The Secret of the Golden Gods Omnibus Edition

by Pedro Urvi

  “Put your backs into it!” cried the Tormentor. His hollow, powerful voice echoed off the tunnel walls.

  The second blow of the long metallic rod, with its barbed star at the tip, fell full on Honus’ back. He fell to his knees at once, putting his hands on his head to avoid receiving a third blow from the creature whose mission was to turn their existence into a continual agony as he ensured that all the slaves of the section performed as he expected. Seeing his friend subdued, Karm tasted the acid mixture of rage and frustration which always overwhelmed him when the Enforcers carried out their merciless abuses. Covertly, he watched the Tormentor. The first thing that always caught his attention when he saw them was their punishing eyes: an incandescent red which seemed to burn like embers, bringing terror to the heart of whoever dared look at them. They were short compared to a man, but very sturdy. Their upper body was huge, their shoulders robust, their arms extremely strong and muscular. Their skin was the characteristic ochre of the Enforcers, though somewhat more metallic, with the swollen veins which ran through their bodies seeming to carry liquid silver. Their heads were always covered with sinister brown helmets. Over their mouths and noses were round openings, which together with the burning eyes gave them the appearance of monsters from the depths of the earth. They wore long brown robes with black padded corselets, which protected them from blows and falls of earth. But what Karm hated the most about them were the long punishment rods they wielded so adeptly. They were creatures of the Gods who ‒ unlike the Executors ‒ seemed to have been created to subsist in those depths, and they very rarely went to the surface.

  Most of the Senoca knew nothing of their existence until they reached the mines, their underground realm, where they were lords and masters. Some people said they were blind and were guided by sounds, like bats or moles, but nobody knew for sure, and many refused to believe it, since their rods never missed a back. What nobody doubted was their cruelty, and their total lack of pity.

  “Keep working!” the Tormentor ordered as he moved toward the group of slaves on the north face. Karm let out his breath when he saw him leave and crouched down beside Honus.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  “Yeah, just like a bird flying in a summer sky,” grumbled Honus.

  Karm grinned. Punishment would not break his friend’s spirit; they had taken many blows from that hated rod, and although the body still suffered, in the mind it was now a little less painful. It’s amazing what the body can get used to.

  Honus got up. There was pain on his face. “Let’s go on. Make sure we get hold of the Star Crystal.”

  “Have I ever failed you, cross-patch?”

  Honus grunted. “Not in the ten years we’ve been in this bloody mine. But there’s always a first time, and I wouldn’t want it to be today, not when I’ve already had a mark of affection from the Tormentor.”

  “In that case get the chisel and container ready, and don’t distract me with those endless complaints of yours.”

  Karm relaxed his shoulders and shook his arms. He had to relax his muscles before attacking the vein. First he worked on the surrounding area, clearing it so that he could extract the rare mineral. He did not know what the Enforcers used that very fragile material for, with all the extreme delicacy that was need for extracting and handling it, but what he did know was that it was more precious to them than gold and silver.

  “I’m ready,” Honus said.

  “Chisel. I’m going to start.”

  He inhaled the rancid air deeply, then exhaled to relax the tension in his tired muscles. Very carefully, so as not to ruin the vein with a careless blow or a treacherous slip, he began the extraction. Among themselves the slaves called the mineral Star Crystal, since it sparkled like the stars on a clear night and was equally unreachable ‒ more so at that depth ‒ and as fragile as the most delicate crystal which only a few expert craftsmen were capable of working.

  “Come on, you sluggards!” boomed the hollow voice of the Tormentor as his rod of terror descended on another of the slaves, who fell to his knees. He struck again and then, still not satisfied, hit him once again.

