Rafen staggered on, hands stretched before him in case he should fall again. They traveled through two tunnels like this. It was pitch black, and Rafen kept stumbling, and Torius kept helping him up – he was probably mocking Rafen. By the third tunnel, Rafen’s breathing was a rasp. He leaned heavily against a wall, knowing the second seam was still a long way from here.
“I can’t make it,” he said. “Please, Torius.”
Torius’ eyes gleamed in the darkness. He liked other people using the name he had given himself. He stood as tall as possible in the low, descending tunnel.
“Didn’t you hear the guard?” he said. “I must be responsible, if I want to keep my blood.”
He grabbed Rafen, and Rafen screamed with the pain, because Torius was forcing him down onto the rocky ground. He had found some kind of crevice in the wall; it was tiny, and he was shoving Rafen into it. Horror rolling over him, Rafen struggled weakly. Torius had him in the crevice now. Stone walls hemmed Rafen in so that he couldn’t move.
“Torius, please!” he cried.
The sliver of paler darkness was suddenly covered; Torius had walled him in. A dirty hand smothered Rafen’s mouth.
“Be quiet,” Torius hissed, very close to Rafen in the crevice. “Forward now – go forward.”
His hand moved to Rafen’s armpit, and he pushed Rafen forward. Breathing shallowly, Rafen realized he could feel air ahead of him. Torius wanted him to pass through a tiny tunnel. He started squirming his way on, his back shrieking at him the entire time. The tunnel shrank further, becoming suffocating.
And then he was in a wider alcove. The walls opened out around him, and it was like he was in a little room. He painfully sat up, gasping for breath and leaning against one of the bumpy walls. Torius’ long, emaciated shape emerged from the deeper shadows behind him. He slid out of the tunnel and arranged himself into a huddled position.
“Well, two-three-seven, no one knows about this place except me.”
Rafen kept panting.
“I suppose you are hungry.” Torius reached into the black and picked something up. In a moment, he was at Rafen’s side, gently putting a piece of bread into his mouth.
“There is a bowl of water to your right,” he said. “Stay here until I come and get you. You can sleep. I told you, no one else knows this place is here.”
Rafen found Torius’ hand in the darkness. He gripped it. “I thought you hated me.”
“Did you really set a princess free?”
“Sort of.”
There was a pause. Rafen couldn’t bring himself to speak about his execution. A lump swelled in his throat.
“Talmon was angry,” Torius said. “I heard the guards talk about it. You were not here yesterday.”
Torius drew quite close to him now. Rafen could hear his breathing. He sounded excited.
“What is your name?”
“I am called Rafen.”
“Did you name yourself?”
“My parents… you mustn’t tell anyone.”
“Ha. I do not tell anyone anything, Rafen. I will be back for you tonight. They will not kill me. I am smarter than them. Sleep well.”
He slithered away. Rafen stared into the darkness ahead of him. He had always thought Torius was concerned with everyone expending energy only on the most important priority: survival. In reality, Torius had always been interested in those who had the power to anger their overseers, most importantly, Talmon.
Torius was free at heart.
Chapter Fourteen
The
Revolution
The next day, three guards took Rafen and fifty other children down what the men called the ‘Slide to Hell’. It was a steep, sloping tunnel leading from the second seam in Talmon’s coal mine to the fourth seam – a medium-sized one, situated lowest.
Though the pain from his wounds was still terribly strong, Rafen was better able to bear it after resting yesterday. Because Torius had never delivered Rafen to his assigned division of the mine, the guards were confused as to where he should have been, and therefore, they didn’t know where he hadn’t been. Torius had managed to confuse them still further by lying to each overseer about Rafen’s whereabouts. The officer who had sent Torius never inquired about Rafen either, probably too busy clearing up the mess after the tunnel had collapsed.
Phil had given Rafen’s wounds a fresh dressing that night. While sleeping, Rafen had had nightmare after nightmare that someone had found his friend out. The officer from the mine, Haman the guard, Mainte the general, Talmon himself – they killed Phil over and over again, in a variety of ways.
