by E. S. Maya
Rebecca folded her hands against her chest. She took a long step backwards. “You’re being reckless!”
“Last time I checked, ol’ Cronus died in Saerkonia.” Raven casually tossed the Titan figurine onto Safi’s bed. “Kill me if I’m wrong, but Holy Law don’t even apply here.”
Rebecca covered her face with both hands, shuddering. “Just put it away, Safiyas. Please.”
Safi placed her pillow at the head of her bed and slipped the figurine beneath it. She wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but the last thing she needed today was more upset friends. “There, all gone.”
Rebecca slowly sat down on the bottom bunk across from Safi. The bed there was empty, as it often was. “You should come to church next week. Didn’t your parents teach you to pray?”
Safi nodded. “Sure they did. Mama prayed all time.”
“Was she an Abed?” Rebecca asked warily.
Safi shook her head. “Andolan. My father was Abed. He didn’t pray much, but when he did, he prayed to the Titans.”
“A follower of Faerana, stone bless her, married to a genuine Titan worshiper.” Rebecca stared off in wonder. “That would have never happened in Resmyr.”
“Good thing joining Blackpoint lets you get out more,” said Raven with a snicker. Stringing an apron over her dusty dress, she stepped between the two bunks. Rebecca began to speak, but Raven cut her short. “Gotta get to the chow hall early for evening chow. Matty says Blessing Day always works up the boys’ appetites.”
At the mention of food, Safi’s stomach rumbled.
“Girls too, it seems,” Rebecca said. The three of them shook with laughter.
“You’re working on Blessing Day?” asked Safi. “That’s not very fair.”
“It ain’t like I got a choice!” said Raven. “Besides, you’ve got to stack up coins if you ever plan on escaping this place.”
“Escaping?” said Safi and Rebecca.
Raven winked mischievously. “I told you I was a member of the Serren Feathers, didn’t I?”
“Unfortunately,” Safi said.
“Then you should know that no cage can hold me!” Fists on her hips, Raven sucked air, preparing for what looked to be a boisterous laugh. But Suzy’s thick, freckled hand snagged her by the back of her apron, dragging her kicking and squawking towards the open barracks door.
Watching them go, Safi and Rebecca tittered with laughter.
Evening chow came and went. After lights out, Safi tucked herself into bed, wrapped her arms around her tummy, and slowly closed her eyes.
When she opened them it was morning, and her first day in the Titan mines had begun.
24
The Siege Titan Cronus
As they marched through Lazar’s Crossing, Safi wore the only smile in a stream of frowning faces.
She had survived the week of training and earned the right to call herself a miner. The occasion put a bounce in her step—a small one, but a bounce nonetheless. Quite the feat, considering the weight of the pickaxe on her shoulder. That she could carry it at all filled her chest with pride. What would the warden think if he saw her now? Titans, what would her mother?
The fifth-years quickened their pace as they weaved through a patch of troublesome stones. Crunching dust, Safi and the first-years picked their way after, sparing the occasional stumble.
“You’re a weak lot of rookies this year,” Noth said, “but you’ll get strong quick in the Titan mines.” Grinning, he passed his yellow eyes over Safi and her friends. “Not strong enough to beat me in the sword ring, though you’re always welcome to try.”
Safi watched the slump of Stiv’s shoulders, the gradual droop of his head. The sight wiped the smile from her face. Then the Berrid stood tall; he held his head high and closed his hands into fists. Wulf was quick to his side, placing a hand on Stiv’s trembling shoulder. The touch seemed to calm him, to bottle the words that stormed inside.
She wiped her forehead and sighed.
Cronus’ fingertip swelled in size, and when they arrived upon their week-long training site, she was more than ready to begin exercising. This time, however, they continued past the mighty boulderstone. As she watched it shrinking away behind them, she noticed the other first-years craning their necks.
Safi joined them in staring up at the Siege Titan.
Noth swept his arm towards the long, rugged cliffs in the distance—the length of the Titan’s body. “The Foot counts as the whole lower leg. We Fivers dig it inside out. In five years’ time, you move up to the main site. Fairer odds of finding a Siegestone that way.”
