The earth had trembled.

It would be soon. The Dark Lord had said to wait until the ash fell. It was hard though. All the planning up until this point had been hard, but the time between, after the first earthquake, was even harder. It was the anticipation that was so frustrating.

Aaralen, my twin, knew nothing of the Dark Lord, but he was still willing to participate in the plan. It had taken years of planning, of secret meetings. To revolt wasn't something taken on lightly. No, to revolt meant either absolute freedom or death.

But the Dark Lord had guaranteed success, as long as I waited until the ash fall.

Slaves, all of us were slaves of the Onyx Kingdom. Not even individually owned. No. The Merinja Tribe had been captured and made to slave in the Obsidian Fields day after day year after year. Where once they had been a proud warrior race of thousands, now they just numbered in the hundreds. Those few who survived.

Individuals from other tribes had joined them. Then some of the worst convicts the kingdom had to offer. Day after day they chipped away at the black stone.

It would be soon.

"Are your bindings thick enough? I have a few more rags if you need them," Aaralen asked her as he finished wrapping up his own feet.

"I should be fine. Murtock died last night and his wrappings are being passed around. We should be ok for a little while." It gulled that I still had to plan ahead. Had to plan for future contingencies of being an obsidian slave.

"Did he? That's not much of a pity though. Hateful murdering bastard if all his bragging was to be believed." Aaralen shoved the extra bindings beneath the straw mat he slept on.

"I think at least part of it was the truth. The watchers were talking about it this morning. His crimes I mean," I answered him.

I'd been out with the other women. Of course, we were passed around at night. The watchers were certain to take advantage. On paper, we weren't to be touched, but that was on paper and what slave was going to be able to prosecute for rape?

Aaralen knew what they did to us at night, but it wasn't as if he or the other men could stop it. If it wasn't the watchers then it would be their fellow slaves. Perhaps some people from her tribe would object, but it wasn't likely.

A slave, a thing, an item to be used until dead. That's all I am. At least that's what I appeared to be at first glance.

The surface of the black stone was already warm even this early in the morning. By the time the sun was high in the sky, it would be hot enough to burn skin. That's why the foot wrappings were so important. Not only did they protect your feet from the razor sharpness of the rock, but they also kept you from burning all your skin off.

The Obsidian Fields were a cash cow for the Onyx Kingdom. Kingdoms and territories all over the continent bought the obsidian. It was used in everything from jewelry to weapons. One of the most important resources.

Leftover from the Obsidian Wars. That's what the people of the Merinja Tribe had called them at least. The series of battles that pitted Erasmus and Vulcena against the demon lords Vlasta and Otaktay during the great war against Apep. The result, the miles upon miles of obsidian fields.

There would be a new battle here soon. The slaves far outnumbered the watchers. They were reduced in number due to some other tribe the Onyx Kingdom was trying to conquer. More men needed in the military meant fewer men to oversee the slaves. A huge miscalculation on their part.

They assumed we were docile. After years of being beaten down that we had no fight left in us. I would prove them wrong. I hefted the small hand ax that was given to each slave to chop at the stone. They were dull, but then they didn't need to be sharp to chip away at the glass-like stone. The larger the chunks you brought back the better of course and to get the larger chunks you needed sharper axes. That's why no one complained when they saw you trying to sharpen your ax blade.

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They gave us weapons. They gave us a reason to fight. They gave us the opportunity. It was all just a matter of waiting for the ash fall. Why we had to wait for the ash fall I didn't really understand.

The Dark Lord hadn't seen fit to tell me that much, but when he spoke to me I knew it to be truth. I had to wait. He'd been silent since the earthquake, but I had the feeling he was waiting too. Waiting just like us.

A booming sound was heard in the distance. It made both me and Aaralen jump. We turned and looked at the watcher. The others around us were doing the same. Another deep resonating boom echoed across the field.

"They are testing out a new method of getting the rock," the watcher explained. "Soon you lot will be the ones planting the explosives. Hope you're fast on your feet, those fire mages are not known to wait until everyone's cleared out before they let loose." The watcher turned and smiled at me and laughed. "We all know you're a fast one aren't you?" He reached out a hand and brought me up against his body. He smelled of stale sweat and sex from the night before. The watchers could bathe, this one certainly needed it.

"Stay here and keep me company," the man ordered as he moved his hand to fondle my breast. The ax was in my hand. All I had to do was swing it and start this revolt off. My grip tightened on the handle. Then released. No, we had to wait until the ash fall. Don't fight back until then.

The man bore me to the ground. The hot stone was hard against my back, but at least it wasn't hot enough to burn skin yet. The man used me in front of everyone and when he was done I stood and took my place in the field. He'd gone inside me. Most watchers were careful not to take that risk. A pregnant slave meant questions and paperwork. I cringed inside as I felt the wet drip down my leg. Dark Lord, please don't give me a child. I prayed.

"The explosives," Aaralen hissed at me. He'd grown used to seeing me in this state. This had become our new normal so ignoring it became the way we coped, "we could use them."

"You can use them you mean. You're the only one who has fire magic." It was true. Most of the slaves were magicless. Most of our tribe had been magicless. That's why it had been so easy for us to be conquered.

Aaralen and I, we were too young to have had our magic develop when we were taken or we would have been killed outright instead of being sent to the fields. A warrior slave with magic was too great a liability. Aaralen had learned to use basic fire magic. His heat resistance helped when dealing with the scorching heat of the afternoon. The rest of us had to suffer.

I'd be lying if I didn't say that I was strangely bitter towards my brother. He was a male so he wasn't raped nightly. He didn't have to worry about unwanted children, or how he was going to staunch the bleeding from another monthly cycle. For the longest time, I'd been bitter about his magic too. He was never burned. He didn't carry the scars from having your own skin blister away. No, he was the lucky one. Or he had been the lucky one.

My magic was different. Not so elemental. More insidious. A gift from the Dark Lord. Mass Hysteria. A mental manipulation magic that would be the core of our revolt. Use it on our fellow slaves and they would be caught up in the need to fight. Use it on our watchers and fear would overcome them and they would run. A magic that would guarantee victory as the Dark Lord promised. I just needed to wait.

I'd been testing it. Small little things. A fight over the sharpest ax. An attack on a particularly brutal convict. If used at the right time, I could manipulate things to my will. The revolt didn't have to end here. I could continue it, add more people. I'd make the rich assholes from the Onyx Kingdom pay for what they've done.

Aaralen. He'd be the only problem. My magic didn't work on him. I tested it a few times but he never reacted. I didn't know why it didn't work. Perhaps it was because we were twins. As far as I knew he'd never tested his magic on me, but if my guess was correct it wouldn't work. The twin bond.

If you created a fireball in the palm of your hand it didn't burn you. That was the nature of most magic. It didn't harm the user. In twins, there was the theory that the magic recognized your twin as an extension of yourself so you couldn't harm them. No, he'd be a problem unaffected by my magic he was the one person I couldn't control.

He just wanted to escape, his soul didn't fester with the need for revenge. He didn't know about the Dark Lord. He was too soft.

Even as a child, he didn't care for the warrior training. Instead, he'd studied music. A musician among a toughened band of warriors. The Merinja Tribe didn't make any allowance for those who couldn't contribute. He'd have been cast out to sea, or perhaps just taken into the woods and killed as a way to cull the weak from the tribe. In a queer way, slavery probably saved him.

I noticed the watcher eyeing me again. He strode toward me absently slapping the coiled whip against his thigh as he walked. Waiting would be the hardest part.