Chain of Sorrows 4

Father was busy with mother' s (return to the Earth), and knew nothing of my seeking the priests for advise on my chain, until after it was over. Why he seemed surprised I will never know, for he refuses to speak of it, but after the conversation on the ochag, he should have expected it.

***

Grimdarzog Tsepdeitnik stared at me across the (rune-cast table) and chuckled softly. All morning he had watched me, thinking I had not noticed his surveillance. At last in frustration, I had turned to the one priest all the others had turned to before ignoring me. This one dwarf was the leader of all of them, I perceived, and only by convincing him would I make any progress on my mission here. He wore the robes of a priest of Zhakon, the god of the law, which was named for Him. The old Karlykn had drawn my attention from the beginning. His spot at the rear of the Hall of the Gods, from which he had access to all the temples of the Fordai was had belied his power there.

For a priest he seemed happy. All the ones I had seen, and the only ones other than Kordarkukbar, the chaplain of the family, that I could remember meeting. There were others, but only the grump and this stranger would stand out in the memories of a young dwarf. Kordar for being a stick in the mud, and this one for his humor, which reached across a room and found a friend. Some how, in a way I could never define, now or then, I knew this was the one I had to reach, but the others kept getting in my way, giving condolences and offering to give prayers. Only one offered to speak of what I came to speak of, and he was the high priest of Morantin. The others would not listen, or mistook what I said I was there for.

Pyotokegvaiz seemed to know. He smiled and motioned to the back of the ­room. Then he acted as my guide and guard to the Runabrost, the Rune-caster.  His words I no longer recall, other than the name of the kindly old dwarf behind the table. Then that elder of my kind spoke, and those words became as set in my mind as the very runes that he helped me carve later in metal.

"Persistence is a powerful trait, and a good one for a kniaz to possess. But to my mind it seems that you need to work more on making your words carry their meaning to those you say them to better. Only thus can a ruler carry the day, in the halls of politics or the fields of battle, malchik." I spoke with a voice that sounded like a cart of rock being dumped into a grinder's chute. But despite that quality, or perhaps because of it, the voice carried a warmth that few others of my then limited acquaintance had.

'Darzog's eyes were deep black pits, like polished orbs of obsidian. There was just a hint of red, or maybe at times blue, depending upon his mood, that showed in them. But, rarely did they not carry his smile, even if it could not crack his stony gray visage.

I gave voice to my hope, despite my fear that any of the Karlykn in the Hall at the time would carry work of my quest back to my father. I would only learn later in life that no priest could, or would speak of what I told him or her, nor could anyone in good conscience could listen in to a conversation between another and a priest, without my approval first. Such would have been a great violation of the Zhakon by which we live our lives. To do so was considered a grievous crime, worthy of exile, shunning, even corporal punishment.

"I need sane one to show me how to..." for a moment my voice trailed off until I saw the dwarf's face. It was not stern, but expectant, and open to my idea, no matter what it was. My resolve strengthened then, and I charged onward with my request, " show me how to make my Vyereigei." I had upon setting out on my mission thought that a long explanation of my needs would be forthcoming, or that I should speak of my desire more eloquently, but I gathered that none of that would sway this dwarf, only sincerity would.

His reaction was not what I had expected, he merely stared into my eyes, and smiled kindly, letting my statement stand for a moment. When he answered me, his voice was soft, so as not to carry beyond me, even to the bodyguard behind me by a couple dozen links.

"Before you can have a chain of sorrows, you must learn to read and write my young friend."
"I can write my name, I know my letters, is that not enough?"

“Perhaps, but what sorrow do you have in your heart that requires a link at your young age. Even the gods forgive a child who is still learning. For you to need a zvyelo would take a grievous sin or terrible tragedy.” His face lost for a moment its happy cast, taking on the stern countenance that the other priests wore. “Surely nothing you have done or suffered is so terrible as that?”

My voice now sounded weak and hesitant, but I spoke from my resolve of earlier, not from failure of will. “I never told my mother I loved her, even at the end.”

The silence that ruled our end of the Hall seemed to spread. The noises from the tables of the other priests receded, and it seemed that many had moved up the Hall to the doorway. I turned around and looked, and saw that this was truly so. only Pyotok’, head of the guard of the Hall, and Dagvar, my guardian, still stood near us, and even they had retreated to half a chain back. But moving to us from the door was Kordar’, the Zamok’s chaplain. This was the first time I had seen this drawing back. Always before someone from the castle was with me from start to finish on my excursions without the walls, no matter where I went. For Dagvar to be so far away, even if in the same room, was unsettling.

“What is spoken between a priest and any Karlykn is only the business of those two, unless both agree that others can hear. For you, who have so few things spoken of privately, more respect yet is given. A kniaz rarely has the time to himself to go over things, or to speak with just one person, so when one sets aside such time, it is respected within the Zhakon.”

I turned back to him, puzzled still, and saw the sorrow in his face. His eyes were filled with tears, as were mine.

“You have reason for starting your vyereiga, and I approve of your decision. Unlike your father, and so many others in this day, you choose real reasons and shortcomings to take the weight of, not imagined ones or slights of others. But hear me, malchik, and know this well. All of us are guilty of this sin you have made, and it is not just at the end of life that we commit it. With you, it is this and more, is it not?” My nod was all the answer he seemed to need. Which was as well, for my voice was broken beyond use by the sobs I was still trying to contain. His hand rested upon mine, gently. “I, too, never tell the ones I love that enough. No one ever does, paryen. This is something we know only once they are gone, and no matter how many times we speak it, it is never enough.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, then released it.

