ESKER IV

  The mottled bruises left from the shift-boss’ assault were fading; the brand marking Esker’s brow as a work deserter would not. The singed flesh was inflamed and dripped pus. This was not the welcome that she had expected. The miners she had joined to slip past the city guards had politely spoken in her defense to the livid shift-boss, sparing her even harsher treatment. Without a way to prove her travails upon the surface world, or to explain her absence, Esker had not resisted her punishment.

  The branding had surprised her, it seemed that intolerance had bloomed amongst her people while she was away. The shift-boss had noticed her armlet and recognized its religious significance, deciding to make an example out of her. Since that awful moment, she had been imprisoned in a dingy and overcrowded cell. There was only enough room to sit on the grubby floor, not lie down. The guards and inmates ignored her.

  Esker tested the bars of the cell: since they were manufactured to Tengu specifications, they did not budge. She explored the prison with her geomancy, but the traces of stone within the alloy were negligible and the entire structure was framed by a cage of metal. Some rock was present in the foundation, yet not enough to manipulate to ensure her freedom. She also suspected that revealing her ability would draw undue attention and further mistreatment.

  Esker decided to be patient. If her fellow prisoners would not talk to her, she would listen. The majority of her cellmates seemed to be confused by their incarceration: some turned to fantasy as a way to cope, others catastrophized. The consensus was split, but the leading theory was that they were going to be assigned to a dangerous labor project, likely a volatile area in the lava works.

  Esker needed to find a sympathetic ear, so that she could explain what she saw upon the surface world and warn her people. Finding a way to return to her friends at the temple posed an even greater challenge.

  The meager food offerings were undesirable. When Esker had requested a larger portion, her bowl was taken away from her. Thereafter, she enthusiastically ate the brown stew and assumed that the chitinous chunks within it were the leavings of butchered crickets. If she was assigned to a work crew, she needed to preserve her strength: her body was taxed from the beating she had received from the shift-boss.

  As Esker took a look around at the others huddled in cell, she noticed that an alarming number of them had debilitating injuries. Some, like her, were missing a limb, while others appeared as if they had suffered job-related accidents. The exposed arm of a Tengu to her left was mottled with deep magma burns, pocking the powerful forearm muscles of what looked to be a forge worker. The prisoner to her immediate right was missing several fingers and an eye. This was a troubling sign. Esker suspected that wherever she and the others were sent, they would be expendable and unlikely to return. Tengu leadership, the Keiretsu, had become fixated on efficiency. That left scarce room for compassion towards those who were handicapped, even if the injury was caused while on a shift.

  Her peoples’ treatment of disfigurement was callous: Esker had been guilty of that bias prior to her injury. Had a shift-boss assigned her a workmate with physical limitations, she would have questioned their judgement. Now it was easier to see how limited that perspective was. Would she prefer a workmate who was highly skilled and had been maimed at no fault of their own, or was an uninjured novice more appealing? Without question Esker would prioritize the experienced candidate, even if it meant that she might have to compensate beyond the normal expectations of her role.

  “What alloys did you specialize in?” Esker asked the prisoner to her left, hoping to coax them into conversation. The look she received in return was an answer in of itself. She adjusted to face to the right. The Tengu missing an eye tried to avert his gaze. Esker was not deterred and asked him, “Have you been getting enough food?”

  “The rations are adequate,” her neighbor answered flatly.

  Esker considered other avenues of smalltalk, but decided to be direct. “An alarming number of us have permanent injuries.”

  “Was that a question?” the Tengu snapped. “I have nothing to say to a shift deserter.”

  “I did not abandon my shift,” Esker asserted. “While mining, my workmate sacrificed himself to save me from a cave-in.” She opted to omit her odyssey upon the surface world, it would sound like addled ravings to those in her cell. “I returned as soon as I could find my way back.”

  The one-eyed Tengu gave her an appraising stare, then looked down to flex the few fingers that remained on his hand. “My workmate was not so diligent, she was distracted while loading a mine cart and left the ore unbalanced. When it shifted, my hand became trapped.” Bitterness crept into his voice, “We should not be punished for misfortune that was no fault of our own.”

  “Plug your nose, Flint!” a prisoner called out from the other side of the cell. “When the guards hear you questioning the judgement of Keiretsu, we will all be punished.”

  “How could it get worse?” Flint fired back. “We are never going home…”

  “It can always get worse,” the Tengu to Esker’s left growled, the scar tissue that pocked her forearms twitched.

  “Listen to her, Flint,” the other prisoner insisted. “You may have lost faith in the Keiretsu, but you do not speak for the rest of us. They have given our children a brighter future and will protect us from the pale demons trying to enter our mines.”

  Esker’s attention was drawn to the last part. “What do you know of the pale strangers?” she asked.

  “Are you simple as well as lazy? Everyone has heard the reports,” the prisoner across the room mocked, shaking his head and nudging the snickering Tengu at his side.

