3

 

Cerrin was already counting the days. The governor hadn’t told her exactly when she would be needed, but she longed to be out of the mine: free, if only for a few hours.

Along with about a dozen other women, she was working inside a dank, moldy cavern close to the main shaft. They were standing in a line beside a slow-moving conveyor, their job to remove patches of unwanted fungus stuck to the precious terodite. Cerrin picked up a hand-sized chunk of rock and cut away the growth with her chisel, letting it fall at her feet. She then chucked the rock back into the container, the clanging impact eliciting yet another head shake from the woman standing next to her.

They had been working for three hours, so no one was speaking. But no one had spoken to Cerrin anyway, even though she’d been out of the cage for a week. Some of the women were Echobe—forest folk, like her—but they weren’t about to associate with a known troublemaker, even though the guards only checked on them every hour or so.

It was Stripe who looked in on them next, and the hulking Vitaari had to bend his head to avoid the bar lights hanging from chains above the conveyor. He walked along the other side of the rumbling machine, pretending to be interested in the passing lumps of rock. Cerrin was close to the middle of the line, and he stopped opposite her, the misty yellow light making his tattoos seem more green than blue. Cerrin hacked at another bit of fungus.

“Morning, Longlegs,” said Stripe, who had his translator turned up loud. “How’s the ankle?”

She said nothing, kept working.       

Despite the noise of the conveyor, she could feel the tension gripping the other women. They had mastered the art of working with their heads down and doing absolutely nothing to draw attention to themselves.

Stripe tapped a colossal gloved hand against each container as it passed. “You know there were a few wagers made. On how long it will be before you try and get away again—and what the governor will have to do to you next time. We have some of our own ideas for punishments. I came up with quite a few—very imaginative, even if I do say so myself.”

Had it been just the two of them, Cerrin might have replied; she’d traded insults with him and the other guards before. But the truth was she didn’t want to make herself even more unpopular. She would be out in the forest again soon. Until then, she had to avoid trouble as best she could.

“Not talking today?” added Stripe. “Makes a change.”

Cerrin pulled away another handful of fungus and dropped it.

The Vitaari picked up a lump of rock. “Maybe you’ve finally caught up with these others. Accepted how things are. Accepted who’s in charge.”

She lowered the chisel, looked across at him.

His head was cocked to one side, dark eyes unblinking. “I’ve served all over, me. Fought the Dal Karaar, the Black Ghosts, every bloody creature the Jedna threw at us. They all lost in the end. But even when they should know they’re beaten, there’s always the odd one who just doesn’t get it. Who just doesn’t know when to give up. They never last long.”

Stripe threw the rock into the container passing Cerrin, showering her with black dust.

She grabbed it, pulled her arm back ready to throw.

One of the women cried out as she and the rest of them scattered.

Stripe, who didn’t appear to be armed, leered at Cerrin.

She put the rock down.

“That wager,” he said. “I bet you would last another forty days. But you know, I don’t think I’ll see any of that back. I doubt you’ll make another twenty. See you around, Longlegs.”

With that, Stripe sauntered out of the cavern, heavy boots crunching on the rocky floor. The women didn’t need telling to keep at it; they were already back at the conveyor.

Cerrin felt her hands shake, her teeth grind. She would have loved nothing more than to jam her chisel into that freakish, glistening face. She tried to breathe deeply, let out the anger as her father had taught her. He’d always told her she needed to be calmer: more thoughtful, less impulsive. It was a lesson he had never quite managed to teach her, and it was far too late now.

Returning to her work, Cerrin forced herself to think only of the forest: the wind in the branches, the softness of moss underfoot, the cool, clean water of the Crystal Lake.

“Excuse me.”

Cerrin moved aside. The young girl came along every few minutes to collect the fungus and place it in sacks. The women looked after her: giving her some of their food, warning her to stay clear of the conveyor. Cerrin looked down as the girl expertly gathered the detritus with a sweep of her arm, then stuffed it into the sack. She didn’t look more than twelve or so, though it was hard to judge these days: there were so few children around and they didn’t grow as they had before. The girl stood, then looked up at Cerrin, eyes bright in her grimy face.