“Come, we have a zvyelo to make my young friend.” He stood, and saw Krodar’ being stopped by Pyotak’ and Dagvar. He caught the latter two’s eyes, and made a simple gesture, and they stood aside, allowing the chaplain of my father’s house to approach. The guards followed, but stayed discretely back. “But first I have other business to attend to, please forgive the delay paryen, This should only take a few moments.”

The dwarf I had just spoken with seemed to change, becoming a far more stern person, one of iron will, not deep compassion. For the first time, I realized that just as there were divisions in the court, so too were there factions among the priests, and that I was about to see a clash of these factions in the two priests.

“Why are you here, Kordarkukbar? Do you not trust us here in the Hall. We who taught you all you know? Or do you imagine yourself to be the guardian of the young kniaz’s spirit, protecting him from the rest of us, and our ‘unorthodox’ views.” The grim old dwarf paused for several seconds awaiting the reply of the chaplain, and when he received none, he spoke more harshly, in the voice even a boy knows brooks no balking at. “Speak, I the holder of the Tabulya c Zhakon order you to answer!”

Kordar’ seemed more hesitant than I had ever seen him, much like me when I was in trouble with father. “I came to speak with you for guidance on the boy. instead I find I did not move as fast as he did. Do you wish me to leave now? To return to the Zamok and clear away my things?”
Kordarkukbar’s voice held contempt and challenge both, as if he held the old priest in little respect.

“No, you are a good chaplain to the Tsar and his court, but the boy has sought out other counsel, and as to why the boy did not seek you has nothing to do with your performance I think. You were merely too close, and sometimes we either overlook things so near us, or desire outside advise. Which he seeks, I have not asked, nor will not. Perhaps it is the will of the Fordai. You can ask them, as I do.” Darzog’s voice held steady, more like a priest’s than Kordar’s. It was calm, steady, and reassuring, not accusatory.

“I see, Uchenie. Then I ask forgiveness from you and the kniaz, and that you send word later today as to when I can speak with you, for guidance. The sad events of the last week have caused some problems. I would appreciate your advice on the, and for you to come and act as Tsyepdeitneik, for I believe that you demanded as much last time I approved the zvyelo there.”

“I had good reason to be so, for you seem to feel that any zvyelo a karlyk may propose is proper, or if anything, not heavy enough. You need to read the Zhakon, not write it. you are not of the Fordai, we here merely encourage the keeping of the Law, not its writing. That is the job of the gods.”

"So you said then, and now. As directed then by the Nabodshnei Sud. I do so, by letting you know that your services are needed in my demesnes tonight. Are you now satisfied?” Venom of a kind I usually only heard in the council rooms, and only then if father or mother had not chased me out already, dripped from his words.

“Very well, this evening I shall come to the Zamok. But realize, few there will like the scales I bring, so speak with them to prepare the way.”

“As you say. Is there more?” Kordarkukbar turned then, as if not expecting more, or perhaps he no longer cared what the Zhakon said of respect for elders.

“Yes, there is Kordar.” The voice of the old dwarf still had the edge of steel to it, one of command, not request. The young priest turned, still rebellious, but under the influence of the intonation his elder used, looking back at the rune-priest with hatred smoldering in his eyes. “Stop being a stick in the mud, we taught you better than that.”

Kordar’s eyes reflected the shock of such a rebuke, and his face crumbled for a moment, showing that he still held the esteem of this dwarf highly, even if he no longer admitted it to himself. Then he deflated like a speared puffer-fish. The rebellious ritualist turned again to the entrance of the Zala ot Bodzhyestvo, shuffling away in the walk of a well-chastised person.

“Come, Malchik, it is time for us to speak of your request. Dagvar, you are to sit without the cave, and keep the curious away.” ‘Darzog then turned and lowered his voice as he entered the grotto. “But mind your manners as well

***

The small chamber carved into the stone wall that sat behind the ryunya­ myetaneiye stol, the rune-casting table, was well lit and carved so any in the center of the Hall without could see into it. But the faces of the walls were hewn so as to muffle and prevent the travel of sound from within it from leaving the roan. In the back ran the channel from the hot springs within the temple of Awgohn that ran through all the temples, flowing clockwise around the Hall of Gods, and heated both the chambers and the Hall. The steam made the air thick and humid, absorbing more of the echoes, and often a thin fog sat in the air.

Towards the back lay a strange hearth, with several small smelting pots on folding arms that could be easily set into the flames. Many jars of metals and other items in them sat in racks over the mantle, and the mantle held numerous tools on holders and racks as well. There was a small vyerstak, or workbench as some other races call it, sitting on the ochag, which seemed to me to be wrong. I had yet to learn more about the rules of hearths and such, but I would as I grew older. My impression came from father never letting anything be set upon the ochags in the residential wings of the palace.

Grirndarzog lead me to that very table, upon which I saw more of the small tools as sat on the mantle, much like the ones father had been using on his links that day. There were also several sets of molds for the links, The old priest motioned me to sit on a bench across from the one he took, letting me, sit with my back to the wall, while he exposed his back to the door. I hesitated in sitting, for none but servants and guards sat so, and I knew he was neither. Doing so left him open to attack from behind, and we of the royal bloodlines of Ovozyest were not to be so exposed, nor was a priest. I guessed then, wrongly as I was to find out later, that eiyeryeei were immune to attacks. He merely knew he was safe from all in Ovozest, at the time.

“Sit down, Vyereigei are a heavy matter to speak of, so we sit when talking about and making them, to give ourselves some chance to save our energy for carrying them. I took the other bench and placed my hands on the table, which was at about the level of my mouth. I leaned forward and rested my nose on the table as well. Mother had often called me "Keilroi" when I had done such to her, and laughed. I liked this podzhyeloi karleek enough to want to make him laugh. He started to talk while not looking at me, gathering up several items he seemed to need.

