Fellowship & Fairydust

The approach to the high mining town wound through folds of mountain ridges so tight that travelers could hardly see their destination until they rounded the last piney bend in the trail and Gemtown jumped out at them.

Fia’s first impression was all sharp roofs and a profusion of odd-sized windows winking at her in the lazy mountain sunlight. As they drew near and entered the winding streets she noticed the well-weathered clapboard and rustic log sidings most of the buildings employed, and the quirky, crooked steps leading up to brightly painted doors.

Here and there brave flowers peeked out of boxes and pots set out to take the sun, well tended by optimistic green-thumbs; and behind many houses Fia could see small patches of potatoes and cabbages, covered in old quilts, which resilient gardeners were trying to get to harvest before a killing frost. Already they were pushing their luck; a few days ago a high mountain storm had blanketed Crystal Mountain’s reaches with shimmering white, drastically dropping the hem on her skirts. Fia wondered exactly how many days until these mountain gardeners would be forced to call it quits on their short season.

While Andro went to the market Larna and Fia found their way through a crooked side street and up a very creaky set of stairs, where the intrepid cook knocked on the bright green door under a half-faded sign. Fia peered closely and could make out a rather complicated design of a thistle and ivy twined around a dwarvish shield, with battleaxes crossed in front. Over top of this image was scrawled: “Thayne and Sons, Etc. Purveyors of All Things Old and Of Interest.” Then below the design newer words read in fresher paint: “Thayne & Thayne: Antiques & Antiquities.”

Larna knocked again and Fia looked at the clapboard, changed by the elements into a palette of soft pearly grays. She put a palm to the wood… rain and snow had scoured every inch of it until the surface fibers were beaten as soft as peach fuzz.

Muffled sounds of movement from within stopped Larna’s hand in midair; she withdrew it and waited patiently while the source drew nearer the door. Slowly the green door creaked open and a golden tassel on a bright blue cap poked out. Beneath it a creased and weathered face looked up at them, his piercingly bright eyes set above a snowy beard. Matching white hair brushed his shoulders, bushing out from under his cap.

“Yes?” he inquired.

“Can you read runes?” Larna got straight to the point.

“Yep.” He nodded matter-of-factly.

“May we come in?”

“Certainly!” He disappeared and the two from Olayin House stepped inside. In the dusky light within, Fia’s eye caught an intricate jumble of oddities, amazements, and strange, beautiful objects. A beautifully worked brass bowl lamp, dark with age, sat atop a traveler’s writing desk, a porcelain dog stared out from its place beside them both, blue ears perked as if waiting for its master’s call. A globe of inlaid gemstone seemed ready to twirl on its tilted axis in a childish game of “where would you go?”, and a golden, life-sized head of some exotic antelope that Fia didn’t recognize stared out at the world with sapphire blue eyes. She wondered if that kind of antelope really had blue eyes in real life, or if the artist was being expressionistic.

As soon as her eyes had adjusted she looked for the proprietor and found him seated comfortably on a dwarf-sized easy chair behind a man-sized desk. The desk, Fia noticed, had given up its lower parts to become dwarf short.

He leaned his elbows on the desk and looked at his visitors. “Well, let’s see it!” he said affably.

Larna seated herself on a wicker chair provided for the purpose and handed him the note. His weathered fingers took it with an already wrinkling brow and he studied the parchment hard before he began to unfold it.

“Sit down, sit down!” He waved a hand at Fia. “Just find a place, move something aside or whatever it takes.”

She noticed a chair leg underneath a pile of books and carefully relocated them to the floor. One advantage, she thought wryly, was that underneath them the seat had kept clean of dust.

Thayne took out a magnifying glass and squeezed his eyes nearly shut as he moved it over the parchment. His bearded lips pressed together, and then he leaned back.

“I can’t read this,” he stated.

Larna looked a question at him.

“Very nice work though.” He tapped the note with his glass. “Very nice.”

His visitors held their breaths, wondering if there was something they should say.

“Yes…” He held it up to the light from a nearby window. “This is a copy. Obviously a copy, but the parchment is very good quality… Still, the writing gives it away. These runes are Old Dwarvish.” He turned back to his audience.

