The Tears of Sisme

by Peter Hutchinson

  “The new system, with the horses pulling the loads up the shaft. Is it better for you, for the carriers now?”

  The giant made no answer for a moment as he regarded Berin closely. Then with a jerk of his head he led the way out of the path of the sweating carriers into a dark niche floored with rubble. The youth followed, still nervous.

  “So, clerk, why do you want to know?”

  Berin explained. He had brought up the idea of the winding gear with Sinkul, because he realised what a terrible task it was for the slaves to carry loaded baskets up the ladder. He simply wanted confirmation that it was better for them now.

  “Yes, we heard that it was your doing, but we didn’t believe it.” The slave’s voice was still gentle, his words surprisingly educated. “It’s lucky that you are speaking to me, not to some of the others who wanted to get rid of you before. If they knew it was true, they would risk anything to kill you.”

  The youth was bewildered and not a little shocked at being the object of such hatred. “I don’t understand. What . . what’s wrong?”

  “I believe you mean well, clerk, but you know nothing of our life in the mine. Take a deep breath. Now, how does it smell? Full of ore dust and smoke, and we’re only fifty paces from the shaft. Deep in the tunnels, up where the fire-crew are breaking rock, it’s almost unbearable. Men don’t last long up there. It’s better for us carriers, we get away from it to the cleaner air near the shaft. We used to have the chance of going above ground and breathing something really pure and sweet for a few minutes. Did you think we were so slow going to empty our baskets onto the ore piles because we were exhausted by the ladders? No. We were spending as many precious moments as possible in the open air, before coming down into this hell-hole again.”

  Berin could find nothing to say. He felt crushed by the thought that Sinkul was the only person to have benefited from his idea; he and Tariska had gained nothing and the slaves were actually worse off.

  Observing his obvious dismay, even in the dim light of the tunnels, the carrier added, “Don’t speak of this. Let Sinkul take the credit, and the blame. Already he’s making us break and carry more rock than ever before. He is a more fitting target for our hatred. Don’t despair, clerk. Maybe your next idea will help us. But talk to me first, if I’m still alive. Now I must rejoin my team. I’m too big to be over-looked.”

  Clapping him on the arm, the Dendrian strode off, leaving the youth a whirl of different emotions. He was humbled by this man’s calm acceptance that he would soon die in the mine, and by his generous spirit towards someone who had, albeit unwittingly, probably contributed to shortening his life still further. As for himself, how could he have been such a fool? There had been a large element of pride in putting forward his scheme, which had blinded him to the fact that he knew very little about the mine and had had no conception of the overall effects on those who worked it.

  At a deeper level he was also disturbed by this first direct contact with one of the slaves. Berin was more committed to the mission to find the Talisman than he would care to admit, and it had given him a purpose which had sustained him through the dangers of their journey and which was aiding him even here at the mine. Now he was confronted with someone whose life was so desperate that it precluded any such grand concepts.

  What use was the Talisman to people whose existence every day was a fight against starvation, exhaustion, and poisonous fumes, a combination which would inevitably kill them in a matter of months? He didn’t know the answer, but he could no longer think of the Talisman as something holy and completely separate. It had to have some relevance for everyone, to encompass lives lived on the thin edge of despair.

  Jolted by the encounter, Berin decided that, although escape was his first priority, he would learn more about the mine while he was still there. To this end he took every opportunity of going underground, deliberately going down the wrong tunnels when he had messages to deliver, so that before long he had penetrated most of the workings. Where the rock was fissured and easier to split, picks and shovels were being used to hack out the ore. Where it was hard, fires were set to heat it up, and then cold water thrown on the face to crack it off. The smoke, dust, steam and noise were indescribable.

  Though far from emotional by nature, the youth emerged from his explorations appalled and thoughtful. Here the crime was that the slaves were driven to work in these bestial conditions. But perhaps elsewhere people did this work from choice. He didn’t know. His view of the world had just expanded a little, but he realised that he knew almost nothing about other people’s lives.

