A crack reverberated through the woods as the log in front of Graiscon split. Though the sound was not quite there. He quickly placed another log on the stump, his actions feeling sluggish, or rather, not his own.
Another log split. Then another.
A fourth log split, but it was in the fireplace. Graiscon was home, sitting at the small table he and his father shared. He recognized the older man across from him, but he was hazy. Perhaps if it weren’t, for Graiscon who knew this was his father, the man would have been a ghost.
They sat and ate together, having a conversation with words that didn’t reach Graiscon’s ears.
The fire crackling. An Inquisitor and his soldiers hunt him down. His house burning, his father’s pendant around his neck. A soldier grabbed him by the waist and tossed him over his horse. Fear, anger, confusion.
<<>>
Thunder shook Graiscon with a start as he shot up in his bed. Breathing a little heavy, he took in the bunk room around him. Many of his fellow cabin members had already left, and some were still getting ready.
He pulled himself out of bed and over to the trunk that sat before it. He pulled out one of his two tunics and pulled it over his head. It was a simple tan tunic, with a slit for his head, trimmed with brown around his neck and two stripes running from his chest, over his shoulders, to his back. On his sleeves were four red stripes each, one for every two years he’d been in Ward to the Church. He pulled on a pair of brown pants and socks he’d newly bought- a privilege of his “long service”- if you could even call it that. He pulled his boots on and tightened his tunic with his only belt.
Looking out the lone window at the end of the bed hall, rain was pouring down as it had been for the entire season. Knowing that work in the mines would not be put on hold for a storm, he made his way down to the kitchens where he was given a wooden bowl of pottage and a sack of grainy crackers for the day’s rations.
The pottage was probably Graiscon’s favorite part of the day. It was just boiled vegetables and grains with the most senior Wards getting a small bit of some poultry. It was a staple in the South. From what he knew, everyone in the Triarchate ate some form of pottage. Of course, the crackers were terrible, but that was an issue for later.
Scraping the last of the stew out of his bowl and tossing it back on the counter where he’d gotten it, Graiscon gathered himself and began the torture of sprinting to the mine entrance in the pouring rain.
The whole field was no more than a quick dash from the Wardings to the mines. Though the mud and puddles made that dash all the more unpleasant.
Soaked and covered in mud, Graiscon arrived at a tent that had been set up in front of the mine. The soldiers that guarded the mine were citizens and so, far more privileged than the Wards who were little more than slaves. Supposedly, Wards were free, but they owed a debt to the Triarchate for taking them in and saving them from their heretical and barbarian families that the Ilyan military so graciously killed.
“Boy, what are you glaring at?” One guard, a younger man perhaps in his early thirties, said, having noticed Graiscon giving him a look that even the ward didn’t realize he was making.
“Nothing, Ranus.” Despite years of learning Ilyan, Graiscon still had a noticeable accent that he knew gave the locals a shiver down their spine, and he loved it.
“What’d you just call me, boy?” The guard, Ranus, pulled back like he was about to smack Graiscon’s teeth out just for calling him by his name, but the other guard caught him.
“Relax, Ranus, keep your shit together.” The other middle-aged guard, Herus, had grabbed Ranus’s shoulder. He had always been decent enough to Graiscon, having lost his son to the Storms, who would have been Graiscon’s age had he not been struck by a bolt of the sky goddess’s wrath.
Graiscon nodded to Herus and continued into the mines after grabbing a pickaxe from the crate beside the two, with Herus marking it off on a sheet of parchment.
Graiscon continued down into the tunnels, passing by several friendly faces, and some not so. He had spent the last five years working in these mines and worked on several teams that were disbanded for some reason or another. Many of the people he’d worked with were decent enough. Having all had the same or similar stories made finding people of like mind easier than normal. Of course, that also meant there were quite a few who disliked the boy.
In the mines, there were “Wards” of anywhere between thirteen and twenty-five. The Ilyan Church, or the Church of the Triarchy as they called themselves, prided themselves on their education. When they found a ward, they’d teach them the language and basic numbers until they turned thirteen or close enough if they didn’t know a boy’s age. Then they were sent to the mines. The girls were kept and taught to be servants and those more receptive to their religious teachings were made Vestasi, female novices of the Church.
It took Graiscon longer to find his team than he’d expected. They’d apparently been moved to a relatively new tunnel that had just recently been blasted out.
Alvor was tough and burly, and taller than most Ilyans of the south. Though the Northerner’s Asqarii heritage was bright as day with his dirty blonde hair and grey eyes. Much like Graiscon’s own, though the boy’s hair was a few shades lighter, and unlike Alvor who kept his hair long, Graiscon had barely grown his past his ears.
