by E. S. Maya
The foreman ducked his head as the ceiling began to dip. Here the walls were roughly carved, though a dozen fresh torches kept the passageway brightly-lit. The drift split into two opposite directions, each containing five empty minecarts. One for each of the first-year teams.
Safi’s boot caught a sneaky stone, and she found herself stumbling forward. Goggles caught her by the elbow, holding her steady until she regained her footing. “Thanks,” she said, lifting her helmet off her eyes. Goggles nodded in acknowledgment.
“Expanding the mine is tricky business,” Foreman Adams said, reaching to slap at the drift wall. “Work only inside the boundaries we’ve set for you, lest the whole roof comes crumbling down.”
Safi looked up, along with the rest of the first-years.
“That’s a whole lot of roof,” whispered Stiv beside her.
“Cave-ins are bad for business,” the foreman teased. The boys laughed nervously. Safi did not. Dying under a pile of rocks was distinctly worse than spending twenty-five years in the Titan mines. Worse even, than mopping dusty floors and washing the boys’ undergarments.
Foreman Adams began assigning each team to their proper work area. Lastly, he assigned Safi and her friends to a slice of tunnel all to themselves: Stiv and Jabbar on one side; Wulf, Goggles, and Safi on the other.
“When your tub gets full,” Foreman Adams said, “have someone push it down to the adit, then towards the Pit. A fifth-year or myself will be waiting to put your team down for credit. Remember, five a day or your monthly wages get cut.” He scratched his blond beard and yawned. “The bells have rung this morn’. To work, lads! To work!”
With a sigh, Safi raised her goggles to her eyes, tied her neckerchief over her mouth, and turned to face the tunnel wall.
And the next twenty-five years of her life.
26
The Girl Who Worked
Safi faced the drift wall, pickaxe heavy in her gloved hands.
A week of exercise had gotten her holding the thing, but swinging it proper? That would take some work. There remained a great difference between the weight of the pickaxe and the strength in her arms, her shoulders, her back. Her everything.
During training, however, Safi had found one way to wield the cumbersome tool. She stepped back from the wall and hoisted the pickaxe over her shoulder, wincing from its weight. Then, gripping the haft in both hands, and pulling a deep breath, she heaved her entire body forward.
Her pickaxe recoiled off stone, slipping from her shoulder and slamming into the floor. She leaned in close, to see if the swing had worked, and found a tiny dent on the drift wall.
With a sigh, she raised her pickaxe and shouldered it once more.
It was going to be a long day.
Peering down the passageway, she watched as the boys swung their pickaxes with a strained repetition. Even Jabbar, the smallest of the first-years, rained blow after blow on his section of wall. Frowning, she returned to her work area and readied another swing.
The morning eased in. The only sounds in the tunnel were those of iron on stone, and the shallow grunts of the tiring thirteen-year-olds.
Safi chipped away at the impossible stone wall, grateful for the lack of chatter. This way no one would notice the crummy job she was doing. At least not until the end of shift.
She watched Wulf out the corner of her eye. From the way he mined, it was clear that work was no stranger to him. He paced his slow, powerful swings, pausing after each blow. No doubt, the boy was checking for Siegestones. She watched Goggles, too, whose normally indifferent face had been replaced by the grimace of manual labor.
Looking over her shoulder, there was Stiv, grunting loudly, swinging his pickaxe in a flurry. He dropped the digging tool to the floor, gasping from exertion before firing up another barrage.
Hoist—swing—drop. Safi fell into a slow rhythm. Her sense of time began to drift, and the clack of iron on stone became the slow-ticking seconds of her day. Soon her shoulders twitched and ached. Cramps, begging the girl for mercy. Then came the point where lifting with her arms was no longer possible. So she squatted down each time, pulling with her back. Imagining the cold gray eyes of the warden upon her.
When the boys began to groan, and Safi could lift her pickaxe not once more, the tunnel bells rang thrice.
Lunchtime, she thought. Stone bless the prophet.
