by E. S. Maya
Before Safi could say any more, there came a shrill cry from above. It sounded like the brakes of a fast-rolling minecart. She raised her chin and looked, along with everyone else in Camp Cronus.
Against the clear blue sky flew the small black shadow of a bird. But Safi had never heard a bird make such a sound. The bird made three wide laps around the square, then plunged through the air like an arrow. The shadow swelled in size as it spiraled towards the Heart of the Camp. Its features emerged—a streaking blur of tan and white, of fur and feather. A bright yellow beak stuck out from its head like a blade, and its long brown tail lashed powerfully against the wind.
“I knew they were real,” Safi said, gripping the edge of her barrel. Gryphons. They weren’t just storybook tales after all.
And atop the gryphon’s saddle, garbed in white and gold, rode Sir Edgar Tiberonius, Brigadier General of the Blackpoint Mining Company and, most importantly to her, she remembered, the warden of the Camp Cronus.
The gryphon coasted towards the green of the warden’s oasis. As it descended towards the manor, it beat its massive wings, the white wings of an angel, and landed delicately upon the rooftop.
There was an outburst of conversation among the recruits, even the older ones. The presence of a gryphon in Camp Cronus, it seemed, was no common affair. She peeked at Wulf, who was staring at the manor in shock.
It was a half-hour later when the warden emerged from the manor’s red double doors. Sir Edgar Tiberonius strode down the meadow’s white stone path, and he wasn’t alone. Beside him followed a stout, thick-shouldered boy, hands cupped over his lap, back hunched slightly where the warden’s hand guided him.
The enforcers parted the oasis gate, and the warden led the recruit through the square. Arriving at the platform, the warden ushered the boy up the steep wooden stairway and climbed up shortly behind him.
“That miner looks young,” Safi said. “You don’t think—”
“That he’s from the North Foot?” said Wulf.
Safi nodded. “Would’ve recognized him otherwise.”
On the platform, the warden positioned the boy between Arnalus and himself. Their white capes snapped in the hot summer wind. The vice warden raised his palm, and when he let it fall to his side, the crowd fell into silence. Safi found her lower lip throbbing between her teeth.
Beaming, Warden Tiberonius took two steps forward. His disheveled blond hair played in the wind.
“Good afternoon,” he began. “For one of you recruits, the search for a Siegestone is over.” The warden began pacing the platform, boot heels tapping. “He is a young man of strong character, and today his steadfast dedication to the Blackpoint Mining Company will be rewarded. At eighteen years old, he is the third-youngest miner to discover a Siegestone in Blackpoint’s two-century-long history.”
Safi held out her fingers, fumbling with the math.
“The boy’s a fifth-year,” Wulf whispered. “Brown trousers. Sixth and up wear blue.”
“I knew that,” Safi said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Shh!”
“It is his privilege then,” the warden continued, “to present his discovery to the Company and claim his reward.” The warden paused, allowing his eyes to scan over the crowd. They were bright and gray, even from afar. He turned slightly, gesturing to the boy. “Oliver Greer, step forth.”
The boy approached the edge of the platform, both hands clenched to his lap. From his narrow eyebrows and firm smile, Safi couldn’t tell if he was happy or afraid. She imagined herself on that stage, looking down at the silent, envious crowd, and smiled at the thought.
“Of course,” said Warden Tiberonius, “Oliver did not work alone. To discover a Siegestone takes the culminated effort of an entire camp. We’re all part of a team, from the miners to the cooks, to the carpenters, tailors, and cleaners. To the enforcers. To the warden. With no teamwork, there would be no Siegestone, no Camp Cronus, and no Blackpoint Mining Company.”
Safi slipped off her gloves and shoved them into her pockets. Her hands were slick with sweat. Some team, she thought, we do all the work and you sit up in your manor, eating expensive crackers.
“So we invite Oliver’s team of stonebreakers from the North Foot to stand beside him.” The enforcers allowed four thick boys near the front of the crowd to pass. They climbed the stairway to the platform, staring out at the crowd, and each other, in disbelief. Never at the warden.