“I only know how to read New Dwarvish. Anybody says ‘runes’ these days that’s what they’re referring to, New Dwarvish. Old Dwarvish hasn’t been used in ages. And I do mean ages. In my great-grandfather’s time they were no longer learning even New Dwarvish. Everybody writes in Commonish now, it’s so much easier to learn and read, and the whole world understands it.” He squinted at the note again.

“I haven’t seen a line of this script in decades. Hmm…” he trailed off.

“You say it’s a copy? A copy of what?” Fia asked.

“No telling really.” He looked up. “But I would say this might be a passage copied from either an old inscription or one of the old, old books… though how one of them might have survived to be copied is beyond me.” He glanced at it again. “Quite possibly an inscription. Many of those still exist in the North Mountains. So I have heard.”

“But there must be some way of telling what it says,” Fia pleaded.

He looked at her. “Well, lass, there may be. Though it will take more than a little time to ferret it out.”

He squeezed his eyes nearly shut, peering at the enigmatic note. “Come back in a little bit and I may have found something for you.”

So leaving the note with Thayne they went down the creaky steps and out to the marketplace, wandering through stores where gems, cut and raw, and gold in dust, nuggets, and bars were offered. Others sold food, and Larna bought a wedge of cheese and a small basket, half full of crackers, the other half with pickles, to lunch on. They met up with Andro at the square and sat on the edge of the little central fountain while they ate, Larna and Andro discussing town happenings and gem prices. Fia watched the few villagers who were still about at this noon hour; most were either in the mines or in their homes. She had never seen dwarves on their own ground, and found them a little fascinating, though she was careful not to be impolite about it.

When Larna was ready, they made their way back through the scenic little streets to the antiquary shop. The little store seemed empty; even their footsteps refused to echo here.

“Hello?” Fia asked of the silence.

“Good day to you!” Thayne called and then his face appeared around a stack of old record books. “Oh, it’s you two. I’ve found just the thing. In a minute!” And he disappeared again.

As they took up their seats again and prepared to wait for Thayne’s return, Fia picked up a book from the stack she had set on the floor on her first visit.

“A Brief History of the North Kingdoms,” she read aloud, “…with six appendices, an index of all battles, treaties, and declarations of war, in entirety.” She looked at Larna. “Brief?”

Larna shook her head. “I think we have that book in the library…” She smiled. “…If you’re interested.”

“Thanks,” Fia replied. “I think I’ll stick with listening to Andro tell it. Much, much more interesting…. And shortened.”

The huffing dwarf popped back into view, lugging a dusty volume up a set of stairs that had gone un- noticed in the back of the room. That was an easy thing to do in this room… go unnoticed.

“Here it is.” He slapped the tome down on his desk and put a proud hand on its leather cover. “Compendium of Ancient Inscriptions in Old Dwarvish, with Complete Translations in New Dwarvish.”

He sat down in his little chair and took a breath.

“How will that work?” Fia asked.

“Simple!” His smile fairly sparkled. “We look in here and find the inscription this is copied from. Then I read the New Dwarvish translation, tell you what it says in Commonish, and we’re done.”

“Sounds like it could work,” Larna said.

“Absolutely!” He nodded so briskly his golden tassel danced a jig. “All right! Let’s see.” He opened the book and peered at the pages. “Yes, hmm…”

Fia handed him the note and he matched it against the first page.

“Nope!” He turned to the second one.

“No.” He shook his head and turned the page, holding the note to this one. “Not that either.”

“Hand me that book you had, will you, Fia?” Larna asked.

Fia couldn’t help a grin as she handed the History over. This did look like it would take a long time, but she wasn’t worried about being bored. She hitched her chair up right next to the desk and fixed her eyes on the dwarf and his book. The strokes and dots of the runic writing were like some mysterious code, which lured her nearer.

“What does it say?” she asked.

“Oh, hmm…” It took a minute for his mind to register her words. “This one is a dedication of the sixth gate of the Irendbir… that’s a very old, old dwarven city away up in the North Mountains. It says that it was completed ‘in the tenth month of the sixtieth year of King Thirundil, great king of Irendbir.’ Not very interesting, really.” He flipped a page.

The hours wore on, and Larna was making real headway through the history. The work of the quick-fingered dwarf was so swift that Fia felt she wasn’t able to learn much, but still, even just looking at the Old Dwarvish runes was a chance she didn’t get every day.