"Yes, making a zvyelo, a link, for one's chains of sorrows is very serious. And the Pervuiei Zvyelo, the first one, is most serious of all. Against it all your other links will be measured for strength. and purpose. And in your case, also for rightness of choice. To make the Syemlya Tsyep your first chain is a great sign, it shows where your heart is, to others, not just you. And in many ceremonies you will hook all your chains to this link, as you forge them later in your life. So you will find you need a strong link to..."

He had finally turned back to me, and trailed off in his speaking. His face contorted and I sank lower thinking I had misjudged him, and that be would be angry, like Kordar always got. He lost his control a moment later, and began laughing. I realized he had been trying to hold it in, being more reserved, and had lost. His laugh was full and hearty, more the kind that makes you feel happy not put down.

And it was infectious. In less than a few seconds I had joined him in giggling, and Dagvar stuck his head in 'to see what was happening, so I twisted my nose across the table towards him and waggled my thin eyebrows. He joined the ruckus as well, and before retreating out of the room again, he called me "Keilroi."

"Forgive me my little Nom, I forgot because of your seriousness that you were still so small a person on the outside." He reached over and drew up a tall stool, the sort mother had sat me in the corner on when she caught me misbehaving. That the Kensori' and Lejune emissaries at the court also used such chairs, and willingly to my amazement. I gave the old dwarf a challenge, which he answered promptly. "Well, you can come up here and learn, or sit down there and not see what I do. Besides, the chair is not in a corner."

He smiled with his eyes only, with only the barest hint of his mirth around his mouth. Then he waggled his big, bushy eyebrows at me. I laughed again, and moved to the stool. It was sitting at this bench, then and later, that I learned of my racial heritage, and how to forge a chain properly and safely, one zvyelo at a time. 'Darzog reached out across the table and grabbed a set of simple stud molds, an ingot of silver, one of pig iron, and two small spheres of volfram, and several other ingredients he needed for our project.

"We start every chain of sorrows we make with anchor studs, from which the tsyepei will hang. They are made from the bones of the earth, and the pure metal of silver. Iron is the bones of the earth, and volfram is its marrow. These and the I true-silver I are the metals upon which our lands fortunes are built. The Fordai, the gods of our folk, ensured that they would first be found and used by the Karlykn. And the other races had to wait for us to show them how to find and use them."

As he spoke he placed the ingots and other items into a small crucible, which he then set into the smelter arms on the hearth­ walls, From a dish on the table he took a small pinch of dirt, and added it to the ingredients. "By adding these things together, we make a special steel, an alloy, which is used only in special items, such as our vyereigie and other religious items. The soil must come from the land of your birth, and only those who have committed the most grievous of sins can be denied soil to make zvyelo with."

Grimdarzog then pushed the arm so that the pot set in the hottest part of the coal-flames within the hearth. As the mixture melted he set the stud mold at the center of the table, and cleared things away from the area. He turned to look me full in the face, his orbs as hypnotic as father's had been, and added to the knowledge he was giving me, knowledge I was to remember, if not fully and timely, then at least eventually, and before I blundered too far.

"When making a zvyelo, none of the precious metals may be used, save for three occasions. Gold is used as a remembrance zvyelo for family who are close to you, silver for distant relatives and friends you lose along the way. True silver is never used for vyereigie, only for other religious items and icons."

His face had turned somber, yet still happy, and he often seemed to look at me trying to gauge my understanding of his words. I could sense the importance of this teaching to him, and in the long run to me.

He continued on now assured of my attention, if not comprehension. "But , Volfram is in every zvyelo, and forms the marrow of the links, as it does the very Earth we are of. We mix it with the iron and the soil, and the core of the link is formed. around which we add the softer iron, or the gold and silver, to denote the significance of the link."

What he said made me think of watching father working on his links, and of how he often used lead in them. "Papa uses lead, why don't you?" I asked with childish curiosity.

"Lead is heavy, and can be in the steel of the marrow of the zvyelo, but should never be used ;as the shell, for it is a poison, and if not bound and sheathed safely by workers of pewter or under guidance of priests, for only they still have the knowledge of the spells and skills to safely use such. Even then, things can go wrong, with evil results. Has not Kordar' told you the tale of the Yadneikei?" When I shook my head, he sighed and shook his own, while turning to the fire, and drawing out the cup of molten metal, and pouring it ,out into the molds. "This is sad news you give me, for surely by now you must be given the tales of instruction, and Kordarkukbar knows this. It is a grave transgression on his part, and it must be addressed, and soon. We will speak of this and other things today. But now for the rites of the tsyepei."

He took up the molds, which glowed from the heat, with a set of silver tongs and dropped them into a bucket of water at the table's end. While doing this, he had murmured a soft prayer, that I could not make out, but when he bowed his head and called the ending of all our dwarven molbya, or orisons. "Zhakono."

I echoed his word, softly, as I was unsure, but when I looked at him again, I saw that I had at least pleased him in this. for he smiled and nodded at my act of contrition. I found that pleasing this gray-beard was becoming important to me, even after so short a time of knowing him.

"Now we make your lock-links, the ones that will hold your chain in place when you must wear it for ceremonies. These we make light, for while we all have sins that we no naught of, the gods are forgiving, and will grant us some leniency at the beginnings of our lives, but will want us to learn from our mistakes." A simple glance told him that I was still with him, and was very interested so he proceeded with his instruction. "Tin and iron, mixed with the soil of the homeland, and the ashes of a black-rock fire, these are the ingredients of' the lock-links, and they make a dark metal,

when the right amount of coal ash is added to metals." As he spoke he set out each of :the elements named, and laid them out for me on the table, with the careful precision of Obryadnui, or ritual. Now came the time for me to take a hand, I could tell.

