Page 5 of Beholden
“Yer the godsend.”
I wanted to say more, to thank him again, but at Benedict’s tug I resumed the climb upward. Only after we’d crawled through the square opening and onto the rocky mountaintop, did I realize how badly I was shaking. My knees were too weak to hold my weight, and my hands trembled too much to tuck my tools back into my rope belt.
Even so, heedless of the stones that dug into my hands and knees, I crawled over to Benedict and Alice where they’d collapsed, searching them for any signs of blood. “You were not bitten, were you?”
“No,” Benedict whispered, grasping Alice’s hand. “Thank the saints.”
Heads bent in weariness, their stooped shoulders heaved as they gasped in air. Their garments, which had once fit so snugly against plump frames, now hung over sharply protruding bones. Their faces were sallow and sunken, their skin pale, and their bodies bruised.
Empathy swelled inside, and I gathered them both in my arms, kissing the tops of their heads. I loathed that every day I had to watch them waste away a little more.
All around us in the growing dusk, Slave Town was a hustle of business. Smoke drifted from thatched huts, and the scents of the evening meal wafted in the cool air, making my stomach grumble in protest.
I sighed. We would be going without food again tonight, now that we’d left our baskets behind in the mine.
Curly’s footsteps crunched in the rocks beside me. “Haven’t I told ye to be guarding your flame with your life?”
I released the older couple and turned to find my friend glaring down at me. He was framed by the fading sunlight and the splashes of rose and orange against the mountain peaks to the west. The colors of the setting sun highlighted the red in his wildly curly hair, which was much brighter than my own softer blond-red. His temperament oft flamed like his hair.
“’Twas not our fault.” I spoke calmly, trying to keep him from exploding. “We were guarding the flame carefully, but a foul breeze snuffed it out in an instant, plunging us into darkness.”
His thick red brows furrowed together above a face that had likely been handsome at one time but was now thin and bony and pale. “If ye won’t be working with the rest of us, then ye need to avoid the old tunnels and stay closer to the new where the air is cleaner.”
He knew Alice wasn’t capable of climbing down to labor in the new drift with the rest of the slaves. We’d already tried on several occasions. And he also knew that being together didn’t mean anyone was safe. With the tremors and cave-in that had trapped Molly and two others last week, he should know that well enough. We’d had to work day and night to dig them out, and even then only Molly survived.
“If ye stay closer and then yer light goes, ye can call me, and I’ll be there in the twitch of a lamb’s tail, that I will.”
The rats couldn’t abide light, and it was our only protection against their bloodthirstiness. If only Molly’s torch had lasted until we’d been able to dig her out of the rubble. At the sudden shadow on Curly’s face, I guessed he was thinking the same.
“How is Molly tonight?” I asked.
“She be sitting up and smiling.” His haunted eyes darkened as he glanced at the hut used as the infirmary. “So I can’t be complaining now, can I?”
Like most of the other slaves, Molly hadn’t deserved to be sent to the mines. She and her brother had been present when a group of peasants had rioted over new taxes. They’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and were rounded up with the dissidents and sent to the mines. I’d just arrived when her brother died of an infection. Still in the midst of grieving, Molly had taken me under her wing and taught me everything I needed to know to survive.
Curly held out a hand to assist me to my feet. “I take it ye left yer buckets behind, then?”
“We had no choice.”
“I’d be giving ye some of my rations, but I already divided it up.”
No doubt he’d given some of his supper to Molly, and only rightly so. “We shall be fine. Do not trouble yourself over us.”
We’d travailed all day, chiseling rock to fill our buckets, rock that was necessary to get our daily ration for meals. ’Twould be of no consequence now. The hatch would soon be battened down for the night to keep any rats from coming to the surface during the darkness. Anyone who remained in the mine would be trapped there for the night, and I couldn’t risk that.
A commotion at the bridge drew my attention. Someone was crossing the braided rope structure that stretched across a deep ravine separating the mine from civilization. The suspension bridge was the only way in and out, except most of the people who came to work in the mine as slaves never made it out.
I would be the exception. I didn’t know exactly how I would accomplish such a feat. All I knew was that I had to escape before Midsummer’s Eve, less than two months away.
“Jolly,” Curly muttered as he watched the bridge. “Just what we be needing. A fresh batch of slaves.”
New slaves meant more competition for finding the coveted gems that could be used to buy any number of luxuries from clothing to medicine to soap. The emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds were nearly impossible to locate now. After the past six months of living at the mine, I’d witnessed the discoveries diminishing from several veins a day to several a week. And now we were fortunate to find several in a month.
Most people believed that somehow the sun’s midsummer zenith helped the gems to grow and surface every year. Very few were aware of what really caused the precious jewels to reappear after Midsummer’s Eve. My father had been one of those few, and it cost him his life.
I was also one of those privy to the truth, although it had taken my father’s death to fully understand the depths of depravity Queen Margery had sunk to in order to ensure the gem production continued. Ever since learning of her vile practices, I had one burning goal—to end the evil and avenge my father’s death.
Still muttering, Curly strode away, gathering around him the gang of loyal slaves who followed and respected him. A good number of them were missing one limb or another to accidents or rat bites. They crossed over barren-land, which separated the village from the bridge. And they positioned themselves near the tower guardhouse that stood on the edge of Slave Town adjacent to the bridge. They would welcome the newcomers just as they always did—with a show of intimidation.
