“And then, when we can’t pay her back, she sends her guards in to drag us to the mines,” I growled. It was wrong. I don’t know much about whether it was legal or not, but it was just plain wrong. “What about my mother?” I asked. If anyone could make the other tribes see sense, it would be my mother, an Imanu.
“She owes the most out of anyone from your village,” Tamin said.
“What!” I couldn’t believe it. I shook my head and clutched my stomach as I suddenly felt sick. How could my mother fall for such a cheap trick?
“She took money out to hire lawyers, to help fight for your freedom,” Tamin said softly.
“No,” I moaned, and felt even worse. I didn’t know why I was here. I didn’t know what I was supposed to have done to deserve to be here – all I knew was that when I encountered Inyene’s guards out on the trails one day, they said that they had been searching for me, and that I was to come with them. I had shouted and tried to run away – but they had been on horses and had nets.
“Inyene’s people have testimonials. Saying that you stole. And trespassed, and that you owe her many years of service.” Tamin was trying to break the news to me gently, but I was only getting angrier and angrier. I heard the gasps of outrage from the other Daza around me.
“Tozuts!” I shouted and banged a fist against the stone wall. It didn’t make me feel any better. On the other side of the tunnel, Tamin was silent for a long time, as he wisely let me catch my breath and calm down. A little.
“I’m sorry, Little Nari, I thought that we could fight these cases with lawyers and laws. That is why I came back to your village. I brought Middle Kingdom Law Books with me, and I was searching for a way to help your mother fight for a way out.” He looked traumatized.
“When I realized that Inyene was only getting richer from everything we were doing, hiring the Middle Kingdom lawyers and borrowing money to do so. That was when I realized that there was only one way out of this mess.”
“We fight back,” I snarled. Even the small metal bar in my hand looked pretty good right now.
“That is what I tried to do. I tried to raise the warriors of the village, to drive the Collectors out – but Inyene’s men were too strong, and too many.” Tamin looked ashamed. He was in his middling years, and I think it had been many, many years since he had lifted anything heavier than a book or a quill.
“When they caught me, that smaller one with the limp – Dagan Mar – produced a piece of contract with a signature on it that was supposed to be mine. They had forged it, claiming that I had agreed to work off my crimes here in Masaka, in return for daring to attack Inyene’s guards.” Tamin glowered, looking down at his hands. “I, I just fear that I have made everything worse for your village.”
“No, Uncle.” I crossed to him, laying a hand on his copper-skinned arm. “You were trying to help. Always remember that. We will find a way out of here, I promise,” I said. “How long did they give you?” I asked gently.
“Fifteen years,” Tamin muttered sorrowfully.
Fifteen years! His hair was already streaked with silver, and he had spent most of his life in libraries and sitting down, I think. How was he going to fare with fifteen years of hard physical labor?
My surrogate uncle must have seen the thoughts in my face, as he nodded sadly. “I know,” he whispered.
No, not him, I thought, turning to pace the tunnel as much as I was able. We had to do something. We had to stop this madness. I stopped when my way was blocked by the press of other, watchful Daza slaves – many of them new, and many of them in their middling years. Their eyes had that same pained expression that the dragon had. Of being trapped and desperate to be elsewhere – to go where you wanted to be.
How many other Daza had I seen work themselves to death down here? I thought as my eyes flickered to the floor. I couldn’t hold their gaze with so much fright and pain. How many souls of my people are now forever knocking on the walls below, unable to ever find their way out again, back to the plains?
I thought about that wounded black dragon up there in his cave, trapped in the same way the spirits of the dead Daza were – as the bodies of us living Daza were! The memory of his pain tasted bitter in my mind. There’s nothing worse than tasting freedom and then having it denied, I thought.
I took a deep breath. I simply had to escape. But it wasn’t just me who had to escape – it was all of us, wasn’t it? My heart lifted a little at the wild fantasy, of leaving here with my people. All of my people. And then I would return, I thought, at the head of a troop of Daza warriors, and tear down each and every work hut here and block of Inyene’s keep. I slowly raised my head, and at the same time raised both my forearms, just as I had done to Tamin, only this time I held up my wounds and my scars and my brands proudly before the rest of the Daza.
“Take a good look,” I said out loud. “I’m not going to stop trying to escape, and these are not the marks of shame, but badges of pride. I’m going to get out of here, and I’m going to find a way to bring the rest of you with me.”
Stamp. It was the sobbing woman who was the first to wipe her eyes and stamp her cloth-bound foot on the rocks. It was a traditional Daza way of agreeing or celebrating at our festivals. As I stood there with my forearms up, the next Daza and then the next stamped with one foot, until we made our own drumming noise on the tunnel. We may be forced down here, but we weren’t lost. And we were very much alive and kicking.
“Oi! What’s going on down there! Get back to work!” came the snarl of the overseer from further up the tunnel, and I slowly lowered my forearms. Not tonight – the word had to spread to the other Daza first. And I had to find a way to get everyone out. It would mean lots of preparation. Lots of watching, and lots of planning.
But I knew that I simply had to do it. I had to get out of here and save Mother – if I didn’t want to see her shackled and chained up down here beside me, that is.
Chapter 5
Western Tunnel Two
“Is it true?” broad-shouldered Oleer whispered to me the next morning. His eyes were not filled with the same sort of determined, fervent light that I had seen in the eyes of the Daza last night.
We were standing in a line that snaked out of the wooden-shack dormitory, about to be given our bowl of gruel, a hunk of bread, and our work assignments for the day. It was a few hours after sun-up, and I was exhausted. How much sleep did I manage to get last night? I didn’t recall. Our shift had ended as it always did, in the small dark hours of the morning, with the overseer and guard kicking and shoving us back to the dormitory.
It would probably be a lot easier to ask how much sleep I didn’t get last night, I thought miserably. Somewhere ahead of me was Tamin and the other newcomers, already with their gruel, sitting down in small groups in the main open area in the center of the camp.
“Is what true?” I asked noncommittally. I was already receiving far too many loaded glances from the other Daza prisoners. It made me feel uncomfortable; if the overseer caught wind of our newfound resolve to escape, they would probably beat us to within an inch of our lives – or beyond.