Year 349 after the War of the Gods, Summer

Grave of Titans

The ground beneath her was hard. Her bones dug through her flesh in its direction. She wanted to roll onto her back. She couldn’t. Her limbs still didn’t obey her. Trapped in her own body she lay there. Her eyes– Could she open them? No. Her world remained darkness. But she was not alone in this starless night and that frightened her more than the alternative. A faint light. So close and yet barely noticeable. A glow that had burnt itself into her and from which she had hoped the darkness would protect her. But it had followed her all the way here, so deep inside her. It had eaten so deeply into her.

And as soon as she understood what she was looking at, it showed itself plainly to her: The mark of the Daeva, their seal, a pale shimmer, barely noticeable yet impossible to miss. She was bound. In flesh and in soul. Had she ever read of it? No. She didn’t remember reading about it in any of the books of the impossible library. Of the Daeva he had only spoken in person. And yet she knew and understood what it was. And how she had received it. How it was branded into her. And the consequences it would bring.

Why didn’t he warn me? Why did he betray me so?

She remained inside herself for an eternity, in silent darkness, absorbed by the symbol in front of her, on her, inside her. She loathed it, but she couldn't turn away. She had to get away from here. She pleaded with herself to return to the world, leave behind the mark, step out of the darkness. Commanded herself. Quiet at first, then louder, finally screaming at herself. Louder, ever louder. She screamed until her voice gave in and her throat was an open wound.

The first step was difficult.  It felt like having to learn to walk again. Her body would obey but she didn’t yet know what orders to give. The second step felt like wading through morass. The resistance not inside herself but in the surrounding darkness. But with each consequent one it became easier and bit by grueling bit she regained control over herself.

And once again Iora lay on the hard ground. But this time her body obeyed her commands and she managed to open her eyes. Reality hit her like a hammer hits an anvil. The glaring sky; the even more glaring sun; the unbearable white of a single cloud. Her body in the dust and dirt of the Grave of Titans. The smell of ash, sweat, blood and vomit. Sour, metallic taste on her tongue. A soft lump between her teeth. A mixture that made her want to throw up all over again.

She sat up with some effort and let her gaze wander over the place which would now forever carve its image into her memory with unyielding strikes. The fires had burned down to mere ghosts of white ash. In the bowl before here the memory of the herbs that had torn her mind from her just the night before. And still the stone was crumbling all around her and she feared that she would soon plummet into the depths with it.

Of her master she found no trace.

Tired, Iora looked down at herself. Except for her breaches, she sat naked on this rock, the remains of her tunic torn and partly singed on the ground next to her. The unrelenting sun reflected in her metallic ribs. Blurred, distorted, white-hot. A new day, still ignorant of what the night had done to her.

She took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

She could not go back. She… Why? Why didn’t he tell me what was gonna happen? What he would do? Why did he sell my soul so lightly..? Why did I agree to it?

Tears ran down her face. The man who had taken her in, off the streets, offered refuge, taught her…

He had caught her red handed when she had tried to steal his purse in Ardport. She had thought she’d gotten away. Had disappeared into an alleyway, climbed onto a roof and from there entered into an abandoned attic one house further on, which she had used as a hiding place from time to time. And exactly there he had been waiting for her and kindly asked she return what she had stolen. Had asked her if this was supposed to be her life and whether this was everything she expected of it. When she had replied with having no choice she said he wanted to offer her one. From that day forth she had been his student.

She had been ten years old back then. Eight years had passed since then. He had taken good care of her. Raised her as his daughter. Tried to teach her what he could, but this path– she could’t go down this path.

She rose on shaky legs and almost collapsed again. The night had taken all strength from her, but here she couldn't stay. And she would not wait for her master to return. Rather she'd die out in the waste.

On soft knees, she crossed the wooden bridge that led to this lonely pillar at the edge of the ravine. When she had solid ground under her feet again, she turned to the right and set off in a straight line without a second thought. She followed no reason. She just wanted to get away. As far away from her old home as she could. Along the gorge, the Grave of Titans, always forwards. Never looking back.

