Escape (The Prisoner and the Sun #1)

by Brad Magnarella

  “A prisoner? What do you mean? Are you not rewarded for your labors? Are you not accumulating wealth in gold?” Iliff felt his face becoming hot. “How can you call yourself a prisoner when there is splendor all about you?”

  “Humph. What’s the splendor in bleeding and burning? In getting your bones crushed?”

  “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.” Troll flicked a large stone. “The gold you know comes to you solid and tame. You don’t see its rage in the pits below. It boils and burns and lashes out. It destroys almost anything it touches. The Boss makes us battle it with smashing boxes and fire and devil water. Things more awful, sometimes, than the gold.” Troll drew a long, trembling breath. “Almost every friend I had, it’s taken. I’m all alone here now.”

  Iliff thought of the treasures in his room. He had always associated them with beauty and freedom. Never with the malevolence Troll described, never with destruction and death.

  “If what you say is true, why do you stay?” he said. “Why not leave this place once and for all.”

  “I can’t. The desire for gold is in me. It’s in all trolls, or didn’t you know? It’s the curse of our kind. No matter how much it hurts us, we want it just the same. It’s the end of every last sorry one of us.” He looked at Iliff. “I know this and can’t do anything about it.”

  Iliff had heard enough. He pushed himself to his feet.

  “Take me to these places,” he said. “Right now. Take me to where the gold rages and destroys. I need to see for myself.”

  “No, uh-uh, can’t do it. He’d have me flayed.”

  “Who?” But Iliff already knew. He frowned in thought.

  “The cart,” he said at last. “You can hide me inside, it’s large enough. And there are spaces between the boards. I’ll be able to see out.” He stood before Troll. “Please, I need to know. If what you say is true, then… then I may well be as much a captive to the gold as you.”

  For several moments Troll sat grumbling. Finally, he pulled his legs in and stood.

  Chapter 10

  The journey was long and fraught. Too often, it seemed to Iliff, a troll would shout out and the cart would slow to a crawl. On one of these occasions he peered through a slit between the boards to find a gray leg just inches away. “Whadya got in there?” its owner asked, stalking beside them. Troll mumbled something Iliff could not make out. He prepared himself for the moment when the tarp would be torn away and the trophies clawed aside, exposing his hiding place. But this delay, like the others, was brief, and the cart soon lurched forward again.

  Their way involved many turns. Familiar cracking and clanging rose around them and then fell away behind. When the cart stopped at long last, a series of taps sounded on its side.

  Iliff pressed his eye to the slit. They were parked near the end of a dark tunnel that opened onto a torch-lit cavern. In the center of the cavern stood an enormous box-shaped machine, larger than anything Iliff had ever seen. At one end was a broad conveyor belt with rocks heaped along its length. A number of trolls lumbered around the machine, turning a wheel here, pulling a belt there. Some of them shouted and cursed.

  “It’s never working—”

  “Blasted thing—”

  “Belongs in the trash heap—”

  Iliff watched a large troll crawl from under the machine. It seized a giant crank and began turning it. The muscles in its arms and upper back stretched and bulged. After several moments, it roared, “Fire!” The other trolls repeated the command: “Fire!” “Fire!”

  A troll pulled a torch from the wall and ran around to the other side of the machine. Seconds later, the box groaned and began to tremble. Blue-black smoke erupted from somewhere beneath it. Cogs churned and belts raced in circles. The conveyor belt hitched and halted, hitched and halted. Suddenly, the machine boomed and the belt leapt forward, driving the rocks into the mouth of the box. The box smashed and ground the rocks and shook and shook until Iliff was certain it would come apart.

  A sudden scream scored the deafening air. Iliff looked to the conveyor belt. The troll that had started the machine with the crank was snagged there. The belt slowed and trembled as the troll struggled to free itself. But in the next moment, the belt wrenched the troll halfway inside the box. The troll clawed at the quaking rocks and seized the side of the machine.

