by Ronald Long
She let out a cry as she felt her ankle pop. Looking ahead through eyes filled with tears, she hoped to see Lone Peak's protective wall coming towards them. Instead, she saw a large rock hurtling at them.
Blume screamed and shut her eyes tight, knowing she'd be dead in a moment.
Instead of feeling the weight of the rock crash against her, Snowy, and Jurgon, she heard a loud crunch as the boulder flew beside them. The wind of it hit her in the face at the same time that she realized that Jurgon had been muttering under his breath. The last beast lay still by the side of the road, underneath a makeshift tombstone.
The sound of Snowy's hooves seemed to echo in the quiet as, at last, the wall of Lone Peak came into view, just as the moon began to rise into the night sky.
Chapter 15:
The Quarry
Work on the quarry had begun just a year after the empire had conquered the southern elven cities. The stone they were able to mine from the outskirts of their city was both strong and beautiful.
The white stone was used to build the city walls and towers that the native elves were forced to construct. Mining the stone had been a small part of their lives before the empire came. Now it consumed them.
For every day of the week, save the last, hammers and chisels resounded throughout the giant hole that had been dug into the earth. The precious stone was vital to the grand schemes of the empire to build its fine southern city. Just before leaving the city, they stopped outside the gates to dispose of their garbage into the city's fire pit.
To keep the streets clean, all elves were required to ensure their waste and trash was brought out to the east of the gate and thrown into a pit that was constantly burning. A deep hole had been dug into the earth and surrounded by stones to ensure it was sound. Fires burned day and night here, darkening the stones and consuming the waste of the city.
A few elves were tasked with maintaining the area and keeping the fires going. It was the lowliest of jobs.
From what Serinde knew of the city's plans, the gate where they left to go to the quarry that held the fire was considered the lesser entrance to the city now. To her knowledge, the Enoth elves called it the “Lower Gate.”
Fitting for her and the other workers to use. It wouldn't do to have important delegations from the Empire pass by the trash fire on their way into the city.
The smoke burned Serinde's eyes and caused more tears to flow. She nearly gagged as she inhaled the terrible fumes of trash. Smelling the burning rubbish was always hard on her, so she covered her nose with her hand and walked on until a spring breeze offered her some respite. Erilas was right beside her, nose covered as well.
Small sobs were leaving her body.
They slowly made their way down the long and winding path that led to their workstations in the quarry. Every step of the way, they were met with other elves who were already beginning to haul enormous blocks up to the surface. Serinde couldn't grasp the emptiness that stood in between her and Erilas.
It was the place their father normally walked.
“Hey!” came a familiar and friendly voice in their direction. “Where's your pa?”
The jovial tone could only belong to their father's only friend, Wyan.
Wyan and his three sons were family friends, one ray of hope in such a dreary existence. The sons were all older than the twins, but not old enough to have fought against the empire. It was for this reason they were still alive today.
Though it was almost impossible for an elf to be plump, Wyan gave it his best effort. How anyone could acquire such a gut was beyond most elves’ comprehension.
Serinde knew the darkness that Wyan often covered up with his humor. The older elf was drowning in spirits he would acquire illegally. It pained his sons to talk about it, but no matter how many jokes their father told, it could never take away the pain of losing his wife.
That's why their families had become so close in recent years. They had clung to one another for support. It would crush Wyan now to hear of the terrible news that came with the rising suns.
He had both sisters around the neck in a tight squeeze before they could even turn around.
“Not sleeping in, huh?” Wyan asked with a carefree attitude that so contrasted the other elves who marched down into the quarry.
How could Serinde possibly tell the one happy elf down in the quarry that his best friend was gone?
“Probably just forgot his pick,” he said without waiting for an answer. Wyan tussled both of their heads before looking back behind them and over the other elves' heads.
“I'll go back and look for him. See you down in the pit!”
Serinde was becoming more and more assured that her body would never feel the heat of joy again. Wyan's hope at seeing their father was just another soaking wet blanket being tossed over a flame.
The path was made narrower by a pile of rocks that served as a barrier. Those elves going into the quarry needed to pass them on the right. Those going out, on the left.
Every single resident of Azol was recorded here. When the morning bells tolled, it was required to report to this place in order to be registered for work. Punishment awaited any who missed a day, unless a good enough excuse was found to appease the empire's wrath.
Lining up on the right side were all the elves who should be reporting for the first work day of the week.
Within moments, the pair approached the head supervisor of the quarry.
The elf was short for an elf and, to compensate for his lack of height, he was extremely rude and ill-tempered. Shaggy black hair and, in Serinde's opinion, an ugly goatee covered his chin.
His name was Reder Gil and he came from the capital city of Enoth.
“Names?” he asked roughly, though Serinde was sure he would have learned them all by heart now. They had reported to this one particular elf every day since it had been mandated that they work in the quarry. He didn't even look up at them. Instead, he glowered at a long piece of parchment in front of him. Several hundred names were scrawled there. Beside each one were several dots, showing how many times they had come to work.
