The Magic Mines of Asharim

by Pauline M. Ross

  THE MAGIC MINES

  OF ASHARIM

  An epic fantasy

  Part of the Brightmoon Annals

  by Pauline M Ross

  Published by Sutors Publishing

  Copyright © 2015 Pauline M Ross

  ISBN:

  978-0-9928819-4-8 (paperback)

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.

  Cover design: Streetlight Graphics

  Proofreading: Coinlea Services

  A fallen empire. A woman with dark secrets. A strange magical weapon.

  The glorious Akk’asharan Empire was torn apart by treachery two hundred years ago, its water supply cut off. Now its people are enslaved and humiliated, but they have never forgotten the past, and dream of one day restoring their former greatness.

  Allandra's dreams are more immediate: how to control the powerful magical abilities that are ruining her life. After a disastrous outbreak of power, she’s desperate to escape from justice and find a place to grieve and recover. Perhaps the hidden mines of Asharim can provide a safe haven.

  The mines can provide much more than that: not only a way to control her dangerous magic, but a magical weapon that might even restore the fallen empire to its rightful place. But with enemies on her trail, and powerful factions who will do anything to stop her, she will only get one chance. If she fails, the empire's last hope will be lost forever.

  From the magic mines of Asharim, no one emerges unchanged.

  Books in the Brightmoon Annals:

  1: The Plains of Kallanash, published September 2014

  2: The Fire Mages (The Fire Mages Trilogy Book 1), published January 2015

  3: The Mages of Bennamore, published May 2015

  4: The Magic Mines of Asharim, published September 2015

  5: The Fire Mages’ Daughter (The Fire Mages Trilogy Book 2), published January 2016

  6: The Dragon’s Egg, projected publication mid-2016

  7: The Second God (The Fire Mages Trilogy Book 3), projected publication late-2016

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  Table of contents

  1: The Mine Office

  2: The Mountain Path

  3: Twisted Rock Mine

  4: Inside The Mine

  5: The Calling

  6: Friendship

  7: Witch

  8: The Thrower

  9: Dragon Stones

  10: Flickers

  11: The Bloom

  12: Fire

  13: The Pool

  14: Visitors

  15: The Mountain

  16: The Tunnels

  17: A Way Out

  18: Buried

  19: Soap

  20: Horses

  21: Trading

  22: The Canal

  23: The Narrows

  24: The Brinmar Barger

  25: A Plan

  26: Brinmar

  27: Training

  28: Blood-Price

  29: Blackmail

  30: Hassalma

  31: Unwelcome

  32: Rain

  33: Confession

  34: Awake

  35: Mesanthia

  36: The Protector

  37: The Keeper

  38: Eyes

  39: Meetings

  40: Betrayal

  41: Hurk Hranda

  42: The Women's Quarter

  43: Punishment

  44: The Water Tunnel

  45: The Lake

  46: Water

  47: Stones

  48: Storm

  49: War

  50: Reunion

  51: The Choosing

  52: The Feast

  Thanks for reading!

  About the Brightmoon Annals

  About the author

  Acknowledgements

  1: The Mine Office

  I gripped the rail with tense fingers, but the barge slid against the wharf with the softest of bumps. Below me, figures ran about with ropes, tying up with practised ease. With the groaning of heavy wood, a gangplank was positioned. I had arrived.

  Cautiously I let go of the rail, prepared to grab again, but the barge was still. It was all of a piece, the smoothest, most trouble-free journey possible, and I couldn’t quite believe it. It seemed too good to be true. I wasn’t safe yet, but I was close, so close. Picking up my travel bag, I made my way to disembark with the handful of other passengers, as the crane was wheeled into place to begin unloading the cargo.

  “Good luck, Allandra!” one of them called as they dispersed, and then they were all shouting to each other. “Good luck! Good luck!”

  Allandra, yes. Must remember my new name.