The passageway echoed with groans of relief as the first-year boys dropped their pickaxes. Safi lowered herself slowly, knees buckling, and leaned backwards against her work area. Goggles sat down beside her, wiping the dust from his crooked eyeglasses. His sweaty forearms glistened with torchlight.
While the rest of his team rested, Wulf found a shovel inside their minecart and began scooping up all the loose debris up off the floor. Stiv, who had sprawled himself out on his back, made a half-hearted attempt to get up. Their team captain sent him back down with the wave of a hand.
After scooping all of the rubble into their minecart, Wulf set the shovel aside and sighed. Safi sighed with him. Halfway through shift, their first minecart was barely filled. A few minutes later, a stocky fifth-year boy came whistling into the passageway. Slung over his shoulder was an enormous hemp net, stuffed to capacity with little brown sacks.
“Lunch is served, shorties!” he shouted, dropping the sacks to the floor. The first-year boys piled in, clawing for food with half-open fists. The fifth-year stepped back and laughed. “Titan’s ass, you little monsters! There’s enough for everyone.”
Stiv dove head-first into the pile. Jabbar nearly joined him, but when he looked at Wulf for permission, the team captain shook his head. A half-minute later, Stiv emerged from the dispersing pile carrying five brown sacks.
“Wulf, Saf, Gogs,” he said, throwing each of them a sack lunch.
Safi fumbled the catch and the sack fell through her arms. “Shut up,” she said to Stiv, who shot her a dusty grin. “I’m tired.”
“I’m not saying anything!” Stiv said, shoving a lunch into Jabbar’s arms.
Safi peeled open the waxed canvas sack. Lunch was a sandwich comprising of two thick slices of bread, stuffed with smoky ham, lettuce, and tomatoes, and a sour-tasting spread that kept everything nice and wet. In the commotion, half of her sandwich had been flattened, but she scarfed it down all the same. Next came a crisp green apple, and she cherished every sour bite, down to the very core.
“I’ll have to give my regards to the chef,” said Stiv around a mouthful of food.
Safi swallowed. “You can thank her during supper.”
Stiv grinned before taking another bite. “Never thought I’d be able to get Raven to make me a sandwich.”
Safi rolled her eyes. “Especially after that talking-to she gave you this morning.”
Stiv’s hands tightened around his sandwich. He dug his pinky finger into his ear, then held it up to his lips for a blow. “Don’t you start nagging me too.”
Safi was about to do just that when the stocky fifth-year approached her. “Tough work for a girl?” he asked, offering a jug of water. She reached out hesitantly, gulping down a few big mouthfuls and nodding in agreement.
“Tough work for everyone,” Wulf said.
The fifth-year shrugged. “Looks like you didn’t get much of that wall done,” he told Safi. “Recruit foreman’ll go easy on you for a week or two, but everyone’s got to pull quota eventually.”
Safi felt her ears go hot. She thanked him for the water and passed the jug to Goggles.
“All right, kids! When you’re finished with lunch, rest up till bells,” the fifth-year said. “Or you can get back to work early. It’s all up to you. Just make sure someone sends those lunch sacks back with your yields!”
After what felt like minutes, Safi heard the bells ringing above her head. She stood up and stretched, and was pleased to find that food and rest had renewed some of her strength. She readied her pickaxe and returned to work, hoping to pace herself to last the rest of the day.
Ye
t her elbows ached and knees soon trembled, and her shirt clung damply to her shoulders. A dizzy spell washed over her, and her head felt heavier than a boulderstone. So she tossed her helmet aside, to cool off and lighten the load.
“Put it back on, Saf,” Wulf said, swinging away. Not missing a beat.
“But I feel dizzy,” she said.
“I don’t care. Put your helmet back on.”
Safi clutched her head in her dusty gloved hands. “But I don’t feel good.”
“Safiyas,” Wulf said, lowering his pickaxe and looking past Goggles to see her. That got the attention of the other miners. “None of us feel good, but we’re wearing our helmets. That’s what miners do. So if you want to be one, pick that helmet up and put it back on your head.” He dipped his chin and waited. “Now.”
Safi scowled. She eased Goggles out of the way to make sure Wulf could see her proper, then opened her mouth to protest.
