Times had been incessantly terrible in the lost decades since the seizure of Odana, but lately, the demand for more trillium was higher than anyone, including the Myrsa guards, could have ever imagined. It wasn't entirely a surprise, though. The Mysra used trillium increasingly not only for battles and fights, but for their daily duties, training, and even before disciplining the slaves. The guards, feeling pressure to push the mining WynSprigns harder and harder for more work, were themselves under great stress and turned to trillium to help feel energized. They turned to the addictive mineral always.
WynSprigns caught disobeying the rules were placed in large metal cages inside the mines, or for larger penalty, they were whipped near the center post of the hut village. The caged WynSprigns, mostly youths, were prevented from going home to their huts and therefore from eating their final meal of the day. They would be unlocked early in the morning only to return right to work.
The sun was starting to peek over the horizon on another routine morning for the slaves. The sky, a brilliant display of fuchsia, gave way to the line of WynSprigns slowly ascending the mountain into the Purple Hall mine-the largest of mines. The night before, the cage had housed one young WynSprign known to cause trouble. She was lively and daring, with an escape plan always on her mind. Escape―not for herself only, but for all of them.
Anah was young like the majority here that hadn't yet died from illness, injury, toil, or old age – not that the life expectancy was lengthy. They and even most of their parents had not been alive to experience the seizure of Odana. To Anah, life in the Odana before that battle was an old, unimaginable, dead dream. It was a nice thought though, a lie told to make them feel soft and warm with the far-off hope that there was another sort of existence possible—but it was only a story and no more than that. She didn’t know truth of the life beyond these confines, but determined it had to be better out there—outside the Odana Kingdom.
Due to her constant conflicts with the Mysra guards, Anah had missed the final meal of the day - again. She was no stranger to this form of punishment and she was almost old enough to be taken to be whipped, like Treva. That was her future. She accepted it with a cunning smile that enraged Nizen, the head slave guard. She knew he couldn't wait . . . perhaps for her birthday. She could feel the way he stared at her back, imagining the slashes he’d decorate it with. Anah shuddered a little at the memory of his eyes roaming over her.
The mine door opened with a loud clank and pink sunlight pierced the dark and transformed it into dazzling brilliance within. Countless purple trillium crystals became illuminated by the sun. If it weren't associated with so much pain and misery, this place might have been astonishingly beautiful. The twinkling of innumerable crystals, was indescribably beautiful.
The light emanating from the mine entrance began to pulse off and on as slaves started entering the cave and cast shadows against the pink light. The walls of the cave returned the soft glow of the entering slaves' rusty lanterns that squeaked as they swayed with the bearers' jumbled strides. The first to enter the cave was always a hefty Mysra guard, a large gray silhouette. He strode toward her. He looked down sourly, fumbling keys on a large ring with his thick gray fingers. Anah had stared often at those keys―it seemed there was an ever-increasing number of them added to the large ring over the years. Her stomach turned at that thought; the other mines that held dreamers such as she.
"All right Anah, out!" The Mysra guard unlocked the cage with a clank and the familiar high-pitched creak raised the hair on her arms as he swung open the metal door.
A whiff of rust.
Anah straightened as she sat herself up from the hay bedding. Aside from the bedding, there was a jug of water in the cage, but no pot to pee in. Her wild flaming hair was matted to one side of her head but billowed out on the opposite side. She stretched, stood up slowly, and then moaned with ache. Her body was always sore, but she didn't pay much attention to that anymore, and at this moment she was grateful to be freed from the cage. She always played the part of the wild animal amongst them.
Without needed command, Anah dutifully marched in the direction of her usual station in the mine. She wandered down between the deep purple rocky walls, leaning carefully in known tight spots as she stepped down the narrow, crudely constructed stairs. Her deft hands against the walls and smoothed stalagmites knew where to cling, from years of habit. She minded her steps carefully and passed other hard-working WynSprigns along the way. Her area was well lit with dozens of lanterns that were spread out for all the miners. She glanced at her hands and arms and wondered if there'd ever be a day when the purple stain would fade away . . . A silly thought perhaps.