#

Her legs carried her, she made sure of that, ordered them, drove them forward, but her thoughts weighed heavy. Flowed thickly. Swam in lazy circles. Stayed where they were.

The midday sun scorched the dry land, scorched her skin and scorched her spirit. Iora didn’t know anymore where she was; followed only the gorge to her right. She had now been wandering for hours in the heat. Sweat  ran down her body and burned in the still raw cuts on her back. The pain drove her onward. Ever onward.

She was thirsty, needed water, badly. She had been exhausted at the set out, but now she felt as if she’d trip any moment now and lay where she fell. A dried out husk nobody would ever find.

But then something stood divided against the shimmering horizon, breaking up the monotony of the wasteland: A donkey with its rider. O spirits, finally.

He had to have water with him. This far out. It was probably a whole day to Ardport from here. At least that far again to the next dwarven burg. No one could travel that far without supplies. He seemed to be resting and since she had few other options, she headed straight for him. She was ashamed to step in front of him like this. Half naked and covered in blood and sweat. But what could she do? Dying here would be worse.

When she was close enough for him to recognise her, he raised his hand in greeting. Then he seemed to realise what state she was in, dropped something and began to run toward her. When he reached her, the dwarf was breathing heavily, his head bright red.

“Child…” - He struggled for air - “...what happened to you?”

Water was her only thought. “Water” was all she said. Croaked. The word cut through her throat. She looked at him imploringly.

“Of  course, of course. Right away”, he hurried. He reached for her arm and she flinched back from his touch. “Easy, child. You look like you’re about to collapse. Let me help you.” She didn’t move. Stared at him. He made no moves to touch her again. “Come on, I got water in my camp.” He turned away from her towards the donkey and the shade and the promised water. She wanted to follow him. Stumbled. He turned back and in his eyes she saw the worry. When he offered to steady her this time, she didn’t shy away from him. He put her arm over his shoulders and tried to support her, but when he tried to put his arm on her back, Iora drew in a sharp breath. The mark of the Daeva burned white-hot before her inner eye and if he hadn’t already been holding her, she would have collapsed.

“Not… on the back”, she pressed through gritted teeth.

After some laboured breaths she added: “I can do it myself.” She waited until he had pulled away again. “Thank you.”

The dwarf looked horrified when he discovered the blood on his arm. His bushy eyebrows drew together. “By Ninḫursaĝ’s beard, what happened to you?”

“Please, just give me some water and I’m back on my way.” She wanted to go on. She didn’t want to talk to him. Wanted to be gone.

The dwarf led her silently to his camp and still seemed to be trying to assess what he was dealing with. Let him think what he wanted. He hadn't insulted her or tried to stab her yet, that was enough for her for now.

“Child, sit down. Drink. Rest a bit. And then please tell me what happened to you.” She wouldn’t if she could help it.

The dwarf had strung a tarpaulin between two poles, which now provided them with shade as he kept filling Iora's cup from his water hose. She tried to keep her distance. Even though he had only helped her so far, she didn't know what else he was up to.

Nevertheless, she now took the time to scrutinise her host more closely. He was wearing simple, light clothing, appropriate for the weather in the Grave of Titans. A belly was showing beneath, evidence that he wouldn’t decline a good meal. His black beard he had probably braided neatly a few days ago, but now single strands hung from it. There were wrinkles on his dark face, especially around his eyes, but she didn’t know what that meant for a dwarf. Maybe he was sixty, or maybe already two hundred. His head was clean shaven and there were marks on his temples she didn’t recognise, but they resembled runes used in some languages in the First and Second Age. Her curiosity won out over her caution and it distracted her from the dull throbbing in her back that sent flames across her skin with each heavy heartbeat.

“Master Dwarf, the runes at your temples, what do they mean?” She then quickly added: “If I may ask.” Those were the first words she spoke since they had met. The dwarf didn’t seem to mind.

He traced one of them with his fingers. “Those are Eneer and Hinee. Fire and water. Spirit and life.” He chuckled. “That is what’s burning on your mind right now? Say, child, what do they call you? And” – his features turned more serious – “how is it that you are wandering so far off anything with such cuts?”

