by M. E. Thorne
“The right ones often are, ”I told her softly, before looking at my rescuer. “Nichessa, we are determined to liberate the labor camp and save the prisoners. I know you might not be comfortable sharing, but any information you can provide about that place will be useful. Your story might hold the secret to saving everyone.”
She sighed, her fingers playing with the mechanics along the back of her gauntlets. I was afraid she’d just get up and leave, but instead, she came to some kind of decision and scooted closer to the fire.
“Fine,” she spat sourly, “but don’t be mad when you’re all crying at the end of this tale.”
Chapter 15
“I was born in that camp,” Nichessa began, speaking slowly at first, but then building up speed. “My father and mother both worked in the forges, and as soon as I was old enough, I was handed a hammer and told to help them.”
She gave a strange, rough smile. “I wouldn’t say it was a happy childhood by any stretch of the imagination, so I’ll spare you the details. My parents died when I was a teen, the work killed them. I took their place at the forge and I learned my craft.”
I thought about all the masterfully made weapons back in her home. Even after her escape, she had continued to work, finding joy in the task itself.
“Sanderson worked us like dogs. He had a quota, and he never missed it, having us make weapons and consumer items that he’d ship back to the empire,” she continued, “but he also had us producing contraband.”
“Contraband?” I asked.
“Items not part of the official work orders, off the quota,” she supplied. “Not just weapons, but fancy jewelry, hair ornaments, and household items like dinnerware sets. They were stored separately from the official items. When the shipments went out, the contraband would be packed up too, stuck in hidden compartments.”
“So they were still going to the port, and likely being shipped back to the empire.” I glanced at Vexile and Garnet, “Any idea where those weapons were going?”
“There’s always a rebellion or uprising in the empire,” Garnet answered. “The cardinals are supposedly unified under the Light Lord, with the inquisition enforcing order and uniformity of belief. But in truth, each cardinal is absolute within their diocese, setting their own doctrine and law. Sometimes disagreements within the church hierarchy will occur; a cardinal will refuse to pay their tithes or follow some newly minted law. If the disagreement becomes bad enough, a revolt can occur.”
“Remember, the Light Lord is just a figurehead, a puppet controlled by the inquisition. The inquisition is, at its core, a bunch of xenophobic extremists,” Vexile added. “Those who became the most rabid, violent, and puritanical rise to the top, and quickly. That leads to a constant churn of new ideas, new beliefs, new dogmas within the church, and anyone who fails to comply is considered the enemy.”
So the empire isn’t as unified as I initially thought. We might be able to use that fact someday when we bring the fight to them.
“So Sanderson is feeding the black market and reaping the rewards,” I said, nodding.
“He used those rewards to bribe anyone he needed to,” Nichessa gripped her hands tight, the gears grinding. “Initially, the labor camp was meant to be his prison, as much as ours, but he long ago replaced the guards with ones loyal only to him. He rebuilt the foreman’s house, turning it into a lavish mansion. Drugs, drink, and other vices flow freely amongst his chosen loyalists.”
“They grow dreamwisp, right inside the camp’s walls,” she continued “You could smell the crap at night, like burnt sackcloth, as the guards got high.”
“Sanderson got fat,” the little girl added.
Nichessa laughed, “That's true. He’s an old bastard now, and far too fat to walk on his own. The few times I’ve spotted him since my escape, he’s had prisoners carrying him around in a sedan chair. He must feel like a king when he surveys his little kingdom from the back of that palanquin.”
They both talked about the mansion and its lavish interior, making it sound like the gilded home of some robber baron. He used prisoners as his servants, keeping them in line with a group of loyal troopers, who he treated as his bodyguards and lieutenants.
I was shocked by the level of corruption being described, it went far beyond anything I had encountered back home on modern Earth, even with Orville. “And what, the empire just allows this to happen?”
