The wagon Pacha was sat in drew up to a desolate place where a metal building sat half buried in snow and a few meters away stood a fenced area with a large metal gate. The man in the front of the wagon got down, unlocked the gate and opened it using a thick glove. He was of average height but much more stocky than he should be. His stern gaze was that of someone who had seen many a treacherous thing.

“Get inside,” the man’s rough voice commanded them.

“Hold on a moment, Khavand,” A second man said as he came around from the back of the wagon. Unlike the man by the fence, this man was older, taller and well built. It was clear that he was Khavand’s father. The clothes he wore were well maintained and his strength was noticeable as he easily lifted two sets of slaves chains. He led the slaves two by two through the gate where they stood next to a lift that hung like a bucket over a well, that fell away into darkness. After he had brought all the slaves through the gate and into the fenced area, he stepped away from them and allowed Khavand to shut and lock the gate. The man walked away from them towards the metal shed while Khavand got into the wagon and moved it away.

Inside the fenced area, the wind whistled around them, Pacha and the other slaves stood in a circle on the snow. Below them, they heard a faint yet sharp sound of digging, that of metal hitting against rock. Around them the land was flat, in the far distance a mountain range could be seen and a few large shapes moved across the white horizon. The chains around their wrists and ankles rattled as they shivered and their breathing increased as they started to become more anxious, wondering what was going to happen to them. Within the circle stood six slaves, Pacha wasn't the youngest amongst them but certainly the most healthy. The old man was bent forwards slightly and had an intermittent cough, but his limbs were rugged and well worked. It was clear that he was used to manual labour and that the years had not worn his working ability. Beside him was a boy, around 10 years of age who kept looking at those around him for an answer to what was happening. Standing close to his side was a middle-aged woman with a dark skin tone, she had long, tightly curled hair and a composed stature as she looked down at the floor. It was clear that she was not the boy’s mother, but it was also clear that the cold was worsening her malnourished state.

Next was a man of around 19 years old. He stood out as the tallest of them and he was only shivering slightly despite being the least covered up. Lastly standing next to Pacha was a woman of around 25 years old, with skin like the older woman's but with beautiful brown eyes with specks of gold in them.

After 10 minutes the older man came back from the metal hut carrying a bag over his shoulder. Khavand came with him, who again opened the gate using the glove. It was now that Pacha noticed that neither of them had touched the metal gate with their bare hands.

The older man came into the compound and without saying a word he put down a bag. He took hold of the middle-aged woman’s chains and hauled her up to the fence. Khavand, who had shut the door behind his father, locked it before turning away. He pressed the shackles on the woman's wrists against a section of the fence. Pacha watched as an intense heat burned through the metal creating sparks as it cut the metal in two. The sizzling of the metal was a sharp noise against the wind. While as the metal heated up, it burned with a bright white light. A moment later the shackles fell from the woman's wrist, but the man held her wrist there a moment longer allowing the woman's scream to he heard in absolute clarity as it burned her skin. To Pacha's relief, the man let the woman recoil her wrists a split second later. She sat holding her wrist to her chest while the man repeated the procedure on her other wrist then her ankles, only he didn't burn her skin on any other parts of her body. Free of her chains the woman stepped backwards allowing the man to repeat this on all of the slaves, including Pacha.

After this was done they all stood in silence. Standing in a broken line with the small boy hugging the middle-aged woman's leg tightly.

“Now.” The man announced. “I am Vallabhadev, and you belong to me now. You have experienced the harsh cold of this land and you know the burn of this metal. Down that shaft lies your work, your home, and the rest of your life.” He turned and opened up the bag. He handed them each a pickaxe and candle before giving them a box of matches to share between them. “You will dig day and night, putting what you mine onto the lift to be taken up. Sleep only to rest but nothing more. There must always be digging or you will all be sold to the city. Do you understand?” The slaves nodded and so did Pacha, although she did not know what being sold to the city meant. After a moment Vallabhadev spoke again,

“Into the shaft, move it!” Vallabhadev shouted. His voice had changed into a much harder and unforgiving tone. In a hurry, the slaves bundled into the small, rickety lift that swung uneasily from side to side under their combined weight. Vallabhadev closed the lift's gate behind them and offered a few last words of wisdom, “Once you're down, find some stone and start digging.” As he said his final word he turned a key in a lock then pulled a lever which started the move the lift downwards. Moonlight faded away above the slaves and into the darkness they descended. Shortly after, the lift entered the narrow shaft that stopped it rocking. The air became warmer and water could be heard dripping from the rock around them. The environment was stable yet had a high humidity that filled Pacha with an uneasy feeling. The young woman in their group managed to strike a match then softly said,

“Hold out your candles.” In the dim light, she slowly lit each candle that was held out to her until all six candles were now lit and the party could see each other. “There. That's better,” She said with a slight smile. There was something about her voice and her smile that eased Pacha. In the darkness, this gentle and untouchable moment calmed her.

The lift started to slow and it once again started to rock from side to side as the shaft widened. The sharp sound of pickaxes smashing against rock immediately filled their ears. Looking into the mine around fifty slaves could be seen working down here. The new group moved cautiously out of the lift and into the mine. They walked deeper into it slowly, each waiting for a miner to swing their pickaxe or to stop mining in order to let them pass. By the looks of it, some of them had been down here for decades: their faces were withered by the damp, cool air. A few faces they passed were obviously only a few weeks or a few months in. Even so, they looked tired, weak and afraid. Soon the number of people started to thin out and each new slave took a place upon the rock where they would mine.

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

Pacha chose a place around a meter or two from another woman about the same age as her. They remained in silence for a few minutes as complete strangers before Pacha broke the ice,

“Who are you?” Pacha asked the woman beside her.

