by E. S. Maya
“What if we don’t like it?” one girl asked.
Matilda chuckled. “You’ll learn to like it. If not, there’s always cleaning duty.”
“What’s with those lovebirds?” interrupted Raven, nodding down the table.
Safi stole a peek. Standing beside Hannah was a tall and easygoing boy with a clean-shaven face. He must’ve been the largest recruit in the room. The seams of his work shirt rode high on his broad shoulders, showing what years in the Titan mines could do to a boy. His shirtsleeves were cuffed to the elbow, revealing a pair of dense, fatherly forearms. When he slung an arm over Hannah’s right shoulder, there was a momentary lull in fifth-year girls’ conversation.
Beaming, Hannah raised a hand to stroke the boy’s thick fingers.
“That’s Noth,” said Matilda, shaking her head disapprovingly. “New recruit foreman of the Foot. The part of the Titan them Fiver boys mine in.”
Raven scoffed and resumed her porridge. “He doesn’t look all that tough.”
“He’s as tough as they get,” Matilda said, emphasizing each word the shake of her spoon. “Word of advice, girls? Stay away from them fifth-years. Years in the mines does something funny to a boy’s head. Ask me, and I’ll tell you Blackpoint’s stone-crazy for putting recruits in charge of recruits.” She shrugged, spooning a bite of her porridge. “But what do I know?”
Noth removed his hand from Hannah’s shoulder and rose to straighten his work shirt. He peered down the trestle table, past all the wooden bowls and plates, and towards the first-year girls.
Safi leaned back in her seat and gasped.
The boy had sharp yellow eyes.
Hannah stood up beside him and clapped her hands twice in the air. Like well-trained animals, the girls silenced themselves immediately. Only Matilda and the kitchen girls kept eating.
“Spoons down, ladies!” Hannah said. “It’s time to get ready for work.”
17
Eyes of Amber
Outside the chow hall, the enforcers spent a solid minute shouting the first-year girls into a straight and orderly line.
Safi found herself in good spirits as they marched out of the Fivers’ Camp. A night in a proper bed, thin as the mattress was, had done wonders for her back. A bowl of porridge had been good to her stomach. Perhaps too good.
So she sucked in her tummy and straightened her dress, striding behind Raven as the enforcers led the first-year girls through the quiet parts of Camp Cronus. Hundreds of spacious lots, defined by lines carved in the ground, bordered both sides of the road. Most were empty, but the ones that weren’t held tall stacks of lumber and, more impressively, huge mounds of powdery gray dust.
“You could just about swim in the stuff,” Raven remarked.
“Give it a try,” Safi said, stepping intentionally on the heels of her bunkmate’s old shoes. “No one here’s stopping you.”
“Would you still your tongues!” said Rebecca behind them. An enforcer glowered at the trio, and the redhead appeared to shrink in height. Safi wasn’t worried. The girl had inches to spare yet.
After some time, the enforcers turned them northward. They began passing many crude storage buildings, and the occasional lone Fiver boy, who spared no more than a sheepish glance at the twenty-five marching girls. Then the buildings climbed in height, sporting polished glass windows and painted red walls, each of them topped with a red shingled roof. No blue-shirted boys walked here, only the red-caped men of Blackpoint, who moved with a boot-stamping, arm-swinging authority the likes of which Safi had never seen.
She jumped when the enforcer at the front of the line raised his arm. He snapped his fingers twice.
“Listen up, ladies! We’re in the Admin District, also known as the Heart of the Camp. Whatever you decide to call it, remember this rule: STAY OUT! Unless an enforcer so chooses to bring you here. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” the girls answered.
Swept up in her own thoughts, Safi kept her mouth shut. From what she understood, today’s meeting with the warden would decide their roles at Camp Cronus for years to come. She planted her hands on her hips in frustration. What was the worst he could do? They’d taken her freedom, her future—even her hair, for Titan’s sake. Put their blasted mark on her wrist. Why, if she ever did get out, she’d be a walking—
Safi flinched as her face went banging into the back of Raven’s head. The girls had slowed their march.
