Chapter Forty Six - Miner's Son

The two boys were carefully watched as the adults negotiated a trade, the wagon filled with bodies of meat in return for some fragments of crystals, pretty stones, fish and underground varieties of mushrooms.  Willow was delighted to learn where the fish he loved to eat came from and Slate was more than happy to teach him.

"Underground there are caverns where the water is all salty and grandpa said if you are bright eyed, you can find rock crabs and lobster and clams as well as stone fish and deep water fishes.  My grandpa said his brother lost a leg when he was a boy so he couldn't be a miner like the rest of us, so he became a fisher instead!" Slate spoke proudly of his family. The boy with dark grey skin had brilliant silver hair, that was loose and long, each strand flowing about his head as if it was made of the precious metal. He was shorter than Willow and stouter. He also didn't have the claws that Willow had, his nails were short and blunt.

"What's a miner?"

"A miner is a person who digs in the rock and sometimes collects the good rocks for building houses and stuff like tables and seats. They also collect shiny rocks for.. I don't know what they are for!" The boy turned to his grandfather. "Grandpa, what are the shiny rocks for?"

The adults gave warm indulgent smiles as the boy's talked. "Ah, the crafters like the shiny rocks, remember," his grandfather's voice was deep and gruff, but warm when talking to his only grandchild.

"And women like the things the crafters make from them," one cave warrior added, causing chuckles amongst the men.

"Did my mom like shiny things?" The boy suddenly asked.

The elder's tone broke a little as he replied; "Of course, you have the necklace your pop gave her, right?"

The boy fished out the large pendant dangling from his neck from wear it hid beneath his tunic. It was a sparkling white circular pendant with a hole in the centre, through which a leather thong had been threaded, so it could be tied about the boy's neck. There was a crescent shape of jet partially framing the hole. "Yup!" he agreed on seeing it.

"Crafters carve the rocks?" The little red headed boy asked, then turned to his father, "Dad, I want to carve the rocks too! Can I?"

"Ah, I don't think it's the same as carving wood, son," his father said evasively.

"Don't worry," the boy with silver hair smiled, "when I grow up and become a miner, I'll get you some shiny rocks and you can carve them! But you must carve me something, 'k?"

"'K," the other boy agreed, grinning broadly.

"Right, time to go boys," the elder warrior of the woods advised them. "Leaf, take your son home, directly, there is enough of us to guard the wagon."

"Aw!" Both boys protested in unison, but the adults would hear no arguments.

"It's time for you to sleep," Willow's father told him.

"You have chores, me boy," Slate's grandfather advised him.

"Bye," Willow waved as he climbed onto his father's back.

"Bye," Slate said, grabbing his grandfathers hand and waving sadly.

****

Willow returned home, animated and more lively that his mother had seen him for sometime. He bounced around the main home, little Corn chasing him on plump, stubby legs as Willow rabble excitedly about his adventure.  She rubbed her swollen belly, while listening to him carefully as he spoke about his new friend and the fish that came from cavern pools and shiny stones that could be carved. It took sometime before he was calm enough to sleep. The woman was glad he was happy, but she was worried that her easily distracted boy had something new to lead him astray. I will just need to keep him occupied more, she thought as she fell asleep beside her husband.

Her concerns were not unfounded.  Willow woke just before the false dawn, feeling refreshed from sleep, but suddenly aware how sticky his body felt, having not visited the cold lake since the morning the sabre had died.  He climbed down from the mezzanine quietly so not to wake his sister in the upper room (the girl had sharper hearing than a great eared gazelle of late) and slipped out of their home.  The boy then leapt from branch to tree, his tiny claws gripping the bark as he flew through the familiar forest, down towards the lake.  As expected, the denizens of the forest had not woken, so he had the lake to himself.

With a satisfied sigh, he washed his skin and hair until he could stand the cold of the water no more and climbed out of the lake in order to soak his long vest and shorts.  I wonder what the pools of water underground are like, he thought to himself and happened upon a wonderful idea in his own mind.  His father had told him that the cave people could not abide the bright sun of the day; it was too bright for their eyes and too harsh upon their skin, so they would retreat to their village beneath the ground as the sun rose at dawn.  It meant that the forest people could only meet with the cave people during the first and last light of day.  So surely Willow could meet with Slate and ask him to let him see those pools!

