Revolt of Blood and Stone

by A. J. Norfield

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Written by A.J. Norfield

  Chapter 01 - Underground

  Chapter 02 - Planning

  Chapter 03 - Surprise

  Chapter 04 - Failure

  Chapter 05 - Newborn

  Chapter 06 - Revolt

  Chapter 07 - Daylight

  Chapter 08 - Terror

  Chapter 09 - Run

  Chapter 10 - Sanctuary

  Note from the author

  About the Author

  Revolt

  of

  Blood and Stone

  A Stone War Chronicles Novella

  A.J. Norfield

  Copyright © 2018 A.J. Norfield

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover art by Jenny Burgy

  Edited by Laura M. Hughes

  ISBN: 978-90-824945-7-0 (kindle)

  ISBN: 978-90-824945-6-3 (epub)

  ISBN: 978-90-824945-8-7 (sc)

  BY A.J. NORFIELD

  Stone War Chronicles

  Windcatcher

  Wavebreaker Part 1 – Trickle

  Other

  Revolt of Blood and Stone

  (A Stone War Chronicles Novella, Sebastian #1)

  Chapter 1

  Underground

  “Watch out!”

  The ground shook as the tunnel ceiling came crashing down. Marek’s shout disappeared into a carnage of thunder and dust.

  Sebastian dared not move. There had been no warning. No cracking of rock. No sound from the little watch-bird. His senses tried to determine if he was still alive. He was not quite sure. Everything was pitch black. His ears rang from the roar of moving earth. He stretched his hand, trying to reach the wall, trying to get a sense of what was up or down as he waited for his ears to recover.

  Somewhere down the tunnel a light sprang into existence. Muffled voices reached his ears, approaching him through the dust. He startled as a hand grabbed his shoulder, the large metal ring around his neck shifting painfully.

  “Seb? Are you okay?”

  Sebastian looked at the face looming from the dust. Its features were strangely malformed from the single flame, which appeared to be an oil lamp. The man’s lips moved, but it was as if his words came drifting from the other side of the tunnel.

  “Sebastian? Can you hear me?”

  Someone snapped their fingers at him. The words seeped into Sebastian’s head slowly. The world spun. Disoriented, he pushed his hand through his hair—it was wet with blood. Confused, he looked at the two shapes now coming into focus.

  “He’s bleeding, Jarod,” said the smaller shape.

  The shape morphed into a boy a few years younger than Sebastian. His name drifted into his head: Marek. They were friends. And his friend looked worried.

  “Here, let’s set him down,” suggested the older man.

  The ringing in Sebastian’s ears subsided enough for him to hear the scuffle of bare feet approaching. New lights streamed into the tunnel; lamps held by people with smudged, pale skin and ragged clothes. He heard their gasps as they approached the cave-in.

  Two pairs of hands carefully lowered him to the ground, where he put his back against the wall to rest. The dust finally started to settle, making it a bit easier to breathe again. Someone pressed a wet cloth into his hands and guided his arm toward his head to put pressure on the wound. He still felt no pain; just a numb, throbbing feeling behind his eyes and a trickle of blood that ran down his neck.

  “Stay here with Sebastian. Make sure he stays put,” said Jarod to Marek.

  “But I can help,” countered Marek.

  “You are helping,” said Jarod as he ran his hand through the boy’s hair.

  Sebastian was not sure, but someone once told him Jarod had a son around Marek’s age in his other life, before the mines. He had never brought up the courage to ask Jarod, but the man certainly had kept an eye out for the boy—as he did for Sebastian, even if he treated him more strictly.

  “Keep him out of everyone’s way. We need to dig people out before the overseer comes,” Jarod added, grabbing the pickaxe Sebastian had dropped.

  As Jarod turned and called a few others to him, Marek gently tended to the wound beneath the wet cloth.

  With his ears returning to normal—and his dizziness subsiding to mild nausea—Sebastian became aware of wailing and sobbing. He looked up and saw disorder all around him. People stumbled back and forth. After a day’s work, their stringy, tired bodies were unable to summon the energy to run. Slowly, they checked those who lay wounded or comforted those in shock.

  Sebastian stared down the tunnel. Twenty feet from him it came to a sudden stop, a pile of rock blocking the way where the shaft had collapsed. A body lay half-buried under it. Beside it sat a woman on her knees, sobbing. Sebastian looked at her with juvenile interest; there were not many women in the mines. He was sure there used to be more when he was younger, but now they were the exception rather than the norm.

  Meanwhile, Jarod’s group had begun digging as fast as they could, which—given the general state of most—was not very fast. Sebastian saw the miners constantly watching the ceiling for new falling stones. Pickaxes, shovels and hands; all were used to clear the debris.

  Sebastian looked the other way as more workers arrived to help. Some of them looked so skinny he was surprised they could keep themselves on their feet, let alone carry rocks the size of heads. He knew he did not look any better himself. It was easy to write off his fellow diggers just by looking at them, but he knew that would be a mistake; those who could keep up with the demanding work might not have much on their bones, but what they had was pure muscle. Their lives depended on manual labor.

