“I see!” Abioye gasped behind me as we waited for the mine guard to complete his initial inspection. We had space for me to look across at him, and I could tell that he was trying to appear nonchalant, but really the Drop was terrifying him.
“I’d better not ruin my clothes down here,” he said in a slightly too-loud voice, tugging on the large white cuffs of his shirt and pressing them back into the sleeves of his jerkin. I wanted to point out that perhaps a crisp white linen shirt wasn’t the best attire to go jaunting in a mine – but decided against it. For all of his strangeness, and his apparent difference from the cruel overseers and Dagan Mar, he was still the brother of Inyene. He was probably going to sell any artifacts he found and didn’t care how many of us Daza fell over the edge of the Drop in the process.
“Safe,” the guard announced, casting a dark look back at me which told me silently just to ‘get moving!’
I did.
The ledge that led to Western Tunnel Two was wide, and really it should have presented no problem to even three people walking abreast, but Abioye kept firmly behind me, and reached out to touch the reassuringly solid overhang of the wall to his right.
He’s probably never even been down here before, I thought with contempt.
Eventually, we came to the reinforced entrance to Western Tunnel Two, whose entrance was pale with the bare gleam of fresh wooden supports. There were already two guards stationed outside, and I could hear the gentle murmur of tapping from the work team they had sent back to excavating.
“Idiots!” I couldn’t help but cough in the back of my throat. Not three or four hours after a rockfall, and they send people back down there!
“Everyone out,” Abioye said behind me. “I can’t do my thinking with that racket,” he said, and when I looked up at him, I saw a pained expression on his face.
If he thinks that is a racket, then he should spend some time in Eastern Tunnel Three! I thought. The mountain there was much more stable, and the rocks much harder. Sometimes we were even allowed to use slag lumps of metal that had been cast-off from the foundry as hammers.
“Whatever you say, sir.” The guards gave a variety of haphazard salutes before turning to bellow down the already fragile tunnel. “STOPPAGE! Everyone out!”
Is this guy a total idiot!? I gasped, turning to look past Abioye’s shoulder, past the guard, to Tamin. His eyes were wary and owlish, but I had no idea if he understood my meaning of ‘if everything starts shaking again, run!’
“Nari!?” someone said in front of me, and I turned around to see that one of the first to lay down his tools and leave the tunnel was Oleer.
“Oleer! Thank the stars you are alive!” I said, stepping forward to raise a hand towards him.
“I am,” he said, and pulled away before I could touch his arm. His face darkened as he saw the guards around me, Tamin, and the finely dressed Abioye. He’d been here longer than me, and it was clear that he recognized Abioye for who he was.
“Get moving!” one of the mine guards said, raising his metal staff in the air, and Oleer ducked his head and shuffled back.
“Oleer!” I whispered back at him, but he didn’t turn. Instead, he was quickly replaced by the other assorted Daza slaves and criminals, all of their eyes on me as they filed past. At least some must have been glad to have their work shift stopped, but suddenly I felt very uncomfortable indeed standing next to the ‘representative’ of our captor.
“All clear?” the guard ahead of us asked the mine’s guard, who nodded.
“Then, lead the way… uh…” Abioye stumbled over what he should even call me, as if the word ‘slave’ was somehow distasteful to him. As if the truth of it was too ugly to befoul his mouth.
“Narissea,” I murmured. “My name is Narissea, of the Souda.” I made sure that I met his eyes as I said these words. I didn’t think that the Lady Artifex would hide who she was.
And neither would Mother, either – and so neither would I.
The shrine looked empty now that we had removed the chest, and One-Eye had taken the Earth lights. It had lost that wondrous, magical quality that it first had when Tamin and I had found it. I wondered if it was due to the fact that the place was now lit by the glow and sputter of yellow oil torches and not the soft blues of the crystals.
But it wasn’t just that, was it? The sense of reverence had gone now, I thought in dismay. Bits of gravel had been tracked through the little room and dust yet swirled in the air, while the presence of the guards at our sides, whispering and muttering to each other, destroyed any momentary peace this place had held.
I had to admit that it didn’t look like much under the glare of the torches.
“Interesting.” Abioye had already moved ahead of me to examine the small column on which the chest had rested. He tapped at the stone experimentally, and I winced when he gave two ringing taps on the carved dragons.
“Torvald First Age, for sure,” he said, looking back up at us with a smile.
“Oh,” I said. For some reason, Abioye’s historical details didn’t make the place seem more magical, but less.
“And there was just the journal, the map, and the picture?” Abioye frowned a little.
And the dagger, I almost said – but something told me not to. If I did, then I would have to suggest that One-Eye had stolen it. Which might get her into trouble (good!) but would also mean that she would take it out on me or the other slaves later (bad).
“Just those three,” I nodded, hating myself for becoming an accomplice in an overseer’s deception. But how can I say anything! I seethed inside. Maribet could take her revenge out on Tamin, or Oleer, or anyone else down here!
“Oh.” Abioye’s voice was low for a moment, as he held my gaze with those blue eyes of his. “I see.” For a moment I could see a look of weariness pass over his face, as if he had been hoping for something else. But what?
“Well, never mind.” Abioye shrugged and stretched his arms out to yawn as if none of this bothered him in the slightest. It’s his way of hiding his disappointment, I thought. It was like he didn’t want the rest of us to know how much he cared. Why?
“I would say that it’s a classic example of a primitive Rider Shrine.” The young lord stood up and brushed some of the dust from his trews. “I’ve read about them, of course. The first Dragon Riders were regarded in such high esteem by the Torvaldites at the time that they were treated like prophets.” I watched as the young man shook his head, apparently at the gullibility of those ‘primitive’ early Torvaldites.
Just like you Midmost Landers think we Daza are primitive? I could have growled.
This man’s casual disregard for an entire culture irked me. Yeah, I knew that there had once been a whole history of Dragon Riders all over the Midmost Lands, and at one time they were even used to attack other kingdoms, I think. But this Abioye was acting as if they were nothing special at all.
He’s probably never even seen a dragon, has he? I thought. I had. Anyone who could ride a beast like that had to have something about them, hadn’t they?
“But I have never read reference to Lady Artifex; I will have to do some research,” the young man said, casting an eye around the rest of the small grotto. “You never know, maybe her followers left something more valuable down here!” he said, and weirdly grinned at us as if we were the ones to agree with him.