THE DEEPS

  Only Way Up Is Down

  In a giant cave, Skye sat for his interview while a nearby tunnel coughed clouds of dust. Shouts rang out as miners scrambled to help, their boots clinking, shirts and jeans caked in dirt. Another wave of survivors limped through the smoke, looking like statues half brought to life: elbows and knees fixed at odd angles, backs locked into painful arches. Yet the man across from him, Basalt Tensho, whistled a merry tone as he casually flipped through the stack of hand-drawn maps. Even though the tremors couldn’t reach up here, Skye struggled to stay on his stool. The prospect of working under someone so callous left a bitter taste in his mouth, but this job was his only chance to walk freely under the sky.

  The cafeteria resided in an unwalled pit in the Gateway—a cave so expansive it could’ve been a hollowed mountain. Over thirty tunnels led down into the Deeps, but only one had collapsed. For those trapped below and their gathered relatives, it was a tragedy. For everyone else, it was another workday. The same magical force, the same fantasia that had petrified the miners had been reinforcing the walls for millennia, isolating tunnel systems. And people’s fates.

  Another miner was carried past, moaning in pain. Skye leaned forward. “Shouldn’t we… help with the evacuation?”

  Basalt was a massive man, his face marred by permanent patches of petrified skin marking him as a veteran of the Deeps. He waved dismissively as if shooing a fly. “Nah. Too many picks ruin the seam, me da used to say, and there are already hundreds diggin’ down there,” he said in his gravelly voice. “Besides, why should I sweat in a baron’s gemfarm when the gem-crusted coalson won’t even show to check on his workers?”

  A rail-thin waiter stomped over, wrapped in a brown apron that could have been white fifteen years ago. He slammed a tray down, shaking the table.

  “Yer a real sack of coals, ya know that, Basalt?” the waiter accused. “Had I been a stonemason, I’d be down there, channelin’, savin’ lives. Not sittin’ on my arse while others suffered.”

  Other patrons murmured their approval. Skye joined in with a nod.

  Basalt didn’t blink. He took a large gulp of ale, froth staining his thick brown beard. Then flashed gem-studded teeth in a grimace. “The Alektoms could hire a hundred channelers and it wouldn’t tickle their pockets. They want help? They better bloody pay for it!”

  The waiter tsked and walked off, muttering something about ‘this greedy coalson.’

  Basalt picked a skewer of steaming barbecue, biting into the meat. Skye scampered to save his maps from the dripping grease.

  “Weirdest thing is the minin’ guild hasn’t arrived yet,” Basalt said around a mouthful. “Bet they’re waitin’ to see how long Alektom will let his workers petrify before they raise a storm. How long have those poor sods been stuck now? Three hours? Four?”

  “Six,” Skye answered. He could only imagine the horror the trapped miners must be enduring, watching their bodies slowly turn to stone. Severe damage usually started after eight hours in the Deeps. At ten, death.

  Basalt jabbed a skewer at him. “Rat?”

  The sour stench hit Skye like a hammer. “No, thanks. I just ate.”

  Basalt made quick work of his meal, then wiped his hands on his dusty pants. “These are not half-bad,” he said, slapping the maps. “Ya said ya drew ‘em? How old are ya?”

  “Almost fourteen.” It was a guess. He couldn’t know for sure.

  “And you’ve been explorin’ solo for months. No crew, no backup.” Basalt glanced at him sideways. “Ya a channeler?”

  Skye gave an apologetic smile. “I don’t know. I missed the last aptitude test.”

  Basalt nodded. “Right, cause of yer injury. Gideom mentioned it.” He leaned forward, voice rising. “Well, let’s get to the meat of it. Say we’re explorin’ in the Deeps, huntin’ for gemcaches, then BAM!” He slammed a fist on the table, rattling it. “A cave-in like that happens. What would you do?”

  Skye flinched. He’d prepared for questions about his cartography, his discoveries, his technical skills. Not imaginary scenarios.

  “I-I’d help my team seek shelter."

