I duck back behind the building, but my foot slips a little, scraping the ground, making enough noise to force Grelyn to turn around. Hugging the wall, I hold my breath as I remain still, hoping that she doesn’t approach, but the soft plops of her feet on the ground inform me that I will have no such luck. I creep along the side of the building, hugging its rough exterior as the silt coating it rubs off on my fingers and making my way to the other end where I round the corner just as Grelyn appears. She looks around, her unnatural blue eyes appearing to glow in the dark, and I fear that she might have seen me, but as she searches, I know that I have not been spotted. I continue pressing my back into the outbuilding’s wall as I inch my way to the other corner and ease my way around it. I need a distraction. Bending low, I scoop up some pebbles and chuck them at a nearby window. As they pelt the glass, a series of tiny drumbeats, I sprint into the darkness, running as fast as I can away from the camp and toward the workers’ quarters, not bothering to look back. I reach the entrance to the cavern and dart inside, startling its occupants, forcing me to put my finger to my lips, signaling for them to remain quiet.
Chase still lays on the soiled mattress, half-asleep, and I hurry over to him, dropping to my knees beside him as I yank the vial of ointment from my pocket. His eyes focus on me and he tries to speak, but I shush him while spreading the ointment over his cuts and bruises, being careful not to cause him anymore pain. Though the ointment will help with the superficial wounds, it will do little for his bruised ribs, and my heart aches at not being able to do more for him.
“You helped me once,” I whisper to him, answering his unspoken question and remembering the time when my leg was broken and we were both lost on the wilderness and how, without him, I never would have survived. He shifts a little and closes his eyes. While his chest rises and falls and soft snores escape his lips, I remain by his side, monitoring him, making sure that his injuries do not kill, and though the night fades and morphs into morning, I never move.
Chapter 13
Entombed
President Tapiwa’s face fills the viewscreen before me, allowing me to see the soft cracks in her plum-colored lips—she must have applied a fresh coat of lipstick just before the call took place—and the striations within her brown eyes as the shade of her irises change from dark to light before morphing into a darker tone again. Four weeks have passed since I first arrived here at the mines, and this is the first time she has bothered to check on my progress, and my mind dwells on the pessimistic view that such an act is not a good omen. In fact, for one of the presidents to check in is an unusual act. Most times, it is a superior officer within the corps.
I keep my face impassive, as though I am unconcerned about this new development, when in truth heat forms around me, rising within me, causing the collar of my uniform jacket to sizzle as it touches my skin. My stomach jumps a bit as butterflies wrestle within it, but I remain rigid and stoic. Emotions are not to be acknowledged, least of all fear. As Tapiwa continues talking, creases form on her brow as though she is disappointed that I am not cowering before her the way a citizen of Arel should, but if I do, it will be a sign of weakness. Keeping my arms planted by my side, I listen to what she says amidst the clanging of pickaxes, shovels, and hammers as they join the rail carts’ creaking wheels, forming a constant melody of metal and rock opposing one another. It does not aggravate me as much as it did the first few days of my stay.
Commandant Gant stands to the side, visible, but silent, and my eyes glance at him for a second as he raises his heels an inch from the floor before placing them back down, displeased with the manner in which I have run this establishment. In addition to dictating that fresh, unspoiled food and water be fed to the workers, I instituted shift changes. Before, the workers toiled in the mines for 12 or 14 hours a day and their skeletal bodies could not keep up with the abuse. I decided that they would work in four-hour shifts, being allowed to rest for two hours afterward. Commandant Gant put up a fight, but my decision stood and Renal reminded him of his orders to follow my command. Two hours after his protests, I caught Commandant Gant leaving the outbuildings sporting a bruise near his eye socket followed by Renal. He glared at me as he stalked away, while Renal strolled past me without so much as a glance. To this day, I have no idea what their fight was about, but I have a feeling that it revolved around me and my proposed changes.
