The tunnel we were carving would be massive. From where I, and the two others attached to me, were at one end of the cavernous tunnel, to the other end where another bound team worked, there was a good 40 feet in between, with six other teams working at set intervals: chipping away at the soft, gray stone. We worked until the sun set, and the moons crawled across the sky. Whenever I stopped for more than a second to rest, or to catch my breath the chains wrapped around my waist would begin to heat up and burn. We weren’t allowed to talk, either. If I uttered a syllable to the man behind me, the same thing would happen: the chains would heat up, and scorch the both of us.

We worked through the night, and through the day and night again. I was about to fall over when our replacements came: the man who had been in the cell behind me tapped me on the shoulder, and I nearly collapsed when I turned around.

“They have us work two days, and then let us rest one.” He said, “Just enough to keep you exhausted, but not enough to kill you in a short time.”

“Have you done this before?” I asked as he propped me up on his shoulder.

“Yes.” He said, “This is one of the projects they like to send people to.”

“The goblins let you go?” He led me through the tunnel.

“No, not the goblins.”

“What do you mean?’

“They’re working with someone…or something. I don’t know. Almost human.”

“What do you mean?”

We neared the beginning of the path that had already been carved through the mountain. From there we followed a path that cut up the slope and towards the wooden ribbed structure.

“I saw him up close once,” he said, “and only once. It was enough to put the doubts of his humanity in my mind. There was something off about him…about his expressions and his movements. As if his skin were just a jacket with too much starch. The smell of rotten eggs clung to him. At least he understood the human need for rest, and how it was better to have a mentally broken workforce than a never-ending flow of new blood who still had the fire of fight within them.”

The climb up was steep and crowded. People followed or shoved past us. When we were a good distance away from the work zone, the chains around our waist unattached, and the man who hadn’t said a word to either of us since this all began, moved on ahead.

“Then why weren’t you here as well?”

“I escaped.” He said, “But was recaught just before you were captured.”

“How long were you working here?”

“I don’t know.” He answered. “I didn’t even know what year it was before I asked you, remember?”

“How long ago were you captured?”

“A couple years. Spent a long time in that temple.”

“How long?”

He clicked his tongue and began counting.

“I don’t know…do I look nearly 100?”

“No.”

In fact, he looked rather young. His dark hair, while wild, still held the glow of youth. His skin: though dirty and sun damaged, still was unwrinkled. Why would he even ask? As far as I knew, just judging by his appearance alone, he was a couple years younger than me.

“So what exactly is your story?” I asked as

“We left the US in the 40’s. I was 20 at the time.” He said. “It was a secret mission. We were going to try to establish a US military presence in these lands, but before we could even land, we were harangued by…well, this is going to sound crazy, but by people as big as mountains. Most of the fleet was destroyed before we even set down. My own wing was clipped and I went spiraling down into a jungle.” He said.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

The man led me over to the side where a spring trickled out of the ground. People were gathered around the trickling spring, bringing handfuls of water to their mouths. The spring ran off to form a small creek that ran down the side of the mountains into the forest that surrounded the foot of the mountain.

“I crashed into the side of a mountain and broke through a layer of stone into a rather large temple before the ejection finally kicked in. The place had about all I needed. Chairs, tables. A bed as wide as can be, and all the water - the sweetest water I’ve ever had, I can drink. And the peaches…”

“Peaches?

“Yes, Peaches. Juiciest I ever had. That and the odd lizard that crawled around in that abandoned place was all I ate for…God knows how long.” He sniffled. “Sometimes, when eating them I’d fall into…I don’t know a trance or something? And wake up…God knows after how long.” He looked at the horizon. “Nearly 80 years…” He muttered.

“How did you not know?”

“Not very many English speakers here.” He said, “You’re the first one I’ve come across.”

“Really? What language do these people speak?”

“My last crew had a chinaman attached to me, and some Russian-looking man. Big sonabitch."

“How about the arena you talked about?”

“Well…” he sighed, “You’ll probably see.”

We walked together to the wooden ribs. Canvas tents and wooden lean-to’s sat in the shade of these massive, pointed trunks that seemed to me like great wooden fangs.

“There’s a cave here…” He said as he led toward where the ribbed structure ended and joined the mountains. “Pretty deep, and pretty comfortable if you know where to set up.”

The wooden beams continued into the cave: holding back the earth like great rafters. There was the smell of...something in the air. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. The stagnant stench of wet fur, rotting wood, and mildew. The cave broke into several small chambers that splintered off the central hall-like antechamber into separate, ‘rooms.’ Inside of these, ‘rooms,’ were floorings made of rotted wood, and stacks of blackened hay. Each had a well as well, with crystal clear water running deep underneath.

“What was this place?” I asked.

The man just looked at me and shrugged.

“Don’t know. Maybe a long house or something, long ago. You know, like the Vikings have?”

“Have? You mean had?”

The man shook his head.

“Have. Met them on the way to that giant tree.” He said.

“Really? Vikings?” I asked incredulously.

“Yeah. They were at war with someone. They called them, ‘the red ones,’ for control of the Tree.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

We found one of the currently unoccupied rooms and sat down.

“What did you say your name was?” I asked the man as he sat down across the room from me.

“Anders.” He said, “Anders Parnell from Tennessee.”

“I’m Lyle. From California.” I extended my hand, and we shook.