  Basalt scoffed, then threw his head back in laughter. “Shelter from what? Tons of bedrock rushin’ to squash ya? Boy, without channelin’ ya’d be paste on the floor. How many ya think got flattened today?”

  Heat flashed through Skye’s chest. “I can help in other ways. I’m good at navigating, finding ways out. I can climb—”

  Basalt shook his head, sitting straight. “That might be good enough for a miner, toiling in the safety of the Mines. Those are the upper tunnels, the ones you’ve so proudly mapped. But we’re not miners, boy; we’re prospectors. We dive miles under, away from any gemfarm, down to where fantasia gets so thick yer muscles crack with every move, and the darkness is so hungry ya forget the meanin’ of light. It’s where horrors lurk that make grown men piss ‘emselves!” He took a deep breath, glaring at Skye. “That’s the Deeps. And ya are not ready for them yet.”

  Skye’s throat constricted as he tried to argue. He needed this job. Burned to see the sky. “But I really—”

  A loud thud cut him off.

  A man in an immaculate, gem-lined suit dropped a heavy sack on the table. He looked down his nose at Basalt, pouted lips hidden under a thick mustache. “Baron Alektom sends his regards. He requests your immediate contribution to the rescue efforts.”

  Basalt hefted the heavy sack, grinning as prismatic light spilled from its mouth. “Hah! I thought I’d be sittin’ here for another hour before he cracked.”

  The baron’s messenger harrumphed and strode toward the wheezing tunnel.

  Basalt stood, looming over Skye. “You oughta apologize for wastin’ me time, boy. The only reason I’m not throwin’ ya out is ‘cause Gideom likes ya. Don’t know what he was thinkin’ recommendin’ ya; yer years away from bein’ a professional. Go back to the city, play with yer friends or whatever. Just don’t let me see yer face ‘til ya start shavin’.”

  Skye stared after the giant man until the smoke swallowed him. With trembling hands, he collected his maps, not comprehending what had happened. The hopes that had carried him this far cracked like a brittle crystal.

  Dragging his feet, he turned for the tunnels. He passed by miners congregated around shops dug into the walls. A vendor waved a cracked hammer, shouting guarantees. Another sold murky water in dented canteens, yelling, “Pure as sunlight!”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A caravan of carts cut him off, hovering atop beds of glowing lavender amegravo crystals. They brimmed with prismatic gemstones, like large baskets of fruit. Guards flanked the cargo, snapping curses and swinging clubs at anyone who strayed close.

  He stared at their harvest. A single cartload could fund a year of his expeditions. But what he sought couldn’t be financed by even a month’s haul of shiny gems.

  Another solo trip wouldn’t achieve anything. No, he couldn’t face the Deeps today. Shoulders sagging, he turned back toward the exit leading into Troqua.

  He passed through the streets of his underground city in a haze, between houses carved into stone, illuminated by gems floating atop steel poles. Cheers sounded in the distance, followed by the loud grating of metal; the wardens must be leaving on another supply run.

  Near his home, Mr. Karn stood outside his bakery, supervising workers unloading sacks of flour. “Hey, Skye!” the portly man called. “Back already? What, the Deeps dried up of gems?”

  As the workers laughed, Skye gritted his teeth and hurried away. Mr. Farkle, the gem appraiser, greeted him next, cleaning his shop’s glass front. “You a baron yet, Skye?”

  At last, he reached home. The Medhars’ residence was carved into a massive stalagmite, four stories tall, its upper levels functioned as a clinic, linked to the street above by a stone bridge. Quietly, Skye slipped through the door.

  Voices drifted from the kitchen, but Skye wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He snuck by, climbing the helical staircase to his room. Inside, he swept clothes off his bed and collapsed onto the mattress.

  He’d failed. For months he’d been preparing for this interview, crawling in darkness, scaling steep cliffs, collecting scraps here and there, all for the chance to join a proper team. Full of fretful energy, he hurried to the back of the room, pushing the wooden closet aside to retrieve his hidden maps. These were his true treasure, far more detailed than the ones he’d shown Basalt.