  Overriding his growing concern for the lot of the slaves were his fears about Tariska. Her leg had healed completely. She did what she was told – ate, washed herself, got up, went to bed. But they were the actions of an automaton. Berin wondered if she would starve to death if he did not tell her to eat. Not a single spark of recognition or interest had showed in her eyes since they had been marched away from the border post. It was as if Tariska herself had gone, leaving this empty husk behind. Would she ever return? And how long would it be? A month? A year? Ten years?

  Of all his difficulties and fears, Tariska’s vacancy was the hardest thing for Berin to bear. At a stroke it deprived him of his only companion in a frightening situation and imposed a terrible responsibility which he felt increasingly unable to fulfill.

  He talked to her continually when they were alone. He thought that the sound of someone’s voice might comfort her and there was always the hope that something might accidentally evoke a response. And, he had to admit, it comforted him.

  The thought of escape raised a constant dilemma. It would be very difficult to carry out any but the simplest of plans with Tariska as she was now. Whatever had caused her deadness of mind seemed to have deprived her of energy as well, and she moved with the slackness of a rag doll. It would be sensible to wait until she had recovered, even a little. But then maybe her only hope of recovery lay in getting away from the mine. A doctor, better food, even Idressin, Berin didn’t know what it would take to cure her, but she was not likely to obtain it here.

  *

  They had been at the mine nearly a month when Tariska spoke. For a day and a night she had been growing increasingly restless; shaking her head from side to side, wringing her hands and sometimes moaning in her sleep. There appeared to be some kind of crisis approaching for her, and Berin felt acutely anxious when it was time for him to start work the next morning.

  After an hour doing some reckoning of the previous days tallies in Sinkul’s house, he was about to go to check on her, when to his amazement she appeared in the doorway. She never made a move by herself, and the unexpected sight sent a great surge of hope through him, which faded when he saw her face. Tears flowed unchecked down her cheeks and she was struggling desperately to speak.

  “The mine,” she gasped out, even before he reached her.

  “Tariska, you’ve spoken! You’ve spoken. I don’t believe it.”

  She shook her head violently at his joy and grasped his arm tightly. “No. No. The mine. Danger.” She stopped, fought for control, and said, “The mine is … The mine is ….”

  “The mine is dangerous?” Berin suggested still delighted, but puzzled by her obvious distress.

  More head-shaking. “No. No. Danger in mine.”

  “Dangerous for me?”

  “All. For all.”

  “Tariska, the mine’s always dangerous for the people who work in it. People get hurt all the time. It’s just ….”

  “Today. Soon.” Then clearly, “The ground ......” She beat her hands together violently, then leaned back spent against the wall, watching him.

  Berin frowned in concentration. Whatever she was trying to convey, it was troubling her profoundly. He’d better make an effort to investigate.

  “Sinkul’s away for a few hours, so I’ll invent a reason for going underground now myself and I’ll talk to the engineers. They’ll know if anything’s wrong.”

/>   He stopped, as she slid down into a sitting position,dropped her head and sobbed painfully. She seemed to have reached the end of her strength, and he could hardly hear her as she mumbled, “No. No. No.”

  “Tariska.” Crouching down, he took hold of her shoulders gently and repeated her name, until she raised her tear-stained face. “What should I do? There is danger in the mine, yes?” She nodded. “You don’t want me to go and look?” A definite shake. “Get the mine-workers out?” At her emphatic nod and slight tremulous smile he realised that he had hit the target and at last understood her purpose.

  Then with a sudden leap he grasped what she had been trying to say all along. An earthquake. How could she know there was an earthquake coming? Perhaps her mind had finally slipped right over the edge. One look into the intense grey eyes in that tear-streaked face and his doubts vanished. He stood up.

  His heart sank at the prospect of doing what she asked. If he got the men out somehow – he had no idea how to do it – and nothing happened, Sinkul would simply kill him one way or another and possibly her as well. What irony! Tariska cured at last and at the same moment Berin about to throw away their slender chance of escape.