“208,” came the answer. Then the woman glanced around and in an even softer tone she said, “Elizabeth.”

“I’m Pacha,” Pacha replied before turning back to the rock and continuing mining. She thought for a moment and realised that she hadn’t taken note of any of the woman’s appearance.

“What does he mean, being sold to the city?” Pacha asked turning back to her. The woman she looked at was indeed the same age as her and she was a similar height if a bit shorter than Pacha. She had shoulder length hair, which had turned grey due to the mine dust. She wasn’t very muscular but she was mining with reasonable force.

“Being sold to the city is to be bought by one of the prostitute slave owners. They strip you of everything except your body and the vicious men who use you take away what’s left. The slaves of the city are nothing more than empty husks and it’s not long before they become tied to the city forever.” Elizabeth’s words shocked Pacha into silence and she thought of the woman she had seen in the alleyway, in her red dress and of the man who stood over her. This image haunted Pacha as she worked. A little while later a large rock came away and joined the stones by Elizabeth’s feet.

“Bernal!” Elizabeth called into the mine. A large man came down the mine towards them. He was bulky and very muscular with tattoos all the way down his right arm and left-hand side. He lifted the large lumps of rock with ease and carried them to the lift shaft picking up other piles of stone mined by other workers on his way.

Around 5 minutes later the old man who had travelled to the mine with Pacha took his place beside her, on the side closest to the lift. After a moment Elizabeth stopped mining and sat down on the floor.

“I’ve been mining for about 12 hours now,” she sighed as she wiped her eyes with her hand. Then she looked up slightly, “Move a little to your left Pacha and aim your pickaxe slightly downwards. You will find more ore there.” Pacha followed Elizabeth’s advice while Elizabeth lay onto her back, closed her eyes and fell asleep almost immediately. Hours passed while Pacha mined until she wasn’t sure whether it was day or night any more. On the ground around her lay people sleeping, some were tucked into small corners or crevices while others lay in the centre of the passage, but all were still, as though death had taken them. Candles flickered in lanterns around her and the sound of mining trundled on. In the moments that Pacha rested, she heard Elizabeth’s soft breath behind her as she slept. Time went on and the old man next to her started to tire, as his swing weakened he looked at Pacha and caught her gaze.

“Sleep. You need rest,” Pacha instructed him. At Pacha’s words, the man didn’t argue, he found a dark corner and lay down on his left-hand side, falling asleep with ease. Not soon after Elizabeth awoke, she saw Pacha weary from many hours’ work. She went over and put her hand onto Pacha’s pickaxe.

“Next time you should wake me. This doesn’t get any easier, you’re only causing yourself more pain.” Elizabeth's voice was calm and controlled as she moved her hand to lie softly on Pacha’s back.

“Can we access water down here?” Pacha asked as she became aware of how thirsty she was. Elizabeth turned and pointed to a small size passage.

“Down that small passage by only a few feet, water drips from the rock and into a small pool below. The water’s clean I think, none has died from drinking it. It drips constantly, I think the ice above it is melting,” Elizabeth answered Pacha.

“Thank you,” Pacha replied as she dropped her pickaxe and she drank from the pool of water. Heading back into the main passage she turned to Elizabeth once more. “What do we do about food?” she asked.

“Around every two weeks, food and supplies are sent down in the lift. However you have to be quick as it gets pulled up within an hour.,” Elizabeth replied. Pacha nodded, smiling, then she laid down and fell asleep.

Throughout the next few days, Pacha stayed on her rotation with Elizabeth and the elderly man whose name she had learned was George Marks. She had tried to get a regular sleeping pattern but that turned out to be impossible in the darkness. After a fair amount of time had passed Pacha remembered a conversation she had had with Elizabeth,

“He doesn't seem too bad,” Pacha had said about the Vallabhadev.

“He seems nice compared to his bastard son. But a few weeks in the mine and you'll know what cruelty is.”

Now she understood the truth of that statement.

Pacha didn’t know how long she’d been down in the mine, but she knew it had to be more than a month as twice now the lift shaft had moved and crates had come down on it. Each time she had walked to it in turn with everyone else, bringing back food for herself and her companions, along with a stock of new matches and candles. One day she had perhaps over-eaten as she worked longer than she ever had before yet did not tire. In turn, both Elizabeth and the elderly man slept twice during her long stint and she was happy to let them sleep. The elderly man woke up for a third shift by Pacha’s timing and before he reached the wall he turned to her.

“Rest now,” he said, knowing how long she had been working for. “You have done more than enough for me and Elizabeth.” Pacha lay down to sleep and looked over to see Elizabeth, she had been sleeping for a while now. Gently Pacha shook her awake. “Elizabeth,” Pacha began as she watched Elizabeth open her eyes, “How do you survive a year and a half in a place like this?” Elizabeth became solemn as she began to speak.

“Because I know there are worse places to be,” Elizabeth said before she smiled, “And because I have faith.”

“Faith in what?” Pacha asked frowning.

“Faith that one day life will change for the better. That my actions will lead to joy, for Tallara makes life hard so we can grow to be strong.”

“Even here you have faith in Tallara?”

“She who created the world also created those who repress us. She is everywhere.”

“How can you fight hate?”

“With love,” Elizabeth replied after a moment.

“What happens if you die down here?” Pacha asked in all seriousness.

“Then my work here is done and Tallara will continue to work in others and will bring about miracles.”

“How can death become miracles?”

“That is a question that I cannot answer, as I fear that it is one of these things which must be lived through in order to discover the answer,” Elizabeth concluded. Pacha lay down to sleep thinking about Tallara and how faith survives in such dire places.