Inky the Writer

Oral Telling by Oro “Hardhat” Balmin

During An Interview at the Glember Inn, Zambara, Gann[1]

I shuffled into the dark tunnel, my lamp’s weak light barely pushing back the black. The air was stale, thick with dust. Every step echoed, my boots crunching on the rough ground. The walls, damp and chilly, barely shimmered in the dim light.[2]

“Mornin’, Joro,” a fellow miner said, his voice echoing in the quiet.

I just nodded, my mind on the job. We were breaking into a new vein today. The company bigwigs, sitting in their fancy offices, didn’t care about the risks we took down here. They didn’t even blink when we lost a couple of guys last month. Just numbers to them.

I hefted my PowerPick, its weight familiar in my rough hands. I’d had this tool for ages, through countless shifts. I started chipping away at the rock, the pick’s rhythm steady in the close air.

“Careful, Joro,” another voice called, worry clear in his tone. This new tunnel was unknown territory, full of risks. But that’s where you found the real mining – pushing into the unknown.

I paused, wiping sweat from my forehead. The lamp cast dancing shadows on the walls. Down here, you always felt the weight of the earth above, a silent, heavy presence that every miner knew – awe mixed with a deep, unspoken fear.

I got back to work, every hit of my PowerPick making space deeper into the ground. This beast of a tool could chew through rock that’d take hours by hand. Crystal powered. But with power came danger. The tunnel groaned around me, a reminder of the corners cut on safety.

I stopped, eyeing the rock. Something about one spot just felt right. I aimed the PowerPick there, its roar killing all other sounds. The rock crumbled, and there it was – a stone like no other, glowing under my lamp.

But my awe soured fast. If the company got wind of this, they’d snatch it up, turn it into cash. It belonged to those who mined and died for it. I couldn’t let the bosses have it. Not anymore.

I looked around. The tunnel was empty except for distant echoes of work. I had to think quick. This rock wasn’t something you could just tuck in your pocket.

I turned back to the stone, my mind working overtime. This wasn’t just about mining; it was a fight against those who’d strip the earth for quick coin.

I crouched beside the unearthed stone, my mind whirring with plans. Hiding it seemed the only option, at least for now. But the challenge was daunting. The company’s searches at the end of each shift were thorough, their suspicion of workers smuggling crystals out was high.[3] They knew the value of what lay beneath us, even if they didn’t understand its true worth.[4]

I ran my fingers over the smooth surface of the crystal, its coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of my skin. The stone needed to be moved, hidden somewhere within the mine until I could figure out a safer plan. I scanned the tunnel, searching for a nook or cranny that might serve as a temporary hiding place.

Finding a small alcove, obscured by shadows and loose rock, I deepened it with my PowerPick, then began the task of moving the stone. It was heavier than it looked. With each heave, I felt the strain in my muscles, my breath growing labored. Finally, the stone was nestled in the alcove, out of immediate sight. I piled up rubble to block it’s platinum kynik glow.

But as I stood back, wiping the sweat from my brow, doubt crept in. How long could it remain hidden here? The mining operations were expansive, and it was only a matter of time before someone else stumbled upon this tunnel, this alcove. And even if the stone stayed hidden, smuggling it out was another hurdle entirely. The plan was fraught with risks, each more daunting than the last.

I leaned against the cool wall, my chest heaving. If caught trying to smuggle it out, I risked not only my job, but maybe worse. The company’s grip on the mines was iron-tight, and they weren’t known for their leniency.

A memory flickered through my mind, a spark in the darkness. An encharmer from the Glember Tavern, Bino Bokolo, the one who spoke out against the company’s regime. His words, fueled by passion and a hint of rebellion, had resonated with me more than I’d realized at the time. Could he be the key to protecting the stone? To putting it to good use?

But trust was a rare commodity in these parts, especially when it came to something as significant as this discovery. Encharmers, with their unique skills, were often unpredictable. Revealing the stone to him could be as risky as leaving it here or trying to smuggle it out myself.

Standing in the dim tunnel, the heavy reality of our situation hit me. The company’s cold disregard, the exploitation in these mines, the smothering of any pushback – it all needed shaking up. Maybe this stone was the key to that change.

I took a deep breath, the musty mine air filling my lungs. Trusting Bino was a tough call. Was it right to drag someone else into this mess, to put them at risk? And was it right to use the stone like this, not even knowing all its secrets?

But the stone, tucked away in its hidey-hole, was more than just a rare rock. It was a challenge to the powers that be, a challenge to the system that kept things like this buried. If the encharmer could help, maybe even use it to tip the scales in the mines, I figured it was worth a shot.