“Aha!” he said.

“You’ve found it?” Fia gasped.

Larna looked up so fast she nearly dropped her book.

“No.” He tapped his finger on a rune. “But this rune matches, here.”

“Oh, goodness.” Larna’s sturdy frame seemed to droop a little.

“Yes, it does.” He passed the magnifying glass over the two texts. “Hmm… hmm. Yes, yes indeed. This word is definitely ‘the.”

“Oh, heavens!” Larna gasped and put the book away. “I think I’ll go visit with somebody while we wait.” She stood up and brushed off her skirts then turned towards Fia. “Fia?”

“Oh, I’d rather…” The girl’s bright smile told the cook that she was happy to be left.

“Very well, then.” Larna gave the dwarf and tome a leery look. “I’ll look in on you two a little later.” The bright green door closed on her and the steps creaked as she descended.

“Yes,” said the dwarf. “Here it is again. Most definitely. ‘The.”

Then he looked up and noticed the empty chair. “Where’d she go?”

Fia smiled. “She went to visit someone.”

“Oh.” His eyes were already locked back onto the texts before him. “Yes, yes, that’s very good. Might as well, will take some time…”

Fia leaned closer and studied the rune. It did look identical to her. Then he turned the pages.

“And this word?” He peered at it on the note and then nodded. “I’m fairly certain… yes; quite sure… it’s going to turn out to be ‘adamant.’ Of course, adamant is often called diamond in Commonish these days… We’ll keep an eye out; hopefully we can find the full inscription. That will be the best translation for us.”

The pages turned again and the scholarly dwarf continued the search.

At last Thayne put the magnifying glass down.

“Well, it’s not in here,” he stated flatly.

“You’re certain?”

“Yep.” He sighed. “It just isn’t here.”

She waited for what he was going to say next.

He ran a hand over his bushy white eyebrows and smoothed out his beard, though it was not in need of smoothing.

“That means…” he sighed again, “that we’ll have to find it by pieces.”

It was slow and painful work, but they made progress. Piece by piece they fitted the words onto a clean slip of paper, trying to get the right translations. Several times they put down what they thought matched, only to strike it out when they found it was a similar word, but not the same. The strokes and corners and rows of tiny dots (like crowns on the letters, Fia thought) were hard to tell apart to the unfamiliar eye.

“See?” He tapped a finger at a rune. “That there and this here?” He compared the one on the note. “Gem.”

Fia looked closer.

“Yes…” he mused. “Gem, gemstone, precious stone, or jewel. Some people might say it could be translated ‘rock,’ but we dwarves have too keen a sense of the importance of these differences to be careless about such definitions.”

He turned the page and scanned the next set of runes with his glass, his eyebrows bunched up and his twinkling eyes darting here and there like minnows in a stream.

Some runes were hard to find and others were easier. In the end a few had to be worked out by Thayne’s careful dissecting of the runic strokes to form the letters of the word.

“Thingrim,” Thayne said aloud. “Thingrim. It’s a proper name… that’s why it didn’t show up in any of the other inscriptions.”

He turned and scribbled in the last space, putting the name in where they had been unable to locate a duplicate in the book. Then he sat back and they both looked at their efforts. At last they had a workable script.

“It starts off in the middle of the sentence. Apparently whoever copied it over didn’t think the first part was important.”

Outside the steps began creaking and a moment later Larna opened the door.

“Got it?” she asked. The look in her eyes seemed ready to hear them say that it was impossible.

“We think so.” Fia picked up the marked-up slip of paper. “See?”

Then she read it aloud.

 “…a collar Thingrim made, of the elf-cut adamants; the Ox Blood, the Summer Leaf, and the Night Sky of darkest blue. The White Snow, bright as frosted ice, and the Sun Stone to stand in the middle of them all. The charm of these gems could almost be felt, great good luck to own the five.”

Thayne nodded in agreement. “Yes, I think that we have it translated.”

“So he was interested in jewel legends?” Fia looked up from the note.