“Get off’a me, Blondie!”
Stroking her throbbing lips, Safi took in the surroundings. She could see why the enforcer called this place the Heart of the Camp. It reminded her of Ashcroft’s village square, a spattering of cramped shops and two-story buildings. Off to her right, and much to her surprise, was a high-fenced meadow of healthy green grass, just begging for a picnic. It reached far and wide, separating the square from Cronus’ towering feet in the distance. Like an oasis in the desert.
At the center of the square, where a Titan statue ought to be, stood a raised wooden platform. She shivered as they passed beneath its shadow.
“Guess they couldn’t afford to build a fountain,” whispered Raven.
“That might be the stupidest thing that’s ever escaped your mouth,” Safi said. When Raven ignored the bait, she merrily continued, “So, what do you think happens up there?”
“We’ve got gallows like this back home.” Raven clutched her hands to her chest, then sank into her deepest, most ominous voice. “That’s where they hold… executions.”
Rebecca lowered her head and whimpered. Safi frowned. If they kept this pace, the redhead would match Raven’s height by the end of the day.
Eventually, they arrived upon a clean red building. The enforcers parted the doors and ushered the girls inside. Safi was impressed. The only footprints here were those of their own dusty shoes. The lofty windowed room housed many rows of wooden chairs, separated by a single aisle. A meeting hall, she realized, just like the one back home.
The enforcers ordered the girls to sit up front, demanding no seat be left empty between them. Then, looking satisfied, they stepped out of the building and pulled the doors slamming shut. The sound bounced around the meeting hall before fading into silence.
“So,” Raven said, propping an elbow on Safi’s bony shoulder. “You girls gonna clean, or are you gonna cook?”
Safi set her palms in her lap. “There’s got to be more jobs than that.” She stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment and smiled. “Do you think they have a stable? I’d love to work with horses.”
“Ah, the much-needed horse dung shoveler,” Raven said. “A staple of the Blackpoint Mining Company. So the blonde chooses cleaning.”
Safi shoved Raven’s elbow away. “Keep up that teasing and you’ll find horse dung under your blankets.”
Raven smothered a giggle, then leaned forward to look at Rebecca. “And what has the redhead chosen?”
Rebecca folded both hands over her left knee, long thumbs fiddling. “I saw some girls fixing clothes, and Mother did teach me to work the needle.”
“A creative type.” Raven nodded ponderously. “Take notes from this one, Blondie.”
Within minutes the doors swung back open. This time, the enforcers jogged to the front of the room. They faced the recruits and said, “All rise for Vice Warden Arnalus!”
Twenty-five chairs squeaked against the floor as the first-year girls sprang to their feet. Safi stood unsteadily. Vice Warden sure sounded like an important title. She couldn’t resist peeking over her shoulder as the man entered the building.
Vice Warden Arnalus came stomping into the meeting hall, an unforgiving gait that knew no difference between indoors and out. Fitted around his muscular body was a white two-piece uniform, the jacket adorned with gold, its epaulets looking tiny on the man’s bulbous shoulders. Hanging from his left hip was a strikingly normal sword, a scabbard of scratched brown leather and a crossguard of dull iron.
She watched as the vice warden strode up the aisle. The
man styled his dark brown hair slicked back, as it to emphasize the history of his face: that slender crooked nose, that scarred stone of a chin. A soldier’s face, not long removed from the battlefield. An immaculate mustache sat perched above his pale, scowling lips, suggesting some deeper sophistication to the barbarous-looking man, but betraying none of it.
Most noticeably of all, the vice warden had yellow eyes.
Safi breathed deep, feeling the coarse woolen fabric of her dress in her fists. Even the fifth-years boys would look scrawny in the presence of this man’s great, shifting bulk. Not even her father had looked so powerful. So dangerous.
The vice warden took his rightful place at the front of the room. He raised a fist to his lips and cleared his throat, then took his time scrutinizing the new recruits. Taking measure this year’s lot of thirteen-year-old girls.
When he came to Safi, his yellow eyes went wide.
