Sculpting in Time

The City of Stone opened wide to Lavenza and company. After all, it possessed no walls or gates with which to defend itself. A pair of statues stood watch where the road met the mouth of the city. As the city’s moniker suggested, these two were carved from stone and, as if foretelling the party’s arrival, featured both a goblin and elf standing on their respective side of the road.

The goblin stood at attention, arms bearing a broadsword and shield. Their chest and head were proudly clad in a ceremonial breastplate and helmet, each adorned with the same sigil: a fist clutching the petals of a wildflower.

The elf, on the other hand, was dressed in a cloak woven from silver threads. Their tunic rippled down their body. Both hands lay outstretched with gemmed rings fitted upon each finger.

“These two must have been carved during ancient times,” Faye said, “before the elves were expelled from the Abyss.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Tamarin gestured to the goblin. “The designs on this armor. They aren’t ancient insignia. They’re recent. I know them. It’s the mark of the Demon King’s legions.”

“Then perhaps this statue was originally meant to depict an elf,” Faye suggested.

“If this was a recent statue, then it either must have been brought here or recently crafted,” Richard said. “Problem is, I don’t see or hear anyone.”

“Right,” Tamarin murmured. “Where are the rest of the legions? Deeper in the city perhaps? It’s bigger than I imagined.”

“Be prepared for anything everyone,” Richard unsheathed his sword. “Assume we are not alone here. Let’s push forward.”

Richard brandished his blade in a defensive posture and took front and center in their party’s formation. Lavenza remained in the rear guard with Deme and their horse.

“Stay close to me,” Lavenza muttered.

“It’s so quiet,” Deme said. She pointed at the bright sphere above the city. “And what’s that? Is that a sun? Some kind of underground sun?”

“There’s only ever been the Endire,” Lavenza replied. “I’m not quite sure what this is.”

The buildings within the City of Stone served seemingly little purpose. In fact, they could hardly be called buildings. Many were mere stone slabs waiting to be chiseled upon by a sculptor. They featured no doors, no windows. There were no dressings or colorful accessories that suggested that a soul had even lived nearby.

The defining feature of the city were the statues. The goblin and elf at the city entrance were not alone. The streets were alive with effigies and carvings. Empty plots were dominated by life sized figures of, not just goblins and elves, but folk of all kinds. Trolls, fairies, ogres, creatures of rarity that Lavenza and Deme had not yet encountered, and yet they gathered in the streets of the city as if humans were the ones that had been erased from this world.

“It’s almost like a museum,” Faye said.

“Or a mausoleum,” Tamarin replied. “Take a look at this.”

The goblin shaman approached one of the lots. The figures had been arranged to tell a story. A band of elves raised their swords above a lone goblin, whose hands were folded and outstretched to implore their aggressors to stay their blades. Next to the statues was a wooden sign inscribed with foreign symbols. Tamarin hummed and stroked her chin as she read.

“The Slaughter of Geda in the first century,” Tamarin read. “It’s a common folk tale."

“With dubious historicity,” Faye grumbled. “Why would an elven hunting party murder a lone goblin mother?”

“I don’t know, Faye,” Tamarin shrugged, “but we have murdered and pillaged each other’s lands for centuries. Why would we do such a thing? Is it possible that both elves and goblins harbor very old animosities?”

“Who started it then?” Faye asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes! Why would I ask otherwise?” Faye scoffed. “You can’t expel my people from the Abyss, receive retaliation, then claim that we were both at fault.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Faye, but something tells me it’s not so simple.”

“It is that simple. Forgive my uncouthness, even my bigotry, but you are just as to blame for suggesting that my people’s history are a hallucination.”

“That’s—” Tamarin bit her lips. “No. You’re right, Faye. That was callous of me. I apologize.”

The history collage continued at the next intersection. A troll thrice Lavenza’s height towered above an elven band. It wielded bearded axes in both hands and stamped its foot triumphantly above a younger elf crushed beneath his foot. The other elves jabbed at the troll with spears and drew blood with bows and arrows.

“Faye, can you help me with this?” Tamarin frowned at the wooden panel beside the exhibit. “I can’t read this.”

“What do you mean you can’t read it?”

“I mean this is not a language I recognize. It has to be elvish.”