"Pick up the ball of iron, and lay it in the cup before you." I did as instructed, and waited for him to give me the next step. "More slowly, each item must be placed in the cup with care, for you show repentance for the harms you have caused with your actions. Let the hand move as if in sorrow for all you have done. Let your movements be reverent, like we priests move in ceremonies. Use slow, but deliberate gestures. Now the ingot of dzhyest, or tin as the humans call it." I moved more slowly, making every move slow, and trying to be as smooth as Kordar' made his. While not successful in my intent, 'Darzog was satisfied as to my purpose.

"Good, now take a pinch of the soil in the bowl. Here, let me slide it closer to you, we will need it easy for you to reach. Then sprinkle it over the cup, breaking it up. Yes, that is the way." It seemed strange, as my father had long held that dirt was only for farmers to touch, not warriors. It was not as bad as he made it out, in fact, I found then that I like the feel of earth. I guess that was mother's blood in me, hers was a line of farmers and shepherds.

"Next, the coal-dust, place in two spoonfuls, then slide the bowl to me so I may check it, and we can be sure of the mix." I did so, but it took ten tries with the spoon to get the two he wanted into the bowl, and there was a large mess on the bench we sat at, but Grirndarzog Tsyeprnyepa, for that was his last name, seemed not to mind.

"A little more of the earth my good malchik, then we shall make the alloy of the things and cast your zvyelo-c-zarnok. But this mix takes longer, for the metals are not pure, and there is more soil in them. While we wait I shall tell you some of the tales that Kordarkukbar has apparently overlooked in your education so far. But we will correct that, and you shall learn what a tsaryevich should know, as well as what all the Karlykn should hold sacred and of the Zhakon, which I now feel that Kordar' has less comprehension of despite his years than you have innately." The old dwarf's disapproval of the palace priest left me surprised and now aware for the first time of the rivalries and conflicts within our society, for all I had seen in the Zamok was the working together, or at least that is all I had noticed.
As I finished up and the cup was placed in an arm and swung into the fire in the hearth, and the rune-priest opened the valves that forced air onto the coal in the hearth, making it burn hotter. A heat which drove us back to the small sitting circle, like the one in the chasovnya, the chapel in the palace. We sat in the half closest to the door, so that the faint breeze that came into the room could give us some cooling.

Some would say that a youngster loves any tale, and of me this is true. Perhaps in all of us of that age, either mental or physical. The tale that Kordar' told were always of :the chains, but I had a feeling this one would be different. In many ways.

'Darzog settled in then began to speak, again in the same tone, of teaching, that he had used 'earlier. His voice was level, and still gravelly, but rumbles of his consonants was more like that of a river over stones, than close thunder it seemed before, as if he had a different voice for passing on knowledge with.

"The Yadneikei are those who lived and mined too long in the Choelma ot Sveinyts, what the lyudskoei, the humans, at Thogras call now the Lead Hills. There the ancientness of mining clans, the Rudmeilkei, whose mines never went very deep in those days, had founded a Krepost-Kof to mine the silver and gold they found there, but these were in great deposit of rocks and soils laced with sveinyets, or lead. In those days we priests had yet to speak with the gods, even with Dumatron, about the illnesses of those working with that metal, or near the mines and of those who used it.
"Alas those days of ignorance, my young friend, for in them we knew not of the harm we did, not only to ourselves, but other, and to the ones who would come after us even. We were so proud that we were the ones the gods showed the bounties of the hills and mountains to first, that we alone, before even the Byezborodnei, the beardless ones from the west, whom others call Elves. Proud and blind, to our own shortcomings, in that we knew so little of what our actions could change in those days. A lesson some still have yet to learn, despite the best efforts of the rune-keepers and casters.

"Those in that ill-fated clan learned the hard way, as did all around them. Many of the Gelgan, the Preivratneiks, and even the Tsuiganui clans had settled or roamed the crags, valleys and foothills of the Gorya ot Beitva, the Mountains of Battles, and. the Zolotovod Shchyel, where many fortunes in gold have been panned and sluiced from the water or drawn from the hills and escarpments around the waters there. So many peoples to be harmed by the foolishness of not asking the Fordai for their advice and approval, so evil a price to pay for our pride."

He stopped and hung his head, mumbling a prayer to Smyertvyetyer, the goddess who holds as her domain, the Halls of Penance, to which all go to await the world after this one. I hung my head as well. He had been correct in thinking I had not heard this tale before, it was one of woe, and father preferred only tales of battles and betrayals, not of woe and wonder. Such was not told on rest-day or at the great feasts of the palace, at least not since Kordakukbar had become chaplain to father.

We uttered together the word of closing, "Zhakono." I have learned that it has many meanings, some easy, others hard, to understand. It can be used to say things are as they should be, or to let things be as they should be. It can mean that what you do is legal, or within the Law, or that you should follow the Law. But used at the end of a prayer, it is asking to be guided to what is right, not just what is within the Law. It is a benediction, a praise of the Law or those who follow it, or an admonition to follow the Law, or path to right actions. But these are things that a child knows little of, to such, it is either praise for correct actions and behavior, or a benediction.

Silence hung in the air for a .few moments, with the sounds of the fire, and Hall outside the chamber being its only punctuations. Time passed slowly, and 'Darzog got up to check the melting cup, and shifted it to another part of the hearth, to allow a better mixing of the metals in the alloy we made. When he returned to the speaking circle, he took up again the tale he wove for me.

"Now as time went on, in this the age of the leaving of the Kotloveina by so many of our kindred, to find space to raise generations of families, not just a single one, those of the Rudmeilkei found the lodes of ore, but were unaware of the dangers of the land it was in. We had found lead in many places, and were beginning to understand its uses, such as pewter, or pipes for carrying bathing water, and in our ignorance, even drinking water. Time. and generations would show us the error of our ways, but then we were still blissfully ignorant of our dangers.

