by G. R. Lyons
Of course, he'd been saying the same thing every day for the past fifteen years.
With a heavy sigh, Benash took a few steps down the left fork, and stopped again. Temptation gnawed at him, urging him back toward the right fork, even though he knew that getting caught on that path would only put him behind the bars of the very prison cells he'd been guarding for half of his life.
There's no one there, Benash. You can do it. Gods willing, you can just make it.
Benash closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and whirled around, taking himself back to the fork and down the right path. His progress slowed tremendously as he had to navigate the weeds and natural debris that obscured the path, but Benash felt himself breathing easier as he succumbed to temptation and novelty.
Though burdened with the need to hurry, Benash felt a strange new sense of lightness to his being, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, allowing him to stand a little straighter and take in all the sights and smells of his surroundings in a way he'd never bothered before. The woods had a crisp, earthy odor that he'd never noticed on the usual path, and the light of the Fathers' suns flickered through the trees in a more mysterious way.
Where the trees thinned just slightly, Benash stopped and glanced up at the mountainside, now visible through the foliage all around him. The mountain had always been there, looming over him on his daily walk to work, but was always just something to be ignored since it wasn't part of his mandated route. Now he found himself drawn to it, and his eyes fixed on a clearing high up on the mountainside, the carpet of grass sparkling green under the light of the rising suns.
He wondered what the view would be like from up there.
None of your concern, he reminded himself, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the path. This is already too much.
Benash stopped, observing his surroundings, and felt the clenching fist of panic tighten his chest.
What in the gods' names am I doing? he thought, turning on his heel and charging through the undergrowth on his way back to the fork. He broke free of the weeds and turned down his normal path, breaking into a run as he tried to make up for lost time, hoping he wouldn't be late.
* * *
PANTING AND sweaty, Benash neared the prison precisely on time, despite his unauthorized detour. Glancing to the right, he saw where the weed-choked, unfamiliar path curved back around and met its legal alternate just before the trees gave way to a clearing, and felt a pang of longing as he wished he could have emerged from there, rather than follow a prescribed path like he did every day.
He tore his eyes away from temptation, vowing never to think about setting foot on that path again, and approached the clearing across which was the prison's outer gate, set into the hillside.
The rough iron bars looked as though they'd grown out of the rock itself, giving the impression that nature, rather than man, had formed this veritable tomb.
And a tomb it was, for all intents and purposes. Not a single prisoner had ever left its confines alive. All sentences were for life, no matter the crime.
Benash took a moment to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his brow, then straightened his back and emerged from the trees to cross the small clearing, walking with all the authority of the Hawk badge he wore on his grey coat. He gave a terse mental greeting to the two guards on duty and they responded in kind, not sparing him so much as a glance as he unlocked the main gate and let himself in.
The iron monstrosity clanged shut behind him, and Benash followed the tunnel as it made a gentle downward slope toward the cell caverns. The overhead lights flickered—their pathetic excuse for electricity had never been fully functional since the Agori had been banned, decades ago—and the inconsistent light brought the pressure of a familiar, threatening headache to the backs of his eyes.
The floor leveled off as the tunnel opened up into an enormous cavern, the roof held up by crumbling rock columns that were the only remains of the carved-out space. A hundred years ago, the underground prison had been a sparkling gold mine, but the glittering veins had long since been exhausted, so the tunnels and caverns had been adorned with iron bars instead, making space to keep the undesirables of society locked out of sight.
As Benash crossed the cavern to one of the other tunnels that branched off the main space and led deeper underground, a pebble dislodged itself from the cavern roof and bounced off his head before hitting the ground with a soft clink.
Benash stopped, looked down at the pebble and up at the ceiling, seeing the cracks and irregularities that had formed over the years. Surely this place would not survive another Collision, and Benash couldn't imagine a worse place to be on the occasion of such an event.
The cavern would be bound to collapse, leaving anyone down there trapped, either crushed or left to linger in a suffocating death.
Benash glanced to his left, squinting as he tried to pierce the inky darkness of a tunnel that ended abruptly at a pile of rocks. His first year at the prison, when he'd been just seventeen, a fellow officer thought he'd found a vein of gold in the prison wall, and started chipping away at the rock.
The rumble of the cave-in had sent dust and rock falling from the cavern ceilings all throughout the underground prison. When the ground finally stopped shaking and visibility returned, the enterprising officer was found crushed beneath a heap of rock that left one entire cell cavern sealed and inaccessible.
The screams of the prisoners trapped behind the rocks had haunted Benash's nightmares for a week, but even worse was the eerie silence that took over that wing of the prison as the men slowly died of starvation.
No effort had ever been made to reopen that cavern. The bones of those men would surely lie there for eternity, unless the gods decided to break the world again.
Benash looked down at the pebble at his feet and shivered at the thought.
“Officer Benash.”
Broken from his thoughts, Benash snapped to attention, standing stone-still and keeping his eyes at a respectful downward angle as his supervisor approached.