Nichessa shrugged indifferently. “The Archangels and the church don't care, as long as the quotas are met. Besides, the camp is located at the very edge of the empire’s territory, in the middle of an inhospitable wasteland. They probably wouldn’t even bother sending an inquisitor this far out unless something completely catastrophic happened.”
I sat, thinking about this. It’s like the what not to do examples from The Prince, where rulers allowed their nations to crumble from within due to lax leadership.
The Luminark Empire, for all its power and cruelty, seemed to be rotting from within, rife with infighting and corruption. Likely, it was only propped up by its military power and huge labor force, which was mostly prisoners taken during their wars of conquest. Their foundation was built on fear, blood, and inhumanity.
“Nichessa,” Vexile asked, “can you tell us how you escaped?”
The blacksmith frowned. “I slowly worked my way up to head of my shift at the forges, I was responsible for making sure the quotas were met and that the additional contraband was produced as well. But the demand kept going up and up, and it became impossible to keep up with requests, even with the additional labor Sanderson provided.”
She paused, looking at us, “You can’t just hand some poor idiot a pair of tongs and a hammer and expect them to be a blacksmith overnight, you know?”
I could sympathize; I had been a part of enough political campaigns to know that just throwing manpower at a problem rarely fixed the root cause.
She fiddled with her gloves, clearly finding it difficult to continue with her story. Vexile moved closer to her, but I waved her off; I didn’t think Nichessa would appreciate the close contact.
“Sanderson became more and more irate,” she finally spoke, “but there was nothing we could do. There was no way to keep up with his demands.”
She looked into the campfire’s flames, her eyes reflecting the orange hues. “He started by executing one of the other shift bosses; he had been shirking the quota to meet the contraband demands. Then the foreman began sending those he deemed lazy into the mines, assigning them to the Deadman’s Duty.”
The little girl began to cry. Vexile made comforting noises, drawing her up in a tight hug.
I looked towards Nichessa.
“There are hundreds of kilometers worth of caves that run under this region,” she explained.
“Some miners accidentally dug an entrance into them years ago when trying to sink a vertical shaft”
“When you get assigned to Deadman’s Duty, you get sent down into those caves,” she continued. “There is little ore, but there are gems, crystals, and other valuable finds, all of which go to line Sanderson’s pocket.”
“You don’t get to leave till you find something valuable,” the little girl provided. “Unless you bring the guards a gem or crystal, you have to stay down there.”
Nichessa nodded, “Which leads to the brutal casualty rate, many workers have died down there from either thirst or starvation, unable to find anything the guards considered worthy of letting them end their shift. But being assigned down there is also hard on the guards, it’s not uncommon for them to die in accidents, or to get lost in the caverns and suffer the same miserable fate as their prisoners.”
“The monsters get them,” the girl whispered, “or the dragon.”
“Dragon?” Vexile hissed.
The little girl nodded, “Sometimes, guards will just disappear, like poof.” She threw out her hands. “Some of the adults whisper that they were eaten by monsters. Others say it’s because of the dragon, an ancient guardian t
hat protected this land back when the Dark Lords ruled. They also say it’s responsible for the earthquakes, showing how angry it is about the Luminark using its lands.”
“Threatening to assign someone to Deadman’s Duty was a powerful motivator, but not enough to make the impossible possible.” Nichessa said, “My shift kept falling further and further behind, and eventually I was hauled into Sanderson’s mansion. The man himself wanted to interrogate me, to find out why I was intentionally sabotaging his efforts.” She laughed. “All I can remember, before the beating, was how good it felt to track soot and mud all across his expensive carpets.”
I saw, unexpectedly, that she was fidgeting. Telling her story had been cathartic for her, but clearly she was getting to the darkest point. I glanced at her hands, wondering what she was hiding underneath.
She caught my eyes, then released the breath she had been holding. “I was still laughing by the time his men hauled me back to the forges. Sanderson told them to make me an example, to teach everyone a lesson."
Carefully, she undid the clasps and wrappings that held her left gauntlet in place, then let it drop to the ground.