Four weeks since I set foot here. Four weeks of constant infighting with Commandant Gant. Four weeks of watching myself and reminding myself how every action I take is monitored. At least there is Chase. The other workers helped him through his shifts as he recovered from the beating, and I am grateful that he is a fast healer. We stole moments together under the cover of darkness and away from Grelyn’s watchful eye as she always searched for an opportunity to catch me breaking the law. Turning in a fellow arbiter is met with great rewards, so long as you can prove that they committed a violation. Failure results in both being executed. When accused of a crime, the suspect is deemed guilty regardless if he is innocent, but to prevent arbiters from turning in their rivals in an effort to further their careers, if an arbiter accuses another arbiter of a crime, they best be able to prove it, or suffer the consequences. This is the only thing that stops Grelyn from turning me in now, despite her suspicions, but Chase is the only friend I have here and I’ll not abandon him to this place. Last night, we watched the stars—a first for me—and held one another, and he never moved, even when I fell asleep in his arms, only waking me just before the sun peaked over the horizon so that we could sneak back to our quarters before everyone woke up.
“Arbiter Noni?”
My attention snaps back to the present, and I scold myself for allowing my mind to wander. Tapiwa stares at me, expecting an answer to a question I never heard her ask. My mind races as I try to think of a neutral response so that she will not suspect that I wasn’t listening. “Madam President…” I begin.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
My mouth remains shut. What can I say? I have no idea what she asked me. “It was the best course of action,” I say, hoping that my response answers her inquiry.
“Best course?” The displeasure in Tapiwa’s voice is unmistakable, and I fear what she will say next, what her orders will be.
“Ordering that they receive the same food as what you and your fellow arbiters eat. Ordering that they work in four hour shifts with a break of half that length before they go back to work. Ordering that they be treated for their injuries. Ordering that they receive adequate bedding and having a new well dug for them so that they can have clean water.”
I remember that day. Disgusted by the water the woman had handed me to clean Chase’s cuts with, I vowed to change that, and the next morning, I ordered Commandant Gant to have a new well-built where the workers would be allowed to get uncontaminated water. My ears still ring from his tyrannical outburst. Tired of his refusal to listen, I snatched a shovel and started digging, despite the commander’s taunts, but those taunts ceased when workers joined me in digging the new well, and Commandant Gant’s eyes widened as, one by one, workers, fair-skinned and dark-skinned alike, grabbed a shovel and dug into the earth by my side, and I never asked them to. The commander had opened his mouth to speak, but Renal’s constant presence reminded him of his place, and by evening, we had water—fresh, cool water.
“It’s as though you have forgotten your training,” Tapiwa continues.
So, this is the reason for the call. Commandant Gant must have sent a letter of complaint to her, forcing her to check up on my progress to see if it is true. My mind dwells on how unusual this is because, when an arbiter has such a complaint made about them by a superior officer, they are arrested. So why have I not been? I think back to the bruise on Commandant Gant’s face.
Tired of this indirect method of chastising me, I snap at Tapiwa. “Production is up, is it not?”
Tapiwa’s eyes widen at my outburst, and I know that I have crossed a line, b
ut I press onward, aware that I cannot retreat now.
“Madam President, you sent me here to increase production. When I arrived, all I found were half-dead corpses, not able-bodied workers. People need to be fed. They need clean water and warm place to sleep. You give them these things, and they will work for you without question.”
“They are just plebeians.”
Anger rises within me at that statement, and I clench my jaw in an effort to keep it from breaking free of my hold, unsure of what to do with such resentment toward such a notion, since not long ago, I shared it. “And the citizens that are here?” I say, my voice tight, almost a growl, as I force myself to keep it even and steady. “They are here doing penance and are to be reintegrated into Arelian society once they have served their sentence. Should they return as skeletons? Are we not merciful?”
Tapiwa studies me, her mind brewing as she ponders my words and the meaning behind them, as well as my true intentions. As I stare at her, another revelation strikes me: people are sent here to die, including those who are told that once their pay their debt, they’ll be released. I should have seen this when I first came here. Arel forgives no one.
