Bongsword

Copyright © 2019 A. G.

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the author

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Lift up the sword on high

Fill the great bowl in the sky

Strike it down and light the flame

Burn the ties that give us name

…shit what was I talking about again?

Fuck it, you will figure it out

Anyway, this next one’s called…

Chapter One

An Unexpected Stash

The winds that blew through the peaks of the World Tree were notoriously fickle. Some said a flock of dragons nested in its branches, slumbering eternally, and their breathing was what caused the Four Winds that blew throughout the High Lands.

One wind blew far to the north, to the Trichomium Mountains, where crystal from the World Tree fell to the ground like snow. The World Tree was the source of all Mana and this was one of the most potent forms. The mountains were home to the Dust Elves, an erratic breed full of boundless energy.

One wind blew to the south, to the Resinous Swamp, where the oils of the World Tree bubbled and festered, oozing from the ground in great wells. Those that consumed that mana, the strongest known, were known as the Reznists. They sacrificed their sanity for the mana that the Rezn provided. It took a lifetime to build up enough tolerance to regain even a fraction of their lost sanity. Even the fumes in the swamp were said to be unsafe to the uninitiated.

One wind blew to the east, to the Kief Desert, and within its howling pollen winds the Kief Dwarves lived. They were a tough but lethargic breed, with a strong distrust of outsiders. They built their fortresses in the depths of the desert and there they locked themselves away, although it wasn’t known how they had managed to muster the energy to build them. The winds kept blowing the Kief east to the Deadlands where all mana lost its potency.

The Deadlands stretched in all directions around the five realms of the High Lands. Its border marked the furthest reaches of the World Tree, beyond which its people couldn’t survive.

In the shadow of the World Tree lay the Sea of Green, where the Hobgoblins called home. Their mana fell from the boughs of the great World Tree in the form of colossal buds, which the Hobgoblins cut and cure to consume in their own way. Sometimes they found giant seeds inside the buds, but all attempts to germinate them have failed. Instead the seeds are carved up into precious wood to create all sorts of sought-after creations. It was known that they made the best pipes, amongst other various creations. They heightened the natural effects of all mana consumed through them. The Sea of Green had no wind though. It ringed the World Tree and was filled with nothing but the occasional breeze. It was a tranquil place, filled with a tranquil race that cared for nothing but their prized buds.

The fourth wind blew west, to the vast stretches of Hashlandia, with its deep and endless hash mines. It was the last of the five realms of the High Lands, the realm where man called home. The mines were its most prized possessions. They weren’t just its namesake; it was their lifeblood. Without the mines its people wouldn’t exist. If the mines ever ran out, they would die, as would happen with all the other races if their mana ran out. Their mana didn’t just fall from the skies though, something they could rake up from their front gardens. They had to work for it, mine the World Tree’s seemingly endless seams.

The most potent mines were under the control of the High Table, but there was still plenty to go around, even if a lot of it was of dubious quality. The Hashmen had been mining Hashlandia for millennia but they had barely begun to scratch the surface of what was there. The hash was infinite. It carried the mana that gave them all life.

Beyond the reaches of the World Tree it was impossible for life to survive, and no one knew what was beyond the Deadlands. It was also impossible for each of the five races of the High Lands to travel far from their realms without taking a supply of their own mana with them, otherwise withdrawal would set in, and certain death shortly afterwards. It was one of the three necessities of life; food, water and mana.

No one knew what lay at the base of the World Tree, but the people worshipped it as a god. The furthest they could get was the banks of the Sleeping Deep, but that was far from Hashlandia, and no concern of its people. There was a great distance between them and the World Tree, too far for them to ever see the life-giving tree itself. All they knew was that it was eternal and it was where all the mana of the High Lands came from.

The hash mines were the only life that Ash had ever known but he was happy with it. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it. Ash was a Hashman, both the name of his people and his job, although they were all collectively known as Hashlandians.

It was everyone’s desire to own a hash mine of their own. It was a lucrative commodity, with the best hash considered a luxury. His mother and father owned a bit of land where they had found some promising mining spots. It had enough of an output for them to live comfortable lives, for the hash was something everyone needed.

The land had been in their family for generations. There was plenty land to go around, and every Hashlandian owned some, but not all had the luxury or luck of having a seam of hash. More often than not, what was found was well below the Royal Standard.

For centuries, there had been no need for most to mine it at all. The High Table was started to find the greatest seams, and mine them efficiently enough to provide for the entire realm. They did a good job at first, found enough large veins to provide quality hash for all. It was a tough job, but they focussed a workforce on it so that the rest of them could enjoy whatever pastimes they wished, or take up other simpler jobs working the hemp fields. They were no different than the farmers that worked the fields for their foods, or those that worked the rivers to provide them fresh water. It was a necessity they all needed, and they never had concern to worry about its supply.

The High Table had become greedy though and began to classify the hash into varying grades, charging more for the best pieces. As their mines began to run dry, they focussed on the purest veins, turning their product into a luxury. Once that happened, the Hashlandians began to look for the lifegiving mana by themselves, and the market was filled with an ever-growing variety of strains. There was a product for each price range and taste.

His parents had almost given up hope at first, once they began mining the land they had received from his mother’s parents. When they finally found hash it was rock solid and pale. They had almost mistaken it for  dirt when the first shards broke the surface. It was still hash, but it was old and of low quality, needing more refining than was worth the effort. For every kilo they mined they were only able to produce an ounce, and even then, it was still full of impurities. To make money they needed quality and quantity, and with that first vein they had neither.