  Karm watched the cruel punishment. He recognized the slave from his complexion: it was Oltas the singer. He had been there nearly as long as they had themselves, which was exceptional, since he and Honus were the longest-serving in the mine. This was a real feat considering the high casualty rate. Oltas was tough, used to the punishment and the extreme harshness of life in the mine, but in the last month he had fallen ill and was now weak. He usually hummed songs from the First County during the lunch break and before they slept, and entertained them all, bringing a little cheer to their sad hearts in that place of perpetual darkness and suffering. But it was weeks now since he had sung, which was a very bad sign. Karm remembered that since the day they were all taken down to that section of the mine, a gang of fifty men, almost a score had perished on that shift. How many others had died in the other tunnels he had no idea, but the casualties would be similar. They always were. He sighed. Hold on, Oltas, don’t give up, don’t let them destroy you, he said to himself, wishing his prayers might help the poor wretch, although he knew that wishing, praying or begging were next to useless down there.

  “Come on, Karm, let’s finish. There’s nothing you can do for him.”

  “Bastards…” Karm murmured under his breath.

  “Concentrate, by the guts of all the damned Enforcers!”

  “All right… I’d gladly tear their guts out myself.”

  “Maybe one day your dream will come true, but it won’t be today. Today we earn the pass to the surface, even if I have to get the crystal out with my teeth.”

  Karm breathed out his rage. “All right. Let’s do it.”

  Several hours later, when their shift ended, with infinite care so that the clusters of crystal would not break, they carried the precious cargo to the upper chamber, where the Eye-of-the-God on duty was in charge of the operation. Karm fixed his eyes on him. He wore a strange silver robe hemmed in gold and with unreadable runes engraved on it, which covered his whole body except for his arms. He noticed the repellent skin of the monster, a tanned ochre marked by dark swollen veins. In them, it was said, ran pure hatred instead of blood.

  “Kneel!” he ordered in his shrill voice the moment they walked in.

  They did as they were told at once, head on the ground, showing submission before the Enforcer, who was escorted by four Tormentors.

  “Bring me the container,” he told the Tormentors.

  Karm did not know where the sound came from, as the Eye’s head was always encased in that sinister metallic helmet. The back of the helmet was golden. The front part was made up of two silver triangles, vertical, symmetrical and identical, one of them covering the right side of the face and the other the left. They were separated by a tiny golden strip.

  One of the Tormentors approached and gave the Enforcer the container which held the mineral. He took it over to the Eye, who calmly weighed the contents on a vertical scale on his left, then made a note in the silver book he carried.

  “Pass to the surface granted. Three days,” he announced.

  Honus sighed with relief. That night his big friend would not complain any more. They retreated on all fours, giving thanks as submissive slaves ought to, until they reached the cavern by the elevator. The silvery metal cage could hold thirty or so men. It was the only means out of that gloomy abyss, and was always escorted by half a dozen Tormentors. One Eye-of-the-Gods maneuvered it from the inside, making several daily trips to the surface. It was impossible to escape from there, not without facing those abominations. Among the slaves there was a story about a gang of thirty miners who had tried to take an elevator. They had failed. Their heads were skewered on pikes at the entrance to the mine. Nobody had ever tried again.

  “Let’s go,” said Honus. “Tomorrow it’ll be our turn,”

  They ate their allotted portion, enough to keep them alive and working, alth
ough Karm knew that always eating that same muck would end up killing them. Or if not, then it would be the putrid air which poisoned their lungs, the constant cave-ins, the unbridled torture of the Tormentors, the exhaustion of body and mind, or the lack of hope. As tempting a prospect as you could hope for, Karm thought, then checked himself: he was beginning to think more and more like Honus.

  The twenty-odd souls huddled together, wrapped in old linen blankets. It was at this time that Oltas used to entertain them, but tonight he would not. Not tonight or any other night; his dead body lay on the ground beside the pot of stew. He had died amid convulsions.

  “I’ll miss him,” Honus said. “He sang well.”

  “We all will. He was practically the only thing that cheered us up down here.”

  “The bastards.”

  “One day… they’ll pay.”

  “You should stop dreaming about that. It’s impossible.”