"The miners tossed aside the soil, and in that age of the Realm we stand in, the lands around us were drier, for the Great Water was as yet a small thing,  more southerly, and the lands to our west, now under the waves, were still above the surface, and Gorya ot Lyestneitsa k Nyebo Seinyeta did include the islands of the sea beyond the lands of our allies with the amber skin of the Lands of Mystery, eastward. Thus the land was more like those beyond the Great Cleft, but of thicker air, for they were ever lower than those further north were. This meant they were dry, and subject to great burya, storms of dust such as the deserts get. And the dust was laced with the poisonous metal, and all in the hills, the plains around, even the mountains on either side, some sagas tell even of the dust reaching the northern edge of the Koltso , the Rim of Kotloveina." He stopped and took out from under the section of bench he sat on, a jug. He drank a long swig from it, offering it to me afterwards. I tried the fluid, for I too was thirsty, and despite being braced for the brandy or mead of the warriors jugs, to my astonishment, only peach juice was in it, unfermented even.

"The otravnui affect of the Yad, the poison of the lead, is felt by all, but mostly in children. It leaves them with lesser minds, or twisted ones. And it opens the souls of them to evil, for it replaces the iron and gold in your system. It leaves one with headaches, takes away sleep, and leaves one dull and listless as it builds up. Eventually, you fade into a sleep at last, one from which only a few awaken, and only if treated for the poisonous metal. But without iron and gold, your soul is no longer insulated from the energies of the Portals of Darkness, and evil takes root in you.

"And thus it went, as the Yadneik, the poisoned ones, grew up in the . midst of the miners, where the damage was the worst. Their minds were twisted, warped away from the uses of good and more towards evil. The parents only saw the cruelty and hatreds they had on occasion, but as these ryebyonok grew older, they began to inflict their parents and elders, challenging the Law, hurting and enslaving others, for merely the joy of it to their senses. They became the rulers, and the elders their slaves. And no sense of common ground with others of our kind remained. They made horrid weapons, made to maim and poison, but leave you alive to suffer, not ones like ours, that can kill cleanly if used properly. No, they gloried in the pain and suffering of others, and dreamed of ruling all dwarves and humanoids. None should be free of their new god, Avbashchor, the eater of life.

"And the poison harmed others. Many of the Gelganst died of the sleep, while the Tsuiganui were twisted as the Yadneik, and their children became the Dyermo, or Derro as others call them. -They had the powers of the mind that were also twisted, and now these creatures are servants of the darkness, even to eating the flesh of their own and other kindred. They are truly the most evil of all dwarves I have heard of, though rumor from other lands suggest others just as bad, if not worse.
"And all this came about because they thought nothing about the future, only about the present, and refused to consult with others and the gods. When you make any decision without learning about the things that you will cause to be, or that will be caused by what you do, even generations down the road of time. There is little you can do to make the past change, only the future is easily over-written. Those who over write the past, find it comes back to haunt them."

A question nagged at my young mind, and I asked it. "You said that the dust lasted for a long time, how long?"

Grimdarzog looked sad, as if he bore the very agony of losing someone he loved to the dust, but surely he was not so old as that. "Even to this day, when the rains do not come for a long time, or if a person of any sort is foolish enough to enter those hills to live, the Yad takes him, and those with him, unless the Yadneik or Dyermo get them first. Even today.. .after ages of rains and weathering, the lead is too much for us, and those who are poisoned, still the stupor and leaden sleep claim them." He was near to tears, a rare thing for a Karlykn to have, especially in public. I was moved my self, and barely heard him say the words again, as he looked to a small obelisk along the wall of the grotto.

"Even now..."

Silence again reigned in the room, save the noises of breathing and fire. The quiet stretched out for a time, then he shook himself, and spoke  a strong voice, with command, of the moment, if not his life. "It is nearly time to make the zvyelo-zanvkui, then your first zvyelo, a link we all make, sooner than we wish." His hands went to his own vyereigei, to a link near his shoulder, made of the gold for a family member. I wondered who had died, and how; foolishly, for only a child knows so little to ask of any Karlykn of the links of his chain. Only a child, a fool, an outsider, or a person of no tact. I was still the first, but even I had some propriety and manners.

We went back to the table, and he pulled forth the cup from its spot, and poured out the metal into the moulds on the table. There were several, of two types, one an open link of chain, with a filled end and an open one, the others, an equal number, were of small beads, with holes slightly smaller than the width of the links' diameters. He then gather up more supplies from his shelf, mutely, as if he had said too much already to a child. then he went to a shelf and pulled down a new set of molds, one of open links, each larger than the other. And I knew, one was the marrow mold, the other the final mold, for the sheathe of the link. It was about one inch long, and a half inch wide. They would nest within each other, as the old dwarf had said, like bones within the flesh, the smaller being the core, upon which the rest would be cast. Now the thing became more real. I was now building something that would stay with me for the rest of my life, if not physically, then spiritually. I focused more, not on just the words 'Darzog gave me in guidance, but on the task itself. I started to see the link, there in my mind, as it should and would be.

"Now, take the cup to your left, my young friend, and place it in front of yourself, slightly to. ..ah, I forgot, which hand. do you eat with? Your left or your right?" I merely raised my left in confusion, and again it served as satisfaction enough to his query. "Lyevaya, good, use only that hand, for you offer up now is as if food, for the soul, to heal it, though not the body. This is serious work we do, so be somber."