She dipped her head, hiding beneath the mass of her own blonde hair. She heard the snap of a finger, then a voice:
“Take—” one of the enforcers barked “—seats!”
The first-years dropped into their chairs. Safi made sure to slump in hers until she matched Raven’s height.
“You’re wondering why you’re assembled,” the vice warden said. “This morning, you shall each meet personally with Sir Edgar Tiberonius, the warden of Camp Cronus. It will be the first, and likely the last time you speak with him in the years ahead of you as recruits of the Blackpoint Mining Company.
“The warden is an important and busy man. You will not speak without permission. You will answer honestly and clearly to each question that is given to you. You will remain standing, heels together, palms at your side, and eyes forward for the duration of your interview. Is that clear?”
Not a girl dared speak first.
“Yes, vice warden,” barked one of the enforcers.
“Yes, vice warden!” repeated the girls.
“…vice warden,” Safi added.
“Good.” Vice Warden Arnalus began his stomping exit down the main aisle. Before stepping out the door, he looked back at the enforcers and said, “Get them moving!”
“Yes, sir!” The enforcer took one step forward and unfurled a short scroll. “First group! When your name is called, you will exit the main door and follow the enforcers outside.”
Please don’t let it be in alphabetical order, Safi thought.
The enforcer read aloud, “Tybel Blemshire!”
Safi relaxed her seat and sighed.
The first girl had only exited the building when a second name was called. “Chelsea Lyons!” Another girl stood. “Meredith Blum!” Another. “Pearl Gregor!” The girl adjusted her eyeglasses, slipping out of the room on quick and silent feet.
And the list went on. At the fifteenth name, the enforcer waved over his colleague, who stared the scroll and laughed. “Raven?” he called, chuckling. “Only one name. Is there a Raven here?”
Raven hopped off her seat and raised her palm. “Right here, boss.”
“Your surname, recruit.”
“It’s just Raven, sir.”
“She’s one of those Anderan street urchins,” said the first enforcer. If the insult bothered Raven, her face didn’t show it. “Well, girl? Don’t just stand there!”
Raven gave Safi a wink before sauntering out of the building. Safi buried her face in her hands, wondering if this, too, was another of the city girl’s schemes.
The first-years sat in silence as the enforcers paced the room. Safi noticed a few of the girls holding hands in solidarity. She glanced timidly at Rebecca, but the girl was beside herself in panic, and she thought better than to disturb her.
So she folded her hands and lowered her head, choosing the wood of the floor over the men’s harsh faces. There were hours of staring more before the first group began filing back into the building. The girls turned in their chairs to look.
Raven was at the front of the line. She sprinted down the aisle and threw herself into the chair beside Safi. She was clutching the side of her face. Her eyes appeared green and vibrant, for her skin had turned pale as snow.
Safi took a deep breath. “How did it go?”
Raven choked back a sob. Her voice was shaking. “They got my real name, Blondie.” She lowered her hand, revealing a thin red wound on her left cheek, splitting skin from skin. “The bastards got my name.”
Safi stared for several long seconds, heart pounding. Then she threw her arms around the girl and held her tight. Squeezing her wounded face, Raven hugged her back with a single, trembling arm. She began whimpering into Safi’s chest, and it took all of Safi’s willpower to keep from crying with her.
“Second group,” called the enforcer, sounding softer than before. His voice traveled through the room, noted by Raven’s sputtering sobs.
Safi stroked Raven’s hair. “Are you going to be okay?”
Raven nodded against Safi’s collarbone. “I’ll be fine.”
The enforcers began reading aloud from the scroll, sending girl after girl towards the exit. Safi stayed beside Raven, holding her in both arms, nearly jumping from her seat with each name called.
“Rebecca Hollingberry!” the enforcer said.
The redhead looked at Safi and Raven before rising from her chair. She walked stiffly toward the exit.
Then, “Safiyas Azadi!”
Safi’s hands lingered on Raven’s shoulders as she stood from her seat. Raven kept her head bent, sniffling quietly. Then, feeling not entirely present, Safi found herself walking down the aisle, facing the building’s doorway. Waiting for the enforcers to call the following name on the list. But the call never came.