“Madam President,” I say, “I did what I thought necessary to accomplish the task you have given me. You told me to increase production. I have done that. If you believe that I have failed in my assignment, then relieve me of it and send someone one else who is better equipped.”
Tapiwa’s facial expression softens a little, but I know that I am still on the verge of drowning in her anger if I do not rein in my rebelliousness. “Production is up?” she asks Renal who steps out of the shadows.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, his voicing filling the communications room.
“How much?”
“Almost double.”
Silence regains its hold over us as Tapiwa considers her next course of action. “Leave us,” she says to everyone in the room.
Chairs scoot back as arbiters stand up and stomp out of the room in obedience, but Commandant Gant hangs back, displeased with her command. “Madam President,” he begins, “perhaps I should…”
“Get out!” roars Tapiwa, her harsh voice forcing me to take half a step back from the viewscreen. “Disobey me again, commander, and I will have your head served to me on a platter.”
My stomach churns at her words, but a part of me believes that she would resort to such barbaric methods if pushed too far.
The door closes behind Commandant Gant as he leaves, sealing me inside the communications room with Tapiwa’s gigantic face on the viewscreen for company.
“I knew after your exploits in the trial of fears that you were the perfect fit for this job, and it appears that I was correct. You have done well, Noni. I shall be recalling you soon.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“There is one matter I wish to discuss.”
“Ma’am?”
“It appears that the workers have taken quite a liking toward you.”
“I’m sure they view me in the same manner as any other arbiter.”
A fake smile crosses Tapiwa’s plum lips, and I know where she is going with this conversation. “Commandant Gant disagrees. And I have to wonder if he is correct. The way those workers joined you in digging the well without being told—you, when the most seasoned commander there has to whip them into obedience—one could say that you might have their respect.”
“They saw a way to serve themselves and no other. Respect is not an arbiter’s desire, only service to Arel.”
Tapiwa backs away from the screen on her end and my robotic answers seems to satisfy her for the moment. “I’m pleased to hear it. Now, if there is no other…”
“Madam President,” I say, interrupting her, something that is never done, but I have to; I have to get Chase out of here. She glares at me, not liking my forwardness, but I continue, since there is no backing down now. “Please pardon the interruption, but there is a plebeian here whom has been here longer than his sentence.”
“They are not afforded the same guarantees as citizens.”
Death is a guarantee and we all fall victim to its grasp. “I understand, but I believe that he might be of better service in the eastern sector.”
“Why is that?”
“He services my physical needs,” I reply, keeping my voice even, hoping that she will believe that I have found a toy to satisfy me as she must not suspect that I care about him. Such a thing is not unheard of in Arel; every master seems to have their favorite plebeian.
“Strong?”
“Yes, ma’am, and silent.”
“The strong and silent type. Yes, they are fun to play with. Very well. You may take him with you,” she says in a bored tone, as though she is a mother granting her child’s feeble wish, believing that I will grow bored with my toy within a month. Her beliefs do not bother me as long as I can get Chase away from this place and back to Gwen.
“Thank—”
President Tapiwa shuts off her viewscreen, severing the connection.
I blow out the rest of the air trapped in my lungs, as I stare at the black viewscreen with the words “no signal” floating on it, allowing them to empty to the point where they beg me to inhale again, glad that my conversation with Tapiwa is over. My mind wonders why she seemed in a foul mood when before she had always been sweet to me—a fake sort of sweetness, I remind myself and once again I ponder the real reason she had sent me here to begin with. None of it makes sense, unless…
Before I can finish that thought, an explosion shatters the earth, rattling the windows as plumes of black soil burst from within the mines, shooting out into the air, showering anyone unfortunate enough to be in its path, coating them in specks of glittery dust. I rush outside, knocking a chair over in my haste. Panic ensues as people dart about, desperate to get away from the mine, while Commandant Gant yells at the arbiters under his command, who in turn, shout at the fleeing workers. I race for the entrance to the mine, looking at the grim-ridden workers who run in the opposite direction; each glance at me in confusion as I rush past, unwilling to stop. Another thundering roar bursts from the mine, encased in a cloud of dust as it collapses, forcing me to stop and cover my face in an attempt to protect it from flying debris, but a few of the needle-sized pricks sting my skin, despite my efforts. I turn in circles, searching for a particular face, but cannot find him amidst the floating particles that twinkle in the sunlight, forming a veil around us, separating us from the outside world. I spot the woman who had helped me the night Chase took a beating for me and seize her arm, stopping her.
