rest of us in line,” Garrel explained. “The officers are mostly noblemen, who just make a lot of money by keeping extra pay from the Tyrant’s government, and then they go home after a year or two, and more noblemen come in.”
Grange shook his head at the preposterous notion that anyone would want to prolong the existence of the labor camp, and the two companions soon went to sleep.
For the next several days, the work in the tunnel remained the same. Garrel hauled stones, while Grange worked in solitude, and every day he heard an imaginary voice question him about the jewels that continued to weigh on his mind.
“Who are you? Am I going crazy?” he asked questions every time the voice spoke, but never received an answer.
“The weather is getting colder outside,” Garrel told him one day. “People say it’s starting to show signs of winter up in the mountains. Maybe we’re doing okay to be here inside,” he tried to make the best of the situation.
“I’d like to feel warm, really warm,” Grange replied. The air in the tunnel might not reach the extreme chill of the outside air, but it never felt warm. Even when he exerted himself, with the pick, the sweat on his back quickly evaporated away, leaving him cool once again.
After a fortnight in the tunnel, as Grange questioned his own sanity, there came a day when the questions arose once again, as they seemed to every day. Do you admire the jewels ? the unknown voice asked.
“Yes, I admire them. They’re beautiful to look at,” Grange snapped a reply, the first time he had actually answered the unseen questioner, instead of asking questions of his own.
Would you treasure them and keep them safe? The voice asked.
“I’m a prisoner in a labor camp,” he answered cynically. “I can’t keep them safe from being stolen.”
If you went free, would you value and protect your gems? The voice pressed the issue.
“If they were as beautiful as those green jewels, I would protect them as well as possible,” Grange agreed.
And you would admire them, always? the next question sounded in the tunnel air.
“I always thought that we should love people, not things,” Grange answered. “But I’ve never seen jewels up close before. Yes, I would admire them – they’re beautiful, just pure beauty. They aren’t tainted with evil or jealousy or pride; they’re just pretty for the sake of being pretty.”
Ah , the voice said . You truly are the one – she chose well , it asked no more questions.
Grange didn’t tell Garrel about the strange conversation when they had dinner that night. It was evidence that he was going crazy, suffering from being isolated in the darkness, he realized. He simply listened to Garrel talk about the other prisoners and the gossip that came from the camp outside the tunnel.
The next day, he was working alone once again. His arms were no longer sore from wielding the pick; he’d grown inured to the strain, as his muscles strengthened.
Are you ready? The voice in the tunnel asked.
“Ready for what?” Grange asked.
You’re about to reach the jewels. You’ll set them free, and claim them for the time being, the voice replied. You will be allies with them .
“What jewels are you talking about?” Grange asked, perplexed.
Keep digging, and you’ll find out, the voice assured him.
It was a terrible thing to go crazy in the dark, Grange told himself. He lifted his pick and struck the wall again, and as he did there was a peculiar sound, a hollowness to the mountain, and a sudden glowing light that emanated outward from fine cracks that he could see in the wall.
You’ve done it! You’ve awoken them, the voice said triumphantly, and as he looked at the light, Grange realized that he perhaps was not going insane.
Go gently now, with your hands , the voice ordered.
Grange dropped the pick in astonishment. He knelt by the light, and pulled with all his strength at one of the
Grange shook his head at the preposterous notion that anyone would want to prolong the existence of the labor camp, and the two companions soon went to sleep.
For the next several days, the work in the tunnel remained the same. Garrel hauled stones, while Grange worked in solitude, and every day he heard an imaginary voice question him about the jewels that continued to weigh on his mind.
“Who are you? Am I going crazy?” he asked questions every time the voice spoke, but never received an answer.
“The weather is getting colder outside,” Garrel told him one day. “People say it’s starting to show signs of winter up in the mountains. Maybe we’re doing okay to be here inside,” he tried to make the best of the situation.
“I’d like to feel warm, really warm,” Grange replied. The air in the tunnel might not reach the extreme chill of the outside air, but it never felt warm. Even when he exerted himself, with the pick, the sweat on his back quickly evaporated away, leaving him cool once again.
After a fortnight in the tunnel, as Grange questioned his own sanity, there came a day when the questions arose once again, as they seemed to every day. Do you admire the jewels ? the unknown voice asked.
“Yes, I admire them. They’re beautiful to look at,” Grange snapped a reply, the first time he had actually answered the unseen questioner, instead of asking questions of his own.
Would you treasure them and keep them safe? The voice asked.
“I’m a prisoner in a labor camp,” he answered cynically. “I can’t keep them safe from being stolen.”
If you went free, would you value and protect your gems? The voice pressed the issue.
“If they were as beautiful as those green jewels, I would protect them as well as possible,” Grange agreed.
And you would admire them, always? the next question sounded in the tunnel air.
“I always thought that we should love people, not things,” Grange answered. “But I’ve never seen jewels up close before. Yes, I would admire them – they’re beautiful, just pure beauty. They aren’t tainted with evil or jealousy or pride; they’re just pretty for the sake of being pretty.”
Ah , the voice said . You truly are the one – she chose well , it asked no more questions.
Grange didn’t tell Garrel about the strange conversation when they had dinner that night. It was evidence that he was going crazy, suffering from being isolated in the darkness, he realized. He simply listened to Garrel talk about the other prisoners and the gossip that came from the camp outside the tunnel.
The next day, he was working alone once again. His arms were no longer sore from wielding the pick; he’d grown inured to the strain, as his muscles strengthened.
Are you ready? The voice in the tunnel asked.
“Ready for what?” Grange asked.
You’re about to reach the jewels. You’ll set them free, and claim them for the time being, the voice replied. You will be allies with them .
“What jewels are you talking about?” Grange asked, perplexed.
Keep digging, and you’ll find out, the voice assured him.
It was a terrible thing to go crazy in the dark, Grange told himself. He lifted his pick and struck the wall again, and as he did there was a peculiar sound, a hollowness to the mountain, and a sudden glowing light that emanated outward from fine cracks that he could see in the wall.
You’ve done it! You’ve awoken them, the voice said triumphantly, and as he looked at the light, Grange realized that he perhaps was not going insane.
Go gently now, with your hands , the voice ordered.
Grange dropped the pick in astonishment. He knelt by the light, and pulled with all his strength at one of the
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