  I stared at my surroundings. Crenton Port was not much of a town. Some sturdy warehouses around the wharves, and a cluster of more imposing buildings in pale stone decorated with pillars and statuary, but none of any architectural merit. Beyond that nothing but scores of grazers’ cottages, built low to the ground with turf roofs, each with a pig-pen to one side and a few lines of dusty vegetables.

  On the wharves, loading gangs ambled about lethargically. A box of vegetables flopped on its side, the contents trampled to mud. Two children with torn tunics and bare feet were trying to manoeuvre several goats onto a barge. Everywhere was dust and filth and ragged clothes.

  Such a depressing sight. How far I had fallen in these last few desperate quarter moons. But this was my fate, now. It was just as well my father would never know.

  But even here, at the farthest edge of what was once the Empire, there was still breath-taking beauty. Behind the town, low rounded hills shifted into higher peaks, up and up into the Sky Mountains themselves. Asharim, they were in High Mesanthian, which just meant ‘clouds’. With their tops still coated with snow even in mid-summer, it was an appropriate name.

  Already the sun was dipping behind the peaks, casting the town into shade, although it was not much past noon. I shivered.

  While I’d gazed about me, the other passengers had all disappeared. I was alone at last, my mind quiet. The torture of the cramped barge, with its crowded cabins and constant noise, was behind me. I took a deep breath, relishing my release.

  But where was I supposed to go?

  I spotted a woman directing an unloading gang, an overseer of some sort. I threaded my way through the workers.

  “’Scuse me, bu’ where’s the Mine Office?”

  My efforts at the local dialect seemed to convince her. Barely glancing at me, she pointed vaguely towards a jumble of buildings set back from the wharf. “Follow the rest, m’dear.”

  I couldn’t see anyone to follow, but it was a small enough town, so I was bound to come to the Mine Office eventually. As I made my way along a dusty track between a warehouse and a small hut serving some noxious brew to the wharf crews, another building came into view, larger than the rest, its doors the focus for crowds of people coming and going. Drawing nearer, I could see letters engraved across the full width of the front: ‘Mine Office’.

  Beyond the warped wooden doors, I found a murky hall, the floor tiled in dark green, the walls black. It was like being in a box. All around were closed doors, and a narrow spiral stair in one corner. A shaft of red light filtered down from a painted glass window somewhere far above. People in drab brown uniforms bustled about with boxes, or stirred up the dust with brooms.

  Workers swirled around as I stood looking for signs over doors but the light was too dim to see.

  “Yes, m’dear?” A woman with a sharp nose, hair pulled tightly away from her face, had stopped beside me.

  Someone helpful at last. “I want to get a job.”

  “Inside the mines or outside?”

  “Inside.”


  The woman turned her head away and shouted. “Jolan! ’Nother one!” Without another word, she walked off.

  Jolan was a young man, no more than fifteen, I guessed, with painfully red hair and freckles. “Thith way,” he said cheerfully. And a lisp, too. Poor boy.

  He led the way through one of the unmarked doors, along a corridor no more inviting than the entrance hall and eventually into another, almost identical hall. This one boasted a broad flight of stairs, and the boy led the way up three floors and into a large room lined with hard wooden chairs. There was only one grimy window, but three flickering lamps created pools of dim light and deep shadows.

  “Wait here,” he said, and vanished.

  I walked in and took a seat, my boots clumping on the wooden floor. Several others were waiting too, and some I recognised from the barge. I nodded acknowledgement to them, but I didn’t know them well. I’d kept to myself on the journey, seeing fellow passengers only at meals or when taking my daily walk on deck. It was better not to get too friendly in case they asked any difficult questions. Being the only woman on board, I’d been given a tiny cabin to myself, and I’d spent almost all the time hidden away.

  No one spoke. They were all jittery with nerves, but then so was I. We were all running away from something, I supposed. Or someone.

