7. Hal

Under the ground, that’s where the bad things are

This is an installment in a serialized novel. To start at the beginning, go here.

The sun was warm on Hal’s face. The sky stretched clear and blue from the eastern range to the western horizon. He closed his eyes. A little breeze rustled the wheat against his fingers… was there a hint of autumn chill there? Crows were calling above. Their cries were loud and clear, almost echoing. That definitely sounded like autumn. But the insects were still humming with summer vigor– a musical, thrumming pulse. Hal hummed, trying to match the pitch. He smiled–that was it. He could feel his chest vibrating in tune with the fields around him. He began to sing, stringing words and notes together experimentally, playing with a melody.

“Hal!” The shout made him sit up, absently running a hand through tawny hair, glinting reddish in the sun. There was a patter of small feet, and a boy emerged from the wheat into the clearing.

“Hey Oweth,” Hal smiled, reaching out to tousle his brother’s hair. “I thought you were helping Esath stack the sheaves today.”

“Mother sent me. What is that song called?” The little boy threw his arms around Hal’s back, attempting to climb onto his shoulders.

Hal grabbed the boy’s hands to pull him up, wincing as a small knee knocked the side of his head. “It doesn’t have a name yet. I was just making it up.”

“I like it. Esath taught me a song today, when I told him I was going to see you, but yours is better.”

“Esath wrote a song? Really? Let’s hear it.”

Holding Hal’s hand, the little boy stood up on his shoulders and jumped to the ground. Then he stood straight, an exuberant expression on his face, and sang.

I once knew a farmer who sang to the wheat

Planting and harvest, summer and spring

He sang to the dirt and he sang to the seeds

He sang to the beetles and sang to the weeds

And as he starved he continued to sing

a song about how he had nothing to eat.

Hal sighed, looking around at the field in embarrassment. Too much of the wheat still stood, unharvested. He shook his head. “I have to say, that’s not bad for Esath. I’m impressed.”

“He said you’d like it.” Oweth smiled proudly, innocent of the pointed message he had delivered.

“So why did Mother send you?”

“She wants you to come tie the sheaves for Kraio. She said it’s not efficient to harvest without a partner.”

Hal picked up the sickle that had lain forgotten on the ground, feeling guilty. He suspected his mother also thought that supervision from his older brother would keep Hal focused– and she was probably right. He never meant to avoid the work. He just got distracted. “Alright, we can walk together most of the way.“

“Let me carry your sickle!”

Hal looked at the boy suspiciously. “Why?”

“I’m hunting a dragon, and I need a sword.”

Hal grinned mischievously. “This isn’t a sword, Oweth. It’s a… dragon claw!” Hal roared and made a playful lunge toward the boy, who shrieked in delighted terror and turned to run.

Hal followed, accentuating the pursuit with his best dragon roars. The little boy continued to flee madly through the field, yelling as he went.

“Hey Oweth! Where are you going? Slow down.” Hal realized that the boy had turned up ahead of him and was racing toward the edge of the field, where a grove of scrubby trees were cast into shadow by a craggy hillside. “That’s not the way to the other wheat field!” Hal turned, lengthening his stride to try to catch up.

The grove was thick with undergrowth. Hal relied on the sound of Oweth’s shouts to tell him where to go. The ground was sloped here, up toward the hillside, and the branches all around him were slowing him down– his height was a disadvantage now. “Oweth! Come on– come back here!” The boy’s shouts were further off now.

Then a scream, and a rumbling sound.

Hal paused. His stomach flipped. That hadn’t been a playful yell— it was a scream of terror. “Oweth! Oweth, are you okay?” He ran, pressing through the brambles, using his sickle to hack the ones that blocked his way and ignoring the scratches on his arms. What had happened? He didn’t hear anything ahead now.

And then he stopped short—there it was. Near the base of a large cypress was a hole. It was as if the ground had simply… collapsed, leaving a deep pit. Near the top of the hole, the loose earth sloped steeply inward. Roots from the tree protruded from the opening. Hal had heard wellers talk about sinkholes opening in the ground, but he had never seen one. He couldn’t tell how deep the hole was– the sides seemed to grow steeper toward the bottom. And his brother was nowhere to be seen.

“Oweth!” Hal called again. There was no response. Hal stood on the side of the pit, his breath coming fast. He needed to get help. No! No time—Oweth could be seriously injured, or buried. He needed a rope, a long vine? He looked around—there was nothing. He pictured Oweth’s face—was his brother really down there somewhere? Tears filling his eyes, he hooked his sickle to his belt, gripped one of the larger roots, and began to lower himself down. His feet sought a purchase. Loose earth crumbled beneath his boots. He hung there for a moment. Then, with a loud cry, he let go.

At first he skidded down the slope, loose dirt falling around him, roots snagging his clothes. And then he fell, straight down.

He landed with a thud on loose soil, a few pebbles continuing to rain down on his head. He lay there for a moment, a bit stunned. Nothing seemed to be broken, but something was stabbing him in the shoulder. He reached for it with his other hand, sitting up gingerly. He stopped as his fingers found the sickle– it had swung up during the fall, the tip piercing the back of his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and pulled it out. It stung, but the puncture was shallow. He shook his head–it was a miracle it hadn’t skewered him through.

