The flame died after a last flicker. Tye’s fingers held on to the match until the orange glow at its top had faded. Once again, the darkness swallowed him. Only now, he was down to thirteen matches.

There was no time to feel sorry for himself. He had memorized his surroundings well, and had cleared about forty steps while the light had lasted. What he’d seen didn’t look too promising. Although the tunnel itself was largely unscathed, all pathways to the other ones had caved in, leaving him no direction to move in but forward. Backward was out of the question, as was calling for help. Even lighting a match was a dangerous operation requiring the utmost consideration and planning, lest he attract the beast’s attention.

How long had he been trapped here, Tye debated over and over. Being of a staunchly rational mind, he was able to pin down the number to between one and four days. The collapse had knocked him out for good, that much he could deduce. How long was impossible to determine, as neither clocks nor sunlight had found their way to him ever since. Judging from the alarming wail his stomach let out every few hundred steps, it had been some time. The first day remained a blur; most of what he remembered was the beast’s dreadful cry as it crawled after him driving him ever further down the tunnel. And yet, in spite of his struggles, he had managed to obtain three valuable pieces of information during his escape:

1. The beast was taller than him—more than twice his size.

2. The beast was blind and used echolocation and an enhanced sense of smell to search for food.

3. The beast was wounded.

Tye strove to use all three to his advantage. (1) Whenever possible, he obstructed the way behind him and laid out sharp rocks he pulled out of the sole of his right and only shoe. (2) He moved swiftly and under cover. To cover his human smell, he had immersed his clothing in a mix of mud and the few fluids available to him. (3) Beside the pouch containing his resources, he also carried with him a self-made spear in case a final battle should ensue between him and the death-frenzied monster.

A surge of pain went through his toe at every step. The rubble laying all around the tunnel had a considerable talent for lying in the exact right spot to hit the exact same joint of his left, shoeless foot. The first fifteen steps from where the flame last flickered were easy, as both his memory and sight had been sharpened by the urgency of the situation. But past that lay only blackness. It was not long before a marksman rock brought his foot to an excruciating stop.

Still, chances could be worse. An escape from the tunnel would turn up sooner or later. And considering the circumstances of his being trapped, it was nothing short of a miracle that he had survived at all. When the mountainside collapsed, he had been standing atop it, whereas now, he was trapped underneath. Only the grace of the gods could have guided him through his fall without more than a couple bruises and a bad headache. Hells, the worst of his injuries had amassed after he’d woken up. Tye clutched his jacket tightly, rubbed his toe, and drew sharp quiet breaths. Then, he extended his hands and began scouting.

Stone wasn’t stone, the tunnel had taught him. He’d already been grinding away under the wardens’ watchful eyes for the better part of his twenty-eighth life year, but having to rely on touch instead of sight to find his way around was an entirely new challenge. Initially, he had contented himself with distinguishing cement from rock and moving as fast as possible. But the more he touched the materials around him, the more details he began to discern through his fingertips. There was

1. Crooked rock,

2. Spiky rock,

3. Smooth rock,

4. Curved rock—notorious for being surrounded by the sharpest of pebbles -, and

5. Glassy rock, remnants of the last shift that sat scattered around the tunnel in heavy iron carts.

But not only his hands had grown more perceptive. His right foot, Scout, described a quarter circle at every step he took, scanning the ground for threats to its unprotected left brother, Rocky. By now, he was able to put a decent thirty-four steps on average between the toe- or forehead-related stops on his journey through the tunnel.

There. Scout had come upon a long, light object. Carefully, he crouched, and reached out to it, praying. Praise be the gods’, they’d answered. Albeit only an arm’s length of a splinter off a support beam, it was wood nonetheless. He broke the stick two times, careful not to make too much noise, and stored the pieces in his pouch before moving on.

The gods were putting him to a test. The conviction had blossomed inside Tye's heart since the collapse, and grew stronger by the frag. Drowned in darkness, he had woken up with no shoes, but still in possession of the full box of matches Aerani had traded him for his dessert under the canteen table. From there on out, his blessings only grew in number. They listed as such:

1. Three mid-sized copper wires

2. A straight metal rod of one and a half arms’ length

3. A warden’s knife

4. A spear (merging blessings 1-3)

5. A warden’s set of keys

6. A warden’s right shoe

7. A warden’s pouch

8. A warden’s jacket padded with houndswool (minor red stains around the collar)

9. A pair of socks, both of which he had applied to Rocky

Moreover, the tunnel housing him was one of the old ones still containing wooden support beams. Breaking off brushwood by force was hazardous to his hands, so he became a hunter of splinters. The day before, the pouch had been filled to the brim with firewood which, once at a safe distance to the wounded beast, he would employ to fashion both a fire and, in the fire’s light, a torch.

