by E. S. Maya
Safi bit down on her lips. She could feel the words on her tongue, powerful and ready. “Wulf!” she cried. “Push him back! You’ve got to push him back!”
Raven leapt in surprise, waving her twitching hands. “Harder, Wulfy!”
Jabbar began thumping his knees. “Stone over flesh! Stone over flesh!”
Stiv threw a fist in the air. “Kick his ass!”
The crowd exploded with noise, overwhelming the hiss of the bonfire. Wulf looked at Safi and smiled. His face, however, was one of resignation. Unlike his previous expressions, she reckoned this one was genuine.
Noth drew another breath, then began a slow, exhaling groan. Safi covered her mouth as Wulf’s wrist bent backwards. It looked about ready to snap. Their arms descended until the back of Wulf’s hand touched the top of the stained pine table.
The first-year boy slumped sideways in defeat.
Noth threw down Wulf’s hand and pushed himself up from his seat. He held up his fist and cheered, fingers bent and trembling.
Rather than join his celebration, the crowd shared murmurs of disappointment.
“I won!” Noth declared, looking this way and that. “I won.” He looked to Hannah, whose hands were atop her head, curls clenched inside fists. “I—”
Hannah threw herself against Noth’s large frame. “Stop talking!” she snapped. Then she circled around him, taking his wrist as she went, dragging the fifth-year behind her how a mother might lead her child. Noth looked furious for a moment, then lowered his head and followed as she elbowed her way through the crowd.
Wulf remained seated at the table, clutching his wrist to his chest. The recruits were silent for many minutes. Once Noth and Hannah were gone, they fell into laughter, but not just any laughter. This was waist-bending, knee-slapping, tummy-aching laughter, to whom Stiv, Jabbar, and Raven were no exception.
Safi laughed too, looking at Wulf all the while. She gathered her friends and approached him, and together they took the fifth-years’ seats at the table, enjoying the sounds of laughter and the warmth of the bonfire for many hours to come.
31
A Choice of Gods
“Thought you might need this,” Raven said, slipping Safi half a loaf of bread and a wedge of hard cheese.
Safi hid them underneath her blanket. Any other time and she’d have scolded Raven for sneaking food into the barracks. If Hannah caught wind, it would be off to the stockades with her.
But Safi had slept through breakfast and lunch as well. So, with survival in mind, she ate her food in bed, head against her pillow and blanket over her cheeks. She silently thanked Raven, and God, and the Titans, for the meal.
She started when she heard the church horn blare its sorrowful song from the Main Camp. All about the room, the older girls began dressing in garments of blue or red, while the first-years made do with grays and browns.
“Incoming redhead,” Raven warned, cracking open their bunk chest and fishing out a clean dress.
Safi rolled onto her stomach and buried her face into her pillow. Then she heard Rebecca’s voice at bedside. “Safiyas! What are you still doing in bed?”
“Looks to me like she’s lying down,” Raven said. “Could be napping. Could be dead.” Safi felt Raven’s finger poking the side of her head. “You alive in there, Blondie?”
Safi groaned into her pillow. She felt the side of her mattress sink as Rebecca took a seat.
“You have to get dressed,” Rebecca pleaded. “Or it’ll be two weeks of service you’ve missed now.”
Safi planned on missing church for a long time. She felt Rebecca’s hand on her shoulder and turned her head to look. Today the redhead wore her hair in a neat ponytail, sitting high on the back of her head.
“Don’t you care about your soul?” asked Rebecca.
Safi nodded. After the fifth-years had chopped off her hair, her soul was just about all she had left. But just because she cared, didn’t mean she was brave enough to step into that building. Or to climb out of bed.
Rebecca lay her hand across Safi forehead. “Don’t you believe in God?”
Safi nodded again. Stashed beneath her pillow was the palm-sized Titan Jabbar had gifted her. Sometimes at night, she brought it out for a silent prayer. But church was a place of one religion and one God, with no room for the likes of Titan worship. She had come to realize that, in the eyes of the northerners, full Abed and half-breeds were one and the same. Besides, she was in no shape to leave her pillow, let alone cross Lazar’s Crossing to the Main Camp.