  Several trolls jumped onto the belt and pulled on their companion. Others jammed tools into the confusion of gears underneath. But the troll would not budge, and neither would the machine stop shaking. Iliff watched the belt inch forward, watched the troll’s fingers slipping. And then the belt heaved everything inside.

  Iliff squeezed his eyes closed and banged the inside of the cart with his elbow.

  The cart wheeled in a half-circle and rolled away. Though they went swiftly, the sounds of smashing and screaming followed them for the longest time. Iliff’s final image of the troll’s anguished face stamped his memory like a press.

  All for a bit of gold, he thought.

  He hoped Troll was returning now. He had seen enough. But the feel of the ground beneath the wheels was different than in their coming. Soon the air turned acrid; it stung and seared. Iliff pressed his shirt sleeve to his face and took small breaths through the stiff fabric. After a time, the cart stopped again and Troll tapped its side.

  They were at the end of another dark tunnel. This one emerged onto the top of a terraced room that descended into a swirling red fog. Torches hissed and sputtered.

  Trolls labored on every level. The ones nearest them shoveled ground gold from large carts into frothing vats on the topmost terrace. More trolls stirred the vats with giant ladles. They scooped up gold sludge and poured it, thick and dripping, into vats on the terrace below. This went on and on. Barely visible, far away on the bottom-most terrace, a group of trolls gathered the gold and dumped it into wheeled carts.

  From inside the fog came waves of splashing and coughing. Black phlegm swung in thick ropes from the trolls’ lips and nostrils. Fresh burns wept over old scars. Now and again a tortured cry pierced the red fog. Iliff shuddered, not knowing which was worse—to be smashed by that dreadful machine or consumed by these corrosive vapors. He knocked his elbow against the inside of the cart.

  And all for a bit of gold, he thought.

  The cart backed away. After a time, they began along what felt like a new tunnel, one that went down a slight grade. Streaming air cleared the cart of the vapors, but the air was warm, too warm, and soon Iliff’s hair was sticking to his brow. A sound rushed toward them, like roaring water, and the gaps between the boards swelled with light. Iliff shook his head. He did not want to see any more, did not want to hear any more. He only wanted to go back.

  Iliff called out and elbowed the inside of the cart, but the roaring crashed over them, drowning his small sounds. The air caught fire. Sweat sprang from Iliff’s body, soaking his clothes. He was on the verge of tunneling up through the scalding trophies when the cart pulled to a stop. Troll knocked on its side.

  When Iliff peered out, the heat blasted his eyes. His first impression was of a fuming, flaming entity that filled the cavern below. It appeared at first to be orange, then yellow, and then an intense white. But the white light did not pacify or inspire joy. No, the light belonged to something terrible. The silhouettes of trolls—attendants or victims of the entity, Iliff could not tell—flitted before it and around it and seemed to disappear inside of it. Beneath its roar was much screaming.

  Iliff wiped his eyes. When he looked again, the entity was a gigantic furnace, round and burning.

  Hundreds of trolls swarmed over it. Some poured gold sludge into openings from atop tall, teetering scaffolding. Others wrestled large spigots near its base, from which gold gushed, bright and blinding. Still others propped up a mad lattice-work of troughs where the gold lashed and ran.

  Farther along, trolls tried to capture the gold in mold casings. Those who misjudged were burned. Iliff cringe
d as two of them disappeared beneath a wave of molten gold. The trolls that succeeded ran to a steaming reservoir on the other end of the cavern and immersed their casings. When they pulled their arms from the bubbling waters, Iliff was stunned to see them holding the unfinished pieces that had become so familiar to him. The pieces that crowded around him now.

  Iliff looked back at the furnace. It roared and bent the air. The sharp openings near its top became like eyes that searched deep inside the hidden space where he crouched. All his worries of the last four years roiled and boiled up inside of him. He clutched his chest and gasped for air.

  “Troll!” he cried when he could. “Get us away from this place!”

  He did not think Troll had heard him. But in the next moment, the cart began to rattle backward. After several lengths, it turned and headed back up the tunnel. Iliff closed his eyes and rested his head against the front of the cart, where the air was already cooling.