  “I’d rather be a dreamer than a grumbler,” Karm replied to his friend.

  “Dreamers end up dead. Us grumblers, we live longer.”

  “You might be right there.”

  “Course I am!”

  Karm eyed his comrade with a half-smile. Honus’ face, lit up by the dancing light of the torches, returned it. His dark eyes and lank, jet-black hair framed a strong chin and forehead which already showed its first wrinkles, even though he was only thirty. But the most remarkable thing about the grumbler was not his character but his powerful build. He was very tall, a head taller than most of the men, and extremely strong: his back and his shoulders were massive. Besides, his energy seemed never to run out, which had allowed him to survive forced labor for so long. His continual complaints and curses enabled him to bear the endless tiredness, constant punishment and hopelessness in that filthy well.

  “It’s time to get a little sleep. Tomorrow we’ll leave this stinking hole and see the sun. It’s going to be a great day.”

  Karm nodded; it would be a good day. He lay down beside the giant and began to rub his body. He was very tired, as he always was; he reached the end of each day with his strength drained. His arm and leg muscles ached from the effort. He was not as strong as his friend, although after ten years of using pick, hammer and chisel his shoulders and arms were now powerful. His legs were less so, and every night he rubbed them so he would not suffer agonies the following day. In that gloom, and with the dirt and rock dust they raised every day, his hair, which used to be blond and bright, was now dark, as was his skin, which had once been as white as chalk. His eyes, sky blue, were now dulled and looked the color of autumn. He had been taken to the mine when he had just turned eighteen, and for ten years all he had known was twilight, exhaustion and agony, both physical and mental. But he refused to give up hope, to die in that ill-omened place without having freed himself from the chains of slavery. Without having obtained the justice he was owed: not to himself, but to the one he had been robbed of and whose life had been cut short.

  “Let’s sleep, my friend, and dream.”

  They woke as they did every morning, to the loud sound of the metallic rods of the Tormentors vying with the summoning bell. Karm and Honus went straight to the elevator. The Eye-of-the-God glanced at them, then at his book, and indicated to the Tormentors that they should let them in. When they entered they saw Oltas’ body in a corner, piled on top of other poor wretches who had also suffered the same fate. Karm felt his blood boil. He was on the point of opening his mouth to protest when Honus’ huge hand grasped his arm tightly. The pain stopped him from saying anything, and though he was not happy about this he knew he would be thankful later on. Addressing an Eye inappropriately meant death. Honus gave him a warning look, and Karm turned his own eyes downward. They knelt in a corner, and the Eye activated the levers of the pulley mechanism. The great metallic cage began to rise, amid shrill creaking. They went up for more than two hours, stopping at some of the other levels to pick up other lucky ones like themselves, but mostly corpses. By the time they reached the surface the elevator had become a great iron coffin.

  When at last they left the elevator they found themselves inside a wooden, windowless building. The daylight crept in through the cracks and hurt their eyes with its piercing brilliance. They were led to a corner, where they remained prostrate while their eyes tried to adjust to the blinding light.

  “How long will it take us to get used to the light? It’s bloody killing me” Honus grumbled.

  “I thought it was what you wanted most,” Karm replied, half-joking.

  “By all the seas they stole from us! Not this, I want to go out without ending up blind!”

  “Quiet, slaves, or you’ll go back down!” came the shrill voice of an Eye, followed by savage lashes from several Tormentors.

  They all kept quiet and lay down on the floor. It took them the whole morning to get their eyes used to the light. They did so gradually, until they were able to look through the cracks and see the world outside where the sun shone strongly.

  At last the big gate of the hut opened and the light flooded in. With arms and hands protecting their eyes from the brightness, they emerged into the open. At the touch of the warm sun on his moist, blackened skin Karm felt reborn. I’d give anything to be able to enjoy this in freedom.

  “This sun’s burning my eyes!” Honus cried beside him. “But by Oxatsi, it’s doing my soul good!”