  Everywhere he looked, the entire tunnel lay littered with pieces of rock, large and small. Cracks and holes showed in the ceiling from where they had fallen. Sebastian swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat. Had he been digging only a bit further down the tunnel, it could have been him lying under that pile of rubble.

  A shock ran through the diggers when the voice of a guard bellowed through the underground corridor. Sebastian saw the muscled man in his black leather armor standing further down the tunnel, where it bent out of sight. Those near the man scurried out of the way of his whip and the short, curved sword on his belt. He called out to another guard; one who was still out of sight. As Sebastian heard one set of heavy footsteps move away from them, two other guards joined the first.

  Marek saw it too. The young boy’s eyes switched nervously between the guards, his friend and those who were digging. At least for now the guards were not interfering.

  “The overseer is coming,” said Marek, his voice trembling nervously. The boy shivered in fear.

  “It’s okay. They’re not taking any of us kids over ten anymore, remember?” said Sebastian.

  Marek nodded, grateful for the reminder. The boy looked over his shoulder at the pile of rocks and the diggers who were trying to clear it.

  “Go on. Go and help them. I’m fine,” Sebastian said, resolving the boy’s indecisiveness.

  Marek gave another quick nod and darted off toward the collapse. Here, in these d
ark tunnels, the diggers could only rely on each other to survive. The boy knew this all too well; Sebastian, too. For years, these people had hidden Marek and Sebastian from the overseer’s search for new victims to be dragged up the bloodied stairs in the main hall. Sometimes, they had spent days in the dark of a far branched-off tunnel, too scared to get their daily meal until someone came to tell them it was safe.

  Sebastian knew Marek did his best to repay them. Making them laugh when the guards were not looking. Fetching water unnoticed, as he was still small enough to quickly slip around most corners unseen, or simply ignored.

  Sebastian tried to do his best too, but he mainly kept his head down. Sure, he tried to help others finish their daily work if he met his own quota, but the guards did not always appreciate that and he preferred to keep them at bay. Afterward, he was always plagued with guilt, especially seeing the much younger Marek putting in more effort than him to repay those within the mines.

  And now some of them were trapped. It was not the first time, either. They all knew what would follow. They had to see if anyone was still alive on the other side, and quickly.

  One by one, the rocks were cleared from the pile. Those too big to move were hacked apart by the few tools they had. Jarod took a step back to judge the stability of it all and gave orders to those who were digging.

  Sebastian felt the numbness in his head replaced by a stabbing pain with every blow a pickaxe or shovel landed on the rocks. He pressed his hands against his head to prevent it from splitting apart.

  A few people jumped back as part of the pile unexpectedly crumbled. The ceiling groaned, as if the mountain above them woke up from its slumber. When the rocks settled into place again and all seemed safe, Marek shot up the mass of stone.

  “Marek, don’t. It’s not safe,” Jarod called after him.

  But the boy did not listen. He clambered up to the top, where he turned around.

  “There’s a hole here,” he called back in a hushed voice, as though the sound would trigger another collapse. “I—I can hear voices. They’re alive. They’re still alive.”

  A whip cracked in mid-air. Marek jerked his head out of the hole at the sound of it, slipped and crashed down the slope. Jarod grabbed him just before he hit the ground.

  “Stop wasting time and get back to work,” bellowed the boorish overseer.

  The Doskovian language was littered with short, sharp-sounding words and guttural intonations, but the overseer always lifted it to a whole new level. When they were first brought to the mines, Sebastian and Marek could only guess at what the guards had constantly yelled at them. But now, after more than three years living in this underground torture pit, Sebastian had established a near-fluent understanding of the language. He could hold his own in a conversation with any of the diggers who only spoke the Doskovian tongue, but had been careful to not give away too much to the guards about his skill in understanding them.

  Everyone in the tunnel stood petrified. The overseer stared at them, his eyes burning in the reflection of the lights as if he was a demon come to devour them.

  “Now!”

  The overseer pushed one of the guards forward, indicating for him to clear the tunnel.

  Sebastian and a few others were dragged to their feet. Pain instantly flared in his head. The tunnel spun.

  “Please, overseer. I beg you. Let us dig them out,” pleaded Jarod. “There are still people alive down there.”

  Scathed and bruised from his tumble, Marek hid behind Jarod’s back.

  The overseer looked at the boy and then Jarod. “It’s Jarod, right? Yeah, I remember you,” he said. “There are some in these tunnels that look up to you. The leader.” Those last words were accompanied by a mocking shocked face and a sarcastic wave of his hands.

  “But you have no power at all,” he continued. “You’re just a worthless piece of shit, same as those idiots dumb enough to get themselves trapped.”

  The overseer gestured to one of his men.

  “Grab the boy,” he said.

  The large armored soldier strode through the tunnel and grabbed Marek by the ring around his neck. Instinctively, Jarod held out a hand.