  But the furnace was not done with them. It roared and blasted from behind. On the heels of its roar came many screams.

  “They’re coming!” Troll cried.

  The cart leapt forward. It sped straight for a time and then jerked through a series of turns. At each one, Iliff was certain the cart was going to topple. He braced his arm against the boards before him. The trophies shook and banged. At various points they leaned into him with their collective weight or else backed away for an instant before striking him all at once. Iliff was becoming faint. He tried to focus on Troll’s thudding footfalls.

  Iliff was still holding to them when, some untold time later, the footfalls slowed. Iliff peered through the slit and could hardly believe the image of the small, quiet room where he worked. The workbench rose before him. The tarp whipped away and Troll grasped him beneath his arms and lifted him out. Cool air washed over him. He wobbled to the bench and collapsed onto the stool. For several minutes he just sat and stared.

  “That was close,” Troll said. “Those are the worst of our kind. There’s no telling what they would’ve done if they caught us.”

  Iliff only half heard Troll. He was looking at the chalice he had begun to polish that morning. It was just as he had left it, but now he saw in it no beauty, not even where the polish had been rubbed away and the gold shone through. His gaze fell to the side of the workbench where his white thumbprints went across and down in a doomed march.

  There were nearly fifteen hundred of them.

  Iliff gripped the sides of his head. What have you done? He closed his eyes and forced himself to remember his quest—not how many treasures he would need to get there—but the objective itself. The Sun. How long had it been since he’d thought only of the Sun? he wondered. Years?

  Then, as if on a whisper, something familiar stirred inside. It was the old man’s chuckle. It was Adramina’s lips on his cheek. It was the feeling that he belonged somewhere, and that it was not here.

  He rose and faced Troll.

  “My term is up soon,” he said. “And this time I will be leaving, no matter what Euclid says. I thank you for showing me the horrors of this place. There is a hunger here that knows no fill.” He pushed the chalice away from them. “It’s this hunger that makes us miserable.”

  Troll groaned and balled his hair inside his fists.

  “What is it?” Iliff asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “If you leave, there’ll be no one for me to shadow,” Troll said. “I’ll be sent back to the mines. Or—or cast into the pits.”

  Iliff frowned. The lust for gold was in the creature’s nature. But how could he condemn him to remain in such a place? How could he condemn him after Troll had guarded and watched over him these years? After he had just risked himself to reveal the violent heart of this place? In a flash, Iliff recalled all of the horrible things he had seen. There was no mercy here.

  “Then I’ll take you with me,” he said.

  Chapter 11

  During his remaining days, Iliff prepared for his departure from the mines with more anticipation than he had felt in a long time. He saved the food from his meals that he thought would keep—bread mostly—and told Troll to do the same. After much deliberation, he packed the treasures as well, wrapping and storing them in a sack that Troll had found. He would take them along just to be safe, he thought, in case they were worth something. Troll would be along to carry them, besides.

  As the time for their departure drew nearer, Iliff noticed his companion becoming increasingly anxious. He paced around the workbench while Iliff polished, and up and down the corridor while he slept.

  “He’ll know I took you into the mines,” Troll said one day.

  “Who, Euclid? No, he won’t. How would he?”

  “He’ll know, he’ll just know.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Even if he doesn’t, he’ll never release me.” Troll stopped pacing long enough to face Iliff. “He’s never released any of us.”

  “You let me worry about that.” But Iliff worried that Troll might be right.

  On the afternoon of his final day, before what was to be his last dinner with Euclid, Iliff pulled Salvatore’s bag from under his bed and shook the dust from it. Had it really been two years since he’d stowed it there to make room on the shelves for his treasures? He laid out its contents on the coverlet. There were the clothes from Adramina, as fresh and fragrant as the day she had bundled them, the trowel, matches and candles, the water skin, the tinder pouch.

  As he looked over the modest store, he reminded himself that Salvatore had set out with little more, and probably less.