His head was starting to feel clearer. Oweth! Hal began frantically feeling around, eyes adjusting to the dim light. His hands touched fabric. He could see now– there was Oweth, lying half-buried in the debris. Throat tight, Hal pulled the little boy out. He cradled him in his arms, looking at his brother’s pale face. He was breathing. Hal wept in relief, hugging the boy close.

Oweth’s eyes flickered open.

“Hal,” the boy said, a little weakly, “I was running, and then I fell.”

“I know, Oweth, I know.” Hal stroked the boy’s hair.

“I bumped my head.” The little boy put a hand to his forehead.

“Let me see.” Hal gently lifted the boy’s hand. A goose egg was forming there. It was going to be a big one– but it looked no worse than the one Hal had gotten as a boy when his sister Piria had hit him with a branch. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”

Hal inspected the boy as he pointed to a few scrapes. Nothing serious. He put a hand to his own shoulder. Part of his shirt was sticky, but the bleeding seemed to be slowing. He sighed. It was lucky they had both survived the fall.

“I was running, Hal.” Oweth was sitting up now. “I was running, and the ground fell. It was like what Nana said. I must have done something bad.”

“What do you mean, Oweth–what Nana said?”

The little boy’s eyes were wide. “Under the ground, that’s where the bad things are.” And he stood, a little wobbly, and recited:

Pits and holes and caverns deep–

that is where the monsters sleep.

By your mother’s words abide

lest the ground should open wide

and under dark earth leave you bound

with other evils ‘neath the ground.

Oweth took a breath. “I must be bad, because the ground swallowed me up.”

Hal squeezed the boy’s hand. “You’re not bad, Oweth. Don’t think about what Nana told you– that’s just a rhyme to scare children. It’s not true.” But Hal looked around the dark hole all the same, feeling uneasy. One edge of the pit’s base was rock. There was a small, dark crevice in it. Hal shivered looking at it, spooked in spite of himself.

“I want to go back up, Hal.” Oweth seemed fully alert now. He was sitting up, but his mouth was starting to quiver as he looked around. “I want to go home.”

“I know Oweth–it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here, don’t worry.” Hal tried to sound confident. He looked up. The hole was steep– sheer near the bottom. He could see roots protruding from the pit walls, but there was not much this deep. Hal stretched his uninjured arm above his head. There was a root up there– maybe if he jumped? He unhooked his sickle from his belt, setting it carefully out of the way on the ground. He jumped–and missed. Hal could jump higher than any of his brothers– he was the only one who could grab the lowest branch of the big oak near the barn. But deep down, he had already known he couldn’t make this jump.

He tried to grab on to the earthen wall, digging his fingers into the clay, kicking his boot in to create a foothold. Gingerly, he began to pull himself up. He reached his other arm up for another handhold, wincing as he stretched out the injured shoulder, digging his fingers in again. The earth came away beneath his hand, and he fell again. A shower of dirt rained down upon them as part of the pit wall gave way. He sat there, breathing hard.

Oweth was starting to cry now.

Hal held him. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to go home.” But Hal’s heart was beating fast. How foolish had he been, jumping into this pit without a plan? He should have run for help.

Help. His family would notice when they didn’t come back, and they would come looking for them. All they had to do was wait. But how would they find them– would they be able to track them out here? They were farmers after all, not hunters. And how long would that take?

Another small shower of dirt fell on their heads. Hal looked up apprehensively. The earthen pit walls were too loose, too steep– almost concave toward the bottom. It didn’t look stable.

Desperate, he paced around the base of the pit. He needed something– anything.

He stopped. There it was– the small, dark crevice in the rock at the base of one side of the pit. Hal got down on his knees and began clearing away the loose earth around it. The gap widened. He kept going. This wasn’t just a crack in the rock– there was an opening here, plenty wide enough to fit a person.

“It’s dark in there,” said Oweth.

“Yes...” Hal stared into the blackness, considering. There were a lot of caves in the area–under the whole plain, it was said. The wellers worked in many of them, building and maintaining pipes and pumps from the underground rivers that provided nearly all the water for the farms and homes along the verdance. Hal had played in some of the tunnels as a child, defying the superstitions–but even he had never explored too far.

Was it possible that this cave connected to one of the irrigation tunnels– that there could be a way out? He closed his eyes. Think, Hal. No more rash decisions today. They had no source of light–the dim light from the pit opening would not stretch far in there. They could get lost, or stuck, and the chance that this cave led to a way out was slim.

The sides of the pit quivered– another small landslide. Hal drew in a breath.

“Oweth, I’m going to go in there and have a look around. You stay here and wait for me.”

“No!” The little boy grabbed Hal’s arm, gripping tightly. “I’m coming with you!”

“It might be dangerous,” said Hal. “Stay here for a little while as I…” The pit quivered again. “Never mind, let’s go.”

Hal climbed into the cave opening, then pulled Oweth quickly after him. There was a rumble around them. “Come on, Oweth!” Hal grabbed the boy’s hands and yanked him in as the pit walls collapsed behind them. The darkness was complete.