Rafen forced himself to forget the dreams as he lifted the large, open wickerwork basket onto his back and slung his arms through the straps. He gnashed his teeth in pain; the coal it was filled with made it unbearably heavy. On either side of him, the black tunnel wound away into darkness, shrinking and attempting to swallow the children who stooped in it, scooping up coal and loading it into other baskets.
Rafen staggered toward the ladder he had to climb. Encircled above by walls streaked with black coal and pale sandstone, it was missing three steps, and two more looked ready to break.
A circle of light rapidly approached Rafen’s left. Hurriedly, he put one foot on the lowest step, clasped the stringers, and pulled himself upward. His back seared savagely. Rafen swallowed a cry and struggled upward, because the guard was close behind him now – more searing, then an explosion of pain, and Rafen was falling. With a crunching thud, he landed awkwardly on his back, on top of his basket like an upside down snail. His sight blurred. He rolled onto his side to scramble up.
The lamp was now directly above, and Rafen half closed his stinging eyes. A guard’s face leered at him out of the brilliant light.
“Get up, two-three-seven.” A foot swung into Rafen’s back.
Rafen’s pack jolted. Blinded with pain, he tried to rise. The basket was too heavy, and he crumpled to his knees.
“Get up, I said,” the guard snarled, kicking him viciously in the back again.
This time Rafen screamed. Warm blood dripped down his spine, wetting his shirt. Black gathered at the edges of his vision.
Again he tried to rise, the guard’s curses ringing in his ears. Desperately fighting back tears, he stumbled once more, and a whoosh sounded in the stale air behind him. Rafen gave a cracked yell. The foot never struck him. There was a muffled thump, and the halo of light dropped to the ground.
Someone grabbed him, tore the basket off his back, and pulled him to his feet. Torius turned Rafen around gently, his eyes flashing in his sweaty, blackened face. Nearby, the guard lay unconscious on the ground, a huge bruise swelling around one eye. The lantern sat unattended at the foot of the ladder where it had fallen upright, which was fortunate because the gas levels in this area of the mine were high. If the glass had broken and a fire had started, no one would survive.
In the darkness left of the ladder, another lantern approached. It illuminated the two guards behind it, who stooped to avoid hitting their heads on the low roof. Their faces turned ugly when they saw what had happened. They pushed past the jostling children.
“You, one-eight!” one shouted. He didn’t have to look at Torius’ ankle; Torius was well known among everyone. “What do you think you’re doing? I’ll shoot you!”
“You won’t,” Torius said, “because you’re afraid of starting an explosion.”
Torius’ arm around Rafen’s back tightened.
“I’m not afraid!” the guard barked back, like a scared child.
The other guard nudged him meaningfully and looked Torius up and down.
“You are no match for us,” he said. “Give yourself up now, and maybe we’ll settle for a flogging.”
“I’m more than a match for you.” Torius’ voice was sharp, like a whip crack. The silence around them told Rafen the children who had been loading their packs were now listening. “You know why?”
The guards shuffled nervously where they
stood, a few steps from Torius.
“Why?” the second guard said.
“Because I work all day and you don’t.”
Scowling, the second guard passed the lantern to his companion, pulled the unconscious man out of the way, and propped him up against a wall. He crossed the short distance between himself and the two slaves, his footfalls heavy and his shoulders squared. While Torius watched calmly, Rafen trembled.
Right before Torius’ face, the guard raised his muscled arm and drew it back. In a lightning quick move, Torius leaned Rafen against the black tunnel wall and dodged the guard’s fist, which sprang forward as if it had been in a slingshot. Torius threw his shoulder into the guard’s chest, and his entire body weight – which wasn’t significant – after it. The guard reeled backward a few steps, to where the ceiling was lower again. He struck his head against a protrusion of black rock and cursed, swinging his fist blindly in the air. The guard with the lantern rapidly retreated into the crowd of children. Torius dodged the guard’s second blow and struck him in the upper chest with his right fist. His left fist followed, landing a blow below the ribs. The guard buckled, and Torius’ balled right hand caught him between the eyes. Groaning inarticulately, the man collapsed, his head lolling at the feet of the guard with the lantern, who looked plainly terrified at the sight of both his companions down.
