A Picture of the Heart

“The royal seal,” Nasovey exclaimed, throwing back the covers, which sent the scroll flying across the room and him scrambling from bed, chasing after it. Sure enough, it was the King’s seal, but why would the King send something to him of all Swiftfoot? Surely it was meant for his dad or mom. They were the more likely ones to receive official parcels from the King.

“Are you sure this is for me?”

“That’s what the courier said.”

“Why not open it and find out?”

“Then there’s no time to waste,” she said, grabbing the worn satchel from its place on the bedpost and filling it with various items before looping the strap over his shoulder. “Off you go. We don’t keep the King waiting.”

“Can I put my vest on?” Nasovey asked, setting the satchel aside and putting on his nicest vest—well, perhaps not the nicest vest. After all, this one was faded, and there was a hole in the pocket, which he'd been asking his mom to sew. All that aside, this was his lucky vest.

Nasovey mumbled something that he couldn't even understand through the mouthful of oats. Without taking the time to chew and swallow to provide an intelligible explanation, he started cranking the handle to raise the platform. At the top, he released the handle and hopped off the platform, allowing it to lower itself back into the den.

Outside, he didn't bother with the gate and instead jumped the fence, something his mother would have frowned upon. When his padded feet touched the dirt street, he turned left and sprinted toward the city square where a few Swiftfoot Elders were undoubtedly sitting. Usually, he’d stop and greet them, as was the unspoken rule of Swiftfoot culture, but not today. After all, most of them would probably understand his impertinence, at least in this instance, or he hoped they would at least. Of course, Elder Pin’roe would complain, but that wouldn’t have anything to do with proper etiquette. He'd just use that as an excuse to take a shot at Nasovey's family. Nasovey really had to get his dad to tell him what had happened between the two of them one day.

Nasovey smiled. Yep, one day, he'd have to make sure his dad told him about the time he'd betrayed Elder Pin'roe. Setting those thoughts aside until later, he sprinted along the dirt road, waving as he passed some other Watcher hopefuls who were no doubt curious about his destination. He’d have to catch up with them later and tell them all about being summoned. He’d be the envy of the hopefuls. That was unless it wasn't good news. No, of course, it was good news and the others were going to be so jealous.

“Morning,” he replied, blowing past him and turning left inside the tunnel. Once again, he’d probably skipped proper procedures by not stopping and requesting permission to enter. But, again, he’d have to deal with that later. As long as he didn’t forget proper etiquette when in the presence of the King, everybody else should understand.

Nasovey smiled as his spring-like legs drove him effortlessly into sharp turns without slowing. He recalled his first few months in Watcher training. Once, while trying to keep up with the more senior cadets, he'd underestimated how sharp one of the turns was, lost traction, and slammed into the wall. Perhaps the worst part was that he'd caused several others to wipe out.

Nowadays, all that had changed. He'd finally hit a growth spurt, officially making him only slightly shorter than most others. He hadn't actually seen his muscles get bigger. After all, it was tough to see through his fur, but he'd certainly felt the change. No longer was he the runt. In some of the tunnel drills, he was even outperforming some of the bigger hopefuls. His dad would say being overly impressed with his abilities was foolish. Then, he'd say that any first-year hopeful could travel the new, much better maintained tunnels. Then he'd follow that up with stories about the tunnels outside the city where the real challenges lay.

If he'd heard the stories once, he'd heard them a dozen times while his dad and mom had relieved the glory days at Nasovey's expense. Still, he couldn’t help but be a little curious about their adventures. It was just too bad that he'd never experience them for himself. From what he'd heard in class, the tunnels were unsafe long before the Watchers stopped using them, and most thought they'd probably collapsed in on themselves by now. That didn’t keep the seniors from threatening to force Watcher hopefuls to spend the night in the tunnels as a rite of passage. Of course, it was all in jest since entering the old tunnels was forbidden by the Elders.

Before long, the tunnel started to ascend. From what he’d learned during Maps class, this side had two climbs and one descent. If the maps were correct—which they always were—the parts that ascended and descended were straight. So, at the top, he didn’t think twice about leaping as he crested the hill, giving him the momentary feeling of weightlessness. Once his feet touched the smooth floor, he slid down the long slope to the bottom, where he started the second climb.