Vexile gave out a horrified gasp.
Nichessa’s hand was a scarred wreck; her pinky and index finger were mere nubs, the ends missing. The remainder of her fingers were a crooked mess, the knuckles and joints swollen and oversized from badly healed bones.
The scars extended across her palms and up her wrists, the flesh twisting like melted wax.
She made to speak, then clamped her jaw shut. Hurriedly, she put the gauntlet back on, using her teeth to tug the straps back into place. Flexing her fingers, she made sure the mechanics were securely in place, before she spoke again, her voice low and raw.
“Sadly, for all of us, Sanderson’s men went too far and ruined my hands, making it impossible for me to work,” she said. “The foreman, in his wrath, gave us all permanent Deadman’s Duty.” She got up, moving away from the flames. “The guards died in the first week. I arranged for them to have accidents, or to simply not show up for roll call at the end of their shifts.”
She turned, looking out into the darkness. “I don’t feel an ounce of regret for what I did to them.”
“None would fault you,” I said.
“I’m considering giving you a medal,” Vexile added.
Nichessa chuckled darkly. “I spent a year in that hellhole, slowly learning where to find food and water, what passages were safe, and which ones would get you killed.” Unexpectedly, she turned back around, approached the child, and crouched down to speak to her at eye level. “There are no monsters down there, I swear it. You have nothing to fear from the secret vaults of the earth.”
The child, shivering, looked at her with wide eyes. “Not even the dragon?”
Gently, Nichessa patted her head. “No, but you should never fear the dragon. When I was a child, my mother would tell me about it as I fell asleep at night. As you said, it’s a guardian, a servant of the goddess meant to protect the dark places in the earth.”
Getting back up, Nichessa took up her original place by the fire. “Eventually, I gathered enough supplies that I could attempt an escape. I waited till the end of my shift, then I triggered a cave-in, hoping the Luminark guards would think that I was just another fatality. After that, I spent another month, navigating the caves, till I found my way out.”
“I found the ruins of the observatory and decided to make it my home. Slowly, I began picking through the trash produced by the camp, building my forge.”
She held up her hands, and suddenly I remembered all the other gauntlets hanging back in her home. They were the prototypes, as she finished a pair she would use them to build another, better version, till she got to the current iteration.
Nichessa wasn’t only a skilled blacksmith, but a skilled engineer as well. That, more than anything, led me to resolve to get her to come to Gloomglow with us. With her skill and strength of character, she would make a perfect addition to our kingdom.
“Why did you stay?” Vexile asked. “You could have left, tried to find other survivors.”
She shook her head. “Where would I have gone? I imagine your home, Gloomglow, was just an empty ruin back then.” She spread out her arms. “I know these hills like the back of my hands, and I can find everything I need to survive. There’s even plenty of metal and scrap available, enough to keep my forge active for the rest of my days.”
I interjected quietly, “But is that enough to build a life, to be happy?”
For a moment, I was afraid she’d turn and punch me. Rage flashed across her features. But then she mastered herself, but her hackles were still raised. “I choose how I spend my life. No one else dictates that to me, not even a Dark Lord.”
I held up my hands, gesturing an apology.
She sat down and curled her arms around her legs, clearly ending her story. Lita sniffled, rubbing tears away from her eyes, and even Marl seemed moved by her tale. Vexile and I shared a look, and I knew she wanted the blacksmith for our home as much as I did.
The little girl, much to my surprise, was the one who spoke next. “They tell stories about you, back home.”
Nichessa’s eyes went wide.
“They say you’re the ghost of a blacksmith that was killed years ago,” the little girl continued. “That you haunt the hills, killing Luminark troops that get too close to your grave. When we see black smoke over the hills, we know you're busy at your forge, making weapons that will one day be used to kill the Luminark.”
The blacksmith sighed, “Shit, I thought my chimney was hidden well enough, but I need to do a better job hiding my forge.”