A long silence followed while the chief officer scrutinized Benash's appearance. Benash resisted the urge to tremble under that piercing gaze, certain that the man would find evidence of Benash's guilty detour and throw him into a cell. He felt no mental search from the chief, but kept his mind locked all the same, hoping his guilty thoughts would remain secure.
The headache building behind his eyes grew more intense as he waited.
“I wanted to personally congratulate you on your arrests yesterday,” the chief officer said. “Those two are an utter disgrace. If it were up to me, I'd see scum like that tortured to death, but the Elders have decreed otherwise.” He paused, and Benash felt the man's intense gaze without looking up. “You're in line for my position, Officer. What would you have done to them?”
Benash squared his shoulders. “We must obey the Elders in all things, sir. Our own desires are not to be considered. We must think always of the good of society, and the Elders know best.”
A long silence followed his answer, but in his peripheral vision, Benash saw his superior officer relax his stance.
“An excellent answer, Officer Benash,” the man murmured. “Stick to your duty and stay in line, and I have no doubts you'll be promoted to my position when I get transferred to the capitol.”
Benash bowed his head as the man walked away, and waited a few extra moments before he finally exhaled.
Never again, he told himself, thinking of his risky sojourn down the right fork. He glanced over at the cave-in one more time and turned on his heel to report to his post, determined to win that promotion and eventually escape that dismal place. Never. Never again.
* * *
BENASH CHECKED in at the clerk's desk, pulled his keys from his pocket, and let himself into one of the cell caverns. He didn't even have to look at the bunch of keys to find the right one, not that looking would have done him much good: The numbers had long since worn off. Afte
r fifteen years of matching key to door, he knew each one simply by feel.
He locked the door behind himself and started his slow circuit about the room rather than heading straight for his guard desk just beside the doorway. The cavern was full, every cell occupied, and Benash took his time, studying each prisoner as he passed.
The cavern was blessedly silent that morning, but Benash knew that the chaos of voices would soon rise up as the prisoners woke again and started hurling insults at the officers—the one form of defiance available to them in that confined space. Benash took a deep breath and reveled in the momentary peace, knowing that his headache would only get worse once the shouting began.
About halfway down the right side of the room, Benash found one prisoner twitching violently on his cot. The man had been feverish for days, and wasn't likely to last much longer.
Lucky bastard, Benash thought as he continued on. The man would soon be free of the prison, enfolded in the welcoming arms of death, leaving all his fellows behind to suffer in the underground space: a living death if there ever was one.
At the other side of the cavern, almost directly across from the dying man, were his two newest prisoners, caged right next to one another. They were sound asleep, curled up on the floor as close to one another as possible, with their arms stuck through the bars of their cell doors so they could reach one another's hands.
Benash sneered in disgust, thinking of the even more intimate position in which he'd found them the day before, justifying his arrest.
He slipped a truncheon out of its loop on his belt, tested its weight, and brought it down on the entwined fingers with the dull smack of wood on flesh.
“Aaaarrrrgh!” the men cried, jerking their hands back as they snapped awake.
And, of course, the shouts brought everyone else awake as well.
The gods be damned, Benash inwardly growled as the curses started.
He wrapped his free hand over his forehead, pinching his temples between his thumb and middle finger while he took a slow, deep breath. When he looked up again, he saw the two prisoners backed as far away from him as they could get, cradling their bruised fingers.
If it hadn't been for the distraction of his headache, the sight of these two brawny men cowering in fear would have been almost amusing.
Benash lifted his truncheon and pointed at each man in turn, threatening, “Next time, I break them.”
The men just stared at him, wide-eyed, and Benash turned away, glancing over his shoulder to spit at them, “Disgusting.”
He slipped the truncheon through its loop, strode over to the guard desk, and slumped down on his hard chair while he massaged his temples and listened to the chaotic mess of voices filling the cavern.
Just another typical day.
Never again, Benash reminded himself. You must get out of this place, Benash. Never, never again.
Chapter 2
THE LITTLE threatening pulse behind his eyes worked up to a solid, pounding headache by the time his shift was finally over for the day and he had to make the long journey back to his assigned quarters.
Benash winced with every step as he trudged back up through the tunnels and out onto the forest road. Being away from the flickering lights helped, but with the tree canopy so thick above him, there was very little of the Mother's milky light to filter down to him, forcing him to squint as he tried to make sure he didn't stray off the path.
The two miles through the forest seemed to take hours, but in the space of a moment the giant, gnarled trunks abruptly stopped and Benash found himself in the cold, open air of the dull, grey, concrete city.
Even after fifteen years of making the same journey day-by-day, Benash still had to count the intersections and watch for faded street signs in order to find the correct route home. Every city on Tanas was laid out like a perfect grid, with identical square blocks sitting between identical straight streets, and each block covered with identical cubic, single-storey, grey concrete buildings that served as either shops or living quarters.
All dictated and regulated by the Elders, of course.