Once back at her area of work, near Treva, Anah found her personal treasure waiting for her, as it did every day. It was locked away with the other tools every night and set out by the guard for her work each morning. She picked up what almost seemed like the missing part of her arm, the pick-axe. She had been welding this particular axe since she was able to carry it, and it had been her mother's. Usually little WynSprign children were given duties to pick off loosened pieces of trillium, sweep up trillium rocks and debris, or carry small buckets of trillium to designated areas of the mine for processing. To be handed a tool like a pick-axe, hammer, or chisel was a rite of passage. In Anah's mind―and in her hand―this was a deadly weapon. She smiled wickedly and slightly stuck her tongue out between her teeth at sight of this weapon.
Anah's parents had died when a mine they were working in collapsed. She was still very small when this happened, and their bodies had been laid to rest in the small graveyard that the Mysra created for such disasters. They were placed amongst all the other deceased WynSprign, something her parents wouldn't have thought could have ever happened to WynSprigns of their patrician heritage. Their graveyard was located closer to the castle grounds and included others of nobility and royal bloodlines. But, no one, noble nor commoner, had been buried there since before the siege. It was lucky that the Mysra allowed a graveyard at all, for they didn’t even bury their dead.
At night, she could still feel the axe vibrating through her hand bones, arm, and elbow as she thought of what she'd lost and what she wanted to gain. Lying on her bed, she imagined it was her mother shaking her playfully. It was a way to make comfort where there wasn't any.
All areas of the mine had a designated number of WynSprigns assigned and there was always a Mysra guard at watch with his trillium and scowl at the ready.
"Anah!" Treva whispered, her hideous bonnet quivering at her movements, "stop staring at the axe like that, and get to work!"
Anah, coming back to reality, blinked and smirked at Treva. She reluctantly held up her axe, then started chiseling away at the purple rock. Next to her, Treva watched the patrolling Mysra guard wander away toward another mining group at the other end of their hall.
“You’re lucky he didn't notice you staring again,” Treva whispered.
As the guard continued away, Treva quickly handed Anah the brown roll that she had stolen from last night's dinner. Anah looked surprised and without a word squirreled this away in her pocket. She was mindful to continue the patterned sounds of her chiseling and not draw attention to her intermittent nibbles.
At every available moment throughout the day, Anah would pull a small piece of bread off and savor it in her mouth, letting it sit on her tongue to grow moist, tasting the wheat. She tried to imagine what wheat looked like based on Treva’s description. The morsels and reported imagery were just enough to keep dizziness away. She was ever grateful to Treva and slid a glance to her―the older woman’s face was very beautiful, and why she constantly wore that horrendous bonnet was baffling. Okay, so she says she has a scalp condition, but does she always have to wear that ugly thing? Anah sighed and resumed her chiseling. So vain.
Anah understood that without Treva, she'd be in a much worse state. As much as possible, they looked out for each other. Treva looked after her like an older sister, or perhaps a kind of
mother and Anah would often pick up her own pace chisling to cover for Treva’s languidness.
Treva had told her once that she’d been a mother, but she lost her son during the seizure. Anah never asked about this, as she didn't want to pry, or to bring up sad recollections. After all, their lives were bleak enough without adding shared, devastating memories. Together they chiseled away with their pick-axes and continued their patterned song.
Dreams of escape would come later.
They always did.
Chapter Nineteen
Rules
Early the next day, before most had had breakfast, a piercing reverberation sounded, breaking dawn’s silence. It was Trayvor. He strolled about ringing a large bell that belonged to the tavern. They used it there on occasion for various drinking contests. He, however, found a different purpose for it.
He belted out from the top of his lungs through the clanging, "Notice! Notice! New rules to protect the WynSprign folk! Go to the tavern to view the new rules posted! —Notice! Notice! New rules posted at the tavern!"
