Chapter One

The Coming of The Evil We all have mining in our blood, whether or not we actually do any mining. All of our forebears, since time immemorial, have been in this mining community, and so we re born with coal in our veins as the saying goes. But not everyone mines, as I say, and those who don t aren t looked at askance by those who do, because they provide valuable service in other ways. We have farmers, bakers, engineers, blacksmiths, and so on if there s a need by the community, there s usually someone who s willing to fulfil it. And usually at reasonable prices, to boot. And we ve heard stories of other sorts of communities where gender roles are very strictly defined... and when the storytellers go away, we always laugh, and shake our heads in bewilderment. If a woman is willing and able to swing a pickaxe or a sword (and as you ll see, sometimes they ll need to be able to do both), then that s just fine by us. If a man wants to spend his days baking bread and cakes, that s fine, too it s not your skills which define you, so much as your personality (though some say that the former often influences the latter). In my case, it s just as well, because I don t really enjoy going down into the mines. At least, not by myself. I m a rather jumpy sort of fellow, and creeping around in the dark, searching for elusive minerals on my own, is not how I want to see out my days. Oh, I ll happily go exploring if there s a group of us I always feel my courage somewhat bolstered by the relative safety of numbers but when there s just me, forget it. I ll either tend my small farm which provides a modest income or I ll get on with my scribe work, which is what I really like to do. But enough about my likes and dislikes, for now. I briefly mentioned the need to swing a sword. Everyone of us learns to do this to some degree, or gains expertise with a bow. We have to, if we re to stand any chance in the world. It wasn t always this way: once upon a time, our folk could roam the mines and caves to our hearts content, or if we were so inclined, chop down (and, naturally, replant) trees all night long. But then, The Evil came, and we were changed forever though we didn t know it, at first. Out of (possibly morbid) curiosity, I visited the Librarium a few years ago to read about the arrival of The Evil. And that arrival, and what it brought with it, was met at first with laughter and derision. Miners returning from the caves told of walking skeletons, shambling corpse-like figures (how their name zombie came about, I have no idea), and spiders as wide as a man is tall. At the time, these sightings were blamed on over-active imaginations, or on a little too much beer. Even when the frequency of the sightings increased, they were dismissed as stuff of wilful fantasy. Huge spiders? Walking skeletons? Perhaps our esteemed miners should spend more of their off-duty hours sleeping in their beds, one wag of a civil leader was quoted as saying. The tales began to gain a little more credence when they were matched by those of the foresters, some of whom worked all night through to ensure that their growing communities had enough wood. Again, the same creatures. But there was still considerable reluctance to accept the stories as truth until a fateful incident, about two hundred years ago. We were having our usual midsummer celebration in the town square [the record of the time began], and our cooks and chefs had excelled themselves. But our happy minds, and our empty bellies, were soon distracted by a wave of newcomers, who considered us to be their bounty, rather than what we had farmed and slaughtered. At first we believed it all to be a foolish prank by some of the townspeople, who had decided to act out the miners and foresters tales in an effort to scare the rest of us until arrows began to fly through the air, killing five people. While this took place, a good score of townsfolk were badly injured by the blows from the walking corpses and giant spiders. When the battle

had ended, the stench of rotting corpse flesh was intermingled with the pungent stink of those who had soiled themselves in fear. But these aberrations offspring of some deranged deity, perhaps? were nothing compared to what followed next. Reports started to come in of a bush-like creature which walked on four stubby legs, but which made no sound... Given that the existence of the skeletons, zombies and giant spiders was confirmed, these reports were taken more seriously than they otherwise might, although there were still some who dismissed the tales. As foolish as it might seem to people today, it s perhaps understandable that there was still disbelief, considering that a walking bush and one which made no sound as it moved was even more outlandish than the news of the giant spiders. Again, it took an actual public encounter to remove all doubt and something new was learned that day. Something utterly horrific. We saw William approach the creature slowly, but it wasn t too long before it had spotted him, and made its way in his direction. But before he was able to touch the thing to see if it really was a walking plant, the vile beast began to hiss loudly and to swell up in size. Less than two seconds later, it exploded into nothingness, blasting William backwards and critically injuring him. Personally, I m inclined to think that although William was certainly short on brains (he d approached the thing while unarmed and unarmoured), he definitely had some common sense knocked into him. Or blasted, possibly. At any rate, the scribe s journal entry records that after William had recovered, he never left his house again until his dying day. We were lucky that the solution to fending off all of the evil creatures was discovered quickly, if accidentally. All we had to do was push back the darkness : these fiends, brought by The Evil, did not emerge if a place was well-lit. Demand for coal soared soon after this discovery, and it had to be supplemented by the use of charcoal. While many miners prefer coal (perhaps being a matter of pride), people are increasingly turning to charcoal, citing the fact that while there is only a finite amount of coal in the world, we can always grow more trees. But pride can be a stubborn thing to conquer. I hope you can forgive me for being a little verbose. But I think it s important to illustrate the kind of world we live in, just in case you re reading from some future time, where things are better (or, I fear to say it, worse). Some of the more learned members of our community have criticised me for the way I write; they say I m too chatty when I document our goings-on. But while I always tell the truth when recounting past events, I see no reason why I should write like my quill-wielding predecessors, and make my words as dry as the paper upon which they re written. With that in mind, I have much to tell you about recent events in my community. It s quite an adventure.