“Breakers,” Wulf remarked. “Makes sense. They work with leftover rocks from the dumping shafts.”
“Better be more thorough from now on,” Safi whispered back. “A breaker finding it means some poor miner let it slip by.”
“And now Oliver has a choice,” said the warden. “There are ten years left on your sentence. You may take your reward, twenty-five years of servitude, ten of it paid for in years served, the rest in golden Anderan sovereigns.” He lifted his white-gloved hand to wave at Oliver’s teammates. “Or you may share the twenty-five years amongst your comrades.”
The boy’s teammates watched in earnest. A hushed debate spread throughout the crowd. Vice Warden Arnalus was sweating profusely, wearing a nefarious grin.
“He’s gonna split the purse,” said a boy to Wulf’s left.
“I’d wager on it,” agreed the older man to Safi’s right. “Honest feller like that, you can just sort of tell.”
Safi raised her neckerchief to hide her disapproving scowl. Who would toss away so many years of their life, just like that? She cared greatly for Wulf and her team, but this was a matter of freedom. After two months in the Titan Mines, she was prepared to leave Camp Cronus and never look back.
“He’s gonna take it for himself,” she said in her deepest voice, folding folded her arms for boyish emphasis. “Definitely.”
“You a first-year or something, kid?” asked the boy.
“Wait till you’ve been here a few years,” said the older man.
Safi looked to Wulf for support, but he lowered his chin and sighed. “They’re right, Saf.”
Once again, the vice warden raised and lowered his palm, slaying all conversation. He stepped close to the lucky boy and with one meaty hand covered the entirety of his shoulder. “Greer!”
“Yes sir!” answered the boy.
“By the authority in me as vice warden of Camp Cronus, Lieutenant Colonel of the Blackpoint Mining Company…” He let the moment linger. “You may present the Siegestone to the warden!”
The boy turned to face the warden and raised his cupped hands. He parted his thumbs first, as if hatching an egg. Safi lurched forward in her seat, unable to blink, unable to breathe. From within his trembling fingers shone a brilliant green light that burned an afterimage into her eyes. Then the egg opened further, and the light hatched fully. Its glare dimmed in the open sunlight, exposing the precious gemstone for everyone to see.
The Siegestone glowed in Oliver’s hands like a thousand twinkling stars.
Safi stared. It wasn’t just beautiful. It was magical. So this was what her father and the men of Ashcroft had sought. What men throughout history had risked their lives for. What her ancestors viewed as holy artifacts, relics of the Gods themselves.
She now understood why. There was not a single noise from the crowd. Not a breath.
Oliver bowed his head before holding out the Siegestone, like he couldn’t bear to see it taken from him. The warden plucked it from the boy’s open hands. He held it against the sky in two fingers, then tucked it inside his jacket’s inner pocket.
And the Siegestone was gone.
Safi gulped hot air. The crowd began its low chatter. She looked down to find her bare hand crushing Wulf’s fingers. The two met each other’s eyes. Wulf drew his hand away before taking hers fully.
From the balcony above, Safi heard a chorus of girls sobbing with delight. She found tears in her own eyes, though for what reason, she wasn’t entirely sure.
Another emotion swelled inside her like an old hunger. Jealousy. Of that she was certain.
> “Now,” the warden said, unfastening from his belt a small coin purse and placing it on his open left hand. “In this bag is your freedom and fifteen years’ worth of golden sovereigns.” He offered his right in the form of a handshake. “This hand, however, is empty, but should you take it, your teammates will share your bounty. Make your decision, Greer.”
The boy glanced at the crowd, breathing heavy. He turned back to the warden and began wiping his hands on his canvas trousers.
The left, Safi thought, squeezing Wulf’s hand. Take the money.
The boy lifted his right hand and reached for the coin purse. A small fortune, coming inches within his grasp. Safi let go Wulf’s hand and threw her fists to her chest. Yes, yes!
But Oliver took the warden’s right hand instead. The two shook firmly.
The roars of the crowd were deafening.
Safi threw off her helmet and wrapped her forearms over her ears. The vice warden raised and lowered his hand to no avail. Even Warden Tiberonius was cheering, clapping Oliver across the back. His four teammates gathered close around him, shouting gratitude into his ears.