  The alternative, of course, was to do nothing. A moment’s reflection and he dismissed the idea. If there was a chance of her being right, both of them would pay dearly for making such a choice for the rest of their lives.

  He looked her straight in the face, rejoicing in spite of everything at the life that had returned to her eyes. “Stay here.” She nodded. “Whatever I do, stay here.”

  He ran to the engineers’ hut first. There were none inside, just one overseer snoring loudly in bed with his arm over one of the women slaves. Berin turned and made for the shaft. The engineer in charge of the new winding system waved amicably to him, as he ran up. In an equally amiable manner he refused to have anything to do with emptying the mine and advised the youth to forget it himself. None of his colleagues had reported anything unusual, and seeing that they were all underground themselves, they were obviously confident in their own judgement.

  Not stopping to argue, Berin climbed down the shaft. Once he got into a logical discussion about the whole thing, he would probably be unable to believe it himself. The first overseer was a surly fellow, who pretended not to understand Berin’s Belugins and turned his back on him. By luck his next encounter was with the same shrewd engineer who spoke Shattun and who had warned him to watch his back. This time the youth was at least listened to.

  When he had finished, the man gave him a doubtful look. “When’s this supposed to happen then?”

  “Sometime soon, today. I told you.”

  “I know. But you’ve got to understand. We could pull everyone out for a mine inspection, pretend we’d found something that worried us. But a whole day: Sinkul’d have our guts for garters if he missed a day’s production for nothing. You’d definitely get the chop and I’d be out on my ear.”

  “Well, maybe you’ll get killed if you stay down here.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m thinking of that. Otherwise I wouldn’t be listening. Tell me, this girl of yours, has she done this sort of thing before?”

  “She’s never been near a mine as far as I know.”

  “No. I mean foretelling, seeing things before they happen, that kind of thing.”

  Berin was about to say no, when he remembered the incident in the sandstorm. It wasn’t quite the same, but maybe she did have some kind of special vision after all. The thought cheered him, and he replied confidently, “Yes, she has. Not quite like this. But she saved the lives of some travellers lost in the desert last year. I was there myself.”

  The engineer was half convinced, but the awful risk was still making him hesitate, when a commotion back down the tunnel caught their attention. The harsh voice of the overseer who had refused to listen to Berin was raised to a shout.

  “Go on. Get back up the ladder. Yer can’t wander round ‘ere just as yer please. Go on. Get up. If yer don’t understand me, mebbe you’ll understand this.” The words were followed by the unmistakable crack of a whip.

  Berin ran down the dim tunnel, his fear and fury mounting at every step. The figure of Tariska slumped at the foot of the ladder confirmed his suspicions and without stopping he ran straight in on the guard who was raising the whip for another blow. Eighteen now and nearly as tall as his brother Hamdrim, Berin’s wiry strength was doubled by his towering rage. He snatched the whip from the upraised hand before the man even knew he was there and brought the heavy handle down in a stunning blow. Even as the overseer collapsed, the youth sprang to the girl’s side.

  “I told you to stay,” he said pointlessly as he knelt down and cradled her in his arms. His anger flared anew as he saw the red weal across her legs, and he turned to locate her assailant. Instead he found himself looking into two intent pairs of eyes, belonging to the engineer and the huge Dendrian slave.

  “Is she conscious?” the engineer asked.

  “Yes.” This in a whisper from Tariska herself. Berin felt her body go suddenly taut and she struggled to her feet. “It’s near now.” Her voice grew stronger. “It will be soon, very soon.” She turned from one to the other. “You must come out now.”

  “You say ‘very soon’. How soon?” the engineer queried. “Five minutes? One hour? Three hours?”

  “I don’t know. I feel …. I feel it very near.” She pointed down at the floor of the tunnel. “There. It is ready to move.” She looked round their doubtful faces with mounting despair. “You don’t believe me.” She was whispering again. “Then you will be buried here. And if you are staying here, Berin, I will stay too. Let us die together.”