Wulf pointed to her helmet on the floor. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
Safi stomped over to her helmet, picked it up with both hands, and planted it back on her head. “Anderan street rat,” she spat, loud enough for the other recruits to hear. She regretted the insult at once, bracing for Wulf to scold her further.
Without a word, the boy of Andera returned to his work.
And work continued for all of them. A half-hour later, Safi split a fist-sized rock off the wall, landing square on the toe of her boot. She jumped and yelped, but other than the scratch on her toe-cap, her boot was fine. Remarkably, so was her foot.
“So that’s why they put ‘em there,” Stiv said.
Not long after Wulf had returned from his third trip to the Pit, the work bells chimed above. Safi dropped her pickaxe and slumped against the cool stone wall. It was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.
“What now?” Stiv asked, panting as the first-years filed out of the work tunnel. “Are we in trouble?”
“Not yet,” Wulf said, pulling off his gloves and slapping them free of dust. “But if things don’t change soon, we will be.”
Safi shielded her eyes as they passed through the adit, stepping out of the Titan mines and into the afternoon light. She looked down at herself and gasped.
Dust covered her uniform like frosting on a cake. Gone was the blue of her work shirt, the brown of her canvas overalls. Gray was her color now, the gloomy shade of dead Titans.
Safi frowned. She didn’t think it suited her one bit.
And that was far from the worst of it. The dust had gotten everywhere. She felt it itching inside her gloves, felt it thick with sweat in her work shirt. Titans, it even got in her boots, pinching the bottoms of her sock-covered feet. It got into other places too. Places she didn’t even want to think about.
And to remember how cross her mother would get from a pair of muddy sandals! If she saw her like this, she’d have an absolute fit. She reminded herself to tie everything down tomorrow morning.
Something struck the back of Safi’s shoulder, sending the girl spinning. Wulf caught her by the arm and swung her in a half-circle, setting her down on her feet. An older boy strode past them, continuing towards the exit ramp.
Safi looked up at Wulf and blushed. Perhaps there were upsides to being covered in dust. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Wulf said. He swept her out of the way of another large boy, then nodded to the rest of his team. “Let’s get moving. These clothes ain’t going to clean themselves.”
The members of Team Wulf moved in a cluster, merging with the hundreds of miners pouring out the adit. The current swept Safi and her friends along, and soon they walked on slanted ground, stepping hard to keep their balance as they descended Cronus’ ankle.
Safi clung to her pickaxe, wishing she had the strength to spare a hand and pinch her nose shut. The boys smelled worse than they looked. Out of curiosity, she tucked her nose into her armpit and took a short whiff.
The scent nearly sent her reeling.
If there was anything she couldn’t survive twenty-five years of, it was that.
For safety’s sake, she scooted away from Wulf as they continued their descent. The ramp below was crammed full of boys, two abreast, dusty and tired and hot. Staring at the pristine sky, she found herself dreaming of life as a freshwater fish.
Then the ramp gave way for the flat, hard ground of Lazar’s Crossing. As the miners dispersed to the Fivers’ Camp, Wulf beckoned his team to follow. Before reaching the barracks, he led them off the road and around the back of an old storage building, whose walls still shook with afternoon work.
“If you’re going to give us a first-day lecture,” Stiv said, “I’d like to say that I really have to use the latrine.”
Goggles watched Wulf, panting. His hand moved to adjust his dust-stained eyeglasses.
“Can we please have a wash already?” Safi said. She tugged off one of her gloves and shook it by the fingers. A shower of dust sprinkled out.
Wulf dipped his chin and sighed. He took turns looking each of them in the eye, then began waving them in. “Everybody take a knee,” he said, dropping to the ground while Safi and the others stared. “Come on now, I ain’t fooling.”
Stiv knelt beside Wulf and groaned. Goggles took a knee, and Jabbar took two. Safi breathed through her teeth as her knee met the hard, unforgiving dust. Their circle was complete.
