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Book 3 Prologue
🕑 Added 2025-01-13 06:20:18 +0000 UTCBeing blind had its benefits. You couldn’t see those you worked alongside wither away, turning into husks under the beating sun, how their skin was flayed and muscles atrophied as weeks turned to months, to years, to over a decade.
And while it could easily be construed as a negative, It also meant that you needed to learn to use your other senses. Hearing to know when arguments arose among your peers or when the overly zealous guards made their rounds, a failure to respond to either could result in injury or death.
Smell helped to avoid the corpses that lay forgotten in the fields, or detect pockets of almost odourless gasses deep underground. Taste would let you know if the gruel served every sunrise and sunset had been pissed in, not that one could afford to skip a meal.
The lucky ones lost their sense of touch over time, had the ability to feel pain beaten out of them. It was a small mercy, the final mercy someone could have before death finally grabbed them lovingly by the throat and choked one last breath out of their bruised lungs. And while time could beat calluses into every inch one’s body, touch was not a luxury the blind could afford to lose.
But losing one’s eyesight was also not as big of a detriment one may initially imagine. It wasn’t like the labourers were often given torches or lanterns when they went underground, so the tunnels of the old mine, stretching downwards like the roots of a particularly greedy tree, were pitch black at the best of times. Crystals and other sources of illumination were too valuable to be left down in the depths, and so, deep below the ground, all men were made equal.
Strange things happened in the depths of the world, especially during turbulence. While above ground the winds may howl and the rain may fall in acidic sheets, under hundreds of metres of stone phenomena ancient and unknowable made themselves known. Vast geometric chambers of stone would shift, crystals forming on every available surface only to shatter at even the smallest touch. Intense heat or cold could permeate the tunnels, and images could dance as the shadows came to life.
Heff the blind hadn’t personally seen the last thing, for obvious reasons, though he believed the stories he had heard from those who had. Mostly. His pickaxe chipped away at the vein of ore half revealed by a recent surveying team. He kept his aim true, listening for the small change in sound as his pick struck stone.
To his side another man worked in silence, the ringing of their own pick against the tunnel wall sounding half a second after Heff’s own. The melody was rhythmic, almost soothing, if one could ignore the thousand aches and strains, and a reminder that another was down here, sharing his sorry fate… well, that fact wasn’t overly comforting, reassuring maybe? Was he a bad person for not wanting to be left alone down in the bowels of the earth?
When, finally, the last chunk of rock fell away Heff let out a sigh of relief. He ran blistered fingers along the surface of the stone, experience allowing him to search sightlessly for any trace of the ore vein he had been working away at for the past few hours. There was nothing he could feel, but maybe his partner was not quite done.
Heff groaned and stretched, his back popping and neck cracking. His knuckles bumped the tunnel’s ceiling and he flinched in surprise. Sometimes he could forget just how claustrophobic the mines could be, the mind numbing repetition of hard labour lulling his mind back to more happy times, back when there was light.
Hopefully a collection team would come by soon, assuming they hadn’t fallen into a hole and vanished like what had happened a month ago. The man to his side didn’t stop, pickaxe meeting stone over and over. Heff would have asked him why he even bothered now that they had met the mornings’ quota, but his partner never spoke. It was something the blind man admired, too many of the people working in the camp did nothing but flap their lips and waste their breaths. Having the strong and silent type as a companion was far better than listening to inane and partially insane stories about what someone would do once they escaped.
There was no escape. Not after their skills had been crippled, their ability to gain strength from the system was stolen from them as a way to appease the grieving and deflect blame from the powerful. It hurt to pull up the system window into his minds’ eye, not physically, but the reminder of what he had lost could be more crippling than a lifetime of backbreaking labour. He hadn’t even lost that much, barely sixteen levels. Some in the prison had lost several times that.
Not for the first time Heff wondered what the quiet man had lost. Had he been strong? Or just another pawn, sacrificed in a failed gambit? He would likely never know, and that was alright. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.
“We should head back, partner. The collection team will be around at some point, but I don’t fancy being down this deep for any longer than we need to, even with turbulence winding down.”
