The Place
The Deepdelve is a tunnel network under the river plain, and the clean is the whole of the place, because a delve that is clean is a delve that has been kept, and the kept is the law. The network runs thirty kilometers under the plain, and the thirty kilometers is the measure the mole men trust, because a tunnel that has been mapped is a tunnel that has been sworn, and the swearing is the digging. The chambers are clean and smooth, a pale grey stone that is more polish than color, and the pale is the color of the map, which is to say it is a color you can see in the dark and not in the light. The water of the delve is a constant drip, a clear thread at the floor of every chamber, and the thread is the calendar, and the calendar is the direction. The plain above is a tawny gold in the season of the cut, and the gold is the color of the surface, and the surface is the not-place, and the not-place is the law. It smells of wet stone and old earth, a smell that is the delve and is also the map, and the one sound under the earth is the dig, a small dry tap from the deepest chamber that is the map being read as a word, and the word is the promise, and the promise is the direction. There is no landmark the way a delve has a landmark, but there is one: the First Chamber, a smooth round hall at the center of the network, the oldest chamber and the first map, and the chamber is the door, and the door is the dig. What makes the Deepdelve itself is the map: the delve keeps its tunnels the way the tunnels keep the map, and the keeping is the direction, and the direction is the word, and the word is the end.
How They Live
The Mole Men build their chambers in the tunnels, smooth walls of carved stone, lined with fur and moss, their entrances low and guarded by the dig-wall. A chamber is carved one stone at a time, and a stone is the season and a stone is the calendar, and the carving is the craft and the craft is the rank, and a delve that has carved a chamber the network has forgotten is the delve the map trusts. Light comes from the dark — the black of the deep, which they do not chase, and the not-chasing is the law, because the dark is the map and the map is the kept, and the fire is small and kept low, and the low is the rite. Food is the deep: the roots, the beetles, the mineral-rich soil, and the tunnel that keeps the map honest, and the beetles are the staple, because the beetles are the direction, and the direction is the end. Water is the deep, and the deep is the water, and the delve drinks and digs and maps in the same black dark. Heat is the fire in the season of the cold, and the season is the year, and the mole men have stopped asking the stone for more. The defense is the tunnel itself — a visitor who steps into the deep is already in the map's path, and the map is the alarm and the welcome and the sentence, because the network has a door, and the door has a dig, and the dig has a direction. The day is not measured by the sun, because the plain does not let the sun in, and the not-letting is the law; the day is measured by the drip, and the drip is the clock, and the clock does not lie about the direction. Every mole man that is named must stand in the First Chamber through one full dig before the network will call it one of its own, and the standing is the naming, and the naming is the only thing the map ever gives back.
People
Home of the Mole Men, whose delves are counted by tunnel. Forty chambers at the last count, and the count is kept in memory by the map-keepers, which is to say the count is as reliable as the memory, which is to say it is reliable until the map breaks. The map-keepers lead, and rank is decided by the mapping, because a keeper who maps a tunnel the network has forgotten is the keeper the delve trusts. Nothing that cannot stand in the First Chamber is welcome, and the not-standing is not an insult, because the delve has a map, and the map has a direction, and the direction has an end. A traveler who once stood at the dig-wall called it a country that keeps its maps the way other countries keep their fields, and the calling was the truest thing he said and the thing the delve paid the least attention to.
In Stories
The place where the tunnel is a promise, and the promise is the map, and the map is the direction, and the direction is the end. The Forgotten have not mapped the network, and the not-mapping is the decision, and the decision is the longest one the guild has made. Uaellaen heard the dig once, from the edge of the First Chamber, and the hearing was the direction, and the direction was the only thing that lasted.