  There was a long silence, during which Berin realised with a shock that a dozen carriers were now grouped behind their giant compatriot. They probably didn’t understand Shattun, but they sensed that something extraordinary was happening and they were waiting to be told. There was a soundless bump under their feet as if someone had dropped a heavy load right beside them. Almost lazily a fine trickle of dust drifted from the wall of the shaft and settled silently in a little heap at the engineer’s feet. He stared at it in fascination for a moment, then turned abruptly to the large slave.

  “Get everyone out. Tell them I said so. You take tunnels one and two. I’ll see to the rest. Hurry.” He swung back to Berin. “Get her up the ladder. She’s going to be in everyone’s way in a minute.” Then he was gone.

  It was a long hard struggle for Tariska. Whenever her strength failed, Berin braced his arms around her and held her body against the ladder until she could continue. By the time they reached the top, men were already pouring out of the mine by the other ladder and a queue was forming below them. Soon most of the slaves were out and the overseers were trying to marshall them into some kind of order, while they themselves found out what was happening and decided what to do.

  Into the midst of this teeming chaos rode a solitary horseman, whose presence brought everything to a standstill. Sinkul had returned.

  A few quick questions brought him face to face with the engineer who had given the word to evacuate.

  “Well, man, what is it? What’s the trouble?”

  “We’ve got a cave-in or a ‘quake coming.”

  Sinkul stared at him incredulously. “Since when did you start predicting earthquakes? I hired you as an engineer, not a bloody prophet.”

  “We got the warning alright, loud and clear.” The engineer stood his ground and eyed the owner levelly. “And while we were talking about it, we felt a small shock. It won’t be long now.”

  “What the hell d’you mean, ‘got the warning’?”

  Reluctantly the man nodded at Berin and Tariska who stood on the fringe of the little group.

  “It’s the girl that has the Sight. The clerk came down and told us not half an hour since.”

  “You mean,” Sinkul’s anger was still directed at the engineer, “that on the word of some half-witted girl you’ve shut down the whole
mine? D’you realise what that will cost me? I’ve just been out since early morning promising to deliver more ore, and while I’m away, you coolly stop production. I’ll see your blood for this, you stupid oaf. Meanwhile get back down there. You personally, I’ll give you fifteen minutes to check out the tunnels, then everyone’s going back down.”

  “You want to check the tunnels, you do it.” The engineer deliberately raised his voice, but remained cool in contrast to Sinkul’s obvious fury. “I signed on here for engineering, not for suicide missions. You want to be underground during a ‘quake, be my guest.”

  The owner glared at him impotently. “You’re finished here. Get your things and go. I’ll see you never work in mining again.”

  He looked round balefully, and every pair of eyes fell as his glance swept around. Except one. The idiot girl who had been the cause of all the trouble was looking at him unafraid. Sinkul liked people to be frightened of him. He believed that it gave him control over them and the accompanying feeling of power was pleasant in its own right.

  “You, birabi. Come here and bring your slut with you.”

  He waited until Berin was standing in front of him. Everyone was out of the mine now, but any attempt at order had been abandoned. Slaves and supervisors alike crowded about the little group round Sinkul, those who understood Belugins translating for the rest. Word of the possible earthquake and the engineer’s defiance had already reached most ears.

  “So you believe the tunnels are dangerous, do you? Nothing’s happened as far as anyone can tell me, but there might possibly be a teeny weeny cave-in somewhere.” The owner’s voice dripped with sarcasm, then rose to a shout, “Well, get down there and find it. And don’t give me any of that stuff about suicide missions. This is all a bloody farce. But I’m going to be really fair to all the underground crews.”

  Sinkul made sure they could all hear this – he didn’t want any more supervisors rebelling. “I’ll give you half an hour to walk all the tunnels. When you come out, everyone goes back in. And don’t waste your time trying to be tricky. If you’re not out in half an hour, I’ll have your trollop thrown down the shaft to join you. If she’s a witch, we’ll see if she can fly.”