  “Wai—”

  The word finished in blood as the guard’s fist smashed into Jarod’s jaw. Those present flinched back. Jarod hit the ground, but wasted no time getting back to his feet. Behind him, muffled screams for help carried through the pile of rocks.

  “Please, overseer. Can’t you hear them? They’re alive. The boy can help dig,” Jarod tried again keeping his head down.

  The soldier, firmly holding on to Marek, looked back at the overseer. The smallest nod was enough for Jarod to double over in pain as a punch burrowed its way into his stomach. Retching, Jarod fell to his knees, his arms around his stomach.

  “There’s plenty more where they came from,” said the overseer, pointing at the collapsed tunnel. “Now, get back to work. We have a schedule to keep.”

  Jarod coughed and heaved, trying to catch his breath. He looked up, his face already swollen.

  “Th—there’s still guards there, too. Your guards. Th—three, at least.”

  “Enough!” the overseer roared. His whip cracked in mid-air again.

  Almost everyone in the mine had been on the wrong end of that whip at one point or another. The sound made most of them jump in fear of being hit. The overseer directed two additional guards to move forward. Without a moment’s hesitation, they started to pummel Jarod.

  Sebastian watched helplessly as punches and kicks rained down on Jarod, who had curled up into a ball as soon as the first kick hit his ribs. A few faces in the tunnel looked away, no doubt trying to mentally block out the sounds of armored gloves hitting bare flesh.

  “Alright, alright. Don’t break him. He still needs to work,” said the overseer. “You—bring the boy.”

  Marek was dragged away. He strained to pull himself free, but the soldier was too strong.

  “Seb, help me. Don’t let them take me, Sebastian,” screeched the boy.

  But Sebastian was in no state to do anything. Even if he could have moved, it would only lead to his immediate death. Sebastian saw another man across from him take a step forward. It was hesitant; clearly, the same internal struggle was going on in the man’s mind. But before the man could make another move the overseer’s whip snaked across his face, the crack of the whip nearly taking his ear off. The man fell back against the wall, screaming.

  “Now, get your asses moving to shaft fifty-three. Or I swear, on the Stone King’s name, you won’t see tomorrow.”

  Meekly, the pale men and women started to clear the tunnel, pushed along by several of the guards. Sebastian stumbled over to Jarod, who uncurled himself with a painful groan. Ignoring his own splitting headache, Sebastian helped him onto his feet. Another man took Jarod’s other side, and together they supported his arms across their shoulders. Hobbling between them, Jarod spat a mixture of blood and saliva on the ground, but said nothing. Not until they were clear of the tunnel and of the muffled voices screaming for help.

  By the time they entered the main hall—a large natural cavern within the mountain—Jarod was doing his best to walk alone. Several women rushed toward them.

  “No, let us walk,” said Jarod, refusing the offered help. “If we look weak, they won’t put us to work anymore. No work means no food. We’ve got to get to fifty-three.”

  Sebastian said nothing. He knew the feeling of hunger all too well and had no wish to miss his supper. Quietly, he looked around, but could not spot Marek. His gaze went to the stairs cut roughly from the cavern walls. Halfway up was a wooden door. The Door of Wails. He swallowed at the thought of Marek being in there.

  “What about the boy?” asked Jarod to those who had joined them. “Don’t tell me they dragged him in there.”

  “No. No, they didn’t,” answered one of the women quickly. “They took him up. To the castle.”

  Sebastian let out a sigh of relief, but immediately wondered
if it made any difference. They would still probably never see each other again.

  Chapter 2

  Planning

  There was a cold draft flowing through the tunnels. Perhaps it was winter outside; who knew? Sebastian, like most slaves in the mine, had lost his concept of time. Work in the mine took place in shifts, and underground it was difficult to say if he was working nights or days. Sometimes, a newcomer from outside would bring some news. They would mention the midday clock just rang, or that the first winter snow had fallen. But those instances were rare, and ever since Marek had been taken away, Sebastian mostly kept to himself.

  His shift done, Sebastian made his way back to the slave barracks; old abandoned tunnels in which the soldiers had thrown straw and—if they were lucky—some beds and other furniture. Hot and sweaty, he ran his hand through his hair and felt the scar on the side of his head. It had all but healed and Jarod had said he should count himself lucky he had no permanent damage from that day.

  Sebastian passed one of the large slabs of black stone they were charged with carving out of the mountain. Five ropes in total were wound around it, with two dozen men and women pulling the slab toward the main hall. A guard cracked his whip to press them on and Sebastian saw the strain on the workers’ faces. They grunted loudly, while another six of them constantly moved the beams that rolled under the slab from the back to the front.

  He stepped back toward the wall to give the two men who carried the next beam some room. Just as they passed, a loud snap sent one of the ropes whipping through the air. It snaked around the block and hit one of the beam carriers in the back. Several people in the group fell over as their rope suddenly gave way. The other ropes creaked under the increased tension.

  “Imbeciles,” cursed the guard. “Get up.”

  Alarmed, Sebastian watched another rope unravel, its increased tension scraping it along a sharp corner of the stone. “Watch out,” he called out as it broke in two.