“Apparently.” The white brows bushed together, and his eyes twinkled twice as much. “I remember these names… they are truly legends, nothing more. But we dwarves have always loved a good story of a fabulous jewel. And these make for an especially good story, colored diamonds as deep and rich as any ruby, sapphire, emerald, or citrine, with all the flash and fire of clear adamant stones.” He held up the note. “It catches the imagination. Do you mind if I copy this?”

Fia looked at Larna, who gave him a speculative look.

“I’d like to keep it for my records,” he went on. “The question tugs at my mind; where is the original inscription from? I’d like to be able to check against it if I ever find out where this might have been copied from.”

“Certainly.” Larna nodded. “And how much do we owe you?”

“Oh! Nothing, nothing!” The dwarf waved a weathered hand in dismissal.

Larna was about to protest, but he cut her off at the pass.

“You didn’t buy anything!” He laughed. “And my time has not been so intriguingly spent in years. Not in a long while have I encountered a piece as rich as this to translate. And it nearly was beyond my skills, at that!”

He got out some parchment and a dish of old-fashioned quills with strangely cut ends. “If I can copy this down then that will be payment enough.”

He peered at his quill selection, lifting them one by one into the air so he could see their end cuts better. He harrumphed over one, and then reached into a low drawer for an ancient inkwell. Fia watched in fascination.

“Those quills…?” she began, uncertain how to finish the question.

“Ah, yes,” Thayne said. “Special points to make the strokes properly. They’re for New Dwarvish, but I shall try to make them work for Old Dwarvish. Tricky things these runes. Sometimes a point mark made wrong throws off the whole meaning, or if a stroke carries on a smidgeon too long, or stops a smudge too short. Changes the whole word! Terrible exacting, these.”

She watched as he set up the inkwell and then dipped a point into the inky substance inside.

“That doesn’t look like regular ink, either,” she said.

“It isn’t. Special ink, too, of course.” He laughed then. “Is it much wonder that even New Dwarvish is being forgotten? All this effort just to write something down. Commonish turns out to be so much faster.”

His deft fingers flicked and swished and the runic strokes and dots and dashes appeared beneath his quill tip like magic. Fia was fascinated, no one she knew had ever seen Dwarvish being written, Old or New.

“We’ll leave it with you, Master Thayne, if it’s all the same,” Larna said. “Perhaps you can send it up to Olayin House with Andro Olayin when you are finished?”

“Of course!” He looked up from his work, eyes sparkling. “I know the lad well. Good boy. Fine eye for gems, he has. Bought some from my sons from time to time. Excellent workmanship on those, of course.”

“Good, good.” Larna nodded. “Then we had better be heading for home. It wouldn’t do to be out on the trails at dusk if it can be helped.”

“Yes, of course.” He put the pen down and came around to see them out. “Thank you so much for coming to see me.” He beamed at them and shook each hand heartily. “Had a wonderful time.”

“And you little miss…” he said to Fia, and she had to smile at being called “little” by a dwarf. “Keep that quick eye in your head and you’ll go far. Never forget, if you need anything read in Dwarvish…” He winked and snapped his fingers.

“I’ll remember!” Fia laughed. “Thank you very much for your time and expertise; I’ve enjoyed myself very, very much. I’m extremely happy to have made your acquaintance.”

“At your service!” He whipped off his blue cap and held it to his vest as they went out the door, the gold tassel shimmering in its good-natured way.

On the street Fia waved. “Good-bye!”

“The same to you!” he called back; then he winked, grinned, and shut the green door tight. She could almost hear him hurrying back to his desk and the fascinating Old Dwarvish note to copy.

They waited for Andro a few minutes at the “Button and Thread.” Larna visited with the shopkeeper, who was a friend, while Fia wandered through the fabrics, ribbons, and buttons on display. The fabric and ribbon selection was slim compared to what Tolsern, or even the region of Scelane, had to offer, but the buttons were of exceptional quality. Many, she could see, had been hand-worked in the town, and the dwarvish touch was clear in many cases. She dearly loved a certain set of gold ones all ridged and knarled in the dwarvish way, but they would have been well beyond her price range, even if she had had any money… which she hadn’t. Apprentices usually didn’t have a lot of money, and she had none at all.

So the dwarvish gold buttons stayed where they were.

But she thought of them as the three of them rode back to Olayin House through the gathering cold before the coming dusk, over and around the mountain ridges folding in upon themselves like bears ready for the night.

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