The sound, twanged in his ear and Stoutwyn’s eyes flew open. “What in the name of Father Odan?” he grumbled. He tossed off his blankets and darted from bed. He pulled his nightcap off his head and marched outside quickly to address this disturbance. His sleepy, bloodshot eyes widened at the sight. "Trayvor—Trayvor Odmire! What is the meaning of this?!"
Trayvor smiled smugly at the approaching Stoutwyn, and he raised his white eyebrows and closed his eyes lightly with the assurance of authority. His voice was slow as he explained: "I decided that since Marin and Lanico are both gone from the Great Mist, our chances of being found by enemies have increased substantially. I merely decided to call for additional precautions for all to adhere to."
He was very matter-of-fact about this. Stoutwyn didn't reply right away, still trying to think it over. Trayvor turned from Stoutwyn to continue ringing his bell, but no, Stoutwyn hastily grabbed his arm holding him back.
"Wait! Why didn't you alert me about this decision, Trayvor?" Stoutwyn allowed the fury to sound in his voice. "We're supposed to discuss these things together."
"I fail to see the point in alerting you," Trayvor said, jerking his arm from Stoutwyn's pudgy grip. He studied the other elder accusingly. "You are not nearly as important as Lanico and I, and since Lanico has left, I will be taking the reigns here. Your assistance at this capacity, is not needed, nor wanted.”
Stoutwyn bristled.
Trayvor sneered, “You seem to think yourself above the rules, Stoutwyn."
"Wh—what rules?!" Stoutwyn railed. His body still stiff with anger, he felt his face grow red with vehemence until he resembled the red-crested owl of that region, with his gray beard and puffed chest.
Trayvor managed a frown before blasting, "Our rules! You may see the rules posted at the tavern, like everyone else. And now . . ." Trayvor straightened his sleeve with a tug, before he tore his gaze away from Stoutwyn. He calmly turned and resumed ringing his bell and striding slowly through the village. "Notice! Notice! New rules posted at the tavern!"
Stoutwyn was confused but well sobered from his sleep. He stood still for a moment absorbing this turn of events. He suddenly realized his dot-covered pajamas were on display for all to see, and as the shouts and ringing from Trayvor faded into the distance, Stoutwyn quickly went back into his house to dress.
At the tavern in the next hour, a crowd gathered to view a large scroll with a list of rules. Before Stoutwyn went through the tavern gate, he studied the reactions from the sleepy mass and was instantaneously worried at their concerned reactions. He shoved lightly and apologetically as he tried to make his way through to read the rules himself. As he drew near, he removed his reading spectacles from his chest pocket and quickly polished them on his shirt before placing them on the bridge of his nose.
Until recently, the rules had been very simple: "No stealing," "No leaving the Great Mist realm," and "No fighting." Those were the rules they all lived by. Even before he read the rules, Stoutwyn was most unsettled that Trayvor had posted them without consulting him, and now cast him aside as detritus.
“NOTICE
New Rules
No elder meetings in the forest clearing.
To avoid exposure to any undesirables seeking to find us
No drinking ale and leaving the tavern alone—for fear of inebriation and leaving the boundary
No staying out after the new curfew
VIOLATORS: Subject to Immediate Banishment”
Stoutwyn stood aghast, blinking, his breath foggy in the cool air. He felt hot in fury but felt awash in a cold sweat as well. The WynSprigns clamored around him for answers. "Curfew? I-I had no idea," he said quietly to their questioning faces. "I didn't make these rules."
He turned quickly, veering through the crowd, his heart beating rapidly. He needed to get air. He needed to think about this. After a moment of regaining himself, he made haste to Fenner's home.
"Surely Fen didn't know about this either. He would have told me last night," Stoutwyn mumbled worriedly.
Fenner lived alone in a tree home—much like Stoutwyn's. His children were all grown now, having homes of their own. His wife died long ago. Stoutwyn rapped at his door. There was no answer. He waited and waited. After moments of silence, a climbing fear crept around his heart as iced ivy. Why isn't he answering? He wondered. He pressed his ear to the door, listening for movement inside. Nothing. With reluctance, he left―something was amiss. He felt it stirring in his gut.