But his divine test wasn’t without tribulations. Tired and distracted by scouting the tunnels, searching for splinters, and listening for the beast, he had almost made one fatal step too far. It had cost him his firewood as well as the match he had lit just. Even after, when he’d sought the cover of an alcove in the torn cement to catch at least some sleep, he’d stayed awake for what seemed like an eternity just thinking of the bottomless dark hole that had consumed the flame.

His only choice was to rebuild and be more mindful of holes in the floor from here on out. Tye scouted and scanned his way around a fallen roof segment. Where lesser minds than his would surely whimper at the thought of the hollow below, he saw it for what it was: the explanation. He may well have been the only man who knew what had happened that moment when the Westgrale Mining Conglomerate turned on its drills. Should he pass this test and escape, both the GMC and the prison manager would be eager to hear about his miraculous ascent. He’d make them sit through every twist and turn of the story, hungry for the answer to their true question. How had it happened? And finally, he would tell them.

The collapse of the Bitaabi mines was a terrorist plot.

A click. Tye stopped dead in his tracks and cupped his ear. It couldn’t be. Had something snuck up on him? Certainly not the beast; its harrowing cry was sure to alert you of its presence. He listened for a while, but there was no sound but his own shallow breath. The quiet down here without the droning of the machines was eerie still after his one-to-four days in the tunnel. Now and then, distant parts of the mine would collapse with a deep growl, and a falling crumb of cement here and there was bound to make a click. You’re scared of pebbles. Get a grip. Ever so slowly, ear still cupped, he resumed letting Scout do his job.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

But there it was again. ‘Click’ didn’t describe it properly; short, high-pitched, but not a straight hit. Like the kywees sitting on the roofs of Jaemeni when they took flight, their claws scraping against the clay tiles. A question took form in his mind, nagging him. Had the beast learned to sneak? Could it learn? He reached into his pouch and retrieved two pieces of the stick he’d just snapped. Time for Plan C.

He lit the match and settled it underneath the sticks on the ground. They caught on fire just before the match burned out sending two blinding flames darting about an ell into the air. Tye turned and hurried further down the tunnel, now able to circumvent the rubble, shards, and spikes helped by the fire.

After twenty-two steps, he stopped and looked back toward the flame, now small as a match in the distance. The circle of light around it danced to the flame’s flicker, undisturbed.

And then he saw the shadow with its myriad arms reaching out to him across the walls and roof and floor, growing, coming closer. And then the beast cried.

Tye stopped. Sweat ran down his face, and Rocky the foot was in excruciating pain. Somewhere back in the tunnel, the beast was shrieking still, demanding his flesh. But he wouldn’t budge. He gathered the last of the shards he’d collected, scattered them on the ground behind him, and moved on.

So far, his escape had eaten not only his shards, but also two pieces of firewood and a total of three matches, bringing the count down to ten. While he had managed to build up a head start on the beast, it proved relentless in its appetite. And the tunnel didn’t get longer. At some point, he knew, he would reach the end—and if no intact pathways or shafts showed up until then, he’d be trapped. His final battle with the beast seemed inevitable at this point. Accordingly, Tye had started to prepare.

He had taken nine long keys off the warden’s keychain and bound them with the short remainder of wire at his disposal. Fitted between his fingers, he reckoned, this

4a. Knuckle Cutter Upper

would suffice to pierce the beast’s skin. The spear’s rod he had bent so as to fit around his lower arm and elbow, thereby making it a one-handed weapon and freeing his other arm to throw projectiles at his foe. Furthermore, he had made an addition to his pouch that may save not just the day, but his mind. A hidden compartment in his wooly jacket had revealed the presence of

10. A flask

full of the finest liquor he had smelled since the evening before his trial. He had vowed to savor it and not taste a drop before the beast had been slain, and his salvation attained. The thought of it alone kept him warm as he crept on through the eternal night.

