World of Warcraft: The Shattering: Prelude to Cataclysm Page 0,48

…” Magni picked up a piece of paper that lay on the table. “Something about … becoming one with the earth.”

“Hmph,” said Aerin. She was, as Anduin was learning, all about practical matters. She did not have much in the way of imagination and had gotten so bored with the repeated visits to the Hall of Explorers that Anduin had officially relieved her of duty when he spent time there. “Becoming one with the earth? Sounds like bein’ buried in it tae me.”

Anduin shot her a glare that had no malice in it and returned his attention to the tablet. “What do you think it means? That’s kind of vague.”

“Indeed, and one must have clarity in such things,” Magni said, nodding. He eyed Anduin speculatively. “Ye’re a right sharp lad, Anduin. Have ye been paying attention to what’s been going on in th’ world?”

Anduin was confused. “I know there’s a lot of tension between the Alliance and the Horde,” he said, wondering if that was what Magni was getting at. “That the Horde has been stirring up trouble because its supplies are depleted on account of the war.”

“Good, good.” Magni nodded approvingly. “But not just because of the war. Follow the chain, lad.”

Anduin furrowed his brow. “Well … because Durotar is a pretty harsh land,” he said. “There were never many supplies to begin with.”

“And there are fewer now because … ?”

“Because of the war and …” Anduin’s eyes widened as comprehension dawned. “Because of the unusual droughts.”

“Exactly.”

“Now that we’re talking about it … Aunt Jaina said there had been a violent storm right before I visited her. Even she said it was one of the worst she’d seen. And there were reports of a strange hurricane that damaged many ships trying to come home from Northrend.”

“Yes!” Magni almost cheered in his excitement. “Ferocious storms, floods in some places, droughts in the other … Something’s wrong, lad. I’m no shaman, but th’ elements are definitely not happy these days. This tablet could possibly hold th’ key tae what’s wrong wi’ them.”

“Do—really? You really think something that old can help us today?”

“Anything’s possible, lad. And at the very least …” Magni said in an exaggeratedly conspiratorial whisper, “we’ve gotten our hands on something that’s not seen the light o’ day in a while, eh?”

He clapped Anduin on the back. Right on the sunburn.

The translation process was slow and painful, with many false starts. It didn’t help matters that the translators struck Anduin as a touch self-important and unwilling to admit they might be wrong—and each one had a slightly different interpretation.

High Explorer Magellas kept insisting it was a metaphysical union. “‘Become one with th’ earth,’” he repeated. “Tae join wi’ it. Tae sense its pain.”

Advisor Belgrum, a wizened elder with hands that trembled but a voice that, when raised, could be heard almost throughout all of Ironforge, scoffed. “Bah,” he said. “Muninn, ye’re too taken wi’ the lasses. Ye see ‘becoming one’ in everything.”

Magellas, who had been casting sidelong glances at the comely Aerin the whole time, laughed boisterously. “Just because ye’ve nae been wi’ a lass in decades, Belgrum, doesna mean—”

“Now, now, all this salty talk’s not fit fer young royal ears!” chided Aerin, who was completely unruffled by the conversation.

Anduin, however, colored slightly. “It’s okay,” he said. “I mean … I know about these things.”

Unable to resist, Aerin winked at him. “Do ye now?”

Anduin quickly turned to Belgrum. “What do you think it means?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“Well, I think we canna really know until we get all of it translated. Th’ interpretation of a phrase is often dependent upon what else is around it. Fer instance, take … ‘I am hungry.’ If ye put it in a paragraph like, ‘Me wife is cooking dinner in th’ other room. I can smell th’ beer-basted boar ribs. I am hungry,’ well, that’s a literal hunger, isn’t it?”

“Belgrum, ye’re toying with me. It’s past lunchtime,” Aerin said.

“But if the paragraph is more like, ‘I have been imprisoned fer four years. All I see are the gray walls. I dream o’ open spaces and sunlight. I am hungry.’ That’s quite a different thing.”

“Goodness, ye’re a poet,” said Aerin, impressed. Anduin was, too.

“I see what you mean,” he said. “I’ve never thought of it that way. What—”

A deep rumbling interrupted him. Anduin gasped as the floor beneath him vibrated ever so subtly, as if he were standing on a giant purring animal, except it signaled nothing so benevolent. Another sound