Chapter Twenty
Escape
After the last meal of the day, Treva hurried to visit Anah's hut. The Mysra guards didn't allow much time for leisurely chats—they monitored all the WynSprign movements and enforced curfew to keep them in check.
Though time was limited, Treva was determined to visit Anah, she was concerned for the girl. This day, it had seemed, Anah's energy had faded. It was highly unusual, because Anah was always full of ideas and life. She was a spark of light in the cheerlessness. Treva enjoyed listening to her plans of escape and watching the wonder and excitement that gleamed from her hopeful green eyes. To see Anah downcast made her feel dejected herself.
Treva entered the weathered hut and Anah looked up quickly and jerked with surprise from where she was crouched on the floor rolling up her sleeping mat. Her wild red hair spilling over her small body.
"Anah, what are you doing?" Treva asked, trying to hide the hint of amusement that had started to curl the corner of her mouth. I am not the only one with secrets beneath the floor of my hut. Anah shushed Treva in annoyance and gestured to the curtain.
Treva quickly turned and closed the curtain door, shutting out the world behind them.
Anah then continued to secure the rolled-up sleeping mat. Whispering, she replied, "I'm going to leave―I—I’ve decided that I'm not a slave anymore. I have tried to think of ways, over and over again, to get all the WynSprigns free from this place, free from the Mysra. But”—the movements of her hands were rough and fast, rolling the mat— “I fail every time." She sighed hard. "No one believes me that the area behind our huts here”—she jerked her head toward the back of the hut— “have harmless ancient landmines that hadn’t been replaced—I'm certain they wouldn't explode. Or that, of the whole area, this area is actually the best way out. I've memorized every turn in the trench, every mine, every poisoned barb bomb—Treva, we can do it."
She added, "The watchtower, they have a schedule, and I know it. I told you, I’ve watched them for years."
Treva remained silent but leaned lower toward Anah, her bonnet hiding her face.
"I know the guards' schedules, their rotations—I know it all,” Anah continued. “I know exactly when we can slip away.” Anah looked deep into Treva’s lowered eyes before continuing.
“And, to make matters worse, no one seems to care. I care more about leaving here than anyone else. It's like they all just gave up.” She finished tying the mat. “I was born after the b
attle, and yet even I believe that there is another life beyond these mountains. Maybe not like the stories you talk about, but there's more to th—this"—she held her arms out.
Treva knelt next to Anah and spoke quietly: "I think this is a brave thing, to decide to leave here . . . but you have never left this camp. How will you survive? If you're caught—"
"If I'm caught, then maybe they'll kill me―er, put me out of my misery," Anah grumbled interrupting.
Treva's eyes widened at the words that stabbed and twisted like a knife. The very thought of Anah, dead—it was unimaginable.
Seeing the distraught in her face, Anah changed her tone with a sigh: "Treva, I won’t get caught. I was born here. I know the guards' schedules, the mining hours, the whole operation of this place. I know when I can leave." She paused. "And . . . I will leave, tonight."
Tonight? Treva measured herself. She wasn't sure what to think about this. Am I, myself, one of these content slaves that Anah is complaining about? Treva had a past that was fiery and defiant, too. Her own boldness and determination had made her the “Knight” when it was supposed to have been impossible. Did I somehow give into this idea that I am nothing more than a slave? Have the Mysra broken me? She was fearful of her own answer, fearful of her idea of . . . atonement.
She quickly thought back to her first memory after the seizure of Odana. She was lying on a floor mat inside a small hut, in excruciating pain. Her nursemaid Greta dabbed at her injured side by the light of a small candle. She remembered the kind old face; they had shared so much. Greta had insisted that she wear the bonnet constantly, to conceal her identity. If they knew she was the emerald-haired Knight - a famed Odana Military official, no good would come of it. Thankfully, no one was aware of the name, Treva.
The Legacy of Lanico: Reclaiming Odana Page 11