One of the women stepped out of the line. “Come away, Yarni.”

Yarni grabbed the sack but didn’t take her eyes off Cerrin. “I thought you were going to throw that rock.”

The closest woman grabbed the girl’s shoulder and turned her around. “On you go, girl.”

Yarni did as she was told but walked backwards, watching Cerrin every step of the way.

 

 

At dusk, they were ordered to the landing strip. Wincing at the pain from her ankle but determined not to limp, Cerrin joined the scores of others from the day shift marching past high stacks of bright blue barrels. She was surprised to see the night shift already lined up on the strip; she couldn’t remember the last time the governor had gathered the entire workforce.

A grunt and an extended arm from a guard directed her and the rest of the women into the sixth and last line. Cerrin inspected the gun hanging from his shoulder and thought of the first time she had seen one used. The tongue of fire had arrowed right past her, scorching a vine and burning a hole in an Echobe warrior’s chest.

As the women shuffled to a stop, Cerrin glanced over at the wall. Even though she knew better, she sometimes felt as if there could be nothing beyond it. But to the south was the Great Forest, to the north the Empty Lands. The sun—now a brilliant orange disc—had almost disappeared from view. She mouthed the prayer of farewell and wondered how many of the other Echobe still bothered to do the same. Noting movement to her right, she saw Yarni peer at her, then straighten up and face the front.

Governor Yeterris stepped onto a cargo pallet and examined the workers. Cerrin wasn’t sure why he needed the stage; he was at least three feet taller than all of those he was addressing. She heard a snatch of the invader language before the translator cut in.

“An announcement. You would be wise to listen and listen well. These are the words of Excellency Count Derzitt Kan Talazeer, who is now in charge of our operation here. Greetings, loyal subjects of Corvos. Be assured that The Domain remains appreciative of your hard work and peaceful conduct. Due to urgent need, it is essential that we increase production within all installations. That will mean a reduction in breaks and an improved yield from every single one of you. We are confident that you will work alongside your supervisors to achieve this improvement.”

Reduction in breaks? Cerrin wasn’t sure even the Vitaari would manage that. Both shifts worked for twelve hours straight with only half an hour for a midday meal and two water breaks. There was barely enough time to get the food or drink down before a siren sounded or some guard shoved you back to where you were supposed to be.

Cerrin had picked up the odd bit of information while working outside the mine with the invaders, but she had never heard of this Count Talazeer. In fact, she didn’t even know what a count was, not that it really mattered. He would be just like all the rest of them.

The governor offered his own words. “I share Count Talazeer’s confidence in you. I am proud of the productive, peaceful record I have established here at Mine Fourteen. With the exception of a few… isolated cases, you have all done well for me. I do not wish to hear complaints or see malingerers at the infirmary. You will work quietly, and you will work well, and we shall all benefit. Now, we are wasting time. The night shift will leave first.”

With a gesture toward his chief guard, the governor stepped down off the pallet and strode away, accompanied by several administrators.

 

 

Block A was an enormous cargo container—a hundred feet long and thirty high. Large though it was, it never felt that way with so many inside. Divided into two levels, the forty compartments housed the entire day shift.

Cerrin waited patiently for the queue to clear, then took a last breath of vaguely fresh air and went inside. It took a while for her to reach her ladder, during which time she watched the weary workers cast off their filthy clothes and lie on the rusting metal beds with their thin, holed mattresses. She looked on as a mother and father helped their exhausted son out of his clothes. Cerrin had seen him around; the Vitaari used him to retrieve bits of fungus that got caught in machinery. The lad could barely lift his arms. Considering his work, Cerrin reckoned he was lucky to still have both of them.

Trying to ignore the blisters on her fingers, she gripped the rungs of the narrow metal ladder and climbed up. She shared her compartment with two sisters: Palanians, from the hill country to the far north—a people who seemed convinced that they were somehow better than every other tribe on Corvos. The sisters had long since learned to keep such opinions to themselves and had only made one ill-fated attempt at admonishing Cerrin for encroaching on their half of the cramped space.