Sadly, he wouldn’t get to repeat the stunt since midway up the hill on the right was the bright spot in the wall, which indicated he’d reached his next turn. Not slowing, he leaned hard right, which caused his momentum to carry him up the tunnel wall. Several feet later, he shoved off and landed in stride. If he recalled his lessons correctly, this tunnel ended abruptly. Very abruptly, he thought, since he’d barely shoved off the wall before it ended. Not slowing, he allowed his momentum to carry him out of the tunnel. He glided through the air, feeling the wind against his fur. Just before his paws touched the glowing marble floor, he spun one-hundred eighty degrees, landed softly, and bowed.

“Rise, Nasovey, son of Tay and Laa.”

Suddenly, his lucky vest didn't seem like such a good idea, especially in comparison to the King’s linen garment, which was scarlet red on top with the White Oak embroidered on the chest, and faded into a brilliant white on the bottom.

Nasovey stood, obeying the King’s instructions, but felt very uncomfortable. After all, he had no idea what to do next. Did he stand with his arms at his sides? Behind his back, perhaps? His instructors had only said two things about the King during etiquette class. One: bow. Two: refer to him as King. Nothing else! He loved the simplicity, but a tad more information would have been appreciated.

“News of your hard work and progress in the academy has often reached me, which is part of the reason I chose you for this crucial mission.”

“Part of the reason, my King?”

“It doesn’t hurt that you're the son of Tay and Laa, whom I have the utmost confidence in.”

“They speak fondly of you.”

“Have they told you much about the Battle of Black Oak and the part they had in securing our victory?”

“Has there ever been a day when Dad hasn’t mentioned it?”

“He has every right to,” the King said with a smile. “After all, he and your mother risked their lives to help me during the battle, but that is a conversation for another time. Right now, we have a serious situation in the Bergsteiger village. There’s a man there whom I believe is in grave danger.”

“My Lord, if he’s with the Bergsteiger, how can he be in danger?”

“If the Bergsteiger were there, he would be safe enough, but there are reports.”

“What I’m about to tell you, Nasovey, is for your ears only. Under no circumstances will you tell another Swiftfoot—even your parents—what I’m about to share with you. Do you understand?”

“There are reports of frozen giants in the southern woods.”

“Frozen, as in ice?”

“More like statues.”

“How’s that even possible?”

Again, the King paused. Nasovey wasn't familiar enough with human expressions to distinguish between them. Had he asked too many questions? Should he be silent and wait for his turn to speak? Without cheek fur to ruffle, all Nasovey had to go off were verbal cues that weren’t helping since the King’s tone never changed; if he was angry or displeased, it didn’t show in his voice.

“Nasovey,” the King resumed. “Several patrols from White Chair have reported brief glimpses of creatures in the canopy near the old signpost. Commander Joran believes the reports are reliable and I’ve found the descriptions consistent with Wiggletwigs.”

“The reports are wrong,” Nasovey said flatly, desperately trying to hold back the unexpected surge of emotions the name evoked. “Our Elders, tell us how you delivered this city, single-handedly defeated the Weurgen, and drove the Wiggletwigs from our lands.”

“We defeated the servants of the Black Oak, but once we captured their leader, they fled into the woods. No one from White Chair, Bergsteiger village, or the Vale saw them. Which only leaves two directions they could have gone—West or North.”

Nasovey shuddered. Many unpleasant stories surrounded the unreached areas past the black lake to the north. Some even suggest that things worse than Weurgen and Wiggletwigs resided there. Nasovey had never bought into there being anything worse than those monstrous Wiggletwigs. Which there probably wasn’t if you were a Swiftfoot.

“Regardless, the villagers of White Chair have been known to, well, let’s just say, embellish at times concerning sightings. I need someone I can trust to accurately report these events; however, it’s not only that, or I would go myself. Stealth is crucial to this mission.”

“My Lord, there are many better qualified Swiftfoot Watchers. You said you picked me because I'm excelling in class and who my parents are, but is that all?”

“In fact, those aren't the only two reasons. Nasovey, I don't have to tell you that the Watchers...how can I say this? I suppose being blunt is the best course. Swiftfoot love gossip.”