  There was a door at the far side of the room. Periodically a disembodied voice yelled, “Next!” and one of those waiting would jump up and vanish through the door. No one ever reappeared.

  Eventually my turn came to pass through the door into the mysterious room beyond. A middle-aged woman sat behind a plain wooden table, better suited to a kitchen than an office. There was not a single paper or pen or letter knife or paperweight in sight, just a small wooden box at the woman’s elbow. Nor were there any shelves or cupboards in the room. My spirits rose. It suited me very well to have nothing written down.

  “Sit,” she said, pointing to a chair in front of the table, the only other chair in the room. The woman wore the same drab brown uniform as everyone else, although she wore a brooch at her throat, perhaps a sign of rank. Her hair was pulled back off her face, too – it must be a fashion here – but in a less severe style.

  I sat, folding my ankles neatly, then remembered to slouch. She looked me up and down once, but my scruffy tunic and trousers attracted no interest.

  “You wish to work inside the mines.”

  “Yes.”

  She grunted, gazing at me expressionlessly, but I felt no antagonism from her. “You will need to be examined to determine your suitability. If we find you acceptable, we will decide what type of employment to offer you. This is not negotiable. Do you know what that means?”

  “Yes.”

  She explained as if I hadn’t spoken. “It means that you cannot ask for a particular job. We alone decide. You will have an opportunity to consider the offer, and you may accept or decline. Yes or no. If you accept, you will wait here until we assign you to a specific mine. You will not be able to refuse the specific assignment. You understand? You go where we send you, no arguments. Any questions?”

  “No.”

  “Very well. This is your number…” She opened a drawer and drew out a metal disk on a chain. A matching disk went into the box on the table. “Nine seven one. Wear this at all times. It is your identification. We do not care what your name is – you may call yourself anything you choose. This is how you will be known here. Through that door. May the Sun God bless your endeavours.” She was already turning away from me. “Next!”

  ~~~~~

  The examinations lasted for ten days. I was given a small room of my own somewhere in the bowels of the building, with my number chalked on the outside, and there I stayed. The walls were thick and it was blessedly quiet. From time to time, someone came to bring food, to lead me off for some test or other, or to take me to the washing rooms. I was allowed to bathe every third day, which was something to be grateful for. I was required to wear the same drab ill-fitting uniform as everyone else, which was less pleasant. I missed the cool softness of silk next to my skin. Still, the plain trousers and tunic with roughly woven underthings made me anonymous, which was the main thing. It was hardly the worst thing that had happened to me. No one had asked for my name. I was just a number. Surely I was safe now?

  The tests were uninteresting. Running, rope climbing, lifting weights, bending and stretching. I did badly at most of those. My body was examined, too. Teeth and gums, like a horse, skin for rashes or blemishes, ears and nostrils for unpleasant discharges, my woman’s parts for – what, exactly? Functionality, I supposed.

  “Ever been pregnant?” the woman examining me asked, peering at my belly.

  “No.”

  Being prodded like a prize cow wasn’t an enjoyable experience, but I was too anxious to be embarrassed. Would she notice anything unusual about me? My nails were ragged enough now, and I’d hacked my own hair into ugliness, but she might still notice my soft, uncalloused hands. But perhaps she didn’t care that I was no field labourer.

  Then there was my knowledge of domestic matters to be tested. Cooking, laundry, bread making, stitchery – I did well at that one – fire laying, dealing with mattresses. Mattresses! Who would have thought there was a schedule for turning them and renewing the stuffing?

  The literacy test was more distressing. Books were my lifeblood, words the very air I breathed. My natural home was the Academia, surrounded by the entire Empire’s collected knowledge. It pained me to my core to pretend to be illiterate.

  A man, this time. “Can you read or write?”

  “Read a little. Some words. Don’t write much. My name, is all.”

  He gave me a children’s book to read from, and I stumbled over the words well enough. He was convinced, anyway.

  Then the aptitude test, the one I had to avoid at all costs. I just couldn’t risk it.

  A silent girl showed me to an empty room with a table, a single chair and a closed metal box resting on it. Just a simple box, engraved on all sides with symbols, seemingly so harmless. I shuddered. It was a long time since I’d been so close to one, but the fear was just as fresh.

  I could sense them, the things inside the box. Such small creatures, yet so evil.

  And they were aware of me. I could feel them, their anger, their seething desire to kill.

  An elderly woman guided me to the chair, closing the door behind me.

  “Now, m’dear,” she said, “this is quite easy…”

  “Don’t want to do this,” I said.

  Her eyebrows rose, and she looked at me fully for the first time. She pushed the box aside and sat on the table.

  “You do realise that there are only three jobs within a mine – extractor, carrier and companion-servant? Nothing else. If you have the aptitude— How old are you, m’dear?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “Ha. No, your real age.”

  I hesitated, but could see no harm in it. “Nineteen.”

  “Thought so. That’s the best age to train, you know. Old enough to be sensible, young enough to learn the skills. If you have the aptitude, you can train as an extractor, and that’s the best job in the mines, by far. Most women your age want to test for aptitude.”

  “I… had a bad experience as a child.” I couldn’t explain the real reason, but that was close enough.

  “Ah. I understand. It can be very traumatising to be exposed too soon. Frightening for a young child. You’d never make an extractor with that history. Very well. I’ll take you back to your room.”

  Relief washed through me. Thank the One, I had escaped that horror. But I still shook with fear for the rest of the day, and that night I slept badly, and my dreams were full of wild, uncontrolled rage, and smoke and ash.

  The tests dragged on. Whenever I passed one, which wasn’t often, I was given a coloured disk to add to the chain around my neck. I earned very few, and began to wonder whether it would be enough. Perhaps after all I would fail, and then where would I g
o?

