew the large stone with her guardian next to it for scale, then snapped her book shut. “I wish we could find out what’s inside!”
Callontúr considered the boulder. Its glassiness suggested a certain brittleness, and he looked down at his sword. Could such a blade crack it? Would he still be worthy of the sword if he tried such a thing? It was made for a guardian of a goddess, not for mining unknown ores. But what if there was some secret gem or element concealed within the strange stone, or even a message left behind by the primordial beings who’d shaped the earth? Slowly, he made up his mind. He set down the torch, and the flames fluttered on against the dry stone ground. He unsheathed his sword and, with two hands upon the hilt, stepped forward.
“Stand back.”
Rúauth was startled to hear him speak but took several steps away even in her surprise.
Callontúr swung the sword up and back and brought it down, hard, on the great boulder’s midpoint. Sparks flew from where the two made contact, and several small chips of stone fell to the floor. This was a promising sign. He struck it again, and again, and again, until at last a great chunk of the brittle stone fell away, and the remaining structure crumbled into a heap of dark, shiny rubble at their feet.
Callontúr sheathed his sword - he would look to see how badly notched it was later - and took several deep breaths.
Rúauth hurried forward and knelt to search through the boulder’s shattered remains. A pale greenish-blue light grew as she moved aside the material which had encased the glowing objects. Eventually she stood, holding two large, luminous stones.
She brought them to
Callontúr and placed one in his hands. They stood there in silence for what seemed like an age, contemplating the strange rocks with their eerie light. After a time,
Rúauth held hers up at shoulder height.
Callontúr did the same. The two saw each other’s faces illuminated with that pale, steady light, but their features were warmed in the glow of the torchlight flickering from the floor.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.