The uniform city felt dull, ugly, and lifeless, but if it had been left up to the people to build their own unique structures, it would have been utter anarchy, with each person trying to make his or her home or shop unique from its neighbors. They certainly couldn't have that.
The pavement was cracked and rutted and crudely patched, so Benash had to be especially watchful of his steps. The street lights were out again, and with the flood of people moving through the city to go home for the night, the moonlight wasn't always enough to show up trip hazards.
Gods, I hope the power hasn't failed again, Benash thought.
At least, he thought he thought it. For all he knew, the thought might have come from someone else, which wouldn't be unusual for this late hour. Accidental projection was a common thing when one was exhausted from a twelve-hour work day.
Finally, he reached the corner of H Street and 23rd, and extricated himself from the shuffling grey mass of people to enter his assigned quarters.
The door squeaked and groaned as he pushed it shut, and he took two steps into the small main room of the apartment and sank into a lumpy, old chair. He let out a sigh, and felt a pair of hands grasp him firmly by the shoulders from behind.
Benash closed his eyes and let his head fall back on a sigh while Oneri, his first wife, massaged his aching shoulders. Sixteen years of marriage had made their mental contact habitual, so his wives usually knew what he needed before he even fully knew himself. He never even had to say a word of command. A simple projected thought was all it took.
After several minutes, the pressure in his head began to fade, and Benash heaved a sigh of relief. A moment later, Benash decided he was feeling well enough to eat, and as he opened his eyes, Oneri's hands left his shoulders while Suned, his second wife, entered the room with a steaming bowl that she set on the table with the necessary utensils, making hardly any noise as she did so.
Benash went to the table and sat down to eat, knowing his wives had left the room though he heard barely a rustle of fabric as they quietly vanished to leave him undisturbed.
Well, well, well, what a surprise, he thought with a snort as he dipped a spoon into the bowl of chowder. More corn.
He was sick to death of corn—cornbread, corn stew, corn pies, boiled kernel corn, corn on the cob—but it was the one crop that seemed to grow effortlessly on Tanas, so the Elders had the farmers growing it in abundance. At least his stew had a few chunks of ham added to it for a change, but with the lack of spices available, the dull corn flavor nearly killed his appetite.
Gods be damned, he groaned inwardly. I would love some actual wheat bread for a change. Maybe some chicken. Seven hells, if I could only choose, I would–
The spoon dropped out of his hand as the thought lurched to a stop. Benash squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his palms together, resting his forehead on the tips of his fingers.
Seven, forgive me, he prayed. My thoughts are sinful. I am grateful for this meal and the strength it provides me in order to work toward the good of all men. I will not choose and will not want, but be thankful for what the Elders say is right.
With the guilty weight of sinful thoughts heavy on his shoulders, Benash forced down every bite of his meal, leaving him feeling just full, but entirely unsatisfied.
As I rightly deserve…
He sat quietly for a few minutes with his eyes closed, letting the food settle and blocking out the dull interior of his apartment, the unadorned white walls and concrete floors doing nothing to improve his mood. Eventually, he pushed back his chair, leaving his dishes right where they were—his wives would surely clean them later—and went to his bedroom.
Moving down the narrow hallway, he passed two closed doors on his right—the bedroom that the children all shared, and the bedroom that his wives shared—before reaching the door to the left, which opened into his own private bedroom and washroom.
> Benash secured his badge and guns, slipped out of his boots, and unbuttoned his slate grey uniform coat. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, but as he reached for the buttons on his trousers, he decided he really needed a little something more to relax him before going to bed.
He padded barefoot across the hall, the concrete floor cold and rough under his feet, and entered his wives' room without so much as a knock. Suned must have picked up on his thought because she was already naked from the waist up, the upper part of her wrap trailing on the ground beside her from where it hung tucked into the front of her skirt. It was a wasted effort on her part, since all Benash cared about at that moment was the moist heat between her legs.
Suned turned around without a word, and Benash effortlessly pushed her forward over the edge of the bed, hiked up her skirts, and thrust into her from behind.
Benash squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on the need for release, and pretended he didn't feel that usual sense of something missing.
It was over in a minute or two, his fingers digging into her hips as he spilled his seed within her. Suned remained perfectly still while he enjoyed every last pulse of the orgasm, after which he immediately pulled out, held up his unbuttoned trousers with both hands, and turned to leave the room. He caught a glimpse of Suned gathering up her trailing wrap and tossing it over her right shoulder to cover her breasts, reaching around to tuck the end of the cloth into the back of her skirt as the door shut between them. He'd gotten away just in time before his eyes could focus on the letters carved into Suned's flesh below her left collarbone.
After a hot shower, Benash crawled into bed and slowly drifted off to sleep, all the while trying to ignore the painful void he felt inside.
* * *
FIFTH HOUR of morning came far too soon. Jarred awake in the midst of disturbing dreams—Benash running for his life while shadows chased him in the dark—he stumbled out of bed, blinking rapidly and trying to find his balance, then dropped clumsily to his knees.