A Picture of the Heart

Despite Nasovey's lightning-fast reflexes, which kept him from being crushed by the larger chuck of earth, there was no place to escape the falling debris. In an instant, he was buried and pinned to the floor. The weight forced the breath from his chest. He tried to breathe. Nothing. Not even a sip of air passed his lips. Panic set in. Every muscle tensed. His thoughts became jumbled and blurry—time to sleep. No! Stay awake! No use. Falling, that’s how his oxygen-deprived brain interpreted death. It felt like falling deep into the unknown. Descending into darkness and then landing into something soft. Death was easier than he’d expected. Wait. His thoughts were clearer. He wasn’t sleeping. He was waking. And he could breathe! Inhaling sharply, he choked.

He was no longer pinned. Experimentally, he moved his arms; nothing wrong there. Next, he tried his legs which didn’t budge. Was he paralyzed? Had his legs been crushed? Reaching down, he took up a handful of soft earth. He was covered waist-high in dirt. Not good, but at least he wasn’t paralyzed. At least he didn’t think he was. Experientially, he wiggled his toes. They didn’t move much but did move a little. Everything seemed to be in order. Almost everything that was. Reaching up, he touched his shoulder, expecting to find his satchel, but it wasn’t there.

Frantically, he groped about the darkness. Sentimental value aside, his striker was in the bag, and since the lantern was gone, it was his only light source. His paws dug into the soft earth as he searched for the bag. Leaning forward until his upper body was lying on the dirt, he reached out, and his fingertips grazed something. Even in complete darkness, he knew the feel of the reinforced strap his mom had sown. Giving the bag a tentative tug revealed what he'd already suspected; the bag was buried. Panic threatened to overtake him. No bag meant no striker, which meant no light. The thought of trudging through the darkness with no light was terrifying. Taking a deep, dusty breath of air, he calmed himself. Staying put and fretting over the unknown wouldn’t help matters any. He had to take things one step at a time. First, he’d try to free his legs. Then he’d concern himself with digging out the bag after that.

He started by wiggling his toes, which loosened the dirt a little. Next, he moved his lower legs. Satisfied, he moved his thighs. Putting it all together, he moved his toes, lower and upper legs, and began rocking back and forth until he’d created the space he needed to free himself. A few moments later, he'd extricated the satchel and lit his striker. Dust filled the air, making it hard to see even with the flame. Still, it was a comfort to know he had the striker when he needed light, but for now, he’d save fuel and extinguish it.

With arms extended, he moved forward until he touched the wall. Reaching above his head, he felt for a ledge to no avail. He’d need to climb, but the fissure was far too narrow. He’d need to pick a direction and move. Hopefully, the gap would widen at some point and permit a climb. Then, all he had to do was find another ladder, get outside, and get his bearings. Simple enough. Unless the collapse had blocked his path or destroyed the platform. In which case, he could be trapped underground until the King came looking for him. Shaking the dangerous thoughts away, he squeezed into the gap.

Every step plunged his feet into the loose earth, which slowed his progress. The tunnel narrowed even further a few times, so his back and chest scrubbed along the walls. One other time, it'd become so narrow he’d had to make the terrifying decision to exhale and squeeze through. He had no idea how he’d talked himself into that feat after being buried earlier. Thankfully, the squeeze was quick and paid off since the tunnel immediately widened sufficiently to attempt a climb. He pressed his back into one side and feet against the other. Slowly, he inched his way upward. Near the top, slivers of light peeked through the dust from above. Nasovey grabbed the top of the cliff and pulled himself up.

As he stood, something snakelike wrapped around his head and shoulders. Panicked, he twisted and flailed to free himself. Grabbing the creature's body, he slung it away and lunged backward. The chasm was a distant thought during the attack, but now, while teetering on the edge, it garnered full attention. Toe claws dug in, trying desperately to regain balance, but the soft ground crumbled. Losing his balance, he toppled backward, fully expecting to fall headlong into the abyss, but thankfully, the gap was narrow, and he landed on the other side. Frantically, he scrambled away from the gap and pressed back into the wall. If another attack was coming this was the perfect opportunity. He needed light, and he needed it now! Come on! Where are you? His thoughts screamed as he frantically searched for his striker. Had it fallen out in the scramble? Where was the creature? It could be inches from his face for all he knew. Finally! He barely contained an elated shout as he snatched the cylinder from the bag. One flick and the little flame danced to life, driving the darkness back.