They had persevered though, deciding that the hash could at least give them a source for themselves, which would save them having to buy it from others. The High Table had continued to lower the quality they offered, pricing out most people for their most premium offerings. It wasn’t enough to live on though, so his parents took on second jobs working in shops and fields, doing any job they could to live off of. Once the hardened layer was mined out though, they struck richer veins underneath. Their product started to become purer, darker, richer. That had been years ago now and they were still going, the purity increasing by the year. They were able to sell their product with ease and Ash spent most of his days down the mines with his mother, mining the hash for their blends. They didn’t mine enough quantity of premium stuff to justify selling it by itself so it made sense to make the most of what they had, which amounted to a piece well below the Royal Standard, but enough for most people at a better price than the High Table offered.

I think I’m getting the black lung. Ash said, coughing dramatically as he used his blade to cut out a block of hash.

If you are then you are no son of mine. His mother replied, stacking cut bricks into a cart. That was his day to day life; cutting out bricks of hash , while his mum stacked and sorted them.

You had to have a robust sense of humour to handle working down the mines all day. The smell was nice but overpowering. By the end of the day Ash found himself craving fresh air and open spaces. He probably slept better than most though. He had to sample the hash throughout the day as they came across new batches, to make sure they were heading in the right direction, so he had a constant mana high.

Ash passed his mother the freshly cut brick and went to cut out another piece but his knife sank a short distance into the surface and before something hard. He scraped away the soft surface hash but afterwards his knife could go no further. He put down the knife and picked up his pickaxe to tear at the particularly stubborn piece. His knife was usually all he needed, the hash softened by the warmth in the mine, but occasionally they came across tougher veins. They had tools there for whatever they might find, whether rocks or hash. The hard piece broke off and splintered at his feet, a sign of low-quality hash that brought back memories of the awful stuff they have mined a few years back.

Where the piece had been there was now a deep black stain on the wall of the mine. Ash reached forward with shaking fingers and touched the fluffy mass. The hash broke apart in his hands like freshly baked bread. He eagerly widened the hole, cutting away the lower quality fragments that were obscuring the black seam. Ash kept on hacking and only uncovered more of it. It looked like it stretched off in each direction.

Mother! He called. Come and have a look at this.

His mother put down the bricks she was stacking in the cart and came over to see what he was yelling about. Her jaw fell open when she saw the expanse of the premium black hash in front of them.

It looks like the vein the High Table mines. Ash said, stunned at their valuable find.

It does, but we won’t know for sure until we can analyse a sample. Grab a piece and let’s go find out.

Ash cut out roughly an ounce of the gloriously soft hash and stashed it away in his pocket. They left the mine in a hurry, leaving the half-filled cart of product behind. It would be alright there. Their mine had a very secure entrance, although they would probably have to up the security on the place if word got out of what they had found. That was if the vein he had unearthed was as pure as it looked.

Ash’s father was still away at the hemp fields when they returned home. Hemp was the distant relative of the World Tree, but it didn’t produce mana. It was still a valuable crop though and it was used to produce almost everything else in their society, from building materials to fabric. He would be there until late inspecting the crops for any infestation or damage. They had almost started a hemp field of their own, before the mine had begun to produce decent hash. The seeds were cheap and easy to grow, and they had a lot of land going to waste.

His mother got to work preparing the tools they needed, most important of which was their powerful microscope. They had invested a lot of money to upgrade it with spectrolenses. It helped them to see the impurities in hash, identify new strains and to grade and price their product accordingly.

Ash passed the sticky black piece of hash to his mother and then stood back. He felt nervous, anxious, expectant. He felt like he had found something special. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The closest thing he could think of was High Table hash, which was known as the Royal Standard. Everyone dreamed of discovering such a vein on their lands, although the High Table always seemed to end up with those lands one way or another.

His mother cut off a thin slice, which wasn’t easy with the way it cut like soft fudge. She placed the sample underneath the microscope, flicked the first spectrolense into place and began her inspection.

She studied the piece in silence. She flicked another lense under the scope. Each lense showed up different and finer impurities. They showed up as stark white dots on the black surface. She flicked another lense on and his heart raced faster. Another lense, then another, until she had exhausted every one. Usually they only had to use one or two to find all the impurities.

The High Table can lay claim to ninety-two percent purity hash. That is the Royal Standard. His mother said, sitting back from the microscope. Our mine averages about sixty, which I can grade with one or two lenses.

Well? How much is this? Ash asked, anxiously awaiting the results.

It is ninety eight percent pure. I could barely see any impurities even with the strongest lense. She sounded like she didn’t believe her own words.

Are you sure? I’ve never heard of mana that pure before, at least not in Hashlandia. It should be impure by nature.

Of course I’m sure. We need to start mining this straight away, see how much there is of it. It could be the break we were looking for. She said.

Ninety eight percent will be too strong for most people though. The High Table hoard the Royal Standard for themselves and the rich. No one has a tolerance for mana this strong. It might be better in a blend, but that be wasting its full potential. Even then though, it would still be the best product around. Ash blurted out, his mind racing at the possibilities. Never in their wildest dreams had they ever hoped to find a vein so pure. The High Table had searched Hashlandia for centuries until they had laid claim to all the best mines. There were stories that they hadn’t come by all their mines through legal means. They had their own military wing that they claimed was only used to protect their interests, but he had heard rumours of men forced off their lands, or pressured into selling it on threat of violence. We will need to keep this quiet for now. We don’t want the High Table snooping around.

That’s a good point. We are far from Hashalan here though. We shouldn’t have to worry. This land has been in our family for generations. It is ours, and they can’t take it from us.

Maybe we should blend it, to hide its purity. It will go further and it will still be of impressive quality. Ash mused. If we blend it with a fifty percent purity piece, that would still be more than enough for most people.

"We can worry about the details later. Let’s get back to the mine and get as much of it out