“Ah, Graiscon, glad you’ve finally made it.” Alvor looked up from his work and clapped Graiscon on the shoulder. The man had been like a brother to Graiscon, being his team leader through many different groups. Despite only being four years older than Graiscon, Alvor hadn’t been a Ward much longer.
“I had to remind Ranus not to shit his stick out of his ass.” That garnered a laugh from a lot of the surrounding miners, who all knew of Ranus’s infamy.
“I wouldn’t be against him dropping a load like that. We might benefit if he does.” Alvor replied, his accent much like Graiscon’s, though much thicker. “For now, we’ve got to get this new tunnel going. Why don’t you start down there? Help out the new kid,” The man pointed down to the very end of the tunnel where Graiscon could see that only one of his teammates was working, a young boy who looked to be about thirteen, just the age the church had Ward’s start working.
The boy had long reddish hair that covered his dirty face, clearly Ilyan, but Graiscon couldn’t see his eyes to be certain. He wore the same long-sleeved tunic as everyone else, but it fit poorly, almost like a short dress. He only had one stripe on his sleeves, probably having been taken by Church at the same age as Graiscon, maybe a bit older.
The Northerner walked towards his new spot and settled right next to the younger boy. Who shuffled away.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“What’s your name, kid?” Graiscon put his bag of rations down and pulled his pickaxe back to start working.
“M-Makael,” The boy sputtered out between breaths, he seemed to be struggling with the work, clearly not anywhere used to it, and probably not strong enough.
“Makael? Sounds Ellren.” The younger boy didn’t reply.
“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep using your back like that,” Graiscon commented. “Use your whole body, or else you won’t be able to work for a week at least.”
“W-what’s… so bad about that?” Makael asked, his voice softer than what Graiscon expected, maybe he was younger than Graiscon had thought.
Graiscon laughed.
“It means you’ll be on half rations for four weeks afterward.”
Makael paused, eyes wide behind auburn hair. He looked around and quickly began to imitate Graiscon and their other team members in the tunnel.
Graiscon’s father was a woodcutter, and so Graiscon was a woodcutter. Between an axe and a pickaxe, the difference wasn’t all that much, and so he had picked up on the work more easily than most farmers and hunters.
The mines had existed for decades. Resting the Ward camps in a northern offshoot of the Wall, a massive mountain range said to be taller than the heavens and wider than half the continent itself. The natural barrier spanned the continent from north to south, and it was said no one had successfully gone past even the foothills. Luckily the mountain they were under was deep in Ilyan territory and nowhere near the mythical dangers of the Wall.
The tunnel they were working on seemed to have a relatively deep deposit of coal that the team was working on excavating. Though the mines had been active for years, no one, at least in Alvor’s team, knew exactly what they were mining. Coal and valuable metals like iron and tin were collected and sent out. But the mines still ran even when these deposits ran out. Mostly yielding only stone and the occasional odd mineral, no one knew why the church still cared about the mines. Some said it was just to keep the Wards working, others said the Church had divined a massive deposit of gold somewhere deep in the mountain that they were based on. Even crazier still were those who conspired that they were hunting for Dwarves.
Graiscon didn’t care what they were mining for, he just wanted to reach his quota so he could get the fuck out of this mountainous hell hole.
It was several hours before Alvor called break. The group gathered around the lone lamp that hung in the middle of the tunnel to light their work area. They ate their rations and talked about whatever made-up story they came up with. Besides Makael, most of the team were around the same age, though one, Jakov, had been in the Wards for almost fifteen years, by far one of the oldest Wards in the mines. None of them had any free time outside of the mines, besides Alvor who only had enough time to make his reports and a better dinner than the regular workers.
“Graiscon, how’s the new kid been working?” Alvor called in Ilyan, his accent thicker than Graiscon’s.
“He’s been doing what he can, not much muscle on him though.”
Makael sat a little further from the rest of the group, though chose to sit closest to Graiscon.
“The little brat’s never done any work in his life has he?” Jakov jibbed, causing Cam to curl up closer to himself.
“Leave off him, Jakov, unlike you Vikren, Ilyans don’t torture their children at a young age.” Graiscon wasn’t in the mood to listen to Jakov’s bigoted crap. He was almost as bad as Ranus. Northerners like the Vikren and other East Galeian tribes were mostly aggressive and tough, as would be expected living in the colder and more dangerous areas of the continent. Irritatingly enough, this aggression usually came out in hatred for other people’s easier way of living.
“You would know, Asqarii yhurak.” Jakov spat the words out like they physically hurt him.