They were already under their covers and talking quietly when she crawled to her bed. Once her boots and overalls were off, she pulled her blanket over her and sat back against the wall, just grateful to be still. After a while, she summoned the energy to look out the window she’d made by pulling out a long-dead ventilation unit. It had been a wonderful moment when she realized she could just see over the wall. Some nights she saw moonlight glittering on the river, but tonight there was too much cloud. Only by craning her head could she see the edge of the forest, the endless dark mass that symbolized everything for her: past and future, loss and hope.

The lights inside the block would only be on for a few more minutes. Cerrin reached into the pocket of her overalls and took out the cutting of creeper she had found just outside the mine. She needed something of the earth around her and had cultivated a few plants in little pots filled with soil. She chose only hardy things that could survive without much sunlight. The creeper was the hardiest of them all and needed only a little water. It wasn’t much to look at, but it would grow quickly and she liked the hard, diamond-shaped leaves. Once the cutting was in the pot, she placed it carefully in a corner with the others.

Cerrin then poured herself some water from the yellowing plastic barrel she shared with the sisters. Grimacing at the sour taste, she looked down at her pathetic selection of belongings. Everything she’d had with her when she’d been captured had been taken by the Vitaari and burned. The jacket, boots, and two sets of overalls were standard issue, as were the hygiene kits handed out every month. (One set of overalls had been given to her at the infirmary—to replace those torn and soaked in blood when Stripe had grabbed her). The latrine was in a separate building and—like every man, woman, and child in Fourteen—she was expected to shower on every third day (in under ten minutes). Cerrin closed her eyes and thought again of the Crystal Lake; she would give anything just to see it again.

Somebody rapped on the ladder, and a bald head appeared. “Dukas, for Cerrin.”

“What is it?” she said, though she had a good idea what he would say. Dukas came up another rung so she could see his broad, stupid-looking face. He clearly thought himself some sort of leader, but to Cerrin the Palanian was a weak-minded fool. He would never have been respected by her people. His idea of leadership was telling everyone how best to avoid antagonizing the Vitaari.

“You heard the speech?”

She even hated his accent.

“This Count Talazeer,” continued Dukas. “They say he is bad as any of them. He visited Mine Eight yesterday and overheard a worker say his name. The man was given three jolts—to the head.”

“You better hope there are no informers around, then.”

Dukas leant into the compartment. “There are no informers here because the Vitaari know they don’t need them. I would like us to try and keep it that way.”

“Sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying,” she lied. “Your accent.”

The sisters were whispering again.

Dukas sighed. “Trying to escape is futile. And now is certainly not the time. You endanger us all.”

She leant back against the wall. “Sorry, didn’t get that either.”

Just as Dukas shook his head, the lights went out.

It sounded as if he were leaving, but he halted. “At Eight. It wasn’t just the one man given the jolts. They took one in ten from his shift and one in ten from his block. Men and women.”

The sisters went quiet.

“You know that I speak for most here,” added Dukas. “Please, Cerrin. Just think of the rest of us for once.”

 

 

She almost always slept well. It didn’t seem to matter what happened in the day; night always brought her relief and rest.

She had slept on the first night news reached her village—talk of lights in the sky and shattering cracks louder than thunder. She had slept on the night her father left to join the warband taking on the invaders and the night when she’d heard he would not be coming back. She had slept the night her mother died, her heart giving out as they were pursued through the forest by the Vitaari and their machines. The only night she had not slept was the one before the final battle, when the invaders had cornered the last of the Echobe. Even though they had prayed to the god of battle for hours, made endless offerings, she had feared even Ikala would not be able to help them. She had not slept then because she had known it would be her last night in the forest.

Cerrin turned over and looked up at the faint rectangle of light coming from the makeshift window. Every day since the river, she had thought of ending it. No one would be surprised, least of all the Vitaari; it was rare for a month to pass without someone throwing themselves down one of the deep shafts. But she couldn’t do that. She had broken enough promises to her mother, especially after her father died.

Live, girl. You must go on. For me, for the ancients, and for all our people.

Cerrin felt the familiar warm surge of hope that somehow always saved her.