  He stepped out of his prison clothes and placed them on one of the bare shelves. After a long bath that turned the basin water gray, he dressed in the clothes from Adramina. They were durable but light—nothing like the coarseness of his prison uniform. He pulled on the boots and felt them mold to his feet. He pushed his head through the burgundy cloak. When at last he straightened, it felt like the first time he had done so in years.

  Iliff pulled the sack of treasures to the foot of the bed, set Salvatore’s bag beside it, and waited for Troll to knock on the door for the final time.

  * * *

  “Oh my!” Euclid looked him over. “What have we here, hmm? It appears the mouse has turned into a prince.”

  Iliff sat and unfolded the gold napkin and placed it over his lap. “Thank you for your invitation.”

  “And it is a pleasure to have you, my friend. It has been a long time—let’s see, two years, no? Goodness me! And I trust that everything is still to your satisfaction, hmm? I can tell you that your work is as superb as ever. Yes, yes, you have the gift for making gold shine.” His face brightened. “A toast!”

  “No. Thank you.” Iliff moved a hand over his goblet.

  Euclid’s eyes hardened above his smile.

  “No wine,” Iliff said.

  “Very well.” Euclid lowered the carafe. “Then I shall drink a toast for us both. To the polisher. The polisher who has become so wealthy that he no longer deigns to share a toast with his benefactor.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve no thirst for it tonight.”

  While Euclid drank, Iliff looked over the table. It was more crowded than ever, or maybe it just seemed that way. He cut a piece of bread from a dark loaf and sprinkled a bit of oil over it.

  “What’s this?” Euclid said. “Surely you haven’t come here just to eat bread? No, no, I won’t stand for it, not at my table.” He seized up a platter of red meat. Pink juices splashed onto the table and dribbled down Euclid’s arm. “My plates are large and they are meant to be filled. Here!”

  Iliff drew away his plate. Euclid found another and forked several slices of the meat onto it and pushed the plate in front of Iliff. “For when you decide that you are hungry again,” he said. “One cannot subsist on bread alone.”

  Euclid filled his own plate and ate loudly, his bites as emphatic as his reproachful glances.

  “I’m curious,” he said at length. He gestured with his kni
fe. “Wherever did you get that outlandish attire? It hardly suits your work here.”

  Iliff cleared his throat. “I want to thank you for your hospitality these past years. For keeping your word. You have treated me decently, just as you promised.” Iliff kneaded the napkin on his lap and fought to keep his voice from shaking. “I have decided to continue on my way, though. I will be leaving at the end of our meal.”

  Darkness gathered over Euclid’s face, but only for a moment. He broke into a low chuckle.

  “You make it all sound so dramatic,” he said. He pushed a forkful of food into his mouth. “Listen to me, my friend. I did not want to make much of this before—you seemed so young and earnest. But you are older now and must bear a little truth.” He spoke around his bites. “There is nothing out there. Do you hear me? Nothing. No world. No Sun. The only thing you will find is desolation and death. Why do you think I have remained here all this time? Why, everything one could ever wish for is here, in these mines.”

  “I trust that you believe this,” Iliff said. “But I must see the world out there for myself. Perhaps I will see it the same way as you. Perhaps not. But my decision is made.”

  “I see…”

  Euclid poked the meat on his plate. He had become heavier since their last meeting and the flesh of his brow now crowded the verges of his eyes. For a moment the effect made him appear lost and sad.

  “I see,” he said again. “The length of the term is causing you concern. We can fix that. After all, four years is a long while to wait. Even for sixteen treasures.” He pressed Iliff with his corpulent gaze.

  “I have a proposal. It is not one I usually make, mind you, but in your case I will make an exception, for you are very special and I feel responsible for your development. I propose that we start fresh.” He cut his hand across the space between them. “We’ll begin at three months and one treasure again. You can use the time to consider your choice. If you decide to remain, or perhaps need more time, we’ll proceed to six months and two treasures—wait, wait, don’t shake your head—let me finish. Once your commitments reach one year, and every year thereafter, I will reward you with additional treasures. Consider them bonuses. I will also provide you a larger room for your hoard and another troll to guard it, or two more if you insist. What do you say, hmm?”