Masters and servants

His eyes snapped open to the grating rumble of stone slabs being dragged apart. Runt gripped the spear, then gasped, and nearly cried out in despair. The quarry was painted in the yellows and pinks of dawn. He rolled down the rubble pile into the shadows and let the coolness wash over him. Only then did Runt look across. Tyron stumbled out of the entrance, alone, with a backpack stuffed and clinking with bottles. He carried another in his hand. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary, and his feet scuffed the ground as he walked.

Runt gripped the spear as his mind raced. The sun was up. The night was gone. His advantage had gone with it. Now the moment for action was here his legs had turned to jelly. His breath stuck in his throat. His mind screamed at him to dash forward and kill the man. Tyron was drunk, drunk to the point of being half asleep. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Even without the shadows, and the invisibility, there was a chance. Runt licked his lips as beads of sweat broke out over his skin.

“What’re you doin’ here?” the giant bear of a man slurred. Runt’s heart skipped a beat. He’d been spotted! Tyron, though, was looking across the quarry. He stood there, squinting into the dawn light, swaying gently from side to side like a tree being pushed by an invisible breeze.

“You are late, Wild-one. I hoped to meet you by the ocean. I was going to put you into a boat and make you sail far away.”

It was the teacher’s voice. Without leaving the shadows, Runt leaned just far enough to see. The teacher sat atop its mammoth and looked down upon Tyron scornfully.

“That ain’t my name no more. Don’t like boats, neither.”

“Then maybe you should turn around, go back into that hole, and bury yourself!” the teacher snapped.

Tyron smirked and said nothing. He stood there, squinting, swaying, and grinning at some private joke.

“You need to end this madness, Wild-one. The end is coming for the harpies and you are bringing it about! I demand you stop cutting down the fey-trees immediately!”

“Me?” Tyron said, placing a beefy hand over his heart, before roaring with laughter. “Ain’t nothin’ to do with me! It’s all them.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the tunnel. The entrance still gaped open and, though no gorgons could be seen, Runt felt the weight of a hundred eyes staring out at the two arguing.

“They listen to you, though.” The teacher replied, pleading. “They respect your strength. And the big boss never comes out, not anymore. But you go in. I want you to tell the big boss to end this. Tell the boss the teacher demands they stop taking the trees.”

Tyron stared at the teacher, still squinting and swaying, and then laughed once more. Runt thought to move again, to run out there and damage the evil giant. His brain screamed at his legs to move but it was like he was frozen by a spell. No, not a spell. It was like he was back there. In the kennels.

All those times Tyron stood over him, raging and flailing. All those times the giant amused himself by tormenting Runt. All those times he hurled curses, or worse. And Runt had sat there, frozen, soaking up the insults and the blows, wallowing in the fear, not moving, not responding. Just sitting there and waiting for it to end. Just when he thought he was free it had come crashing back down around him. He was back in the kennels and it was like he never left. Runt closed his eyes as the tears began to well.

“Hear that, lads?” Tyron yelled, turning back to the mine. “Old crow wants you to stop stealin’ their nests! The old flightless bird wants to hatch some eggs.”

The only response was the fractured echoes of his taunts across the mountain face. The cave was silent.

“You got your answer, old crow.” Tyron drawled before spitting on the ground.

“I will only ask you once more, Wild-one. You need to stop this destruction.”

“Yeah, well, you need to get the hell outta here.” Tyron said as he leaned down, thumped the bottle into the dust, and grabbed a handful of stones. He tossed the biggest rock up and down and glared at the teacher menacingly.

The teacher stared down at Tyron impassively. “So it’s true, then? The gorgons have declared war on us. This will not end well for anyone.” He turned the mammoth’s massive head towards the far end of the quarry and the scrub beyond.

“War?” Tyron yelled after him. “Always has been! Only difference is, now the gorgons are winning, and your lot don’t like it!”

Tyron stood and watched the teacher disappear into the scrub then let the rocks slip from his lifeless fingers. He grabbed the bottle and took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then spat towards the Wilds. He sucked in a huge breath as if to yell some final curse but then let it out slowly. His whole body seemed to deflate at the same time. His shoulders slumped, his large stomach sagged, his head drooped.

Tyron’s feet scuffed the dirt as he stumbled over to the cart and unhitched the dogs. When they didn’t immediately leap to their feet he swore at them and yanked the chains. The backpack clinked and his body rocked from side to side as he stumped towards the edge of the quarry and the road beyond.

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Two horsemen appeared on the horizon riding up the quarry road. They paused by Tyron and seemed to talk to him for a few seconds. The giant man shook his fist at them, made a rude gesture, and continued on. The riders, meanwhile, rode up into the quarry.

Runt realised, with a feeling of dread, that the presence of the riders meant he was stuck in the quarry for longer yet. The horsemen could only be here for one reason. Right on cue, gorgons began filing out of the tunnel, pushing and swearing at one another. Runt pulled his wolfskin cloak tighter around his body and thought invisible thoughts.