"Can I ask questions?" My reply was a bit sharp, but also tinged with some respect yet, for he acted more like one of the guards when me and my few friends in the castle built our forts, as they supplied advise and even supplies or muscles as needed.

At first he seemed startled, then he peered at me intently, as if worried about my spirit, or if I had been broken. Being in a feisty mood I scowled back, screwing up both my courage and face at the same time. It got a different reaction than I had thought, having braced for a fight, as I often had with. Kordar' at the castle. When we argued, it was over my piety, and my lack of proper decorum, in his view.

"Bodzhye Mai, he has spirit after all! Yes, you may ask questions, and I must give the answers, if I can. For answering questions is a priest's job, though we do not know of everything, nor can we answer always as you wish. Not all things are known, and some, become known only by asking questions about them, or about other things that lead to that knowledge in the end. The road you start down now is both spiritual and mental, you will expand mind as well as your heart, cleanse your ignorance as well as the ochag of your dusha, that is the real you." He then laughed gently, and smiled and winked at me.

My own scowl deepened, in jest, for I could feel the sparks of humor in my eyes, betraying the words I tried to rumble like an adult. "Be somber."

The old dzhryets stopped laughing but still smiled as he spoke again with his teaching voice in a lighter tone. "Yes, when making a zvyelo we must be serious, and contain ourselves. But only when handling the materials or speaking of it directly, for the gods, and even we here on zemlya understand that laughter is as much a medicine for the soul as penance and contrition. Only by doing all can we forgive ourselves, as well as each other. But a pensive attitude is required for the actual work. So we shall wait a moment while I recover such." His words were soft, but spoken with a fervor I rarely heard, a sincerity that overcame his face, in contrast with those at the castle, who spoke of a religion that ruled all, but rarely followed it, save in acts of penance that were as insincere as their professions of faith. As children, we can sense insincerity, I think this is a defense we from the days of darkness, when evil preyed upon us even here in the homeland.

For minutes the fire crackled and snapped, and the hiss of the metal for the lock-links, as it slowly cooked into an even mixture. When the words of direction were again spoken, I was nearly startled, but remained composed in my heart and mind, which to me was somber. If I was wrong, the gods never corrected me in such. Perhaps that composure I had then was the core of reverence. Then again, maybe it is just being poker-faced. I learned that I was good at that from Grimdarzog as well.

"Let your 1yevaya storona do all the touching and handling, unless two hands are needed. Keep your mind on the thing you make the zvyelo to remember and learn from, for it shall be imbued within the link when you touch its parts, or work upon it later. Most of all, never work upon a zvyelo when day-dreaming, for such is an affront to the gods, it shows lack of regret over the sin you try to expunge, or get rid of. Now take the items I speak, and hold this dear to your heart, for it is used only for the vyereigei, and for no other use. This is the steel that is the bones of the earth, the second most secret formula we have, only a little less worth than the true silver recipe, and you know how that is guarded, yes?" I nodded, for only the mitralkoval knew it, and even amongst them, the ways of working it were held to be arcane lore, shared only with the proven journeymen, who had taken the vows of silence on the subject.

"Koroshoi! Now, place the volfram in the bowl, then the iron, now the coal dust, spoon it in until I say stop.. .enough,.. now add that copper wire, no the little one. Yes, that one, and the small ingot of tin. Koroshoi, you are doing well, my little Nom, very well indeed for one so young. We are ready to heat the mix so pick up the bowl with both hands, and set it in the big arm's clamp, here, let me help lock it in. There, now use that handle to steer it into the center of the fire, yes, like that, but a little more to right. Ah, that is the spot. Use the little nut there on the joint to lock it in place. Koroshoi, very good. Now, we need to take out the other cup, and pour the molds for your lock-links. Swing it out, there, good, now because I have no, mitts your size, and without a mitt you would be hurt terribly by the heat of the molten metal, I shall pour for you. This is allowed for those who are yet to young, or too injured to do so for themselves. Always remember, we Karlykn survive and thrive only by our unity, not our divisions, so by working together, we further the race, as long as the work we do is worthy. But when we work alone, that is when we have the power only of destruction and the Devourers with us. Then even we stand to be destroyed by our own actions." With this he donned a mitt of the white-rock fibers, those that come from the veins of chrysolite the gods wove into the rocks as both keeper of the ancient heat of the melding of the Elements into the Prime Realms, and as tool for we the workers of the stone, to use in our forgings. This even a child such as I was then knows.

But in my heart another question was then stirring. "But in the ballads and tales, it is always one dwarf who makes the stand against evil or troubles that come to us. Is that not the truth, that we often act alone?"

There was a moment of silence, or of the hissing of the metal, and popping of the molds as he poured the liquid minerals into the forms they would now take. He did so with a sure hand and swift, but stately movements that spoke of years of practice at this task. Years that I felt then, not as a separation, but as a link. For, was he not passing on his skills and knowledge by teaching it to me, thus making a chain of a different sort, one of contiguous customs and beliefs? He poured out the metal, making the open links and lock-nuts, the base of the connections of my Vyereiga, my own chain of sorrows, which would fetter my soul against walking to evil, or so father had said. I know better now. For some, the chain becomes the path to damnation.

"Yes, indeed, at times a single person can do as much as many, but if the many have rightness on their side, and stand together, for that fleeting virtue, then nothing can hold them back, save the will of the gods, or the castings of the fates. Know this though, the truth is not who is in number the victor, but who in the eyes of the gods is right. Only being the one of good purpose and deeds both matters. Never choose against the path of moral conduct, lest you find yourself lost in the forests of iniquity, lost in your own sins, and those of others, forever."