  “They came in force,” the magma burned prisoner to Esker’s left said after no one else answered her question. “Dozens of them dared to invade our tunnels. They killed a mining pair before they were destroyed.” Esker turned towards this prisoner, but she would not meet her eyes. “My forge boss saw some of the pathetic armor they wore, the craftsmanship was embarrassing.”

  That confirmed Esker’s suspicion, Jotman must have excavated the tunnel they had found her in. This was troubling news. “The pale ones are not to be underestimated,” Esker said softly, not wishing to attract the attention of the rest of the cell.

  “What would you know of them?” The magma burned prisoner’s eyes narrowed and she clenched her fist.

  “I was imprisoned by them after I was injured, I barely managed to escape. They are formidable in combat and their people are warlike.”

  “Demons are not people,” the prisoner to her left insisted.

  “That is how they treated me while I was held captive. I have seen true demons and can assure you that they are unlike either of our people.” Esker figured that little would convince this prisoner to change her mind, she spoke in hope that others were listening. She was rewarded when a prisoner huddled in the nearest corner spoke up.

  “What do they want from us? Why would they invade our mines?” More and more of the prisoners started paying attention to this conversation, all eyes turned to Esker, awaiting her response.

  “They fear us,” Esker replied. “There are other groups of people that live above us, the Jotman have invaded them as well and will not stop unless we work together.”

  “Tengu do not need the aid of lesser beings. Our forge weapons will destroy these Jotman,” the magma burned prisoner stated with grim confidence. “They want to steal our ore and gems, what is rightfully ours!” A greed glinted in her eyes and was mirrored by others. This was a side of her people that Esker had never seen. Much had changed, even during the brief time she was stranded on the surface.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Why would th-” Esker was interrupted by a guard clanging his jitte against the bars of the cell.

  “Shut your worthless mouths if you want to eat!” The guard singled out Esker, pointing the end of the baton at her. “Is that deserter causing this ruckus?” The magma burned prisoner inhaled a breath, but thankfully neither she nor any of the others spoke out against Esker. The guard slammed the jitte against the bars one more time and stalked off.

  “Thank you,” Esker whispered quietly. None of the prisoners answered.

  ———

  After a restless attempt at sleep, largely due to the inability to fully stretch her limbs, Esker and the other prisoners were commanded to strip. The entire cell and its occupants were hosed with cold water piped up from a lifestream. She joined the line of shivering Tengu and was handed a scratchy tunic as she exited the cell. A few of the prisoners were too weak to rise and were left behind.

  The guards hurled abuse at them as they rushed to dress. They were then driven down a long hallway, leading into a courtyard. “Line up against the wall!” a guard barked, jabbing her jitte into Esker’s back. The prisoners complied and formed up. Three Tengu in military dress strode into the courtyard. A ripple of dismay wound through the prisoners: they were not going to be assigned a dangerous work assignment, they were going to be sent to war. Esker cursed her stubbornness, she should have stayed with Rhyolite and her friends. She could not help her people avoid war, at this point she barely recognized them. Since any outburst would be met with harsh punishment, her tongue lay heavy in her mouth like a large stone.

  Two of the Tengu military wore the finely fit scale armor commonly seen on soldiers, the last of the trio wore lavish silkworm robes. Unlike the crude armor Jotman wore, composed of brittle iron rings, Tengu armor was contoured to the body and presented few weak points. The kimono of the ranking officer was intricately patterned, stylized with a motif of a spider’s web. The soldiers hung back, hands resting on their war picks, while the officer strutted along the line of prisoners, sniffing disdainfully. “I asked for capable recruits, Galena, not maimed deserters,” the officer snapped.

  The guard with the jitte seethed with anger for a moment, then masked it and bowed low. “Magnate Citrine, I assure you that these candidates will work hard for your approval.”

  “If they do not, you will join the next batch,” the officer threatened, moving on before Galena had a chance to react. “I will take these three,” Magnate Citrine gestured to a trio of prisoners, including the one with the magma burns. She strode past a few more, angling her nose high, and stopped in front of the prisoner who had been Esker’s righthand neighbor in the cell. “Give me your jitte,” Magnate Citrine commanded, not bothering to look at Galena, she held out an imperious hand.

  The guard tried to bore holes through the back of the officer’s head with his eyes. “Yes, Magnate Citrine,” he said courteously as he reversed his grip on the baton and placed the handle into the officer’s hand.

  Magnate Citrine tested the weight of the jitte, swished it through the air, then placed it under the chin of the prisoner who was missing multiple fingers. His name was Flint. She waited a beat. “Grip it with your hand. No, not that one, the one you should be ashamed of.” The prisoner cautiously grasped the smooth metal end of the baton. “Hold on with all your strength.” Flint wrapped his thumb and index finger around the jitte under his chin, the nubs of his missing digits were unable to contribute to his hold.

  Magnate Citrine tutted with displeasure and snapped the weapon upwards. The jitte broke Flint’s weak grapple and slammed into his jaw, cracking his head backward. Several of his teeth spilled from his bloody mouth, he whimpered in pain.