Several helmets bobbed in agreement. Safi kept hers still. Fairness was the least of her concerns.
“But you never know,” Noth said. “One of you could find a Siegestone your first year, your first week. Stone bless the prophet, maybe your first day. You just never know.”
Safi clutched the haft of her pickaxe, switched shoulders from left to right. Noth’s words had left a chill in her. She imagined how one lucky swing could mean the difference between slavery and freedom. She hoped she’d find a Siegestone soon, while she was still within marrying age.
As they neared the Siege Titan, the stone played its familiar trick. Gone was its the length of its leg, the bump of its knee, the toes holding up the sky. Cronus ceased being a Titan and took the identity of his making: stone, and lots of it. Cold and hard and gray. And dead, if stone could ever be considered truly living.
They came closer. A network of faults covered the leg’s vast surface like the ropes of a fisherman’s net. Some of the cracks were wider than Safi herself, others like hidden seams. Most of them cut clean, straight lines, while the smaller ones streaked like lightning. All in all, it seemed as though the Titan had been put together by a series of oddly shaped rocks.
Safi narrowed her eyes, scanning the broad stone wall. She wasn’t sure what she was searching for. A feeling in her tummy, however, told her there was more to Titans than she knew or understood. Something more than stone.
She glanced at Jabbar beside her, found his cheeks shimmering with tears. The Abed caught her looking and brushed his shirt sleeve across his face.
The fifth-years turned west, leading them towards the five-toed mountain peak in the distance. As they followed the length of Cronus’ leg, Noth pointed out the various man-made holds hammered into the surface. There were rings and squares of rusted iron, large enough for a hand or foot. Even older, Noth explained, were the indentations, carved deep into the stone, their edges rubbed smooth by centuries of clinging fingers and scraping boots.
The holds grew greater in number the closer they neared the Foot. Safi marveled at the fact that this sideways giant had once stood up. She pictured the thousands of climbers ascending the stone’s broad face, and Cronus, sweeping his hands, those impossible hands, to brush away men like crumbs off a dinner plate. Men like Father, she realized, and the thought left her lightheaded and sad.
They arrived at a shallow ramp carved into the Titan’s leg. It inclined towards the Foot, disappearing into heights blurred by the dusty air. Safi switched shoulders and frowned. She was ready to start digging. No one mentioned they would have to climb the thing every morning.
“That’s the end of our little tour.” Noth snorted, then spat on the ground. “Foreman Adams will be waiting up top.” After a pause, he grabbed the closest recruit by the arm and shoved him towards the ramp. “Go on now!”
The first-years recruits began filing up the ramp. When it came Safi’s turn, she planted her foot on the slanted ground and adjusted the pickaxe on her shoulder. Then she began to climb.
25
Hallowed Stone
The first-year miners spread themselves thin upon the cliffside.
With every step, Safi fully expected herself to slip or tire or stumble, for something to send her tumbling backwards or, Titans forbid, off of the ramp entirely. Yet her legs marched steadily forward, and her tummy held firm and tight. Even her pickaxe had made a home o
f her shoulder.
As much as she hated Noth, she had to admit: his training worked.
She marched on, brushing shoulders with stone as boys kicked up clouds of dust ahead. The ramp was wide enough for two miners abreast, though none of the first-years risked it. Rather, they marched single file, staying close to the Titan’s ankle, away from the exposed left side. Only their feet kept them safe now.
Safi looked down at her clumsy pair and frowned.
Mustering courage, she walked towards the edge of the ramp to get a good look at the Fiver’s Camp. From this height, the barracks and chow hall resembled a handful of crude wooden dice, set neatly on a pale orange table. Filling the space to its left was Lazar’s Crossing. Now she could see how the broken gray stones followed the shape of the Titan’s arm.