“I know we’ve had a rough day,” Wulf began. “And after all that, I know you’re probably thinking, five carts just isn’t possible for us…”
“This is your idea of a rallying cry?” asked Stiv.
“You want me to carry your ass back to barracks again?” threatened Wulf.
“I helped carry his ass too,” Safi added.
Stiv nodded enthusiastically. “Excellent point, Blondie, but let’s not forget to give Goggles some credit.”
Goggles perked up at the sound of his name, but said nothing.
Safi switched legs with a whimper. “Think he’ll let us get up now?”
Wulf slapped his knee to get their attention. “Listen! As tough as today was,” he said, looking at Safi, at Jabbar, “I think everyone did their best. We won’t hit quota tomorrow, and not the next day neither, but we’ve got to set some realistic goals as a team.”
“That fifth-year said we have to make quota or we’ll really get it,” Jabbar said.
“Quota’s just a damn word,” Wulf said. “They ain’t about to throw us out of camp. I’m asking you guys to keep up what we started, maybe a little more. No slacking, no fooling, no quitting. Hard work, every day, and two paychecks from now, I want us to be hitting five carts by then. That’s two short months.”
There was an uneasy pause. “Well, are you guys with me?” Wulf reached out his arm, holding his fist to the center of the circle. “Don’t keep me waiting. I’m dying for a bath.”
“I don’t know,” Safi said quietly. It all seemed hopeless, more so for her than anyone else. They were boys, and stronger than she could ever be. They didn’t understand how hard it was for a girl, especially one raised on puny vegetables.
“I’m with you,” Goggles said. He reached out his arms and bumped fists with Wulf. Safi looked down at her work boot. It looked so much smaller than everyone else’s.
“Boulder and barley,” Stiv cursed, throwing in his fist so hard that Wulf’s eyes twitched. “I’m in too.”
Jabbar lowered his head and drew a breath. He placed his smaller fist into the circle. “I guess I’m in as well.”
The four of them looked to Safi. She felt her dusty blonde hair framing her frowning face. Twenty-five years. Was it truly worth it? Perhaps she could work with Raven in the kitchen or spend the day cleaning under the matron’s supervision. And there was that job with the horses.
Mother had never found a use for her outside of cleaning and fetch chores. How could she survive here, when her own mother didn’t believe in her?
“I believe in you, Saf,” Wulf said, as if hearing her very thoughts. She m
et his hazel eyes with her own yellow-blue, surprised. The Anderan boy dipped his chin. “I wouldn’t have picked you for our team otherwise.”
Safi’s vision began to blur. No, don’t come out now.
“Come on, sister,” Jabbar said.
Safi wiped her tears with the heel of her palm and turned her head away. With the same hand, she made a fist and thrust it into the pile.
The boys cheered, and it took all she had to contain herself. She felt someone clapping her shoulder. She expected Stiv, but was surprised to see Wulf’s gloved hand. She looked up and found a smile on his face. On all their faces.
“All right!” Wulf rose to his feet and slapped the dust from his knees. “Let’s get washed up and ready for chow.”
27
Old Grudges
Safi swung herself out of bed and landed with a hard, wooden thud. She nearly cried out in pain, then bent over to clutch her feet, each finger massaging its own tiny toe.
She grimaced. Toes weren’t supposed to hurt. Not without a proper stubbing. “Titans almighty,” she muttered, fully expecting her tongue to hurt too.
Fortunately, it was the morning before Blessing day, and the nearby girls remained sound asleep. Following a yawn, she hobbled around her bed and cracked open her bunk chest. Then began the delicate process of getting dressed: Easing into sleeves, wiggling into trousers, fastening buttons with aching fingers. Straightening her collar, she went to stand beside her bed, using her slippery socked foot to search underneath it.
Where her boots were supposed to be.
Another yawn, and Safi lowered herself to her hands and knees, wincing as she lay her chest flat on the floor.
There, one arm reaching, she came to loathe her Blackpoint miner’s uniform and all its unnecessary parts. Give her a simple dress and a pair of sandals any day. Sandals never got away from you. She decided that she liked her clothes how she liked her life. Cozy. Comfortable. Simple.