32. Iron and Stone
Iron and Stone
Within moments he was Maelan again. He placed his forehead and hand against the old willow and whispered, “Kind keeper of paths unseen, grant me passage through your timeworn veil, that I may walk where few remember.”
The willow quivered in response. Its bark pulsed faintly, and the earth groaned as the mound began to split. Roots pulled back in a slow, deliberate motion, revealing a narrow entrance carved deep into the ground. The air that rose from it was thick with the scent of moss, minerals and sweet honey.
Maelan gave a slight nod of thanks to the willow and gestured for them to follow.
Sorcha lingered at the edge. Her fingers skimmed the bark, still warm beneath her touch.
A quiet heaviness settled in her chest. She had longed for Eadartha.
The village paths worn smooth by familiar feet, the rhythm of voices she’d known since childhood, the morning mist curling over the hills like a memory.
She had missed the beauty of it all. But this place had taken root in her, too.
Ahead, Kyron waited beside Maelan. Noctis sat just beyond the threshold, ears flicking in quiet patience.
They were all watching her and waiting. She looked back once more and then, with a steady breath, she stepped forward.
The entrance rumbled, and with a final groan; the Otherworld slipped from view.
They walked through the passage; the earth shifting beneath their feet as the scent of moss gave way to iron and coal.
Stone steps climbed upward, opening into a range of mountains stretched wide across the horizon.
The clang of hammers against rock, the screech of wheels on tracks, and voices shouting orders echoed through the air ahead.
They emerged from the shadows and found themselves in the heart of a mining operation. Sorcha knew they were back in Eadartha and, more specifically, where they’d landed.
“The willow landed us in Ironridge,” she said as she stepped forward, taking in the world's familiarity. She knew its monsters and dangers; the relief of it all washing over her.
Suddenly, the weight of weeks past hit her all at once. It was spring, mid-day, and although only a short time had passed in the Otherworld, it had been months in Eadartha.
Her head began to whirl. Dizzy and off-kilter, her body felt heavier and harder to move. Kyron stepped forward and placed a hand on her back. “It’s just the shift between realms. It’ll wear off.”
Sorcha nodded and turned, but Noctis was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Noctis?”
A large black wolf lunged out of the shadows, knocking her flat to the ground. She gasped, bracing for teeth but only to be met with a rough tongue licking her face.
“Noctis?!”
The wolf leapt off her and bounded in a circle before sitting in front of her, tail wagging.
“I’m assuming Noctis adjusted to fit in with the mortal world,” Maelan said as he walked over and gently patted her head.
They moved along the mountain paths, passing miners loading carts with gemstones in rough cut forms. The clang of picks echoed through the stone as they worked.
Suddenly, screams rang out from one of the tunnels. Miners came tumbling outside, shouting as they fled. The group paused as members of the Iron Circle charged in, blue lights crackling in the shadows. Orders were barked over the chaos.
It ended almost as quickly as it began. A tall man stepped forward, cleared his throat, and shouted, “It’s all clear!”
Sorcha turned to one of the miners, a woman covered in rock dust, sweat gleaming on her sun-kissed skin. It gave her a dewy glow beneath the grime.
Her muscles flexed as she picked up a pickaxe, her hair falling across her eyes under a battered hard hat.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but what’s happening?”
The woman glanced over her shoulder. A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
She adjusted her hat with a sigh. “We’ve had problems with cave dwellers the past few months. The bats. Grogochs. Leprechauns. And other things we don’t have names for. They attack us and make it impossible to work.”
She turned away and disappeared into the crowd of miners, fading from sight.
They watched as the Iron Circle gathered, forming a loose ring, whispering among themselves.
Noctis kept walking, forcing the others to follow.
They moved in silence for a while, boots scraping over the surface rock.
The landscape held steady, scattered pines and jagged mountains rising around them, peeking through the mist at uneven heights.
Wildflowers bloomed along the path’s edge, forget-me-nots clustering in the grass.
In the distance stood a smelting building, smoke curling from its stack.
Large water wheels turned near the far off lake, and the sounds of water tables and minerals sifting filled the air.
The path ahead led them to a small village unknown to Sorcha.
She had only ever visited the city of Ironridge and knew little beyond it.