Beyond the camp’s boundary stretched the hills of the Saerkonan badlands, resembling the lumps of a grandmother’s quilt. They flattened off in the distance, filling with streaks of green, and behind that great forest stood a range of low mountains, frozen on the horizon like waves against the sky. Only unlike the ones in Ashcroft Valley, not a spot of white frosted their peaks.
Safi stared until her eyes watered, wanting nothing more than to go to those mountains and the kingdoms that lay beyond them. Aching with curiosity, she inched close to the ramp’s edge and took a downward peek. To get a sense of how high they truly were.
The sight made her stomach churn. She backed away from the edge and did not look down again.
Cheers sounded ahead as the front of the line broke even ground. Safi thanked the Titans as the ramp ended halfway up the Titan’s ankle, opening to a flat gray road that ran the length of its leg. Like someone had taken a Titan-sized spoon and carved it into the rock.
Stepping on flat ground, she slipped her pickaxe off her shoulder and dropped to her knees, massaging her burning thighs. Her ears went hot with embarrassment until she noticed the boys doing the same. Then she felt proud.
“Enough with the dramatics, lads,” came a voice like pouring gravel.
Coming down the road was a smiling middle-aged man with a bright blond beard, pickaxe over one shoulder. A faded blue work shirt clung to his chest, yet ended loosely around his stomach before tucking into the waist of his navy trousers. Despite his miner’s uniform, a Blackpoint red cape swung from his back, pocked and stringy, brushing the heels of his cap-toe boots with every jovial step.
“Rank and file,” the man bellowed. “Get on with it!”
There was a moment of chaos as the first-years scurried to form five rows. Safi lined up with her team, sneaking peeks at the man from beneath the brim of her helmet. Up close, she recognized his eyes immediately. They were eyes of the north, two cerulean pools framing a pair of golden pupils. The eyes of the Kingdom of Andolas. After all this time with Blackpoint, she’d forgotten she owned a pair herself.
When the man caught Safi staring, she looked away.
“And lasses, it seems,” said the man with a chuckle. He raised a calloused hand to scratch his thick blond beard. Then he set down his pickaxe, bottom side up, resting his palms on the butt of its handle. Safi allowed herself a smile. Why, the man looked just like a knight, presenting his sword in the presence of royalty.
“Welcome to the Foot,” the man said, “your place of employment for the next five years. I’m Foreman Adams. You might belong to the warden, but in here you answer to me.
“All Blackpoint mining recruits begin their sentence in the Foot and stay there for their first five years in camp. Naturally, as you progress up the Titan, your chances of finding a Siegestone increase.
“However! That doesn’t mean you can’t find a Siegestone, and I expect every one of you to work with the intention of doing so. You’ll fill daily quotas, five minecarts per team. That’s one per recruit, easy work. I fill three tubs a day and from each of you I ask a third of that. Any questions so far?”
A redheaded boy up front raised his hand. The foreman pointed a gnarled finger. “Has anyone in Camp Cronus found a Siegestone in the Foot?” the boy asked.
“No,” the foreman answered. “But in other Titans, yes. People smarter than you or I believe that the gems begin formation in the feet, growing larger as they move up the body. So keep your eyes sharp. If you do find a Siegestone, it’ll be small.” His beard widened into a smile. “And worth your freedom all the same.”
The boys began whispering amongst their teams. Safi wasn’t impressed. The odds seemed worse than the Ashcroft village lottery, and that was bet with copper pennies. Still, she supposed that some odds were better than none.
“There is a second option, however,” the foreman said. This time, a grin lifted half of his fuzzy face. The boys’ whispering increased.
“He—or she,” he added, with a nod to Safi, “who finds a Siegestone receives two choices. The first is twenty-five years off your sentence. That warrants your immediate release from Camp Cronus, and any excess years earned will be returned from Blackpoint’s purse.
“However, your second option…” He chuckled like the slow beat of a drum. “…is that you split those twenty-five years between your mining team. This is a team effort. Then you’ll each receive five years off your sentence.”
The boys broke into chatter, spitting into palms and shaking hands, swearing on their mothers to take the second offer. An excitement spread amongst them, and an eagerness, Safi noticed, for work to begin.
