As the ship’s hatch opened, a subtle blow of dry, heated air punched Macha’s face straight. The piercing light, non-existent in the bowels of The Recipient, slowly dissipated to introduce the monstrous cliff rising in front of him; an endless ocher wall swarmed by a network of planks and ladders clinging roughly to its hewn surface. The biggest mine and labour prison in the world was not technically a ‘rock’: Neither it was black.

At the base of the cliff, large boulders crumbled by erosion gave enough space to peers as badly made as the rest of the builts guiding unfortunate towards the cliff side openings. From there, The Recipient, a galleon entrusted to bring new flesh for the mining beast, gave a farewell to the rest of the Harpy’s fleet and its escorts from the Hanan navy. All would reach north soon to feed other beasts: the slave markets on the other side of the Red Island. “I guess we’re lucky,” said old Toggo. “Unlike those fools, we won’t suffer for long.”

Jingle of chains sounded at every step Macha took to close the last line. Of the dozens of slaves who had already disembarked, none remained at the entrance docks, and all, Macha assumed, were already part of the ant swarm wandering over the weathered scaffolding. The heat soon filled his forehead with sweat and his lungs with a burning feeling. A reddish guard, who was only wearing a loincloth over a massive bundle of muscle, blew a nauseating puff of onion no other stenches could match in the sightless. “All parni to the upper sumps, half the rest to the east crosscuts, others to Pepo’s stope. Crippled and geezer are mine.”

Focused on the malevolent grin in front, Macha did not notice the dagger rising towards his throat. Not seeing threatening hands approaching was already more than a nuance. With the touch of metal, his breath froze under a mask of the indifference his body had learned thanks to piled exhaustion. His lids closed and lungs deflated, and more at peace than he’d ever imagined, he waited for the slicing cut.

“What’re you doing, stupid maggot? Want me to kill you?” The raspy and deep treat lowered the dagger immediately. Small and malnourished, the speaker didn’t match the depth of his voice, but he did match the aggression of the tone. With a blow of a hand whip, he pushed away the sweated guard. “The shyster of the Falls wants all the parni. All.. of…them!”

The guard stammered while scratching his temple. ”But… But… Commissioner says those who cannot dig consume food and we are short of-”

“Did I stutter, Edduro?” The clerk put on a broken monocle to check his dirty papers. “Do any of you know how to read and write?”

Macha timidly raised his good hand, and the clerk shook the papers dramatically. “You see, stupid? The oily guy needs an assistant, and I found it for him. And since you’re such an imbecile, you’ll get none of the commission.”

The clerk reached for a paintbrush and scribbled something on Macha’s forehead. Afterwards, Edduro snorted furiously and grabbed him by the sleeve. Macha’s hand, getting much better after a wonderful care from Papiku’s quark, still protested with a slight sting after the tug.

The long meandering to avoid people and broken planks felt quick, and soon they reached a treadmill pulled by a miserable bunch smudged with soot and sweat. Struggling at each pull and spinning at the sound of whipping, they stretched gnawed ropes to lower a platform from the heights of the cliff. Upon realising more weight had to be lifted, all gave hateful glances and frustrated huffs. “Tired, vermin?” Edduro said. “Would you rather join these two in the Falls? No, right? I thought so.”

A boy who barely reached Macha’s waist approached, carrying a box full of metallic junk. Edduro push him onto the platform and lanterns, tools and other trinkets fell all over the surface. “Get up and pick up or you’ll find out!” the guard said, pushing Macha afterwards and tossing Toggo aside. “You fogey, stay. Herro is no one to deprive me of my fun!”

Not during the time it took the pushers to start working, nor during the first pulls of the climb, Macha had the impulse to share a glance with his trip companion. Nor, during the long ascent when everything at his feet dwarfed to a blur, did he have the courage to check on the man’s fate. Only a single tear dropped and the nut inside the stomach grew.

Each time the elevator shook with the strong winds, Macha wished it collapsed into the abyss. That would be a way to end. After all, jumping- the easier way- was not possible. He considered, but the little courage in him was still strong enough to fuel some hope. There were many intrusive thoughts, but a survivor is always a survivor. He had survived the plantations as a kid, the streets of the slums as a boy, and the wraiths of the ocean as a man. If a stupid mine was going to end him, it was going to be with a raised chin and puffed chest. He wanted to believe it, but the gut-wrenching reality turned out to be that he was too much of a coward to take the step forward.

“Welcome to the Falls!” someone shouted at the destination. “Where everything floods or collapses.” Macha stepped forward and a set of eyes widened over his forehead. “Send him to the office.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

No matter how many torches on the walls or lanterns over the heads, the entrance to the mine was dim. Swollen again by darkness, the beast ate him with a marinade of rotten egg spices. Soon the narrow passage widened, giving way to a more illuminated stope. There, hundreds of men crushed stones and dug dirt to lengthen the uncountable tunnels heading into the depths of the world.