He stared across the chasm, fully expecting the serpent to lunge through the dust at any moment. Several minutes later, the attack still hadn't come, but the anticipation was killing him. Hopping up, he made the bold decision to tackle the problem head-on. He knew it was a smaller serpent from the previous struggle. It was, perhaps, even a baby. He may have even scared it away, although that was doubtful. Regardless, he had to do something. If it was still there, he’d attempt to scare it off. If it attacked, well, he’d do what he must. Gathering his courage, he leaped across the chasm. He was less than two feet when he caught sight of the creature hanging from the ceiling. Unsure whether to laugh or cry, Nasovey stood in disbelief and stared at the old vine rope ladder, still swaying from their previous battle. Shaking his head, he extinguished the striker, took hold of his nemesis, and climbed.

At the top, he grabbed the lip of the stump, pulled up, and peeked out. Thankfully, darkness still covered the land. At least, that would make what felt like a no-win scenario a little more palatable. Climbing down, he sank onto the platform and weighed his options. The King had said the three little rules would guide him; however, the rule said to stay in the tunnel, and he wasn’t about to take that risk again. In his mind, there was only one choice: get out. At least then, he’d be able to see where he was in relation to White Oak and the Bergsteiger village. He’d head toward whichever was closest. Decision made, he climbed up and over.

Once outside, he cleared his lungs and filled them with fresh air. Then, with a few quick shakes, he caused a small dust cloud around him. He was so absorbed in the task he barely saw the dark figure swiping at him. Dropping to all fours, he rolled, dodged the swipe, and leaped toward the tunnel entrance, but a bony hand caught him by the legs. Three bony toes with talons at the end told him everything he needed to know. “A Wiggletwig,” he gasped.

“I thought these tasty treats were all gone,” the Wiggletwig said as his long black tongue licked his beak.

Nasovey winced as the King’s words echoed in his mind. “The three little rules will guide you; remember, anonymity is the key to your people’s safety.”

“Let me go,” Nasovey demanded, which sounded more like a plea to his ears.

“It can speak,” the Wiggletwig said, holding Nasovey up for a closer look.

“Yeah, I can speak, and I have a lot to say for the hundreds of my family whom your vile kind devoured.”

“You may want to concern yourself with what’s about to happen to you,” it said, tossing him in the air. His gluttonous green eyes beamed in the night as Nasovey fell toward rows of sharp teeth. Just before the creature’s gaping maw could slam shut, something smashed into Nasovey, sending him flying through the air and tumbling across the ground. Once he regained his composure, he turned to find his attacker had momentarily lost interest.

“Hey,” the Wiggletwig, now hovering face to face with a tall man, screeched.

Nasovey hadn’t even noticed the man. His instincts said to get a look at his face, but the Wiggletwig was in the way. Besides, he’d been gifted a window of opportunity to escape. With the Wiggletwig distracted, he couldn’t afford to take the extra time. Speed was his greatest ally, and his best chance of escape lay inside the tunnel. Nasovey turned to leave when he caught a flicker from the corner of his eye. Praying it wasn’t what he thought it was, he turned back, and his heart sank. Things were bad, perhaps even worse than the reports the King received. The giants would have fought to protect the gift, which probably meant the reports were correct and the giants were frozen.

“That’s what you get for toying with us about the path,” the man in a face-off with the Wiggletwig said.

“Delve, come on, let’s just leave,” another man nearby whined.

Again, Nasovey hadn’t even noticed him. So far he was striking out as a Watcher. With the man’s back turned, he’d have to place himself in immediate danger to get a look at him. Even if he did, it was unlikely he’d be able to describe a human well enough to be helpful to the King. He’d just decided to cut his losses and make a break for it when he spotted something shiny hanging from the man’s wrist. Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, leaped, and grabbed the bottom of the man’s shirt.

“Delve, it’s on me!” the short man screamed, spinning in circles.

Nasovey’s claws tore into the man’s shirt as his world spun out of control. The man swatted at Nasovey, allowing him to latch onto the leather strap attached to the whistle. With both paws, he pulled on the knot, which gave way, sending him and it flying. He righted himself in midair, reached out, and snagged the whistle. The moment his feet touched, he blew. The bird became lifeless, fell, and struck the Wiggletwig’s head.