Team Wulf, however, was silent. Goggles’ squinted under his eyeglasses but looked otherwise indifferent. Jabbar’s face was a stone-solid scowl. Wulf’s eyes were dark, tired, and hungry.
Stiv was doing his best to contain his laughter. “Five years would cut my time in half!”
“Twenty-five would have you walking out of here rich,” said Wulf.
“In life, there are more important things than money.” Stiv stepped behind Safi and played the drums on her helmet. “Like me and Safi’s friendship.”
Safi fixed her helmet, glaring at the boy as she wrestled down a smile. She was about to send Stiv’s helmet flying when the foreman reeled the first-years back in.
“All right, lads. Straighten out your politics later, we’ve got work to do. From the left, file out and follow me!”
Once, in Ashcroft Village, Safi’s father Yusef returned from work with a gash across his forearm. There had been a minor cave-in in the iron mines, and when a support beam came twisting down, he happened to be standing in its path.
The cut was deep, and the blow would have broken the arm of a lesser man. For the grizzly-faced Abed, it meant that work that day ended early. Such things must be tended to.
With no proper healer in the village, it came upon Tabitha to treat her husband’s wounds. She left dinner half-cooked and set Yusef’s arm over the kitchen table. All the while from her bedroom doorway, little Safi watched her mother work the needle and thread. Though he hardly showed it, she knew it was her first time seeing her father truly hurt. Her mother’s hands were soaked in red.
“Daddy, what is that?” Safi pointed at her father’s arm, eagerly approaching the kitchen table, then slowing her steps to ease her mother’s wrath.
Yusef laughed heartily. “It’s only blood, sweetheart.”
“What is blood?” Safi’s imagination worked. She pictured the stuff beneath her skin, her entire body a container of red liquid.
Despite his arm being half-open, a contemplative look came over Yusef’s face. “Inside of you, there are many little strings, and in each of those strings is blood.” With his good right hand, he trailed a finger up Safi’s wrist, along her forearm, and then into her shoulders and neck, tickling her into laughter.
“The blood goes around and around.” Yusef traced his finger in circles, then pressed his palm to her beating chest. “And it all comes from your heart.”
Inside the Siege Titan, Safi heard no heartbeat and saw no blood. The mining tunnels, however, spread throughout the Titan’s legs like empty veins. The entrance to the
Foot was a high archway, an open mouth in the stone, reinforced at the roof by a collar of thick wooden beams—the adit, Foreman Adams called it.
A line of torches and braziers dotted the immense passageway. As the first-years entered, the flickering orange firelight smothered out the white of day. Beneath their footsteps, a network of metal rails made a maze of the adit floor.
Foreman Adams halted their march as something came screeching towards them. Safi and Stiv traded looks. An older boy was pushing a minecart filled to the top with small rocks. He was covered helmet to toe in dust.
“That, lads,” the foreman said, “is what a full load of Titan rubble looks like, though our miner isn’t quite finished.” He pointed down the adit to a second large archway, standing parallel to the main entrance. “He’ll go to the Pit next, to send that rubble down the dumping shaft. In a chamber below, the breakers will smash that rubble to dust.”
The foreman marched off, and the first-years followed. “There’s no margin of error in the Titan Mines. If a Siegestone is in that minecart, or any minecart, no matter the size, we’ll find it.”
Halfway down the adit, the foreman approached one of the smaller passageways plugging the left wall—drifts, he called them. He lifted a torch off an iron sconce and led them inside.
One drift led to another, and the walls narrowed and dimmed. The clacking of pickaxes on stone echoed throughout the mines, though it was impossible to tell where they came from. Safi looked down each tunnel, finding stone in every direction. She made a mental note to never wander the mines alone.
“If you ever get lost,” the foreman said, raising a finger, “there are ropes along the tunnel roof. See them, with the little bells? They ring when work has begun, and when work has ended, and for your daily lunch as well. They also ring when some clueless fool has gotten himself lost. Only use them if you have to, and if you see any tunnels that haven’t been roped yet, stay out!”
