The Deepcombers

Chapter Twenty Four

Further along in the industrial section, directly opposite the carpenters' shop, the flag-paved ground was wet with puddles around a stone well ringed with granite blocks. A wooden hutch and spool had been built over the hole and the bucket could be raised by turning a wheel.

The station was operated by three attendants who took turns reeling-up heavy loads. A crowd of farm workers waited with pails for thirsty livestock and other chores. Is this water source the bottom of the skal? Should he shimmy down there and have a look around? No. His right hand was still sore and plus it would annoy everyone who waited above.

And behold, there was a river nearby. 

Atarskal was bisected by a fast-flowing stream the residents called Atar's Creek. The brook raced down the slope and idled about in a small pond by the bottom battlements. With this in mind, it was reasonable to assume the lowest part of the settlement was this tepid lagoon. The grass on both sides of this waterhole were slick with goose poop and the creek was likely dung laden too as this bowl lay below the camp's latrines and Lon knew they emptied directly into the stream.

The young lad crossed the wooden bridge that connected the east and west sides of the town. He crouched down on the far bank to study the water and there happened to see his own reflection. For a moment he didn't recognize the person who stared back. This was only the third time since his transformation that he'd seen his own face, and never this clearly. So, this is how others see me? His black hair was gone entirely and even his eyebrows were now yellow blond! His mop was now white and curly and he could smile without buckteeth. His skin was no longer oily and acne riddled and his complexion looked masculine and more mature. Blond beard stubble grew in patches and gave his face an unkempt appearance. He should try and find a razor...

The goose feces smell around him grew steadily more repulsive. Was this fetid hole really the bottom of Atarskal? It was either here or the busy water well by the carpenter's yard. I suppose I should go for a swim? The pond held two dozen geese and he could see their pens against the far wall. Even this muddy space was employed of course; nothing was wasted in Atarskal. The trout he'd eaten last night were also no doubt fished from this very stream. Was there a sigil under its muddy surface just waiting to be seen? 

Lon remembered how the giant had said there's one at the top, and one at the bottom, and he'd zigzagged his finger down like it was an epic journey. This didn't feel like a zigzag down, and it didn't feel like it was the bottom of Atarskal either. Still he had to give it a try...

Barrrooooom. A loud ram's horn sounded overhead. The call came from above. Lon looked up at the watch tower and shuddered. What did they see?

But as he listened, the lookouts continued the horn's repartee; they played a three-bar reveille that ended on a high-note. Such calls are usually positive proclamations to announce important dignitaries and while that shouldn't be threatening Lon found the prospect of anyone receiving visitors rather alarming. Any unsolicited guests could be Crols or maybe Minister Horne himself. If the priest held that lump of cloudstone, then what chance would these mutants have against his mind control? Stop overreacting.

From where he stood, the young master could not see what'd prompted the alarm, but when the soldiers above cheered happily, he knew it wasn't a call-to-arms. Then he remembered that Atar and his horse patrol were out and about and this could be their return. He listened for the sound of horses' hooves but nothing could be heard over the chuffing-sound of water exiting through the wall-spout.

Lon indulged his curiosity and approached the stone bastion upon which he could see a dozen bowfeigors. Just below the stone defense works was a paved spot with support buildings and stairs. This was forbidden territory, and he knew Captain Owen watched.  But he also knew the blue ribbon he wore was Atar's mark. Who would dare stop him?