He looked again at me, as if to weigh my soul, my understanding, and my attention, all at once. His gaze, I have found, can be heavier, more striking than his words. I have seen him fell opponents since that long ago day, using just the power of that gaze. Indeed, I had seen him cow an enemy, or rival at least, in Kordarkukbar, that very day. I have since tried, though failed to mimic that gaze, for it is the kind of weapon every warrior should have, for is it not the way of the warrior that we must avoid violence when possible? But it so rarely comes through my eyes, as if only a priest, or one with eyes like his can wield so mighty a weapon, and weapon indeed it is. One that he used easily as I my hammer or axe, when I had grown.

And that gaze must have found me worthy, or at least redeemable, for it released me as his voice again rumbled to life, like a volcano long dormant under its snowy crown. "Come, let us now sit again, and speak of the chain you now have begun. There are many things you need now to learn, but fear not, being young, we will aid you if you forget, that is what priests and friends are for. To aid, advise, and help you, in anything you do, and thus lend you their strength."

My mind was still wrestling with that as we sat again in the circle away from the fire. It  seemed that he spoke something, a little thing, that my young mind had trouble with. "Which are you to me, friend or priest?" My voice was tremulous with fear, of something I thought I had and feared
I did not, now.
"Do you believe that I, or anyone else, cannot be both?"

I looked into his soul again through his orbs, and realized that my fear was foundless. I hung my head in shame, and again felt the gnarled hand of the rune-caster on mine, reassuring me that he did not have anger towards me over my doubts. He patted my hands, then leaned away from me, and began to speak of the things I would need now to know.

"Taking up your Vyereiga is not a light thing, for the weight of the chain lies as much on your soul as it does upon your body. But you must now learn of the wearing of the chains, the how’s and when’s, as well as the why’s. We wear the chains only when certain days of the kalend says, and these are the Feast of Produshcheina, the festival of the Unfettering, Obyet, the time of renewing of promises, and The forge-day. Further, each of us has individual days we must wear our chains on. These are our Forge-day, the day of our coming of age, the swearing of our fealty and apprenticeships, and on the ceremonies or the passing of the dead. Further, for loss of life, we may, if it was in some way our fault, and the high-priests agree to it, wear them for a year and a day after such acts. We also wear them in the month of Vye­reigei, the month of the chaining.

"It is the last that is most crucial to our Kalend of feasts. Other feasts are celebrations, but the Myesyats of Penance. That is a time of reflection, in the darkest days of the year, when our thoughts are at their darkest as well. Vyereigei is the month of wearing the chains for the full nineteen days, until the evening feast of the Unfettering, when we loose the chains in memory of the striking free of the early kings' chains by the coming of Svhobohda, goddess of freedom and happiness."

He stopped to take a drink of the juice in his jug, and passed it to me, waiting for its return to continue, as he relaxed and paced his instruction to some pattern or timing I was unknowing of. Whether it was a tempo of ritual or a timing to keep the one lesson in tune with the melting of
the steel, I still don't know. And he will never tell me either, when I bring it up he merely smiles mysteriously, and changes the subject. Besides, he still does it, even after I reached my adulthood.

"When we wear our chains, we do so in somberness, not joy, for the chains are not things to celebrate, but actions, thoughts, or events to mourn having done or suffered. None who are proud of their chains can be sincere about

the sorrow they claim from their links. To wear the chains is to ask forgiveness, but to wear them too often is to wallow in self-pity, or demand the pity of others. Pity, though a virtue, is limited, mercy is better, and requires improvement, not stasis of being.

"A chain is suspended from the shoulders, not hung at the waist, though you may connect to the waist-belt if you live so long as to have a chain of great length. But the weight must be supported by the shoulders, for we Karlykn have such broad shoulders for taking on such a burden. We shoulder a burden like this willingly, but a vyereiga, that and that alone, we take with trepidation, for it is a burden that only the gods can free us from."

We drank again, and this time the old dwarf got up to check the metal, and muttered a prayer over it, while blessing it with water and increasing the air flow. Then he returned both to his seat and my education. During this interval, I could hear again the noises of the Zala c Bodzhya, voices, rattles, the gongs of the other temples off the Great Hall, and the quiet voice of my body-guard just beyond the door, turning away people, gently, but firmly. For a moment, I thought I had heard even father, but the sounds were faint and often indistinct, so I could not be sure. But it did give me a moment's chill to think of him finding me here, making a chain, without his permission, or guidance. A chill that passed as my teacher and friend, yes, I could call him that, for who but a child can tell a friend from an other, took up his passing of the lore of our kind again.

""Now I must speak of the things I know, from his actions today, that Kordarkukbar will never speak of, for he has cast them aside in his rash heresy. More fool is he than ever I could believe, and of him I have had little good to speak of in the past. Listen to me well, malchik, for your very soul may depend upon the learning I shall pass on unto you. Never take pride in yourself or your chain, or at least not much pride in yourself. Perhaps I need to further explain. It is well to have confidence, to be sure in your work and self, but to have pride, that goes beyond confidence. Be wary of pride, for it is both blind and blinding. It robs you of your self ­judgment, leaving you unable or unwilling to admit your faults. Confidence at least allows you to know your limits, pride makes you deny them, even the ones that you have no chance to exceed.

"Pride in your chain, of the kind that Kordarkukbar preaches, that is a sin. He says that once a link is made the sin is forgiven, and the wearer should take pride in admitting to a sin. Never could a karlyk be more wrong than that. We wear the chain and add links so that we are reminded of our wrongs, and have something to consult to remind us of mistakes we have made, to give us pause in our actions. We have chains to give our conscience a record to refer us to, though oft we may forget of its existence, or be rushed into decisions we care not to make. You nod in understanding, is this because you have heard this before?" I nodded and he queried me again, being surprised at my response.