A short quill stood right over the spot where three names were written, and a feeling of dread swept over Serinde.
“Serinde and Erilas Vallonde,” Erilas replied for them.
Two scratches on the parchment.
“And where is Derlon Vallonde?” Reder questioned, his pen hovering over the name on his paper.
Serinde couldn't hold it in any longer.
“He's dead,” she said with all the vengeful spite and hatred she had bottled up inside her.
Some of the elves who had known their family whispered to those nearby. Another elf had been claimed by the work. Serinde could hear them, but her eyes were on Reder alone, wanting him to be remorseful. She wanted him to feel her hurt and anger and pain.
His brow furrowed as he marked her and her sister present. There was no sympathy in the reply that came.
“You are to report to work as normal,” Reder said as he made a note next to their father's name. “An Imperial Guard will be sent to your home to inspect the remains. If your father is not deceased but only sick, there will be harsh punishment for your lies. Quarry Section Fourteen.”
She envisioned Reder's head resting on their table, separate from his body. It was an extremely satisfying vision.
Serinde clenched her fists and began to move in towards the table, but found herself being torn away from the check-in by her sister. Erilas' grip on her was firm and unyielding.
“No!” she whispered harshly into Serinde's ear. “You'll just get us into trouble.”
Trouble?
There was more than trouble on Serinde's mind.
She allowed herself to be led away for the moment. Looking back to Reder questioning the next family of elves resigned to work in the quarry until they died as well, however, Serinde felt the fire of defiance within her growing.
***
The sound of small hammers click
ing and brushes sweeping filled Quarry Section Fourteen. In this area, smaller rocks and boulders were shaped into the pieces needed to build the tower city's more intricate details. Empire guards walked the aisles of stone tables where artisans instructed workers in their tasks.
“No, no, no, silly girl,” a lanky and wiry-haired elf told Serinde for the third time that day. “You're going to ruin this gargoyle if you keep hacking away at it like that!”
In reply, Serinde sent her chisel down hard into the stone that served as her table. Rows of stone lined the area, with various statues and other stone works filling every available space. Dust stirred all around the workers who carved and chiseled the day away. Already it was noon and nearing time for the elves to take their meal.
Sweat poured off of Serinde from both exertion and the spring suns. She was breathing hard at being corrected so often. Normally she was quite talented at shaping the rock.
Not today.
She still felt too numb.
“I. Don't. Care,” she said through gritted teeth.
“My, my, my, this will need some work,” said the artisan, ignoring Serinde's harsh tones. “Take these away!”
Before Serinde could complain or work her chisel free from the rock she had recently embedded it in, a bucket of tiny rocks and debris was thrust into her hands. The artisan began dusting the gargoyle's face with a master's hand.
“These Azol elves...” he said absentmindedly, forgetting that he was, in fact, surrounded by them. “No sense of art!”
Before Serinde could muster her strength and swing the bucket on top of the artisan's head, a hand was pulling her away from the chest high stone statue and its current carver.
“I can see that look in your eyes from four tables over,” Erilas said, hauling her own bucket to the dumping station and now dragging her sister along in her wake.
Even the smallest pebble had a use in the new city. A pulley system took bucket after bucket of debris from their carvings up the surface to be used as filler in the city walls.
The twins dumped their buckets into the constantly moving containers that carried their contents up to the surface. Elves who worked there loaded the rock into wagons pulled by horses or donkeys to the city before returning for another load.
Every elf had a job from Azol and to complete it was, as they were reminded so often by the guards and Reder, a great service to the empire and their emperor, Rophilborn the Eternal.
“How can you do anything today?” Serinde asked her.
She had watched her sister carve away quicker than she had ever seen her. Her stones were nearly finished becoming the tops of columns for important buildings. There would be impressed guards somewhere.
Erilas sniffed. A single tear came rolling down her cheek.
“If...if I'm working, I'm not thinking about him,” she confessed. “I can bury it all down and just carve.”
Serinde looked into her sister's eyes and really studied them for the first time in a very long while.
A great deal of sadness hid behind beautiful eyes that sought the approval of all who looked at her. Erilas had always been like that. She wanted to make their father proud of her by working hard and being an obedient daughter. His pleasure was her desire and she sought it by doing whatever she felt would make him most proud.
Hard work was one of those things.
“Eri...” Serinde began.
The two of them began to walk back to Serinde's work station among the dirt, dust, and other busy elves. Soon they would eat lunch and then get back to the task at hand.
“You can't just not think about him,” she continued. “He was a good man.”
She was interrupted before any more words could be said.
All over the quarry, the lunch signal was being sounded: a large metal tube being hit repeatedly with another metal pole. Not a pleasant sound, but a welcome one. Erilas and Serinde found their lunches and went to go and eat. Every elf in the quarry set down their tools and sat wherever they could find an empty spot.