Alvor wasn’t usually the violent type, but he knew when someone needed to be reminded where they were. He shot up and gave Jakov a more-than-deserved punch in the face before sitting back down. Jakov belted out a hoarse laugh and spit blood.
“You’ll be smart to remember that we’re all stuck down here.” Alvor hissed. Tossing a pickaxe he’d just picked up at Jakov.
“Get back to work.” Jakov listened, but the scowl on his face didn’t fade. He walked off muttering something about dainty Southerners.
The rest of the team finished their break in silence.
As Graiscon moved to go back to work, Alvor grabbed his shoulder.
“You know Jakov’s a prick, don’t let him get under your skin.”
“You’re one to talk, I’m not the one who almost broke his nose.”
Alvor laughed and gave Graiscon a hardy pat on the back.
“Keep an eye on the new kid, if I have to deal with Jakov much longer I might kill him,” Alvor said, jokingly, though he could see the anger behind his eyes. “Then you’ll take my place and run this whole mine into the ground!” Graiscon let out a laugh and grabbed his pickaxe.
The day had persisted for several more hours. Of course, there wasn’t any sun but the rotation of the few guards in the tunnels made telling time that much easier. Whenever the team filled a cart Alvor had Graiscon take it down the tunnel. Makael tried to help but Graiscon told him that he needed to keep mining and get stronger, so he wasn’t just a burden. It brought the mood down, but Alvor helped sort it out.
A loud crash of thunder echoed through the tunnels; the storms had been getting heavier. More so than Graiscon had realized. Though he’d lived in Ilyan territory for almost a decade, he hadn’t gotten used to the severity of the southern storms that seemed to last for months. They were truly the anger of the gods. Rain poured and thunder shook the Wardings for cycles and never seemed to relent. Though the Ilyans had their ways of keeping the mines from flooding, it didn’t reassure Graiscon.
Another crash of thunder, far louder than it should have been, reverberated throughout the tunnel. Dust shook from the walls and the ceiling, causing many of Alvor’s team to look up and out towards the tunnel’s exit. Something was happening down there. Graiscon heard shuffling feet and muffled shouting. The sounds of boots hitting the stone echoed through the tunnel, only getting louder as they got closer.
A younger boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen turned into view, his panting only halting when another eruption of thunder shook the dust off the tunnel walls once more.
At this point, Graiscon and Makael had put their pickaxes down completely. Alvor approached the runner as the boy caught his breath.
“What’s going on?” Alvor barely had time to finish his question when thunder erupted so loud it sounded like the tunnel had cracked. The sound was so loud it was almost deafening.
Makael doubled over in pain covering his ears like the rest of the group. Though Graiscon saw Jakov had already started running. He looked for Alvor to see if he had gotten anything from the runner, but the man’s attention was fixed on something above Graiscon’s head.
He looked up, fear taking hold as he saw the massive fissure in the ceiling. It ran mostly perpendicular across the wall and down to the floor. What the hell? Had the thunder truly cracked the tunnels? Graiscon barely had time to process what he was seeing before more fissures spiderwebbed across the floor and ceiling.
The sound startled him and earned a shriek from Makael. A shriek that shook Graiscon out of his stupor. Looking at the younger boy who was in the fetal position on his knees, rocking back and forth. Graiscon’s body moved on its own. He pulled Makael to his feet and pushed him towards Alvor, who was in a trance of his own. The sudden collision of the two seemed to wake each of them, but Graiscon didn’t have time to be sure. As soon as he started running himself, the floor gave way.
Graiscon’s instincts told him to grab onto something, but his momentum put his head closest to the ledge. Instead of catching the rock with his hands, his forehead rebounded off the hard stone. His consciousness faded as he fell. He couldn’t tell how long or far he fell, but he was suddenly submerged in freezing water, shocking him awake. Though his fall was now the least of his worries, panic filled him. He flailed around in what he assumed was water, feeling a strange tingling on his forehead and arms. Having no idea how to swim, and running out of breath, his fate was sealed when a rock fell from above and caught him in his chest. Pushing his last bit of air out of his lungs. Graiscon’s eyes went wide, and he instinctively tried to suck in a breath, only to get a mouthful of the decidedly strange liquid.
Perhaps he would have noted the impossibly sweet taste, or the rush of vitality that surged through his body. But he didn’t. All the Ward could think about was the increasingly painful burning of what he assumed were places where he got cut.
The burning continued to grow, now encompassing his whole body. On top of the pain, Graiscon began to feel pressure encroach on him. As if whatever underground lake he had fallen into was converging on him. The pressure and the pain only got worse and after what felt to Graiscon like hours of agony, he passed out.