Nasovey nodded. That was hardly a secret. It seemed, at times, that the only reason some Swiftfoot pursued the Watcher position was to have something to talk about when they came home. And on that point, Nasovey and most of his peers were divided. Whereas most Watcher hopeful parents encouraged the behavior, Nasovey's parents practically threatened to hang him up by his toes in the square if he even thought about divulging secrets. His parents held that a Watcher must be honorable and considered gossiping dishonorable.

“Nasovey, things are happening in the realm and city that I'd prefer no one else knew about until I had better insight into these matters. Your parents are unlike the other Swiftfoot in many ways. They will have raised you right.”

“Why not ask Mom or Dad?”

“Because of Elder Pin'roe. I'm not sure if your dad has spoken to you about him, but he doesn't seem to like your father. I'm unsure what the repercussions of sending him or your mother on a mission would be; however, it's not uncommon for me to summon Watcher Hopefuls, who excel in the course, and give them a task. My request and your absence will likely be interpreted in that light.”

“Before you leave, there are a few things you should know. You'll be entering the old tunnel system. The tunnel maintenance crews no longer maintain them, so there will likely be challenges.

Suddenly, Nasovey wasn't feeling so confident. The only news he'd heard about the old tunnels weren't things that gave one a warm fuzzy feeling. Now, he desperately wished he knew the difference between lore and reality. The senior Watcher hopefuls made out like the tunnels were a virtual gauntlet of death. While the Professors never gave credence to those claims, they never denied them. Perhaps the Professors viewed the lore as a beneficial way of keeping the most curious of Swiftfoot from exploring the tunnels. Not that many would dare. Still, a few might be too desperate to know the facts and find themselves in trouble.

“Keep the three Swiftfoot rules in mind at all times. They'll be your guide. I trust you've learned them thoroughly?”

“Good. The last thing you need to know is covered by the Swiftfoot rules; however, it cannot be overstated. Anonymity is partially the key to the safety of the Swiftfoot. Myself and your Elders went through great pains to create a safe place for your kind. Have you studied the old tunnel system in Maps class?”

“No, my King. The Professors refuse to teach us much about them.”

“Probably for fear that the more information you have, the more curious you'll become. Very well. Once you reenter the tunnels, you'll come to a T-junction. As you know, turning left takes you beneath the city, but you'll turn right. It won't take long for you to leave the safety and familiarity of the new tunnels and enter the old system. Thankfully, you won't need a map since the tunnels are a straight shot from here to the Bergsteiger village.”

Nasovey bowed before sprinting toward the throne. Within a few feet, he leaped toward the open mouth of the lion’s head, which served as the throne armrest and secret entrance to the Swiftfoot tunnels from the throne room. Once he reached the T-junction, he paused and looked left, wondering if he should return to the city and tell his dad and mom. No, he decided. They knew enough to keep them from worrying. Besides, if he returned now, he’d have to undoubtedly answer an inquiry from the Elders as to why he’d ignored them earlier in the square. Which he’d very much prefer to avoid, so, turning right, he sprinted ahead.

He’d barely had time to warm up his legs and reach full sprint speed before he skidded to a stop twenty paces away from a wall of darkness. Like the King had said, reaching the old system didn’t take long, and the difference was immediately evident. Typically, the maintenance crews kept the tunnels lit with evenly spaced lanterns. Here, however, an unlit lantern—at the edge of the darkness—hung off a nail in the wall, serving as the definitive point where the new ended and the old began. The blanket of darkness evoked something his professor once said, “To answer your question, Watcher hopeful Nasovey, the old passageways are not what they were when I was Watching. We no longer travel outside the city these days. The old tunnels are dangerous, even for the most skilled. They’re dimly lit, roots quickly reclaim their territory, and cave-ins are not infrequent. You’ll need every ounce of skill and training if you’re ever required to navigate them.”

Excitement mixed with nervousness so closely it was hard to tell one from the other. After all, despite the unknown the opportunity before him was one that every Swiftfoot would envy and a Watcher hopeful could only dream about. Today—official title or not—he was a Watcher, the King’s eyes and ears. With that bit of self-encouragement, he took the lifeless lantern from the wall, unshouldered his satchel, and ruffled through it until he found his flask and striker. Thanks, Mom, he said aloud as he filled the lamp and trimmed the wick. One flick from his striker and the lantern leaped to life. The light drove the darkness back and caused his confidence to soar as he headed off at a sprint.