“Another time,” Safi said, hoping the girl would lose interest by next week. “The Titan mines have got me beat.”
Rebecca frowned, and would have pestered Safi further, had Raven not tugged at her fingers. “Let’s go already. We’ll pray extra hard for Blondie’s sake.” The redhead brightened at the thought, nodding eagerly in agreement.
As Rebecca rose from the bed and started towards the door, Safi gave the Anderan her most suspicious eye. Raven returned a wink and scampered after the redhead.
When the last of the girls had departed, and the barracks was finally empty, Safi rolled on her back and smiled. Here was the sort of peaceful silence that reminded her much of home. All the noise made it hard to remember, to imagine, a world not colored by the orange dust of Camp Cronus. She laced her fingers behind her head and shut her eyes, letting her imagination take hold.
First she pictured her mother, alone in Guardia, the capital city of Andolas. Tabitha was walking its wide brick streets, surrounded by tall buildings and fast people—at least that was how Safi always imagined it. Not one to be impeded, her mother pushed her way through a thick crowd of men. Like a child swallowed by tall grass, she was gone.
That wasn’t what Safi wanted to see. Furrowing her eyebrows, she pictured her father instead, climbing the passing Siege Titan alongside the miners of Ashcroft village. The giant was broad and gray and tall enough to pluck the sun from the sky. Why, it looked exactly like Cronus. Only this Titan stood upright and was nowhere near as dead. Common sense told her there was no way her father had any chance of climbing that thing.
She opened her eyes and sighed. Would she see either of her parents again?
Trying once more, she imagined a pickaxe in her hands and a wall of stone before her. She was more powerful than ever before, swinging away with ease, and the wall felt softer than fresh bread. And was that something shiny under all those cracks?
A few minutes later, she drifted to sleep with a smile on her face.
32
Slow Music
On their final shift of the month, Noth came roaring into the first-year dig site.
Safi kept her head low and her pickaxe swinging, listening as the recruit foreman hurled insults down the passageway. Included amongst them were: lowborn sods, lumpish knaves, and, worst of all to Safi, bunch of pathetic girls.
She grimaced, pickaxe in a blur, chips of stone clinking off her goggles and helmet. After a month in the Titan mines, she was just about strong enough to swing her pickaxe proper, but there was no way she could keep her current pace. She hoped the fifth-year’s lungs would tire before she did.
“You flimsy-armed fop!” she heard Noth scream at a boy.
Safi glanced sideways through the dim and dusty torchlight. The first-year boys mined pickaxe over shoulder, putting deep, vertical cuts into the drift wall. Sloppy work, and not at all good for finding a Siegestone. Her work shirt darkened with sweat as she strained to match their pace, not daring to slow for a moment, Titans forbid she drew the recruit foreman’s attention next.
“That’s your idea of mining, recruit?” Noth boomed at Clayworth. “Why in the Nine Stones did I waste my time training you? Swing harder!”
“Yes, recruit foreman!” the Resmyran said. “I’m sorry, recruit foreman! Absolutely, recruit foreman!”
Then Noth roared, “Southerling!”
Safi flinched, fighting the smaller side of her that told her to duck and cower. She slowed her
pickaxe and watched as, much to her surprise, the recruit foreman stepped up to Jabbar.
“You been eating chow three times a day, recruit?” asked Noth.
“Yes, recruit foreman!” Jabbar managed to grunt between swings.
“Doesn’t look like it. From now on, I better see your tongue cleaning the bottom of that porridge bowl.” Noth looked over Jabbar’s body—the steep curve of his shoulders, the tightly cinched waistband of his trousers—and grinned. “You know, from behind, you almost look like a girl.”
Jabbar’s pickaxe paused for a moment. Then he was mining faster than before. Faster than she had ever seen him.
Boisterous laughter filled the tunnel—coming from a pair of fifth-years, standing guard at the drift entryway. She furrowed her eyebrows. A boy like Noth was strong, but not strong enough to surround himself with first-year recruits who hated his guts. Not without reinforcements.