He leant back and looked at her back. Iora winced inwardly. He seemed friendly, but what if he recognised the mark? Knew what she was. She was overcome with shame. She wanted to flee. She had been here too long.

“I– My name is Iora. What’s yours?” she said quietly.

He got up and went to his donkey to rummage in a bag.

“Iora? An old name. A proud name. I once knew somebody of that name.”

Having obviously found what he was looking for, he came back to her with a smaller pouch. “My name is Thorgest. Not that special a name, but it does the trick.” He chuckled again.

He sat down next to her again and asked her: “Please turn your back to me. The cuts aren’t deep, they don’t need stitches, but they should be cleaned and bandaged. May I?”

She nodded and turned away from him. She had to know. She gathered all her courage and asked: “The cuts– How bad is it?”

“Not particularly. They probably would have inflamed if you hadn’t found someone to treat them, but there is no danger now”, the dwarf replied as he poured something from a flask onto a cloth. He didn’t recognize the rune on her back.

He applied the cloth to a cut on her shoulder and dabbed the wound.

Spirits.

It burned. It burned on her back and in her mind. Again she saw the symbol clearly in front of her, while the edges of her vision turned white.

“Hold still. Please. It burns out the impurities from the wound.” His tone was sharp, but softened as he explained: “It will subside quickly, but unfortunately you will have to go through this.”

She nodded. “Just be careful, please.” The mark of the Daeva slowly faded until it only pulsed lightly under his touch.

He had put the cloth and bottle aside and was now looking more closely at the cuts. Iora felt it. “The cut even goes clean through the metal on your shoulder. I promise this is the last time I'll ask, but how did this happen?” 

Could he finally stop asking? That was her business and hers alone. It didn’t concern him. He may have saved her life, but she owed him nothing.

“So then you won't get an answer for the last time. That's my business.” With that blade of steel and ice she hoped to end the matter once and for all. He nodded silently.

Next, he asked her to raise her arms and began to wrap her upper body in linen bandages. He needed two rolls for this. She moved carefully and the bandage didn't seem to chafe. “Thank you, Master Dwarf.” She made an effort to sound friendly again. His curiosity was annoying, but he took good care of her and that was the least she could do.

He looked up briefly from putting his tools back in his bag. “Please, you know my name. Stop it with the Master Dwarf. We’re among friends.” He gave her a smile and then turned back to his bag.

“Thank you, Thorgest.” – She paused – “I know you've already done a lot for me, but would you have any clothes for me? I cannot continue traveling like this.” She was incredibly ashamed to ask this of him. A thoughtless question.

“Gods! Of course. Just a moment…”

He began to rummage in another bag. “You're in luck.” He turned to her briefly. “You're not that much taller than me. Just maybe a little slimmer. Here.” He tossed her a pair of white trousers. “They'll be a bit loose on you, but we'll sort it out.”

Next a blue shirt came flying, a red ribbon, probably meant as a sort of belt, and finally a ball of white cloth.

“This makes you look like you're from the north. Here, put this on”, and he unfolded the white burnoose in front of her. “It will protect you from the sun and prying eyes. Elves are no longer particularly welcome around these parts either.”

#

“Where does your path lead next?”, he asked. In one of his bags he had found some bread and cheese for them both. Iora had refused at first, but Thorgest had insisted. She didn't have the strength to refuse a second time.

She leaned back, set herself on her arms and looked up at the cloudless sky. “I don't know. Away. To the north. To the west. As long as it's away from here.”

“I see.” He ran a hand through his beard. “I'll be moving on to Myrar as soon as the sun allows. Maybe another two or three days from here. I don't know if that will help you, but it would be a start.”

Her eyes widened. “You want to take me with you? You've done far enough already.” Besides, she still wasn't sure how far she could trust him, even if he was making it really hard for her to remain suspicious.

“Don't be foolish. There's nothing out here.” He looked over at her with concern. “Accept the help. From Myrar onwards, you can go your own way again.”