  “Get this one out of my sight,” Magnate Citrine ordered. Galena gestured to two guards and Flint was dragged away, back down the hallway to the cell. The officer took a step further down the line and now stood directly in front of Esker. “And you, deserter, are you as worthless?” She jabbed the jitte into the stump of Esker’s left arm, wrinkling her nose with distaste.

  Esker did not react, she kept her eyes lowered in deference.

  “Hold onto the jitte,” Magnate Citrine commanded.

  Esker obliged, curling her fingers around the end of the baton and locking her thumb over the top. She could feel the intensity of Magnate Citrine’s wild look. With her eyes averted, Esker had a good view of the officer’s stance and saw how she telegraphed when she would try to wrench the jitte free. Esker reacted faster, snapping down the weapon a fraction of a moment before it was brought up, killing the momentum and jarring it loose from Magnate Citrine’s hand. She expected to be punished for this transgression.

  The two soldiers swept to the officer’s sides, ready to inflict cruelty upon Esker. They were interrupted by Magnate Citrine stilling them with a hand. “Good,” she said as she grasped the handle of the jitte. Esker released her end of it. The tip of the baton pushed her chin up to meet the officer’s eyes. “I like this one’s spirits,” the officer said. The ambition written across her face was terrifying to behold.

  ———

  Esker had expected military training and was surprised to learn that her regiment took a much more hands on approach. Literally, in the sense that they were placing and handling devices containing a volatile substance called fire balm. The explosives were terrifying and took many forms: some were encased in clay, some in alloys, while other permutations varied from handheld devices and those meant to launched from a sturdy metal tube. The emissions were equally varied: some of the weapons exploded into gouts of fire, a few launched molten shards of metal, and others generated thunderous force.

  Informing those who were tasked with placing these devices on the specifics of their range or the duration of their fuse was not a priority. Magnate Citrine was not concerned by the hazards her regiment operated under and Esker suspected that the catastrophic casualties were intended: the hit to morale was counterbalanced by extreme obedience.

  Esker was both awed and horrified by Tengu ingenuity. These explosive weapons would cause a tectonic shift in warfare: a battlefield where she was, unfortunately, likely to be on the frontlines. Her squad was composed of four recruits, including her: the magma burned forge worker, who was named Stibnite, a cricket farmer named Spar, who was injured in a ranching mishap, and a miner named Gabbro whose body was unmarred, but whose mind had become addled after being trapped in a chamber with toxic fumes. These were not the companions Esker would have chosen, but she had little say in the matter and even less interest in challenging Magnate Citrine on the issue. Despite her reservations, Esker would do her best to ensure that her squad survived their conscription.

  A natural division of labor occurred between the four members of Esker’s squad: Stibnite built and armed the explosive devices, Spar managed the fuses, while Esker and Gabbro handled placement. Gabbro was an interesting companion, he was mute and required constant prompting; otherwise, he would default to endlessly performing the last task he was assigned, or stand idle. He was not the ideal partner in such dangerous work, yet Esker quickly grew attached to the silent miner and suspected that he was not nearly as mentally incapacitated as his actions suggested.

  Spar was shockingly easygoing by Tengu standards and the most optimistic member of the squad. He was openhearted and generous with encouragement, casually sharing anecdotes about his past life as a cricket rancher. Stibnite would roll her eyes whenever he launched into a meandering tale that did not always end in a clear point; Esker treasured those moments of normalcy. The former forge worker, Stibnite, maintained her fiery disposition and was often abrasive. There were moments, however, when Esker could sense that her temperament was cooling and that camaraderie was forming between the four of them.

  “Steady with the fuse,” Spar encouraged as Gabbro helped to twist the dried mushroom fibers into thin ropes. “Good work, make sure to match the length of the others.”

  Gabbro diligently complied, dexterously replicating Spar’s example.

  Esker sat across from Stibnite at her workbench, trying to better understand the armaments that they would be deploying. Her solitary hand made transporting and installing some of the devices difficult.

  “I could taper the curves of the casing for the molten metal bombs,” Stibnite suggested, seeming to pick up on her concern. She paused her work and stared at Esker. “Would you like me to do that?”

  “Yes, that would make them easier to handle,” Esker replied, momentarily stunned by Stibnite’s offer. She had nearly incinerated herself when her grip had slipped prior to launching one of the molten metal bombs, fortunately the momentum of her release was enough to spare Gabbro and her a fiery demise.

  “You have clever fingers,” Spar complimented Gabbro, who had laid out several well crafted wicks. The miner did not respond to the praise and mechanically began to assemble another.

  Esker smiled at Spar, she was grateful for the support he lent Gabbro. From a young age, Tengu had been taught to prioritize the collective, which often meant ostracizing those who threatened to contribute less. Each member of this squad fit into that category, yet even then, it was difficult to fight the natural instinct to further stratify their social standing. Esker did not want that unstable foundation to define her life: compassion was a scarce resource in a military camp, one that she would help foster.

  One of Magnate Citrine’s auditors strode into the squad’s cramped quarters. “Assemble up,” the officer ordered. “Band three did not succeed at their assignment, you will take their place.”

  Esker and the rest stood at attention. The nervous energy of being assigned their first military deployment was palpable.