  ~~~~~

  Eventually all the tests were finished and I was summoned before another woman, her stone grey hair pulled back the same way as all the others. They all looked the same, these women. Blank, interchangeable ciphers, as devoid of personality as statues. This one had a bigger brooch, though.

  The room was as sparsely furnished as the rest, but it boasted a chalk board on one wall with various numbers down one side – I could see mine – writing across the top and a spatter of marks in the centre. It was the first sign of a written record that I’d encountered.

  “You are Nine Seven One?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have been examined.” Her glance slid to the board on the wall. “Hmm. You refused to test for aptitude.”

  My eyes were drawn to the board too, searching out my own number and looking across for the aptitude column. An odd symbol, not one I recognised.

  When I turned back, she was watching me with a twisted little smile on her face. I was uncomfortably afraid that I’d just revealed a degree more literacy than I’d admitted to. I licked my lips. She said nothing, however.

  “You refused to test for aptitude,” she repeated, “so you cannot be an extractor. You do not have the strength for a carrier. Therefore the only job I can offer you is as a companion-servant.”

  Relief. I’d thought for a moment she was going to toss me out altogether. That would have been disastrous. I had no alternative plan, none at all.

  She leaned her elbows on the desk, pressing her fingers together, gazing at me steadily. Her accent betrayed her as an educated woman, and I was sure she could see right through my carefully constructed carapace to the real me curled inside.

  “We get many here who are – hmm, leaving their past selves behind, shall we say? We ask no questions because it is of no interest to us. Once you enter the mines, your past is not just irrelevant, it is gone. It ceases to exist. Three years in the mines bleaches all stains. When you emerge, you may take a new name, begin a new life. But you should be aware – many who enter the mines emerge changed in other ways, too. More profound ways. The mines of Asharim are very special. That is why we ask you to commit to us for three years. If you decide to proceed, you will be assigned to one or other of the mines, and you will stay there for the full three years. You will not be able to leave, even if you wish to. There is no contact with the outside world. No messages, no visits, no packages from home. The mine is the whole world. Do you understand?”