Welcome to Brickodam

“Who do you think built these steps? Maybe a mighty desert Dwarven race, with slate gray hair and beards, with sand coarsen skin and stern black eyes!” Jack chuckled as he listened to Pete’s wild imagination as the boy hopped from one step to another. They were on a hiking trail in the high desert known as the Mojave. They were hiking up near one of the mountains that jutted out from the massive valley. The rocks were stacked upon one another, sometimes in very precarious ways, they rose high into the sky, like spears trying to puncture the great yellow orb that shifted from east to west above. There were other hikers and mountain climbers who were bouldering on the large rocks that peppered the base of the desert peaks.

Jack knew that the park rangers and probably a handful of volunteers had worked for several weeks to place the stones and fill the dirt in behind the vertical rocks. Each step was about a foot or so long and at least triple that in width and the sandy gravel crumbled beneath the hikers’ boots. They passed by one of the prickly pear cacti and the bristly yucca plants that stood anywhere from just below a foot to two feet tall. Jack began to try to respond to Pete as he dashed around one of the larger boulders in the canyon, whose rotund shape bulged slightly out into the path. “Pete, don’t get too far,” besides the grandfather didn’t have the heart to shatter the child’s imagination. The world would do that for him as the years chipped away at Pete’s youth and innocence.

“Wow, Grandpa come here quick!”

Jack picked up his pace as he rounded the bend, he loved these afternoons with Pete, but his joints didn’t want to move like they used to and he had to exert himself a bit as he huffed around the large stone. He wasn’t concerned for Pete; it wasn’t as though his grandson had called in panic or fright and what Jack saw did make him curious. There, on a big brown stone were several darker granite marks which were in relief from the tan sandy background. The relief looked as though they were done intentionally, but Jack couldn’t believe that. Unless some pranksters had come out here with a pressure washer and blasted the softer granite away to create the relief. The symbols looked almost runic, something like Nordic script. Perhaps some Norse-influenced punk who had studied runes from books at the library.

“You think the same people who made the steps made this script? What do you suppose it says?”

Jack sighed, upset about the defacing of the rock, “No I doubt who made these steps had anything to do with this rock.” His response was emphatic, and his brow was furrowed in disappointment, an expression Pete knew all too well, and silence followed for a time after. They were nearing the end of the trail having hiked up and up out of the canyon. Soon the trail would meander to the left and they would hike down similar stairs back to the pick-up truck. It was getting close to 3 in the afternoon, and it would take them about another hour to get back to the truck. Jack again heard Pete call out for him to hurry, he had found another set of those writings and a cave behind the side of the mountain. “Pete, don’t go in the cave!” Jack knew though that curiosity would take over if he didn’t get to Pete soon. The boy won’t stay still. Distracted in his rush, Jack’s boot slid on the loose gravel, and he had to throw out his hand to catch the stone nearest him to support himself, so he didn’t crash into the dirt face-first.

Pete heard his grandfather’s warning and stood diligently for a moment, one that felt like an eternity, but he couldn’t contain his curiosity. Besides, Grandpa will be right behind me, Pete’s reasoning was assurance enough for him as he took a step into the shadows that reached out to him like a warm embrace. It was very dark, but Pete wasn’t deterred, as his grandfather taught him to always be prepared. Pulling his flashlight from the lashings on his backpack he clicked it on and continued down the cavern. The walls were cool and although some sand had been puffed into the opening of the cave Pete had long since left the entrance, bewitched by the natural beauty of the stone. Pete had long forgotten about waiting for his grandfather as he explored the hollow easily able to stand within the tunnel which was about 8 or so feet in diameter.

The collision could have been avoided by either spelunker, one visitor and one resident. Pete had been looking up, there was some moisture in the tunnel, and he couldn’t figure out why there were no stalactites or stalagmites and had his gaze upwards. Duegen had his ear to the stone listening and was completely fascinated as the stone told him of a gold vein that the diggers had missed when making the entrance. Pete’s shins hit Duegen’s ribs and the boy went head over heels, tumbling over Duegen’s broad back. The dwarf was baffled by the interruption and stood straight up stuttering as he spun to his left where the blows had landed and then to his right, as his brain reminded him of the sensation that had traveled over him. “What…where…wait…who?” Duegen finally finished as his eyes adjusted to Pete’s flashlight and he peered at the boy.

“Umm, hi,” Pete responded to the stammering question with a bashful shrug and sheepish grin. “I am Pete.” Pete was ecstatic; this had to be a dwarf, one of the ones perhaps who had built the stairs, but he was also nervous about the broad muscular figure that now stood between him and the exit. I hope Grandpa gets here soon.

Duegen registered the excited and nervous twinges in the boy’s eyes, lips, and limbs. He had a long gray beard tucked into his belt and puffy eyebrows that almost ran the entire length of his forehead with large tufts of gray popping out from his ears. He had a large round nose and stern features, with calloused skin that Pete could only imagine felt like the granite he was sitting on. The dwarf fixed Pete with a firm glare for a few seconds but he, being young himself, just 200 years as of four months ago, he understood a curious nature. Not to mention he had always wanted to meet a Teeter (Dwarven slang for Humanoids) so a big smile broke his bearded face revealing three golden teeth in the upper jaw of Duegen’s chompers. One for each year in the gold mining business as was becoming a new custom among younger dwarves. Much to the chagrin of the elders who found the custom vulgar. “Well, I am Duegen, and welcome to Brickodam.” The dwarf held out a hand to the boy who quickly took it, eyes now full of wonder and excitement.