They emerged into a loud village, men shouting in the streets as a game of hurling played in the fields just beyond the homes. Women and men bustled through the roads, weaving between merchants and outsiders alike, searching for precious stones and rare gems. It was alive.
The scent of cinnamon filled Sorcha’s nose, and her mouth began to water. Barmbrack. By the halls of Tech Duinn, she missed it so much. Excitement ebbed its way to the surface as she followed the smell to a small tavern.
The Stag’s Head, the sign read.
Kyron pushed open the door, and a rush of voices poured out.
Chanting, laughter, and songs echoed between the stone walls.
The smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, whiskey, and rosemary hung thick in the air.
The tavern was full of people from all walks of life, pressed shoulder to shoulder in the heat and noise.
Sorcha’s gaze caught on a man lounging in the corner, boots resting lazily on a whiskey barrel, a mug of ale in hand.
Next to him, leaning against the wall, stood a large hammer with a long handle. It was worn from use and age, but still ornate and well-kept.
He was tall and ruggedly handsome; his sculpted arms shifted beneath the candlelight as he moved. His hair was dark and sandy. His eyes, when they met hers, were ocean blue.
He looked at her for only a moment before turning away.
“Morning,” a man called from behind the bar as he extended his hand. Kyron stepped forward, returned the greeting, and shook it firmly.
“What can we do ya for?” the man asked. His voice was kind and worn. The ash in his dark hair reminded Sorcha of cracked pepper.
“Sir,” she said, “you wouldn’t happen to have rooms available for the night and a hot meal? I swear I can smell barmbrack.”
The man laughed. “I do. I’ve got barmbrack along with fresh butter and fruit, if you’d like. The rooms are upstairs, and I’ve got one free for the evening.”
Sorcha paused before smiling. “We’ll take it. And the food sounds heavenly.”
The man nodded and disappeared behind the bar.
A few moments later, he returned with a platter of bread, jam, and sliced fruit. The smell was intoxicating. Crushed strawberries and raspberries blended with honey. Mint jam and apple chutney filled the air with sweetness. Wild berries and sliced apples sat beside thick slices of warm bread.
Sorcha handed him a few gold coins and reached for a slice of bread.
They finished the food slowly; the warmth settling into their bodies.
Sorcha let out a quiet sigh, wiping her hands on her pants.
The smell of cinnamon and mint still lingered in the air, but it didn’t cover what clung to her skin.
“I can still smell the bog on me,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose.
Kyron sniffed his shirt and pulled back slightly. “Gods,” he said. “That’s not just you.”
Maelan leaned in, took a breath, and immediately made a face. “That’s definitely all of us.”
Sorcha stood from the table, her joints cracking faintly as she stretched. “I call first bath,” she said, already moving toward the back to speak with the innkeeper. Neither of them argued.
As she disappeared behind the hall, Maelan shifted in his seat, watching the crowd press tighter near the bar. Another round of drinks had just been delivered, and the energy had shifted. A game had broken out. Dice, raised voices, and a slurred song winding between shouts.
“Want to see how long it takes me to win us another bottle?” Maelan asked, already rising.
Kyron gave him a look. “You don’t even know the rules.”
Maelan grinned. “That’s never stopped me before.” Maelan wove through the crowd with ease, as if he had done it a hundred times before. Dust clung to his boots and dried blood crusted near his collar, but no one seemed to notice.
He stopped beside a game table where coins clicked across worn wood and laughter spilled between rounds.
A few men sat with flushed cheeks; their faces unkind.
One cursed as he lost a hand, tossing his cup down as the dice rolled out of reach.
As time passed, the crowd around the table grew thicker, drawn in by the rising pot.
A fresh round of drinks arrived just as a voice rose from behind them.
“I’ll play.”
Niall stepped forward from the edge of the room, his expression blank as he dropped a handful of coins onto the table beside Maelan’s. His hammer leaned against the wall behind him, its head marked with old chips and smudges of soot.
Maelan met his gaze, a flicker of curiosity passing between them before he looked away.
“I’m in,” Maelan spoke as he placed coins onto the table.
The next few rounds passed quietly, neither one speaking, neither one losing much, though the air around them grew heavier with each toss of the dice.
What started as a game shifted with a subtle tension, the kind that started fights.