Safi returned to her section of wall, cursing Noth under her breath. Each time her pickaxe connected with stone, her wrists flared with pain. She could feel her muscles faltering, her body reaching its limit, while the boys kept swinging at their steady pace.
She grimaced under her neckerchief, trying to empty her thoughts, or at the very least put them in a faraway place. But there was Noth, spitting on the drift floor, shouting insults at more recruits. A few of the first-years began to cough, for all their hard mining had fogged up the passageway with dust.
Over the clacking of iron on stone, she heard the recruit foreman approaching her. She redoubled her efforts, throwing her weight into every swing. Hoping he’d pass without notice.
His footsteps came closer and stopped.
“And you,” Noth said to Wulf. “A whole month of work and not a single day’s full yield. Titans, your team hasn’t even got four tubs!” He stepped between Wulf’s swings to deliver a slap to the back of his helmet. It sounded loud and crisp “You’re the lowest yielding team in the whole damned Foot!”
Safi’s heart slammed at her chest with every swing of her pickaxe. She watched Wulf through the dust of her goggles, more than ready to see him stand up to the Serk brute, as he had at the bonfire three weeks ago. Perhaps he’d strip off his goggles and helmet, toss aside his pickaxe, and teach the fifth-year a thing or two about respect.
This time, she hoped he would hurt more than Noth’s pride.
Wulf picked at the drift wall, his posture perfect, his feet balanced, his swings evenly-paced. As if the recruit foreman hadn’t addressed him at all.
“That’s what I thought.” Noth turned his head for a snort and spat at Wulf’s feet. “I don’t know why you volunteered for captain in the first place, pup. You’re not leadership material. You belong under the shoe, not wearing it.”
Safi watched intently, heart racing. Waiting for Wulf to do something.
Again, the boy was silent.
Noth chuckled sourly, then started towards the exit. “They’ve got the message,” he told his henchmen, who made way for the powerful fifth-year before following him out of the dig site.
The moment their footsteps were gone, Safi dropped her pickaxe, chest heaving, and cooled her forehead against the drift wall. Across the passageway, she noticed Stiv was glaring.
“Who does that yellow-eyed dog think he is!” said Stiv, striding across the passageway. He ducked the swing of Wulf’s pickaxe and spun him about by the shoulders, grabbing him by the shirt collar. “And you let him talk about you like that! About us!”
Safi meant to get up, to tell the boys off for fighting in front of so many watching eyes. Instead she slouched further, too exhausted to move, to even voice a protest. She glanced at Goggles for help, but the boy looked as helpless as she felt.
Wulf removed Stiv’s hands from his work shirt. From the boy of Berrider, he found little resistance. “Noth’s a bastard,” Wulf said, giving Stiv’s arm a clap, “but he’s right. So put that pickaxe over your shoulder and get back to work.” He looked sideways and smiled. “That means you too, Saf.”
Safi nodded achingly. She pushed herself off the drift wall, nearly collapsing from the effort. It took most of her remaining strength to lift her pickaxe from the tunnel floor.
Wulf adjusted his helmet and faced his work area, raising his pickaxe for a swing. “Let’s fill those four carts.”
When Safi returned from the Titan mines, the barracks wasn’t its usual, empty self. The cleaning girls were all about the room, crawling behind wet rags over every inch of the floor.
She dared not enter. Not with the way those cleaning girls were glaring at her. So she kicked off her boots in the antechamber, stripped herself of her overalls and work shirt, and carried her uniform in both arms to the cleaning room.
Following a long and tepid bath, she threw on a shift and spent some much-needed time in bed, watching as cleaning girls finished scrubbing every inch of the floorboards. They did the walls and windows next. When the rest of the recruits had returned from second shift, Hannah called for a full count. Then she ordered socks over everyone’s hands. Like a swarm of angry bees, the girls of the Fivers’ Camp wiped down every bunk, over and under, cleaning every nook and cranny.
After evening chow, they spread themselves out on the barracks floor, wiping the dust from their shoes. They passed around horsehair brushes, little tins full of black and brown polish, and leftover scraps of cotton cloth.