Mimicking Nichessa, I bent down to speak to the girl, “I’m Robert, do you mind telling us your name?”
She eyed me fearfully.
“It’s okay,” Vexile encouraged her, “my husband is a wonderful, kind man. He, or anyone else here, would never hurt you.”
“Jeanie,” she finally answered, in a small voice.
“Jeanie,” I repeated, smiling gently, “I’m very happy we were able to help you escape. Are you okay?”
She hugged onto Vexile more tightly, then nodded.
In truth, I wanted to ask several things, like about the conditions in the camp, exactly how many people were being kept there, and how she had managed to escape, but I knew I would get nothing by terrifying her with a barrage of questions. We’ll have time later, once she’s rested and has a chance to get used to us.
I awoke with a start, the entire world shaking around us.
“What the hell,” I cursed, as Vexile unwound and accidentally knocked me off our shared bedroll.
“Is it an attack?” she asked, staring around in surprise.
Marl, hunched up with the crawlclaw, looked terrified.
Jeanie, upon waking, threw herself into Vexile’s arms.
“Relax,” Nichessa said, as she braced herself on her hands and knees, “I think it’s just an earthquake.”
If it was an earthquake, it was like nothing I had experienced before. I had been unfortunate enough to be in California for work during several quakes, but they had been brief, jarring affairs where the buildings swayed and the lights flickered.
This felt like the world was ending.
Several nearby walls, already in brittle shape, collapsed, raining stone and mortar down. I quickly worked with Nichessa to herd everyone out into the open.
Finally, after several minutes, the shaking stopped, the rumble slowly fading away, though I felt the faint trembles of aftershocks rippling underneath us.
Vexile looked positively green.
“Are you okay?” I steadied her as her head swayed.
“I’ll be alright,” she insisted, “That just felt very disorienting, like I could sense every centimeter of earth moving under my scales.”
“Just take a moment to breathe.” In the distance, I heard the sound of trumpets.
Nichessa began cursing, then ran towards the h
ighest hill above the ruins. Leaving Vexile to Garnet and Lita’s care, I chased after her.
Reaching the top of the hill, I saw the camp light up, and the commotion only got louder. Even though I couldn’t make out the buildings themselves, I could spot thousands of pin-pricks of light, each of them a torch or flame.
“A mass escape attempt?” I guessed.
Nichessa shook her head, “Worse. Sanderson is getting greedy.”
I looked at her speculatively.
“Earthquakes aren’t super common around here,” she sighed, before heading back downhill, “but when they do happen, they’re bad. So bad that it can rearrange the geology and bring up new seams of minerals, collapse tunnels, and create new shafts and openings. Sanderson is going to spend the next week scattering his troops up and down the region, looking for new veins to exploit, or new sites to sink a mine.”
“So this whole place is soon going to be crawling with Luminark troops and surveyors?”
She nodded. “Normally, when this happens I just bunker up and hide in my home, waiting for the bastards to get tired.” She looked south, back towards her home, as if thinking about making a run for it.
I gently touched her shoulder. “Don’t, it’s not worth getting caught.” An idea struck me. “Why don’t you come with us, instead? Just for a bit.”
She scoffed, as we returned to the camp. I repeated the suggestion with the rest of our party present.
Vexile clapped, “That’s a wonderful idea, you should come with us to Gloomglow. Even if you only stay for a short time, we’d be honored to have you.”
“You just want to put me to work,” Nichessa accused me.
“I wouldn’t mind if you gave us some assistance,” I admitted. “Figure it this way, would you rather spend the next few days hiding out here, avoiding Luminark troops, or would you be okay with a roof over your head, food to eat, and a bed to sleep in?”
“Please?” Jeanie asked.
“Fine,” the blacksmith sighed, “let’s get moving quickly then. We’ll need to extinguish the coals from the campfire and hide any sign you were here. Best the Luminark know nothing of your presence, especially if you’re planning on coming back.”