  He’d wanted to keep them to himself, but would revealing them have won him the position? Or would Basalt deride and kick him away again?

  He tilted his head back, trying to imagine the endless blue sky, but all he saw was the ceiling rushing down to crush him. His heart raced. He clutched at his chest, leaning against his desk, gasping for air. It was over! All his efforts cast into the Void. Who knew when another crew would consider hiring him? Might be years.

  The door creaked.

  Rierana stood framed in the light, dressed in a blue dress, her brown hair tied with a neat azure ribbon. “Skye? You alright?” Concern wrinkled her brow as she hurried to steady him. “Breathe deeply. In and out, like Dad taught you.”

  He let her voice guide him. Inhale. His ribs resisted, iron-tight. Then, slowly, the drills in his skull dulled. Exhale. Closing his eyes, he pictured the clouds.

  His fists unclenched, heartbeat calmed.

  “I… I’m fine,” he managed, pulling back from her grip. “You needed something?”

  “Dad was summoned to the Deeps,” she said carefully. “Mom won’t let him go without a helmet, so I came to borrow your spare.” She went to the closet and lifted the hardhat. “If you don’t mind.”

  Skye shrugged. “Go ahead.” Almost everything in that closet had once belonged to Dr. Stenser anyway.

  “Why don’t you come down with me? We’re having breakfast,” Rierana offered.

  Food was the last thing on Skye’s mind. He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

  Rierana rolled her eyes and tugged his hand. “Come on! It’s been weeks since we sat together as a family.”

  With a sigh, Skye let her drag him to the kitchen. The place smelled of onions. Mrs. Jella hummed at the counter, chopping vegetables, her long hair tied in a bun. She wore a simple burgundy dress, her belly round with child. Beside her, Dr. Stenser poured tea, his glasses fogged from the steam, beige shirt clinging to his shoulders.

  “Oh, you’re home!” Jella cooed when she noticed him, eyebrows raised. “I thought you’d left early.”

  Stenser’s gaze cut into Skye as he neared the table, sharp and dissecting. Skye wished he’d washed his face or at least wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “You had another fit,” the doctor said. A statement, not a question. “I take it the interview didn’t go as planned?”

  Rierana bristled as if she’d seen a rat. “An interview?!” she shouted. “You had a job offer and didn’t tell me?” She plopped into the chair beside him and smacked his shoulder. “Tell me everything. Now.”

  Groaning, Skye gave in and recounted the meeting.

  “I felt like an idiot,” he admitted as the others chewed. “Didn’t know what to say, how to convince him I deserve the position. I thought I’d struck the motherlode. I was so excited yesterday I could hardly sleep.”

  “It’s probably for the best,” Jella said gently, smiling as she cut some bread. “Don’t worry. You’ll have better opportunities.”

  “That’s right,” Rierana agreed, covering her full mouth. “Do you really want to work with this Basalt? He sounds more like an opportunistic coalbag than a proper leader.”

  “Language!” the doctor admonished.

  Skye tapped a fist against the table repeatedly. He shared her impression, but Gideom had been working with Basalt for ages, and the old man trusted him.

  Dr. Stenser drained the last sip of tea and rose, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “My offer still stands. I can use the extra hands at the clinic, and you’re a quick study. You’d make a fine doctor. Prospecting is a waste of your skills.”

  “I don’t want to be a doctor!” Skye blurted, louder than he meant. Regardless, he was sick of hearing this argument, it was time he buried it once and for all. “That’s your dream, not mine. And you’re always pushing it on me. I want to be… something more.”

  Stenser’s face darkened a shade. He took his white coat and helmet, striding for the door. “Pardon me. Patients are waiting.”

  Jella trotted after him, but stopped short when the main door slammed shut.

  Skye let his forehead fall against the table, feeling like bat guano. The doctor had taken care of him for months, and this was how he repaid his kindness?

  Jella touched his shoulder, kissing the crown of his head. “I’ll speak with him when he returns.” Gathering dishes, she added with a small laugh, “You need a haircut. How can you see in the Deeps with it that long?”