His nose crinkled as he sniffed at the musty air. Did the tunnel crews have a trick for keeping fresh air circulating through the tunnels closer to their city? He’d have to find a way to subtly ask when he returned. They’d certainly taken more time smoothing out the tunnel floors he was accustomed to traveling. Unlike those, these were uneven, and several times already, his toe had caught a lip and nearly sent him head over heels. Normally, he’d accept the risk and press on, but fear of breaking the lantern caused him to slow just slightly. Which seemed like a reasonable compromise since anything less than an all-out sprint felt like a terrible waste of time.

His mom had always said he was a bit of a loose cannon since everywhere he went was generally at full speed. The statement was often made on the tail end of her telling him for the hundredth time how he'd nearly been crushed by a man they called Manu Mitter. They'd never actually said who the man was. Just that, Nasovey had run underneath the man's foot and was mere inches from death.

Suddenly, his large ears perked, alerting him to danger, and he skidded to an abrupt stop. Somewhere, far ahead, falling debris echoed throughout the tunnel. The sound was almost a welcome break from the deafening silence. He waited until the silence returned to continue. Over the next, who knew how long, his ears perked twice more at the distant sound of falling debris. Despite his best efforts to remain quiet and not touch anything, the ceiling was collapsing. Unwelcomed thoughts of being crushed by a massive chunk of earth or being buried alive pervaded his thoughts, which caused him to seriously consider turning back.

Although at the top of his class, the limitations of training were painfully evident. He shuddered at the thought of the other Watcher hopefuls attempting this. Many arduous academy drills had prepared him physically; however, being alone with echoes and roots reaching out from the shadows kept him on edge.

Skidding to a stop for the fourth time, he squinted through the darkness toward a tall, skinny figure standing in the center of the tunnel. His mind raced to supply an explanation. Run! Stop that, he chastised himself. Cautiously, he moved forward until the mysterious figure was revealed to be nothing more than an old vine ladder. His Professors had been more or less silent about the old tunnels, but they had mentioned these ladders. They provided access to overhead shafts that led topside.

Nasovey winced at another distant rumble, but this sound wasn’t like the others. He pressed his ear against the cool earth wall and listened. The earth roared and groaned. What is that? He’d heard tales of the ground quaking. In fact, when he was much younger, the ground had quaked within White Oak, causing some old shacks in the west part of the city to collapse.

Soon, fear gave way to the more pervasive part of his character—curiosity. Investigating the noise, albeit risky, would be a welcomed break. Besides, this was probably something a Watcher should discover for the benefit of the King. So, setting the lantern on the ground, he gave the ladder a tentative tug. Surprisingly, it felt sturdy. Next, he put all of his weight on the bottom rung. The ladder swayed but held together, so he ascended. At the top, he pulled himself up through a hole in a wooden platform, which seemed sturdy enough. Moonlight peeked through the gaps in an overhead circular wooden door. He smiled and let the light wash over him. How long had it been since he’d seen the moonlight? Months? Longer?

Suddenly, the boards beneath him shook, reminding him of his purpose. Back to work. Climbing the three steps, hewn into the earth, he reached the latch of the circular door and twisted. The door popped open a few inches. Using the lip, he pulled himself up and peeked out. To his horror, east, at the base of Mount Jumala, some sort of huge monstrosities crept along in the shadows. I have to warn the King!

Grabbing the single vine attached near the latch, he dropped, using his weight to pull the door closed. Then, midway down the ladder, he released, allowing himself to free fall. Once he touched the floor, he snatched the lantern and sprinted back toward the city. Soon, an unwelcomed but now familiar roar filled the tunnel. This time, however, the sound was right on top of him. Debris rained down. A cave-in! He sprinted ahead and barely managed to skid to a stop as a large chunk of earth smashed into the floor. Leaping back, he dodged another and frantically scrambled backward. Fear gripped him as he wrestled against roots that reached out and grabbed at him like wicked hands. Terrible thoughts flooded his mind as a sudden wave of debris pressed him to the floor. The light was gone, and he was buried.