His next turn was over a corridor well supported with hardwood columns and beams. A small drip on a corner, which left a puddle to be jumped, was the only unstable part among the planks covering the entire ceiling and walls.

The contiguous cell was just as well propped up as the previous aisle. Rudimentary shelves filled the walls with files and books except for a little opening behind a humongous table holding piles of paper, possibly belonging to where the hole was now. Everything was humble but, for a place like a mine, wealthy and out of place. exactly as the man behind the desk. The new bearer of Macha’s future was one of those who, no matter how dusty and worn his suit or how dirty and greasy his hair, still managed to give off an aura of power and status. Without stopping his writing, the man took a brief look. “What’s with the hand?”

“Nothing important. Almost healed,” Macha said.

The new boss leaned backwards and combed his hair while taking a deep, lagging breath. “You will refer to me as Mister Kumar or sir,” he finally said. “You are going to help me with all the paperwork to run this wing. This puzzle is prolific but unstable and requires a lot of thought. I’d do it myself, but the dust is making me sick. Nowadays I spend half the day coughing. You’ll start now and reach my standards as fast as I demand, or I’ll send you with the rest.”

Kumar stood, stretched his back, and headed to the opening behind him. His body disappeared into the hole, but his shout returned like thunder. “What are you waiting for? Come!” Macha hurried, already disgusted by a character who had needed little effort to earn his contempt. The opening, long and dark, was nothing more than a narrow hole with walls dissolving into rubble when touched. The end was bright and when Kumar reached, he was nothing more than a shadow like those at the puppet shows of Isha’s fair.

A blast echoed into the distance, and the tunnel filled with a shower of dust and rubble. “Hurry up, this corridor is still unstable,” Kumar shouted as he shook a pocket watch and snapped his teeth. “They just did it recently and haven’t shored it up yet. It’s dangerous, but it saves me a lot of time.”

The contiguous chamber was a cave barely touched by human hands. Even though it was poorly lit, the torches provided a clear sight of its majestic size, and the little working force present did not make enough noise to silence the complaints Kumar was spitting over his supervisor.

“But the timber station is clean again,” the supervisor apologised. “And the manway finished.”

“But if you can’t fix that blower, nothing else is advancing, isn’t it?” Kumar turned and hit Macha’s chest with a clipboard. "Write: Survey work, day seven of two. Prospector cave’s second timber station clean, manway done, tool room done, vents broken.” Macha’s fingers, still chubby but able to move, scribbled slowly, with a tingling rising towards the wrist. When discomfort turned to pain, Macha changed to his left and turned an already mediocre writing into intelligible scribbles.

“And the third raise collapsed and the fourth hit bedrock,” the supervisor added with a frightened grimace.

Kumar’s growl turned into a cough he tried to muffle with the hand. The hacking echoing through the cave lasted long. The supervisor lurked awkwardly, and only returned to his whereabouts when Kumar recovered his composure and dismissed him with an aggressive wave.

The same waving hand sat on Macha’s shoulder and guided him to stand in front of the two. “Help me get through the hole, please,” Kumar whispered, voice still broken.

Macha took a step into the dark at the sound of another distant blast. The earth shake tightened Kumar’s grip. They both froze, dust filling their lungs. “Stupid Commissioner. The fifth area should be blasting at noon,” Kumar said.

Macha took two more steps further, hesitating. The pebbles falling over his head slowed the advance. His feet dragged backwards, following a gut feeling of unease. When the distant light of Kumar’s office banished, the unease found its reason. The roar of a ceiling falling launched a blow of dust towards them. Macha, without a clear thought, turned and pushed Kumar with his healthy arm. Kumar’s body was heavy and his legs were faltering. Macha’s arm allowed space for a shoulder over the stomach, sending Kumar to a flight of safety. Not enough for him, though. Just before the moment he saw himself saved, hearth fell on him like a hammer hitting the anvil.

After the commotion of being chewed up, Macha let out a gasp of air. His face was safe. But breathing was the only thing he could do. His body, unable to move, was trapped. Kumar, on his knees and shocked, took just a second to react, lunging to clear the sand around his neck and shouting for help. The pain over his broken hand surpassed any of the worst days after its injury. Macha’s body scorched with the surrounding mass squeezing him. The supervisor and a few others arrived and joined the digging with bare hands. Macha’s sight turned blurry from the pain. His body, contorted into a curled ball, regained motion with each stroke freeing him from the dirt’s embrace.

One pull, digging. Another pull, more digg: Pain.

When Macha saw the large rock sitting over the reddened bandages of his arm, he begged with despair for another last pull. When it came, the boulder held tight to its prey and the bone snapped in the wrong direction. His entire body exploded into an electrifying, shocking burst of pain and the world turned black.