Ask a dorn and he will intone, in a voice that seems to echo and at times sounds as though others are speaking along with it, the legend of Grandfather Longlegs and Kalim Flinteye on the White Helm…
Once, in the lands of the ancient clans, Grandfather Longlegs and Kalim Flinteye set out on a worn road to climb a mountain known as the White Helm. They knew a legend telling of a spear hidden at the summit of the Helm, a weapon of great magic that could vanquish any foe. Kalim was Grandfather’s greatest champion, and with the spear he would surely defeat the sylphs who pressed against their southern border.
The White Helm was a nearly trackless place, but Grandfather Longlegs knew of a road used by Those who Walked Before. It was hardly more than a half-lost trail now. A few crumbling steps and carven standing stones were all that remained of the ancient highway.
Kalim could jump up the ridges like a mountain goat, though, and Grandfather Longlegs could ride the wind if need be. He once triumphed in a jumping contest against a sparrow. The road was hard, but they took each leap knowing they would claim their price at the end.
Along the crumbled highway, Kalim and Grandfather came across a cleft into the pale stone of the mountain. They could hear cave-breath within, and their deep sight went in and did not return. “It is a narrow way,” Kalim said. “Little more than a water-crack. We should leave it, and hurry to the summit.”
Grandfather put his hand against the cliff. “I taste aquamarine in this stone. The narrow way would be hard, but I feel there is a price at its end.”
So Kalim and Grandfather slipped into the cleft in the White Helm. The space inside was spare and close, and before long they came to a passage neither could get through. They were too few for a mining chant, but Grandfather Longlegs had a small sounding stone he had claimed from a sea sylvan prince in a game of tiles. The prince had bested many challengers with a marked tileset, but Grandfather’s deep sight picked out the tiny flecks and he saw through the prince’s tricks.
With the stone, their chant parted the walls and revealed a pool that shone with aquamarine. The fine blue stones were everywhere, looking like the sky was showing through cracks in the cavern. “These stones have great power,” said Grandfather. “I can hear the song of their might in my bones.” The two dorn set to work with their climbing hooks, and for a time the chime of their work filled the chamber with harmonious echoes.
So they took to the climb again with packs laden with treasure. The way was harder now with their extra burden, but they made each leap without complaint. Higher and higher they climbed. A chill set in about them, and their breath came harder as the rich air of the lowlands abandoned them.
“We cannot go higher,” Kalim told Grandfather. “I cannot get breath enough to leap.”
“And there is not wind enough to ride,” Grandfather Longlegs told him. “But I will push ahead toward the price of the labor, even if I must crawl.”
“Then so shall I,” said Kalim Flinteye.
So they climbed now by walking alone. It was slow, especially as they came to deep snow. They waded forth still, fighting the White Helm with every step. The trees failed them, and the brush failed them, and as they passed into deeper snow even the steps and waystones of Those who Walked Before failed them. But the dorn forged on, throwing songs back at the wind and trackless snow.
They made the summit, at the last. Atop the White Helm they found the ruins of a pale dome and an iron bowl. The spear they sought was driven through the iron bowl, held fast by the weathered remains. Kalim grasped the haft and pulled against its trap. With a scream of metal that echoed out across the mountains, the iron bowl fell in two pieces and left Kalim with his prize.
Thus did Kalim Flinteye buy the Skybolt Spear in blood and sweat. Thus did he learn a new truth from Grandfather Longlegs. Thus did they find the Cavern of the Stone Sky, and take the Living Tears that would carry them through their later trials.
But that is another tale.
And the dorn will tell you that the story’s lesson is diligence.
Once, in the lands of the ancient clans, Grandfather Longlegs and Kalim Flinteye set out on a worn road to climb a mountain known as the White Helm. They knew a legend telling of a spear hidden at the summit of the Helm, a weapon of great magic that could vanquish any foe. Kalim was Grandfather’s greatest champion, and with the spear he would surely defeat the sylphs who pressed against their southern border.
The White Helm was a nearly trackless place, but Grandfather Longlegs knew of a road used by Those who Walked Before. It was hardly more than a half-lost trail now. A few crumbling steps and carven standing stones were all that remained of the ancient highway.
Kalim could jump up the ridges like a mountain goat, though, and Grandfather Longlegs could ride the wind if need be. He once triumphed in a jumping contest against a sparrow. The road was hard, but they took each leap knowing they would claim their price at the end.
Along the crumbled highway, Kalim and Grandfather came across a cleft into the pale stone of the mountain. They could hear cave-breath within, and their deep sight went in and did not return. “It is a narrow way,” Kalim said. “Little more than a water-crack. We should leave it, and hurry to the summit.”
Grandfather put his hand against the cliff. “I taste aquamarine in this stone. The narrow way would be hard, but I feel there is a price at its end.”
So Kalim and Grandfather slipped into the cleft in the White Helm. The space inside was spare and close, and before long they came to a passage neither could get through. They were too few for a mining chant, but Grandfather Longlegs had a small sounding stone he had claimed from a sea sylvan prince in a game of tiles. The prince had bested many challengers with a marked tileset, but Grandfather’s deep sight picked out the tiny flecks and he saw through the prince’s tricks.
With the stone, their chant parted the walls and revealed a pool that shone with aquamarine. The fine blue stones were everywhere, looking like the sky was showing through cracks in the cavern. “These stones have great power,” said Grandfather. “I can hear the song of their might in my bones.” The two dorn set to work with their climbing hooks, and for a time the chime of their work filled the chamber with harmonious echoes.
So they took to the climb again with packs laden with treasure. The way was harder now with their extra burden, but they made each leap without complaint. Higher and higher they climbed. A chill set in about them, and their breath came harder as the rich air of the lowlands abandoned them.
“We cannot go higher,” Kalim told Grandfather. “I cannot get breath enough to leap.”
“And there is not wind enough to ride,” Grandfather Longlegs told him. “But I will push ahead toward the price of the labor, even if I must crawl.”
“Then so shall I,” said Kalim Flinteye.
So they climbed now by walking alone. It was slow, especially as they came to deep snow. They waded forth still, fighting the White Helm with every step. The trees failed them, and the brush failed them, and as they passed into deeper snow even the steps and waystones of Those who Walked Before failed them. But the dorn forged on, throwing songs back at the wind and trackless snow.
They made the summit, at the last. Atop the White Helm they found the ruins of a pale dome and an iron bowl. The spear they sought was driven through the iron bowl, held fast by the weathered remains. Kalim grasped the haft and pulled against its trap. With a scream of metal that echoed out across the mountains, the iron bowl fell in two pieces and left Kalim with his prize.
Thus did Kalim Flinteye buy the Skybolt Spear in blood and sweat. Thus did he learn a new truth from Grandfather Longlegs. Thus did they find the Cavern of the Stone Sky, and take the Living Tears that would carry them through their later trials.
But that is another tale.
And the dorn will tell you that the story’s lesson is diligence.