Runt’s eyes boggled as he watched, in amazement, as a seemingly never-ending stream of gorgons emerged and milled around the entrance. At least two or three hundred of the creatures emerged before the cave entrance grated shut. They stood, jostling one another, as the riders approached.

The horses reared and pulled up twenty yards off. The riders urged them forwards but, with nostrils flaring, the horses whinnied and refused to move. Cursing, the men dismounted. They were the same men Runt saw a week earlier, Darren and Graham. Darren cursed at his horse again, frowned at the mob of gorgons, and very slowly and deliberately grabbed his whip off the saddle. He adjusted his felt hat so that it sat more firmly on his head before approaching the horde.

The two of them walked towards the group. Darren marched with purpose. Graham walked much more hesitantly. His eyes flicked over to Darren constantly as if for reassurance.

“Where the bloody hell did you lot turn up from?” Darren asked. The gorgon horde were silent. He coughed, and repeated his question, yelling louder. “I said, where the bloody hell – “

“Scrub.” Grunted the largest gorgon, standing near the front. It pointed a sausage-sized finger towards the Wilds.

“Yes, but – I’ve never seen so many of you! Where have you all been?” Darren’s voice strained with an edge of tension.

“Scrub.” The gorgon grunted again with its voice of stone on metal.

Graham looked to his partner nervously. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it across his forehead. Darren simply rolled his eyes.

“No, you daft brute. What I mean is, why are so many of you here today?”

“Busy. Got work.” It was a statement, but Darren interpreted it as a question.

“Got work? Ah, yes, good! Graham, pass me the note.” Graham did so, fishing in his pocket for the list of materials. Darren peered at it and then cleared his throat.

“Today we need wood. A hundred logs. You’ll need to march around to the far eastern side of the island. There’s plenty of good wood over there, not like on this end. It shouldn’t be a problem, with so many of you, but you’ll need to get going. It’s a long march. Now, do you remember how much a hundred – “

“Tomorrow.” The gorgon said sharply.

“What? What did you say? What do you mean, tomorrow?” Darren retorted.

“We busy now. Got work. Do job tomorrow.”

Graham gulped. Darren’s hand gripped the coiled whip more tightly as he spoke.

“No, not tomorrow. Today. T-O-D-A-Y.” He said, slowly, pointing at the ground. “When you lot say tomorrow you really mean ‘never’, you lazy brutes. We need a hundred logs and we need them now!” To emphasise his point, Darren let the whip uncoil and slink about his feet like a snake.

“Not gonna. Busy.”

Runt noticed something different about the creatures. Last time, they slouched, slumped, and groaned about being outside. Today, they all stood, and waited, and watched the confrontation play out expectantly. Even the jostling ceased. And there was something else. Last time the gorgons seemed shy about looking and talking to the humans. Today, the leader stared directly into Darren’s eyes.

It didn’t even flinch when Darren finally lost his temper and cracked the whip above their heads. Instead, the gorgon pointed to a distant pile of rubble. A fist sized rock appeared in its hand. It grunted with that gravelly voice and said “Gorgons! Me. Me. Rock pile, there!”

The pile must have been over a hundred yards away. The rock sizzled across the quarry in a flat blur and slammed into the pile dead-on. Rubble exploded upwards and the crack echoed across the quarry.

Another rock appeared in its hand. It pointed further down the way. “Me. Me. More far rock pile, there!”

This time the rock arced up and down a little as it blazed across the quarry. It slammed into a rock pile some two hundred yards away.

Darren stood there, with mouth agape. The whip hung limply by his side. Graham began edging backwards. The gorgon leader turned back to the two men. A third rock appeared in its hand.

“Me. Me.” It said, staring at the men, and then pointed at Darren. “Watch. Demon head.”

Runt gasped as the rock whistled through the air. Darren’s felt hat exploded into shreds. There was a deathly pause, and then a roar of approval from the horde. Several gorgons pointed and laughed. Others slapped the backs of their nearest neighbour. Many of the gorgons simply looked on with an O shaped mouth, speechless.

Many others said nothing and raised a hand instead. Each contained a rock. The rest of the mob fell silent. Graham, by now, was at his horse. He called out. “Darren, you fool, get back here!”

The whip was left lying on the ground. The horses reared as they turned and galloped away, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. The rocks clattered to the ground at the feet of the gorgons. More cheering and back slapping ensued until the gorgon leader yelled out.

“Shut up! Work time. Big boss says, work night AND day, now.”

This announcement was met with groans of disapproval. The leader immediately swung its fists and clobbered the nearest three gorgons. The pack fell silent. Now, the only groans came from the three creatures lying in the dust.

“Anyone else want?” The leader asked threateningly, holding up its fist. Gorgons studied the ground, the sky, the wall. They looked anywhere apart from at the boss. It glared at the three on the ground and kicked one of them. “Not dead. Get up.” It grunted. Then it turned to the rest and yelled. “You lot! Get moving!”