  Rierana promptly undid her hair, handing him the ribbon. “Here.”

  “I like it this way,” Skye complained, brushing his black hair out of his eyes. “I’m always wearing a hard hat, anyway.”

  “I want you to take it.” She pressed the ribbon into his hand. “So you don’t forget me.”

  He shot her a glare. “I won’t forget you!”

  She tilted her head, squinting, lips curling into a smirk. “Really? Then why didn’t you ask about my interview? I told you last week.”

  “Umm…” Skye trailed off, wishing he could crawl under the table.

  She clapped, her grin breaking wide. “I got the job! Can you believe it? I’m working at a restaurant on Solarite District. I get to see the sun every day now!”

  Skye forced a smile. Recently, with Solarite District expanding, the barons were bringing more people to the surface, most for the first time in their lives. But he didn’t want to go up there at the whims of a baron, begging for the chance to serve them. He wanted to walk freely beneath the sun whenever he wished. He wanted to earn it. To own it.

  “Lyonel also found work at a bookstore,” Rierana went on, her tone dimming. “I wish you’d work in the city too. That way, you’ll have regular hours, and we’ll get to meet more often. We’ve barely seen each other this month.”

  “If you like, we can put in a word for you to join Rierana as a waiter,” Mrs. Jella suggested, washing the dishes. “It’s much safer than the Deeps.”

  “I’m happy for you and Lyonel, truly,” Skye said, trying to hide his anguish. He rose to his feet, restless. “But those jobs suffocate me. They don’t offer the opportunities I need.”

  Rierana crossed her arms. “So you’ll keep exploring alone?”

  He sighed, his nerves smoldering as he paced the small space. “I don’t know. I have to, but it’s not working. Every promising lead I find ends with a blocked shaft or some monster’s den. I’m not making progress; that’s why I need a team.”

  Rierana and her mother spoke in unison. “Please make sure -”

  “Yes, I know,” he cut in. “I’ll avoid unstable cliffs and steer clear of predators and gangs. Gideom trained me well; I’m not an idiot."

  Jella clattered dishes in the sink. Rierana’s expression softened with worry. “We worry for you all the time. I don’t want you ending up like those poor miners… The messenger told Father there are still over forty trapped down there.”

  “Why haven’t they reached them yet? What are the baron’s men doing?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

  “Dad asked the same question,” she replied. “Turns out, when the cave-in happened, some miners escaped the Alektom’s gemfarm and got stuck near the Meadrix’s tunnels. Baron Alektom refused to send help, claiming they’re the Meadrix’s responsibility now. While Baron Meadrix said, ‘Void no! They’re your workers. You save them.”

  “Heavens above!” Skye swore. “They’re tossing the responsibility like a heated pyrpphire?”

  “Yes. And it stayed like that until the mining guildmaster went screaming into Baron Alektom’s mansion, threatening a strike.” She leaned closer, whispering, “I heard he kicked the office door clean off its hinges.”

  Skye shook his head; that had to be an exaggeration. Nonetheless, this was another reason he wanted that job; he needed away from all this madness. This endless gemrush. If only he’d been a channeler, he could’ve helped somehow. Proved his worth.

  “Wait!” His eyes widened. “Where did you say the miners were?”

  “Somewhere between the Meadrix and Alektom gemfarms. Near some shaft called… the Triangular Pit, or something.” Her eyes narrowed. “I know that look. You’re planning something stupid.”

  Skye couldn’t help but smile. “On the contrary. It might be my best idea yet.” He turned, walking with purpose as a plan crystallized in his mind.

  “Wait!” Rierana called, chasing after him. “If you know something, get help first!”

  And miss my chance to prove Basalt wrong? Void, no.

  “Thanks for the ribbon!” he said as he opened the door. “I don’t have anything for you, but I promise I’ll get you something later.”

  Rierana shook her head in resignation. “No need. I’d never forget you.”

  He wound the ribbon around his wrist and ran.

  **********