“That’s… let me see,” Faye approached the placard. She squinted at the symbols. “You’re right. This is elvish, but I can’t read it. It’s in the ancient script, before we transitioned to the vernacular. I can barely make out a few words. Ogre. I guess that’s what we called trolls back then. The word hatred? No surprise there. Child. I suppose that’s the young elf down there.”

“Seems sympathetic, don’t you think?” Tamarin asked.

“Yeah,” Faye murmured. “But why would it be down here then? There were no elves who have lived in the Abyss for however many centuries. And to know the ancient script? Only a few know it.”

“Maybe it’s been here for all these years. As a reminder of our history.”

“And not torn down?” Faye sighed. “I suppose it’s possible.”

“Everyone, look there.”

Richard pointed towards a domed structure rising above the city center. Unlike the blank standing stones around it, this building possessed real architectural features. The dome was painted copper. Pale grooves curved like ribs over a vast lung from the pinnacle to the drum.

Light from the sphere above filtered unnaturally towards the edifice. Its spectral particles formed a luminescent river, as if it had been irrigated, and flowed to the tip of the dome, where a narrow oculus received the light into a deep hollow.

“It looks like that’s where we’re headed,” he said.

“There’s still no sign of anyone,” Tamarin observed.

“Maybe they’re all holed up in there,” Richard shrugged. “Either way, we go.”

For another mile, the wartime statues persisted across the cityscape. Faye and Tamarin decoded every wooden or golden placard they could. Ancient battles waged across the Abyss. Uprisings among demonkind. The conquest of demon lords in the far east.

“There’s still no evidence of the expulsion,” Faye frowned, “but everything else is here. The ransacking of the elven cities, the deathly plagues of both of our peoples.”

“It could be standing further in,” Tamarin suggested.

“Maybe...”

The composition of the statues changed as they came closer to the central structure. The normal lives of elves and demonkind were depicted on separate sides of the road. For demonkind, it portrayed the merry brewing of ale, strenuous potion making, the communal fostering of goblin children, and, much to Tamarin’s delight, the foraging of exotic mushrooms.

“Some things really haven’t changed,” she grinned.

For the elves, it was a life of bountiful harvests. Colorful murals plastered the drab slab walls. They illustrated romances with humans, the winter balls of fairies queens, and nighttime rituals dedicated to the passing of souls.

Finally, the faceless monoliths pulled away, and one final exhibit stood outside the domed edifice.

A long tableau stretched along both sides of the road. On the left, the elves were depicted in solemn procession, their heads lowered, their belongings strapped to their backs in bundles of cloth and woven baskets. Demonkind on the other side of the road leered at them with jagged clubs and spears.

The elven statues curved outward and followed an arc along the road’s outer edge. The precession included children and the elderly, who swerved through history until at last at final road’s end, the precession returned to the center and faced demonkind on the opposing side.

There, a troll leaned upon an axe, its spare blade buried in the dirt. A goblin offered a wildflower, its wide petals carved in delicate stone. The path upon which the elves were set to return were laid with brimstone and marble.

A wooden placard stood between the two arcs, its inscription crusted in bronze. Faye brushed her hand across its surface and read aloud.

“The Expulsion and The Reunion.”

“This is it, isn’t it?” Tamarin said.

“But ‘The Reunion’ implies the elves returned to the Abyss,” Faye replied. “If so, then when? And where are they now?”

Beyond the tableau rose a pair of colossal gates jutting out of the edifice. They had been pulled back like bones snapped out of place. Each slab was carved with sprawling reliefs, where all manner of elves and demonkind were represented.

Past the gates glowed a familiar turquoise light. Dust floated suspended in air. A pale radiance drifted in from a skylight above. The illuminated chamber revealed a long hallway guarded by two final rows of statues resting on golden rugs.

The statues themselves lacked uniformity. Each wore a different face, a different armor, a different weapon. They were unified only by the solemn disposition with which they greeted the Hero’s Party as they approached a final pair of doors at the end of the chamber.

There, a troll sat outside the entranceway. In his hands, he carried chisels and mallets. His head lay drooped as if dead or asleep, but his ears perked as Richard’s boots echoed through the halls. He raised his head, revealing his olive gray complexion and a pair of round viridescent eyes. He did not seem surprised to see any of them.

“You come for the king,” said the troll. “The king is in his chamber. He has been expecting you.”