“What will the king say?” he sneered, trying to imbue his words with malice. “You’ll be executed.”
“I am sure,” said Torius, “if the king hears about this.” He fixed the guard with a nasty stare.
Torius glanced around the dark, claustrophobic tunnel, first at Rafen in the open space beneath the ladder, then at the children behind Rafen, then back at the guard and the children behind him.
“Are you for me?” he said quietly.
“Yes!” someone shouted.
Something woke in Rafen right then. He felt the whip on his back again; he remembered the guards shoving him into wine barrels and dung for their own amusement; and a white-hot burning licked through his torso and arms and made his muscles like iron.
“I am,” he snarled from behind Torius.
Others murmured their assent.
A flame appeared in Torius’ eyes.
“Are you for me?” he bellowed, raising a blackened fist in the air.
The children of the mine bellowed their hoarse reply. Rafen’s heart pounded against his chest.
The guard’s eyes widened. He stood opposite the ladder in the center of the tunnel, surrounded by workers.
“GET HIM!” Torius hollered, swinging his fist down so that it was directed at the guard’s heart.
He lunged forward, trampling one of the unconscious Tarhians beneath his feet. With a wild howl, the children behind Rafen surged forward, and Rafen was caught up in them as he started to run. Before him, Torius threw himself onto the last guard, sending the lantern flying from his hand and landing in the lap of the comatose man propped against the wall. The children behind the last guard had also rushed forward, biting, kicking, scratching, and hitting any part of him they could reach with their spades. The guard was no longer visible, but Rafen was fast being pressed toward the place where he had been, and he dreaded arriving there, despite the madness that roared in him while every moment of being beaten or molested flashed through his brain. The children fighting there were hitting themselves as much as they were hitting the engulfed guard. Somebody struck his shoulders, and Rafen staggered into another child.
Then Torius yelled: “Move apart, move apart!”
The children each struggled to find their own space. Rafen found himself standing against the right wall near one of the knocked out guards, who was now a bloodied mess. Torius supported the mutilated form of the man they had killed. Rafen could no longer make out the face. In the dim light of the two lanterns, red glistened over the oval of the guard’s head.
Rafen inexplicably wanted to laugh.
“This is the beginning of a new time,” Torius said, “a great moment for us. One of us has learned the Tongue and freed a princess. I have saved him and killed the guards. No longer will we be slaves. No longer will the guards tell us what to do. No longer will we listen. We will fight till we get what we want!”
A roar exploded from the children around him.
“This is a revolution,” Torius went on. “You all remember the pain that you have felt when the guards have touched you. You all know the shame we carry within us at being treated like this. No more! We will stand!”
Quick footsteps, dulled by the close walls, sounded in the tunnel behind them. Rafen glanced over his shoulder. He was one of the few that did. Everyone else was mesmerized by Torius’ speech and the guard’s blood.
“Down with Talmon!” Torius shouted, his tone becoming hysterical.
“Down with Talmon!” the children screamed back.
Rafen was no longer focused.
Bearing yet another lantern, an indistinct mass approached in the darkness behind him. Torius and the other children were too busy shouting to notice. Rafen’s insides went cold. The shapeless form was a train of tall guards, bending as they proceeded. An officer must have heard the commotion in their part of the mine and dispatched a group immediately. They would have used the other ladder further back in the tunnel.
“Down with Talmon!” Torius shrieked.
“ONE-EIGHT!” the foremost guard bellowed, stopping some way from the back of the crowd.
Torius and the children fell silent, Torius still clutching the mangled corpse.
“What is this?” the guard said, noticing it and blanching. Mainte shoved him aside, blocking out the light of a third lantern momentarily.