So, with a determination that caught me off guard, I made up my mind to find the Bino Bokolo. I’d tell him about the stone, hoping we could use it, not for our own gain, but as a light in the dark, oppressive world of the mines. It was a risky plan, but I was set on it. The stone stayed hidden, its light unseen, a quiet part of this new chapter unfolding deep underground.

I pieced together the plan. Meeting the encharmer in secret, away from others, Bino and me cooked up our plot. He listened close, his eyes locked on the stone as I described what it was like.

“We need a cloak,” he murmured, his voice low. “One that’s been worked on, one that’ll blend us into the shadows, make us near invisible.”

“Where do we get that?” I asked.

“I have one,” Bino said.

The idea of sneaking through the mine, wrapped in magic, was as scary as it was exciting. The cloak would keep us hidden, but it couldn’t quiet our steps, and the weight of the stone would slow us down. We had to be sharp, careful.

“We stick together,” I insisted. “The stone’s too heavy for just one of us, and we can’t afford to drop it.”

He nodded in agreement, the seriousness of the situation reflected in his eyes. We planned to meet just after the next shift, under the cover of darkness. The mine would be quieter then, most of the workers gone, but the risks were still high. If caught, the consequences would be severe.

Was I doing the right thing, involving the encharmer, risking both our necks for a stone whose secrets I didn’t fully understand? But each time I thought of the company, of their disregard for our lives and the sanctity of the earth, my resolve hardened.

The night of the plan, I felt a knot of anxiety in my gut. The encharmer appeared, the cloak draped over his arm. It looked ordinary, but when he whispered an incantation, it shimmered briefly before settling into an opaque, shadow-like hue.

We draped the cloak over ourselves, the world around us taking on a muted, dream-like quality. The mine’s familiar tunnels transformed into a labyrinth of shadows and silence. Every step we took was measured.

As we moved, the doubts continued to haunt me. Were we ghosts in our own mine, unseen but ever-present? The weight of the stone was not just physical; it carried the weight of potential, of change, of danger. Yet with each step, we moved closer to the surface, closer to revealing the stone’s mysteries to the world outside. We found the stone, undisturbed. Hefting it between us, we headed back to the surface. The stone’s weight heavy between us.

The journey through the mine was a nerve-wracking game of shadows and silence. Every sound seemed amplified – the scrape of our boots against the stone, our hushed breaths, the distant echo of the night shift beginning their work. We were ghosts in a world of darkness, the encharmed cloak our only shield.

Then, a sudden clatter made us freeze. Voices, the night shift, were closer than we’d anticipated. Panic gripped me, my heart pounding against my ribcage. We couldn’t be caught, not now, not with the stone so close to freedom. The encharmer’s whisper, “They can’t see us,” the only thing that kept me from bolting.

The cloak made us nearly invisible, but any sudden movement could give us away. We held our breaths as the voices grew louder, the beam of a lamp sweeping perilously close to our hiding spot. I could feel the encharmer’s tense silence beside me, a shared moment of dread.

Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the voices faded, the light receding into the distance. We waited, counting heartbeats, before daring to move again. The relief was palpable, but the fear lingered, a reminder of the razor’s edge we were walking.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we emerged from the mine’s mouth, the cool night air a stark contrast to the stifling underground. Every step I took to Bino’s house, I was acutely aware of the stone’s weight, not just in my arms, but on my conscience.

We arrived at his house, a modest lijan structure hidden in the shadows of larger buildings. The stone was safely delivered, its surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. The encharmer assured me it would be safe here, that he would begin studying it immediately.

As I left his house, the stone’s absence felt like a weight lifted and yet, a burden remained. Had I done the right thing? This act of defiance against the company, this alliance with the encharmer – would it bring about the change we so desperately needed, or had I merely opened a door to more danger, not just for myself but for others?

The night air was cool against my skin as I made my way back to my own quarters, the streets empty and silent around me. The stone was out of the mine, but the journey ahead was uncertain, its end hidden in the shadows of the choices we had made. My heart was heavy with the possibility of what was to come, the stone’s secret now a part of a larger story, one that was yet to unfold.[5]

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[1] Recorded by yours truly. – Bobik Galo

[2] In another life, old Hardhat could have made it as a creative. Instead, he worked mines. – B.G.

[3] Case in point. B.G.

[4] Especially with a little liquor in him, Hardhat’s words are as deep as his mining. – B.G.

[5] What a story this stone participated in. – B.G.