His attention turned again to the blessings of his test, and how his present predicament was far preferable to being an inmate. Days, Tens, the season had passed without him getting more than a glimpse of daylight on his short walk from the prison to the mine, so why would he miss it? And even then, the cold neon floodlights illuminating the main entrance to mine four would blind you on the clearest of days. Down in the shafts it was worse. Neon everywhere, and dust, and monotony, and people he had nothing in common with except for being wrongly incarcerated. Everyone complained about the wardens day-in, day-out—but did anyone ever talk about what bad company prisoners were? If there ever were a tribe of people more negative and self-absorbed, he had not met them. Whiners, perverts, robbers, jins, addicts with rage issues, conmen without confidence… Staunch rationalist that he was, Tye had been forced to admit a grave error in his thinking. Prison wasn’t the socializing, camaraderie-building place he’d anticipated; it wasn’t fun at all.

A lack of wall to his right made him stop. He could be facing another hole. Gods knew how the Liberation had gotten mining equipment this deep into the north and had managed to operate it right under the Empire’s nose. He knew of their presence in the area, but this exceeded his wildest imaginations; he was impressed. Country folk must be more capable at liberating resources from the enemy than the meek student sympathizers he had scammed over beers and bets in the bars of Jaemeni. Ever so quietly, Tye sent Scout to where the wall should have been, and further. Was it indeed—

No. A corner had been broken off by the collapse, and behind, he found an opening, one with floors. A pathway. He drew his trusty box of matches and cupped his ear. No shrieking. Not like that means anything anymore. He now knew that the beast was in fact capable of learning and had become quite adept at stealth. There was no time to be wasted. Tye lit the match and scanned his surroundings.

Two new realities came upon him within a moment’s time. Firstly, he was fucked. Only a few steps down from where he stood, the tunnel came to a cracked-concrete stop. There wasn’t much rubble lying around, limiting his combat options severely. A fight out in the open held little chances of success for him. Had he been wrong? Was this not a test, but a joke? Never before had he felt so forsaken, so cruelly toyed with by the gods.

Secondly, he was delivered. Shame on him for questioning the ones beyond questioning. The pathway off the tunnel was indeed intact, at least as far as the flame allowed him to see—and there was more. A cart stood between a heap of collapsed boxes to his right. There was no rubble inside. It called out to him promising more divine gifts, and he swiftly answered the call, pushing and kicking down boxes while protecting the flame. His salvation was close, he could feel it. Soon, with still a third of the stick left to burn, he had cleared the cart. Tye bowed over it with bated breath.

A violet glow emanating from below sent him into a state of shock. How on earth had the wardens left a cart of

11. Reactive product

out in the tunnels? One stroll by an individual less respectable than himself—any fellow inmate for that matter—and the safety, the lives of all wardens and mine workers would have been at stake. Of course, then and now, it was still a precious resource to someone who knew how to use it. And he did. All he needed was product and fire, and the possibilities were endless.

The flame singed his skin to great effect. Freed of the grasp of his thumb and middle finger, the crooked match took to the air in a sharp arc destined to land in the bed of ground purple ore, where it would swiftly end his existence and the tunnel’s along with it. As Tye’s burnt thumb took to the soothing refuge of his mouth, his other hand shot out to quench the flying flame. The match bounced off it threatening to enter the cart once more. He stepped to the side trying to switch sides on the heavy rusted vehicle, but a box got in the way. He lost his balance and fell.

Luckily, his head took most of the damage, bolstering his fall. He shot back up to his feet, who seemed far more affected by the blow than his mind. “Scout! Rocky!”, he whispered sharply as he staggered back to the edge of the cart fearing the worst. A faint glow shone up from under him. Yet as far as he could tell, he was still alive.

Blessing did not begin to describe what he saw. On the highest of hills in the landscape of purple dust inside the cart, the match had landed in a most upright position, its stick pointing right at the heart of the earth as the tiny flame edged downward. He could do no wrong, Tye realized in that instance. Just to prove it to himself, he spat. And lo and behold, the spittle extinguished the flame with a gentle hiss.

Silence returned to the tunnel, as did darkness. But everything had changed. How pitiful he had been, creeping around in fear of the beast, of hunger, of the gods. He could see it clearly now. No gifts or blessings had to be given to him. He was the author of his own fate, and the only limit was his boldness. And bold he would be. A plan entered his mind from the ether right then and there.

A howl shot out into the cold dark air from his mouth, but not by him—through him. He listened for the echo disappearing down the corner, where the beast lay. Let it hear, he thought. Let it know he had abandoned all fear. Tye howled once more. Only this time, the echo never came.

“Sublime”, Rocky said.