  They were led to an enclosed area and locked in. Beside them the pack-horses were kept in big wooden pens, and further down the ones that pulled the carts. From the stench around them and the hay under their feet, Karm guessed their enclosure was used for the same purpose. In front of them was an open area with several large wooden buildings, and nearly five hundred slaves who were occupied in supporting tasks. But further away, remote from the suffering of the Senoca, rose the high mountains with their covering of green, the rocky slopes rising to the skies, the blue sky which filled everything around with life. The coolness of the mountain air tousled his hair and blessed his lungs. He nearly choked and coughed, used as he was to the rancid, poisonous air inside the mine. Honus was smiling from ear to ear, filling his enormous chest with the rich air.

  “Look at that landscape, the air, the scents of coolness and life on the breeze from the woods. How long I’ve waited to be able to enjoy this again!”

  “Yes, it’s a delight. A wonder every man ought to be able to enjoy in freedom.”

  “And in bloody peace!” Honus exclaimed. His eyes were on the three Executors who were keeping watch on the enclosures.

  Karm too looked at them. It was so long since he had seen them that he hardly remembered them. For some unknown reason they never went down into the mine, but always stayed above ground. The underworld belonged to the Tormentors.

  So close to freedom, I can almost touch it with my fingertips, he said to himself. All he had to do was jump the fences ̶ which though high were not high enough to keep them in ̶ and run like crazy to the forest. Once there they could hide in the thick vegetation and disappear. Then he noticed the Executor by the gate in the fence. He was enormous, as big as Honus, and equally muscular under the swollen veins on his ochre skin. The idea of escaping died within him; he would never reach the edge of the trees, where he could make out several Executors posted. A spear in the back or stomach would be his end. He had seen it happen before.

  The day started to cloud over rapidly, and a storm appeared menacingly on the horizon. Honus’ face twisted, and he began to curse. Suddenly he fell silent and stood looking at the approach-route from the east.

  He pointed. “Look, more meat for the grinder,” he said.

  An endless line of slaves which trailed away around the foot of the mountain was coming up to the checkpoint at the mine entrance.

  “New Quota of miners…” Karm said, watching the procession.

  Karm counted more than five hundred men with an Eye-of-the-Gods at their head. Their hands were tied behind their backs and they were escorted by numerous Executo
rs.

  “The poor wretches have no idea of the fate that’s awaiting them.”

  Karm nodded. He felt deeply downhearted.

  Honus noticed this. “Don’t let this affect you. Enjoy your reward; we earned it the hard way. Soon we’ll be back in the abyss, picking at rock in the dark, breathing poisoned air and getting our daily punishment. Enjoy this air, this landscape, for they’ll soon disappear and you’ll regret not having done it while you could.”

  Karm nodded. He knew Honus was right, but he found it hard to savor the moment knowing the horror which awaited those men. While the two friends tried to enjoy their reward, they watched the process of selection and marking. The Eye in charge ordered the first slave to come near. The Enforcer’s helmet separated into two halves, which moved sideways. In it appeared the ominous blue and golden Eye which seemed capable of reading the soul of men. The hair on the back of Karm’s neck stood on end. A powerful light came out of the eye and swept over the slave, from top to toe. The Enforcer wrote something in his silver book and gestured at one of the Executors around him. Without a word, the Executor pierced the heart of the man with his spear, he died before he even realized what had happened. The Enforcer then dragged the corpse to a huge pit and threw it in. Filled with rage, Karm grasped one of the wooden posts of the fence. He would have given anything to have been able to pull it out of the ground and skewer that monster with it.

  Honus shook his head. “They soon start to disqualify the weak and ailing, the bastards. But then this is no ordinary mine, not like the coal or silver or gold mines. Here they only want the strongest, those who can survive the longest to get hold of their cursed Star Crystal. Many of them’ll never even get as far as being marked with the miners’ symbol.” He gestured at the symbol of a Mole engraved on his Ring.