“Where is he?” I demand.
She points at the mine, knowing whom I refer to and hurries away, pausing only to assist another worker with a bloody gash on his leg. I turn toward the mine. Rubble stands between me and the only other friend I have in this world. Gwen needs him, and it is my fault that he is here and… I will never forgive myself for allowing him to die, not when I can prevent it. My eyes search every inch of the rubble, looking for anything that resembles a hole, a place where I can squeeze through. A man’s deep and worried voice distracts me for a moment, and I turn to find Trevors going form worker to worker, demanding to know where Grelyn is and my stomach sinks. She must be trapped in there as well. The strangled cries of a man in trouble reaches my ears, forcing me to turn back toward the mine. It is not Chase’s voice, but it doesn’t matter. He needs help, or he will die. Rubble tumbles form the top of the entrance to the bottom, kicking up pebbles and dust as it crashes to the ground, forming a small hole in the barrier just big enough for a single person to squeeze through. I charge for it.
“Noni!”
Renal’s voice echoes in my ears, drowning out the rumble of the earth beneath me, but I ignore him, knowing that if I do not act now, people will die, and it will be my fault. I reach the small opening and dive through it into a world of darkness and thick, suffocating air filled with powdery dirt, causing me to choke as I breathe. Coughing rattles my body a
s my lungs try to expel the pollution, but the more they try, the more I inhale the filth. Covering my mouth with my jacket sleeve, I feel my way around with my other hand as my eyes adjust to the darkness, watering and stinging from the particles floating around me, surrounding me in an attempt to impede my efforts. The toe of my boot catches on a fallen beam and I stumble, throwing my arms out in an effort to catch myself and grasp a broken support, clinging to it as I steady myself. A low rumble reverberates around me, warning me of the precariousness of my situation and how the mine could collapse at any moment.
“Help!” someone cries.
I follow the voice, ducking low to avoid the hanging boards and the splintered edges that snag my jacket. Forced to my hands and knees, I crawl through the loose dirt—some of it sneaks between my waistband and my skin and crawls downward, poking me as it goes—as bits of sharp rock slice my hands. The man calls again, and I quicken my pace, feeling my way through the murky darkness, doing my best not to dwell on the possibility that I will be entombed here if I fail. A ghost-like hand appears from the ashes and silt falls away from it in chunks as it raises up in an effort to reach out to me. Crawling, my knees scrap against rock, but I ignore the stinging pain as I reach for the hand and grab it, clutching it tight.
“Can you move?” I ask him.
The man nods.
Pleased, I yank him free from the mound of dirt covering him and help him to his hands and knees. He tries to say something, but I cut him off as I point to the exit and urge him to hurry. He clambers past me and I watch as he leaves, before turning back to the depth of the mine and the void it forms before me and crawl underneath a fallen support to an area where I can stand up. Creaking snaps around me, causing my heart to race and my breathing to quicken as the fear of being crushed to death sweeps over me, threatening to control me, but I force myself to remain calm as bits of dust and pebbles fall around me. Walking hunched over, I navigate my way through the tangled web of wooden planks and rock that bar my way. More coughing snatches my attention and I hurry toward it, finding a woman huddled in the darkness, frozen with fear. I try to lift her to her feet, but she slaps my hand away. I try again with the same result.
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 18