A Piece from Below

Maphar’s eyes reopened in Subrosia, a hissing sound resonating as the snow on his cloak was sucked into the dry air never to be seen again. The process of transporting between the two worlds was unsettling to say the least, but the aging Subrosian had gotten used to the process over the last few months. Diplomat and courier both at the same time, Maphar had spent an unusual amount of time on the surface for one of his kind. He had no opinion over his fate, but home was always welcomed. Perhaps if he finished his task for the day he could finally relax in a lava bath this evening. The parcel he carried in his robes made him doubt it possible, though.

The portal back to his home realm had opened atop a rock, set high above the rest. No one knew if that was intentional or not, but Maphar did not appreciate it this evening. A misstep from under his robes could mean plummeting into that lovely, delicious lava, but he could not have that this day. Such a wonderful treat would relax his body, but it would also destroy the package he had brought from the surface. The stuff Hylians referred to as ‘paper’ was most inconveniently lacking in durability. Maphar could not understand how they used the material so liberally when it could not even stand to the coolest of flames.

Slowly, painstakingly, the Subrosian ambled down the surface of the beaten pathway, finally making his way to the flats. Squeezing his black robe closer to his body, the courier felt that his package was still secure, glancing around and nodding at his other brothers and sisters before continuing. He had no doubt that each of them who knew his task would be curious, but explanations would have to wait. They would know soon enough, anyway. Turning to the far side of Subrosia, what Hylians might have called the East, Maphar picked up the pace as best he could. By his count, arriving at the Council’s Chambers soon would allow him to present his findings before a day was ended. It had been a long task for Maphar, and he was anxious to see it completed.

Several weeks ago Subrosia had received an official contact by the Hylians for the first time in decades. A pair in royal clothing had stumbled through the portal, and they had nearly died from the shock of the temperature change. Thankfully someone had warned them of the heat in Subrosia, and their under-cloaks kept them alive, though it had been clear it was no comfortable experience for either of them. Eventually they were able to inform the Subrosian Council of their true petition: the Hylians wanted to foster some sort of arrangement or trade with their sub-ground culture. Maphar had volunteered to accompany them back to the surface and all the way to their own Council.

The journey was long, though not as cumbersome for the durable Subrosian as it was for the Hylians. The surface had always interested him, and his experience with Hylians was considered above average; he had talked with one before. Through the glacier that guarded the portal, across the waters that separated them, and finally over the plains of Hyrule he had gone, arriving in their monolithic edifice of a city: Hyrule Castle-Town. To Maphar’s shock at the time, he quickly learned that these Hylians and their friends were ruled not by a council of six but rather a single man whom they called a king…

Maphar shook his head, changing directions in Subrosia and heading up a long pathway that led him toward the large building that housed the Council. Hylian ways were very strange indeed. He had met with the king, though only briefly, and most of his discussions were with some man who seemed to love what blacksmiths could make. After making a dozen different requests in all the wrong ways to Maphar, the Subrosian finally agreed to return a letter to his Council as a formal request. Even now, the recently appointed diplomat and courier fingered that parcel, the letter, within his robes, making sure it was still there.

He knew he had made it in time to the Subrosian Council as the doors still stood wide open, inviting anyone who would come into the chambers. Pulling his black robes closer once more, Maphar slid through the doors, following the maze of passageways until he reached the Council’s Chambers finally. The architecture in here was both familiar and comforting, lava running through troughs to provide warmth and light even inside buildings. No surprises here, unlike up there. But when the two mixed…? Maphar entered the Council’s Chambers silently, and all six council-members greeted him with inquisitive eyes beneath their hoods, and speech broke out before he could say a word.

“Maphar returns from afar!” one of the females on the council squeaked, giggling slightly at her own rhyme. A few of the others on the Council chuckled slightly at it, but another in a red robe broke in, silencing the others with his deep, bass voice that echoed easily throughout the chambers.

“I do not think now is the time, Denza. You bring word, Maphar? If they have come asking for peaches again, I trust you told them to look to their green-robed warrior we donated them to all those years ago…”

“Unlikely, Bekd. They would have asked for some when they left with Maphar! Peaches are not heavy, even for Hylians,” another female chimed in, her smooth voice caressing the air as surely as Bekd’s rough one had stretched it. Silently, Maphar smiled with gratification at being home among his brothers and sisters again.

“Well, no need to guess anymore!” Denza, the first speaker, hurried back in, “he’s finally here!” The excitement generated by the more energetic member of the Council was almost palpable, and Maphar could feel it from every one of them. It was a curious balance they held—hiding their culture from the world yet embracing the other world at the same time. But Subrosians were, after all, some of the more curious creatures.

Maphar committed to speaking finally, his own deep voice a balance between relief and sobriety, perhaps too tired to revel in their excitement, “It is good to return to you, Council. I have a written request from the Hylian ‘king’ that functions as their Council.” The Subrosian Council murmured among each other at this notion, but Maphar quickly regained attention as he walked into the center of the room to the large, circular, stone table that dominated the center. From within his robes, the courier pulled out a letter written on brown parchment, the edges smoldering from the heat, placing it on the stone table in front of them.

The Councilman named Bekd quickly snatched the letter before anyone else could get it, all but ignoring the wax seal that was already melting off from the heat. One by one, the Council members read the letter carefully, passing it along to the next in quiet contemplation. When all had finished reading it, the letter was placed carefully back in the center of the stone table, and Bekd broke the silence first, “So the Hylians wish to do trade with us once more? Our secrecy would be compromised.”

“They wish to trade with our blacksmiths,” another quickly corrected, “a service we provided to The Link when he asked it of us.”

“One man is quite different than army, though.”

“But their goal! Their goal is noble, even if foreign, and much similar to The Link’s!”

“Are their goals truly our concern, though?”

“Our secrecy is already broken. We should not consider their goals separate from ours any longer. If we are to meet the Hylians in liaison, we should be polite even if they are not all the time.”

“Will they honor their own parts of the agreement, though?”

It took a long moment for Maphar to realize every member of the Council now looked at him curiously; the question had been directed at him. Would they honor it? They were an immensely foreign race, but in his weeks with them he had learned much and been astounded by much. No one knew how, why, or when, but in many ways the two cultures were linked, as surely as their worlds were. Subrosia was surprising to them, and they had approached with words and not weapons.

Slowly and carefully, Maphar responded, “I believe they will, Council.”

“Then it is decided!” Denza practically yelled with excitement, only pausing after she had spoken to receive the tacit agreement from the rest of the Council. Each member nodded, some soberly and others with excitement, and it was clear to Maphar that there was an even consensus, even if it ranged in pitch and emotion.

Denza spoke again, now for the entire Council, “Contact the Master Smith immediately, Maphar, and tell him of our new friends. We have plans to make!” No hope of a lava bath tonight, indeed, but it was a reasonable sacrifice in the face of this.