Safi wrapped her forefinger in cotton and dabbed the tip in brown polish. She lay a work boot across her lap and rubbed circles into the leather upper, one inch at a time. She noticed a few of the older girls spitting on their shoes and did the same. Next came began a vigorous brushing, more polish and spit, and brushing once more.
To finish, Safi brought her boots to her lips and fogged the heel counters and toecaps. Then, using the clean portion of her cotton cloth, she buffed the leather to a fine shine. She couldn’t quite see her reflection, but her boots looked good as new, if not better. She ran her fingertips over the toe cap, wondering how long its shine would last in the Titan mines. Perhaps less time than it took to polish.
Beside her, Raven sat back with her legs stretched wide, shoes smudged and dull. When she noticed Safi staring, she shrugged. “Good enough.”
As the evening continued, Hannah fell into a panic, stomping barefooted around the barracks and making sure everything was clean and straight. She circled the main room, ordering each of the girls to stand in front of their bunks, shouting, “Fix that damn dress!” and “Tuck in that hideous blouse!” and to “Stand tall, not like some Godforsaken hunchbacked Titan.”
The barracks doors swung open without so much as a warning. Bunked across the antechamber, Safi and Raven were first to see the matron arrive, followed by a pair of burly enforcers. The few fifth-year girls wandering about the main room scrambled into position as Hannah strode to meet the adults. “At attention!” she screamed at the girls. “Heels together! Hands at your sides! Eyes straight ahead!”
Beaming, the matron approached the center of the room, all the while nodding at Hannah, who scurried along beside her like an obedient curly-haired dog. The enforcers followed behind them, holding in each fist the necks of many burlap sacks. Some hung fat and full, others skinny and loose. On each of their sides was a name scribbled in white chalk.
The sacks landed on the floor with a clunk.
It was a sound seldom heard in Safi’s life.
The sound of money.
She and Raven shared a grin. Payday at last.
“Eyes forward!” Hannah snapped. Their heads sprang back into position so fast the enforcers chuckled.
“Good evening, ladies,” the matron addressed the room, eyes moving from girl to girl. “We’ve had a long week, so let’s make this brisk. When your name is called, raise your hand, step forth, and fetch your pay money. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Matron!” the girls said.
“…Matron,” added Safi.
Looking pleased, the matron nodded at the enforcers. “You
may begin.”
The enforcers began reading names off a scroll, and the girls took turns fetching their money. The fifth-years received the largest sacks, and Hannah’s was the largest of all. Matilda, the fourth-year boss of the kitchen, received the second-largest wage in the room. When the first-years’ turn came around, Raven’s bag looked quite full compared to the others. Safi stared enviously as she returned to their bunk. It seemed kitchen work paid well.
Finally, Safi heard her name called and went to retrieve her pay money. Trotting back to her bunk, she tugged open the cord and stretched the sack’s mouth wide.
Safi’s lower lip trembled. Such a meager handful of coins. She reached inside and fished one out, dull iron, and hardly the size of a penny. The coin felt cold and rough in her hands, nothing like the silver Anderan Sovereigns her mother had given her back home. Sloppily stamped into one side was the same mark on her left wrist, the pickaxe crossed with the sword. The other side showed the profile of who she could only assume to be the late Emperor Tiberonius. Unlike real money, his face was little more than a faded gray lump. It could have been anyone, really. She couldn’t even make out the Siegestones crowning his head.
Safi peeked into Raven’s sack. The Anderan was combing her hands through the coins. At the long end of the room, Rebecca was kneeling before her bunk chest, merrily stowing her money.
Safi sighed and looked down at her pitiful hoard. For a miner, poor work meant poor pay. She worked like a boy and got paid like one too. Not making quota for an entire month had taken its toll. That made her the poorest girl in Camp Cronus.
Raven flicked a penny into Safi’s open money sack. “Cheer up, Blondie.” She licked her lips and cracked open their bunk chest, singing, “One paycheck down, two-hundred ninety-nine to go…”