"From whom? I had thought that all at the castle hearkened only unto that rash youngster we foolishly sent to the Zamok, so who still keeps their wits and learning about them?"

"Father." My voice was small, and timid, for I felt that this would. be a betrayal of some sort, of the trust my father had given me by speaking to me. I looked at the floor not 'Darzog, as the minute stretched out into others, a time of weighing of words, of deeds, of souls. Is this not what silence is? If not that, then what is it?

More time passed, then the elder stood, and spoke softly, as if both stunned and pleased. "So, he has not yet lost all his senses, eh? Well that is good news, but I fear for him under the sway of that fool we allowed to become a priest. The heretics are always contagious, and their sermons
take root like weeds and spread like wildfires. I worry indeed for your father and more for his son, but I think, only think mind you, that you have a good dose of common sense, or at least a brain within your chyerep. Little good will come of the path Kordar' is advocating. Little good, but much harm, if it takes root in the Zamok. Dark times lay ahead, moei druig, dark times indeed." With that he motioned me back to the work table, and had me swing out the cup of the marrow of my zvyelo, and then say again why I made the link while he poured the metal into the mold. Again the room filled with the hissing and snaps of the molds being filled, over which my thin and reedy voice spoke of my failure to tell mama I had loved her. The pain rose again within me, as it had when I had tried to tell her at the end, as it did so many nights when I awoke crying.

But it felt different, as if it was leaving me, like the wound in my heart her death had caused was healing by the making of the zvyelo. And perhaps at last it was. It was still there, but as I talked of mother, over the hot mold, it felt better, the hurt lessened.

"Enough, the metal is now cooling, so we can quench the lock-links, and make the sheathing, upon which we shall carve the purpose of your link, the date, and your use name. Thus shall you be able to always recall the reason you have the link.

"As this is a family link, you may use gold in its sheathing. The syemlya tsyep, or family chain, will all be hanging on this one link, so it must be strong, and true. To have a false link first on the family chain is for evil and weakness to enter your chain. Only Svhobohda can free a link from the vyereigei after it has been added. But evil can break a chain, spilling the links, dishonoring them, and their wearer. That karlyk must then go to a priest, and have his or her chain remade, and reweighed. None want that."

"But how can one tell if the goddess or evil has loosed the chain?" My voice seemed so small after his rumbling one, but he still heard, and did not chastise me for my question, as Kordar' always did, but answered it, as if he was charged by the Fordai to do so.

"When the goddess of freedom releases a dwarf from their burden, the chains that fall away do not break, they are whole, and the chain where it was rejoins, with no disturbance to the links that remain either. The falling zvyelo merely pass through the staying ones, it is its own little miracle, one the gods alone can perform. We of the priests can add a link, but our magics cannot release one. Even the priests of evil are forbidden that, and the blessings of the Fordai combined are upon every link, to prevent other faiths, or actions from damaging them. The Vyereigei are sacred icons, and
as such are to be maintained as if a part of a temple. Indeed they are part of a temple, the temple of your body, the temple of your self. They are the binds that shall tie you to your actions, life, fears, and hopes. But most of all they are the markers of our sorrows, hence calling them the "chains
of sorrows". In all our days, nothing else shall anchor us as much as these."

Now he took up the tools of carving, and slid them across the table to me, in a slow and reverent pace. "These shall be your tools for making your carvings, for making the zvyelyo, the links, you shall make in your Vyereigei. Never use any others, unless gained from a priest of the Fordai, before a sacred forge or fire. If any offer you such under other conditions, refuse them, and have nothing to do with them, for they are of evil and wish only to tempt you into their ways, for enslavement to the powers of hate and greed. They search always for new servants and slaves, and not for true friends; such as you need to find and soon."

I took up the delicate tools, with their large handles and fine points and blades. They seemed as I picked up one, to be clumsy, how they could ever do the work I had seen on father or Kordar' s chains, I could not think of. My hesitation grew, as 'Darzog pulled forth the metal that was the core of my link, and poured it into a mould, then picked up the mould with a pair of water beside the table.

The hiss of quenching metal broke the quiet moments that the other acts had been accomplished in, and the spell over my mind, that had let me learn so easily, and permanently. Now only my own mind's calm and abilities remained, save for a feeling of a hand, cool and soft, upon my shoulder. This was a new thing, and first I thought it to be but a thing of the air currents in the steamy room.

Then Grimdarzog looked towards me and his eyes opened wide, his face cleared of all save true devotion, and he bowed his head. That was when I  knew that She was there with us. Svhobohda stood there, looking much like my mother, yet taller, more fierce, and having hair of silver, not fire.
She smiled at us both, and looked upon the link. Her smile broke, not with disapproval, but sadness.

"Blagoei zvyelo. Your heart is true, and this link is often the hardest to take up. Your chain will grow heavier, but I see a future of promise ahead of you, malchik. Be true to the faith, and keep your freedom, for it shall be the bastion of your people in the long dark days to come." Her voice rang with authority, like the bells of the tower before the hall, which then rang in echo to her voice, as she faded away.

After a moment of silence, from within the chamber, and without as well, Grinrlarzog spoke.

"Blagoveyest ! The bells are rung!" Despite the intensity of his voice, it was soft, even with reverence. I knew then that this was not a common thing, or I would have heard of it before.
The bells tolled on, pealing out the sad yet free ‘Song of Svhobohda', the hymn of liberty and freedom, but at a price. As the last note faded into silence, a respectful hush ruled the Zala c Bodzhya, and extended over the pale of the sound of the Kolokol. Even if ignorant of the cause of the bells giving voice, all gave gracious regard to their knelling.

This was my first experience with the gods. It would not be the last, and most of my time as a young Karlykn and adult would be just a mess of their interference or a storm of the chaos of battle.