Excited by his own thoughts, he took his still damp clothes and returned to the heights.  His memory far exceeded that of the average person of his village, each broken branch, each fallen, rotting tree and each tall sapling, he recognised them all from the journey with his father.  And so it was not long until he reached the forest edge at the point where the ground became hard and formed the entrances to the underground world that Willow wished to visit.  He patiently waited in the trees, staring at the caves, hoping he would see his new friend the sun rose too far.

Willow was not the only one waiting with hope.

****

Most villages of the cave people were fairly close to the surface world.  It was convenient for trade and for hunting the denizens of the night.  But there were a few, formed upon seeking new, richer veins of ore and crystal, deeper underground.  The villages lived in makeshift dwellings, tents made of black goat leather or small shelters formed of a cave in the wall of the main cavern, leather pinned across to form a door.  This way it was easy to simply pack up and move should the village be compromised by quakes or cave ins, or should the veins they sought dry up.

Most, who live in these deep villages are miners, though stone cannot feed them, so many make their lively hoods fishing in the ocean water that gathered in pools beneath ground.  There were also those who crafted fragments of rock and crystal and those who would form a caravan to the upper villages to trade ore and crafts for food and wood for tools and fires.  Twice per day, of which they were guided by the elders ancient time devices, some of the women and maybe a couple of men, would throw together huge pots of food for breakfast and for dinner.  The villagers would gather to chat and eat, before starting or ending their days.  It was a hard way to live, but the villagers were generally content.

However the loss of life was not infrequent nor the consequences kind.  Slate, a boy born of a deep village, was separated from his parents due to a cave in.  The village mourned the loss of these two favoured people for a day, but life had to continue the following.  The elders placed the boy with his aunt and uncle and forgot about him.  Though they were his relatives, they were not kind to the boy.

His father and uncle were brothers and had met his mother when they had journeyed to the upper village for trade.  Both had fallen swiftly for the stunning and strong woman, but only one had successfully wooed and wed her.  She had followed his father to the depths and born a son for him, however Uncle had never forgotten his feelings, even though he married Aunt.  Aunt had hated competing with his mother when she was alive and loathed it more now she was dead and took her frustrations out on the boy.

When he had turned five, an old man claiming to be his grandpa came to the village.  Slate had been fetching heavy buckets of water from a nearby hot spring that his Aunt might soak her weary feet.  He was then due to scrub their clothes and mend them, his tiny callous fingers already worn from the many chores Aunt had him do while Uncle worked.  Still he preferred this than the odd touches Uncle gave him when the man spoke of his lost mom.

Grandpa first spoke to the elders of the village, offering respect to them, thanking them for caring for his daughter and son-in-law, it was then that the elders recalled the boy. The old ones were most distressed when they saw the sight of one of their own lazing away, while the child worked hard. There were harsh words, Aunt had wept and pleaded, placing blame on the boy first, claiming he wished to do it, before shifting blame to her husband.

"Slate," the elder not of the village called him, "I am your grandpa, your mom's pop. I'm taking you to my home to live with me, alright?" The small boy nodded shyly, trusting the man who shared the same warm eyes as his loving mom and cautiously walked over to hug the old man's leg. And that was the vision Uncle had returned too.

Grandpa's village greatly differed to his birth home. Chunks of grey stone were piled up to lean against the cavernous walls with square holes covered by wood or leather. Within these buildings were spaces, some created by the stones, some carved into the rock to form a space to cook, a space to eat, and spaces to sleep. In other houses, there were also rooms to carve and rooms to sew, even rooms to trade amongst neighbours passing in the open part of the cavern. There was a tall place and a deep set cavern to one side. This was where the hunters slept and trained.

Grandpa took Slate first to the largest of the houses. He told the boy that this was where the village chief and his family lived. There the boy was introduced to the chief, his wife and two children; the oldest a boy of about 8, who had brown, earthy skin and copper hair and the youngest, a girl of about 5, who shared the same skin tone, but had more golden coloured hair. The girl took an instant liking to Slate, who shyly kept his distance as he had not had much interaction with children since his parents had passed on some months prior.

After a few days of becoming accustomed to his new home, Slate began to get restless. So used to wearing his small body out with heavy chores, he was not able to laze about for long. Having not had to raise a boy, his grandfather was at a loss.  He allowed him some very light chores, but it didn't seem to help.  Then the village chief mentioned that the forest people sought trade and it was his duty as an elder to negotiate, so why not take the boy with him. His shy grandson blossomed before the forest boy and for the first time the old man felt he could relax and smile. Had he known what was to follow over the next few years, he might have felt he let his guard down too soon.