Safi looked at Wulf. Found him cheering, too.
Shaking with anger, she threw herself off the barrel head and charged into the crowd. The utter fools, she thought with a scowl. Caught up in Blackpoint’s game and they didn’t even know it.
Saf, she heard Wulf cry through the noise—or was it her ears playing tricks? No matter. She pushed on, shoving her way past any recruit who dared impede her. There was still the evening’s exercise ahead. If she had any hopes of finding a Siegestone, she would need all her strength and then some.
And when she did find one, there was no way she was going to share it.
39
The Father of Stone
Lunch the next day was a scoop of beans, two slices of bread, and a cup of overcooked vegetables. The usual girls voiced the usual complaints, but Safi found the meal most satisfying. After licking her plate clean, she hurried back to the barracks, eager to begin the Blessing Day afternoon.
Kneeling before her bunk chest, she sorted through her work shirts and trousers before uncovering her finest garment: a sleeveless red dress she had worn once before. She stripped off her clothes and pulled the dress over her head, tucking into its inner pocket a bundle of Blackpoint sovereigns. Last night, the matron and her enforcers had passed out their monthly wages, and she wasn’t about to leave it behind in the barracks. Not twice.
Besides, today she would need it. Boots laced tight, she crossed the room to Rebecca, who sat in cross-legged in bed, combing the knots from her fine red hair. Safi was ready to attend church at last, and who better to show her the way?
Rebecca eyed her dress and gave her a knowing smile. “I knew you’d come around.”
Safi arched a thick blonde eyebrow. “Come around?”
“To God,” Rebecca said, tying her hair with a slip of blue ribbon, “and real religion.” She finished it off in a bow and stood up from her bed. “That Titan worship stuff…” She pretended to shudder from the thought. “Anyway, let’s hurry. I like to arrive early for a good seat.”
Rebecca straightened her hair one last time and started for the door. Safi rolled her eyes and clomped after. The girl was up to her neck in faith, and she reckoned she had better odds of climbing a Titan than ever challenging it.
Safi followed Rebecca to the farthest edge of Lazar’s Crossing. She rarely had a reason to come this far south. Here the Titan stones were smaller but greater in number, stacked in neat piles on each side of a makeshift road. As they walked, she couldn’t help but imagine Lazar himself, Siegestone in hand, marching amidst the Titan stones with full certainty of his freedom.
Safi counted over a hundred recruits walking the road to church, boys and girls alike, a spattering of white shirts and blue and red dresses. Even a few work uniforms, stained with the dust of the morning sword fights. Further up the road, she spotted a familiar head of swinging curls. Hannah, strutting alongside a gaggle of fifth-years. Tallest among them was Recruit Foreman Noth, walking close beside her.
How cute, Safi thought, he’s even holding her hand.
She chuckled bitterly. The idea of Noth and Hannah paying lip service to God was laughable indeed. If she were a betting girl, she’d wager more than the dress on her back that they weren’t going to church to pray. No, they were going for the same reason she was. To barter. To make deals. To get what wasn’t meant to be gotten. To fetch a pair of—
“Come on, Safiyas!” said Rebecca, walking ahead with tall strides. Safi hiked up her dress and ran to catch up.
They arrived upon the church at the edge of the Main Camp, a grand stone structure unlike any of the simple wooden buildings found throughout Camp Cronus. Safi swallowed as they approached, feeling her skin go cold. It was larger than the one in Ashcroft, and far more imposing. In fact, she reckoned it was the tallest building in Camp Cronus, even more so if you counted the high steeple tower sticking out from its stone-shingled roof. Its stone brick walls were colored in several different shades of gray, separated by tall, narrow panes of stained blue glass.
She looked north, to Cronus’ mountain range of a torso, then back at the church. The bricks that made up the building weren’t from any stone she recognized in Camp Cronus.
Closer still, and she discovered a chattered crowd of adults gathered in the church’s cobblestone square. The men wore clean white shirts tucked into dark blue trousers. The women wore long blue dresses far too expensive-looking for the likes of Blackpoint recruits.