There was an enforcer outside the building, waving the girls on. Safi watched Rebecca ahead, red hair bobbing, approach the healthy green field that bordered the town square. A tall, wrought-iron gate was the only opening in the warden’s seemingly impenetrable fence. It was parted slightly for entry.
Rebecca ducked as she passed a trio of red-caped guards near the entrance, squeezing through the gap and into the meadow beyond. The enforcers looked surprised to see Safi approaching. Is it my skin color? she wondered, or that I’m the last girl of the day?
For safety’s sake, she avoided eye contact as she slipped past the enforcers, but took pause as she stepped through the gateway. Beneath her shoes, the orange dust of the camp ended in a straight line. Then began a white stone path, snaking through the grass with long and gentle curves. Leading up to a shining red and white building in the distance.
“Well lass, hurry on already!” one of the enforcers roared. She looked back in time to see him rearing sheathed broadsword. The man brought it down upon her backside.
Safi shrieked in pain, and stumbled forward, and found herself standing on hard white stone. Rubbing her stinging bottom, she looked back to scowl at the men, who were presently shaking with laughter. She continued down the path with two swinging fists, loathing the men and their childish laughter, then hearing the cold, shuddering sound of the oasis gate ringing shut.
18
The Oasis
At the end of the path stood a fair and lonesome manor house with high white walls and bright crystalline windows. It was more than three stories tall with its red mansard roof, looking huge in the center of the meadow, an expanse of healthy grass that grew despite the dry climate. Several young trees, with thin white stems and dainty green leaves, swayed easily in the light breeze.
Safi stared in awe. It was the home of a storybook prince, plucked from one of her father’s Titan tales. An oasis in the desert, the perfect place for relaxation after a long and difficult adventure. A place to be lived in. She pictured herself staying there with her mother and father, with all the food in the world to eat, and the horses to ride, and the greatest of friends to spend afternoons with.
Then she noticed the Siege Titan’s feet behind the manor, two gray slabs in the distance, spoiling what she knew was just another of her childish fantasies.
She stared at her own two feet as she followed the white stone path, frowning at her broken laces and slightly exposed toes. There was orange dust in the grass nearby, the imposing presence of the camp. If my life were a Titan tale, it sure would be a crummy one.
Reaching the manor, she discovered a broad white deck that wrapped around the face of the building. The enforcers were busy organizing the girls for their meeting with the warden inside. Mindful to avoid them, she stepped onto the deck and slipped behind Rebecca at the rear of the line.
“You, hands out your pockets!” an enforcer was shouting. “And you, wipe the filth from your face!” He bid the girls take off their shoes. “Can’t dirty the warden’s carpets.”
Safi kicked off her shoes and began stepping from one bare foot to the other. The deck felt hotter than a freshly doused campfire. Perhaps the warden’s manor was more dangerous than she’d first thought. Rebecca didn’t seem to mind. The girl of Resmyr stood firmly on big calloused feet.
When the enforcers deemed the recruits satisfactory, a pair of them took positions before the manor’s red double doors. They parted them just wide enough to thrust the first girl inside. Then, taking great care, the men eased the manor doors shut.
Despite her cooked feet, Safi felt herself shiver.
The building had swallowed the girl in a single bite.
The first-years shifted in place as the sun crawled into the sky. Soon Safi was sweating, and her feet remained still on the hot painted wood. The occasional breeze played in the meadow, and she raised the hem of her dress to catch it. It didn’t help much; when she ran her hand through her hair, her fingers came out dripping with sweat.
Finally, there came a faint knocking from within the manor. The enforcers hastily parted the doors to reveal a weary, half-smiling girl.
“Next in! Come on, quickly now!” The enforcers swept along the following girl. The manor house claimed its second victim.
The first girl walked across the deck. An olive-skinned girl, Safi noticed as she passed, a couple shades lighter than herself. A girl of the Sovereign Coast. Safi watched the enforcers, searching for an opportunity to ask what had happened inside. But the Blackpoint men’s eyes were ever upon her.