“Put that thing down,” he snarled, “and come quietly with me, and perhaps you will be the only one to suffer for this–this—” He broke off, struggling to find words for his revulsion. “This madness.”
A plume of smoke caught Rafen’s eye. The trampled guard, propped against the right wall, had a cracked lantern sitting on his soiled thigh. It was smoking a little. Rafen’s heart missed a beat when he thought of the explosion that could have happened if the lantern had been smashed altogether.
“The lamp,” he said urgently to one of the children next to him. Torius was speaking again, and everyone had taken leave of their senses.
“I will surrender this to you,” Torius said, lifting the corpse to the level of his own chest, “because it must be sent to Talmon. We did this. We want him to know that we want to see him like this too. You must take it to Talmon.”
“There is no need,” someone said coldly.
Talmon shouldered his way through the guards, nearly doubled over to get through the tunnel. Passing Mainte, he stopped several steps from the children, who had all turned to face him. The lantern was driven from Rafen’s mind. The blackened faces of the children dripped sweat, and foam crusted some of their cheeks. Their eyes reminded Rafen of the frenzied horses during Etana’s escape. Were they going to attack Talmon too? They stood perfectly still, awaiting Torius’ word.
“You can surrender that to me now, one-eight,” Talmon said. “Someone told me there must have been a great accident down here – that all of you were screaming. Are you not to work in silence?”
The question hung in the air. Rafen glanced back at Torius, who was glowering at Talmon, obviously deciding what to do.
Talmon’s eyes slid from Torius to Rafen.
“I suppose you played a part in this,” he said in Tongue.
Rafen didn’t respond. Mainte had edged round to the right wall of the tunnel and put out the cracked lantern, passing it back to another guard.
“Thank you,” Talmon said to Mainte. “We don’t want another… accident. One-eight, your penalty is a flogging – for now. I assume you will come quietly.”
Torius raised his eyebrows. The movement was scarcely noticeable on his filthy face, but Talmon saw it immediately. His hand went to a short knife at his belt as Torius screamed, “GET HIM!�
��
For the second time, the children surged like maddened dogs. Rafen rushed along with them, excitement choking him. Yet as the vision after his lashes returned to him, he knew this wasn’t the time. Even as they were upon Talmon, something rushed over their heads with a flash of light. Talmon’s hand was still poised in the air in the exact position that he had thrown the knife. All heads turned simultaneously in the direction it had flown.
The corpse slipped from Torius’ hands, and he reeled sideways into the left wall of the tunnel, gasping. He clutched at the glistening hilt of the knife embedded in his chest. In the lamplight, his shirt shone with blood. Everyone had frozen. Panting, Torius fell to his knees and swung to the ground face forward. The children before him leapt out of the way.
Chapter Fifteen
Talmon’s
Retribution
“TORIUS!” Rafen cried, trying to push backward through the crowd to him.
The children were all facing Talmon, their faces alive with hatred.
“Shall we end this now?” Talmon said from behind Rafen. Despite the low volume of his voice, everyone heard him clearly. “Ready yourselves then. But remember, a blade is worth many hands.”
Rafen had nearly reached Torius. At Talmon’s words he turned, a sick feeling in his stomach. The cool metal sshing of many swords drawn sounded in the air. His blade at the ready, Talmon stood with Mainte before the group of twenty guards. At the sight of shining metal, the children cowered, stumbling backward and tripping over each other. Rafen was buffeted toward Torius, who lay on the blackened ground that now glittered with his blood.
“I see your battle lust has waned.” Talmon’s words dripped sarcasm. “Each to his work!”
With a great rustling movement, the children scuttled back to their various positions, some gathering scattered coal and others looking for lost picks. Rafen sank to his knees beside Torius, reaching out in disbelief to touch his dark, still face. Someone grabbed his waist from behind, pulling him to his feet. Rafen hurled himself forward, but Mainte spun him around and threw him over his own shoulders.
Rafen (The Fledgling Account Book 1) Page 8