She ran her hands down at her own red dress, which now felt nowhere near as impressive as it had that morning. She hadn’t expected prayer time in a Titan camp to be such a formal affair.
She followed Rebecca into the crowd, submerging herself in heavy voices and tall shoulders. She found herself brushing up against a pair of voluptuous women, who smelled of overly ripe fruit. Then she backed into a circle of loud men, who wore the heavy musk of lifelong laborers. Pinching her nose, she tugged at the side of Rebecca’s dress. “Becca,” she squeaked through the noise, “you see any of them first-year boys up there?”
“I’m not that tall,” Rebecca said, twisting her dress out of Safi’s hands. “And I don’t see your boys.”
Safi stood on her toes before dropping down to her heels. “Keep an eye out.”
Following Rebecca, Safi took tiny steps as the crowd shrunk itself into the church, squeezing past wooden doors so polished she caught her own reflection and jumped in surprise. She craned her neck as they entered the main hall. Titans, it hadn’t looked anywhere near as large from the outside. Not to hold the thousand-some worshipers in attendance. Sunlight glowed in the stained glass windows, painting the wooden pews and its worshipers in many shades of blue. Along the walls stood shiny brass candle holders thrice the height of any man.
Most impressive was the large bronze construct mounted behind the altar—a thousand snaking pipes of varying widths and lengths. They sprawled out against the wall in every direction, some slinking up into the ceiling, others across the walls, twisting and turning to frame the stained glass windows at the front of the room.
Remembering what she came for, Safi scanned the crowd. Not just any recruit would do. She needed to find the biggest man there, a miner with tree trunk legs. In a snap decision, she snatched Rebecca’s wrist and dragged her into the nearest pew.
“This is too far back!” Rebecca said. “I always sit up front.”
“God doesn’t care where you sit,” Safi said, keeping her eyes keen for anyone particularly tall and broad. Then, before Rebecca could protest further, a man with a bright blond beard slid into the pew, settling in beside her. He leaned his large body forward, looking at Safi’s dress. His beard split open to reveal a grinning set of teeth.
“That color suits you,” said Foreman Adams of the Foot.
“Mister foreman!” Safi said, dropping her head in a bow. She hoped he hadn’t heard about her incide
nt with Noth in the Pit. “Blessings to you.”
“Good blessings to you,” the foreman replied. “I never figured you for a follower of Faerana, stone bless her.”
Safi fiddled with the shoulder strap of her dress. Where was her work shirt when she needed it? “Because I’m half-Abed?”
The foreman chuckled deeply, a coarse, rattling sound like a stone in a wooden bucket. “Because I’ve never seen you attend service.” He nodded over his shoulder. “Of course, not everyone comes to church to pray.”
Safi turned in her seat to look. Recruits had the rear pews packed and, as she’d heard, the weekly trade had begun. Boys were passing handfuls of iron and copper pennies, discreetly but easily seen. In exchange, the adults were giving them dark brown cigars and small metal flasks. Even a few girls were getting in on the action.
Then Safi blinked, to make certain her eyes weren’t playing tricks. Through the church’s main doorway entered the largest man she had ever seen. Olive-skinned, nearly as dark as an Abed, but missing the thick black beard. His auburn hair lay upon his head like a pile of autumn leaves. His work shirt clung so tight that his arms resembled breakfast sausages.
The foreman turned to look, then brought his smile back to Safi. “I hope I’m not boring you.”
Safi felt her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry mister foreman I didn’t mean to ignore you I just—”
Foreman Adams dismissed her concerns with a wave of a hand. “But is your friend all right?”
Rebecca sat as straight as a board, looking stiffer than Cronus himself. Safi gave her shoulder a shake, and her entire body moved with it.
“At ease, recruit,” the foreman told Rebecca. “This isn’t Blackpoint territory.” He pointed up at the ceiling. “All are equal under the stone roof of God.”
Rebecca slumped in her seat until her forearms touched her knees. Considering her height, it was a long way down. “Thank you, sir.”
“Good lass.” The foreman’s smile returned. “Not a troublemaker, like little Safiyas here, hm?”