Their favorite place to eat was on a small cliff that overlooked their work area. From here they could not see the city they were being forced to build. It stood behind them, rising up like a blight on the landscape. Rather, the cliff was just high enough that they could see the fields opposite the city and beyond the quarry.
It took a while to climb, but was always worth the effort.
This was their home.
“We should bury him in the fields,” Serinde said, swallowing a bite of her apple. “He loved being outdoors.”
“Mmm,” Erilas agreed, chewing through her own apple.
“I think,” Serinde said through a sob she was trying to fight through. “I think he would have liked that best.”
A hand softly touched her back and Serinde broke. Erilas was stroking her gently. Looking sideways, she could see her sister crying as well.
“He would have liked that,” she managed to reply.
For a while, they both sat and cried, letting the spring suns warm their bodies, but not their hearts.
Another loud banging signaled that lunch would soon be ending and that they needed to return to their stations. They packed their buckets and began to climb down from their perch.
They had nearly finished their descent when a sad sight approached them. Hunched over, ashen faced, and nowhere near the jovial elf he normally was, Wyan approached the two sisters. Solemnly, he took off his hat, and bowed at them.
“I...” he began with difficulty. “I heard the others talking down in the quarry.”
The three stood there for a moment, letting a gentle breeze blow over them.
“Let me walk you back,” Wyan said awkwardly.
Without a smile on his face, the elf looked like he had aged a hundred years in the span of a day. Perhaps Serinde had underestimated how much her father meant to others. In silence, the three walked the dusty path back to the work station of the sisters.
When they arrived at the entrance to the space, Wyan stopped short.
“If you two, uh...” he shuffled his feet for a bit in the dirt, looking unsure. “If you need anything. You know where to find us. My sons and me.”
Serinde was surprised by what happened next. Erilas stepped forward and wrapped the old elf in an embrace. Wyan looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then closed his eyes. A tear ran down his cheek. He recovered just in time to cough and look around to see a group of guards making their rounds to the work stations. They often did this in order to make sure every elf had returned to their task.
“You two better get back to work,” he said, though his voice sounded higher than normal.
Perhaps he was stifling more than just that single tear. He started walking back just as the five or so guards came up to the work station. Reder was at the head of them, a parchment list clutched in his hands.
“Vallonde family,” he said without looking up to address Serinde and Erilas face to face.
Robed in purple and with shimmering silver breastplates strapped over them, the guards looked intimidating. They held their shining metal spears and looked down on the sisters with contempt.
They must have thought they were assigned to tasks beneath them.
“Your father was confirmed deceased earlier today,” Reder said, looking at his list and without the slightest bit of pity in his voice.
Serinde clenched her fists.
“You discovered we were telling the truth?” she said under her breath.
Erilas grabbed her arm, signaling that she knew her sister was upset. Reder carried on as if he hadn't heard. Or didn't care.
“His remains were exhumed from the house...”
“Wha, what?” Serinde said, picturing the guards carelessly dragging her father's body out of their home and into the streets. “You took him!?”
The short elf continued to speak over Serinde's words.
“...and were burned in an Enoth ceremony of life's end presided over by a priest of the Comet, a
long with another deceased elf exactly two hours ago.”
Incomprehensible words were flowing from her mouth.
Rage was filling up her body, threatening to spill out. Not even Erilas' firm grip on her shoulder was going to contain her. The empire had forced her father to work. The empire had caused his body to give out as a result of the hard labor. Now they had stolen the one piece of solace Serinde had hoped to find in burying her father in a place of peace.
They had burned his body and deprived her of a final goodbye.
With as much restraint as she could muster, she forced a lone word out of her mouth.
“Where?”
Reder looked up from his list for the first time and met Serinde's stare.
His dark eyes showed his irritation with being questioned.
“By the Lower Gates,” he replied, beginning to make a check mark on his list and continue his emotionless description of the events.
“Your family is granted one day to mourn before you are expected...”
His words were interrupted by the force of Serinde's bucket breaking his nose.
“You burned him with the trash!?” she shouted, causing many elves around them to turn their heads and see what the ruckus was all about.
Hands reached down to grab Serinde, but she refused to relent. She clawed at Reder, using her nails and hands to scratch and grab any part of him she could reach.
Blood began to cover the elf's face as he howled in pain. Again and again she brought her bucket down on the elf's face with one hand while she punched and scratched with the other.
Every blow was punctuated with shouts of rage.
“He. Was Not. Garbage!”
More hands were reaching and grabbing around Serinde as she kicked and flailed. She was barely aware of her surroundings, only acknowledging that she would soon be taken by the guards who had come with Reder. More than likely, she'd be thrown into a prison somewhere to rot. Or hung and made an example of.
She didn't care.
The only thing that mattered was how much pain she could inflict on this one elf who embodied those responsible for her father's death and the disregard for his burial: the Empire of Enoth. The guards who had accompanied him ought to be dragging her away at any moment. Reder wasn't fighting back against Serinde's relentless assault.