The only reply was metal striking stone. Heff sighed, waiting several moments to see if the other man would stop. He didn’t, endlessly chipping away as if the task was the only thing that gave their life meaning. He could be more forceful, impose himself with an arm, but frankly he couldn’t be bothered. He was just so tired.
“Alright. Well, I’m heading topside. I got a shift sifting through the flats after sundown.”
The stone cracked, and something fell to the floor. Then the sound of pick against rock started up again.
“I’ll see you later.” Heff said, chuckling softly to himself as he walked away, one hand against the wall of the tunnel for support.
===
Voices echoed off the walls of the mine as he shuffled closer to the surface. The widening tunnels made navigation harder, and his progress slower. In Heff’s experience it was better to move fast and fall hard than be beaten for dragging his feet. Or it would be, but he was so exhausted after the long years of back breaking work that his body didn’t seem to work quite right. Speed was no longer a luxury someone like him had access to.
He walked with an awkward limp due to an old wound on his right leg, only a miracle had spared the limb from being amputated entirely. His right arm couldn’t bend all the way, but that was a more recent injury. He was also missing both of his eyes, but that hadn’t been because of anything the wardens had done, nor had the wound been caused by anything that had happened back during the war. No, that punishment had been inflicted by his peers.
People liked to feel stronger than those around them, more in control. When the people you lived with were nothing but the pond scum and refuse of society, it was best, if possible, to set yourself apart, blending into gangs and cliques while lashing out at those even slightly different than you. It was easier still, when they could blame you for their own misfortune. No luck for him in that regard, nobody would stick up for him, hells, it was a miracle he had survived this long at all.
Laugher reached his sensitive ears, and Heff adjusted his path, taking a turn in hopes of avoiding whoever was down here with him. He hobbled along, the scent of piss and dried blood drifting down the new tunnel he was traversing. He sniffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. The beginnings of rot hung in the stale underground air. It was a corpse, a day or two old, hopefully nothing to do with him. The smell became more pungent as he drew closer, the blind man sticking to the far side of the passage to avoid tripping over the body.
Though it caused him discomfort, Heff picked up his pace, having no interest in becoming like the corpse he was leaving behind. More voices, and a faint gust of wind to the left. He changed his course, making use of his mental map of the upper levels to avoid the potential danger. He wasn’t sure exactly where he was, but there were only so many exits, he had to be near one of them. As long as he was heading upwards he was likely heading in the right direction, most tunnels merged at larger junctions the closer to the surface you got.
The rattling of chains from behind him was the first thing he noticed, followed by the sound of hurried feet rapidly closing in on his position. Heff tensed, the instincts of a wounded animal making him want to crawl into a ball and cover his head with his arms. It had saved his life before, and only the more physically capable in the camp were chained.
Someone shouted, and the sound deafened him for just an instant. He stumbled, falling forward, his pick slipping from his fingers, and his pursuers laughed. He sensed them, felt the vibrations of their footfalls from where his cheek met cold stone. There were three, maybe four, and as they surrounded his prone form something warm and wet struck the side of his face.
“Well fucking well, if it isn’t the traitor?” One of them said, a booted foot connecting with Heff’s ribs. He whimpered, folding in on himself to fend off any more kicks to that particular area. “We were hoping to find you down here, just to remind you of your place. Dish out a little deserved punishment.”
Traitor. He thought numbly as something hard struck the side of his hip, then his shoulder, then a spike of pain lanced up his back as the toe of a boot connected with his spine. Isn’t that a loaded accusation.
He grunted as one of the prisoners grabbed him by the collar, hauling him upright only to throw him against a wall. The black world Heff lived in spun as blows rained down, blood pooled in his mouth, and one of his teeth came with it as he spat onto the floor. He wanted to call out for help, but it would only make the beating worse, he wanted to profess his innocence, but it wouldn’t do any good. He huddled, shivering as blow after blow rained down upon him, the shouted taunts of his attackers echoing off the walls of the mine.
I’m going to die. He realised, the thought distant, drowned out by the sensation of his body breaking, old wounds being torn open. The sudden certainty of the whole thing made him laugh, a gargled, pitiful note escaping from his cracked and bloodied lips. The men paused.
“Bastard thinks this is funny, eh?” One of the assailants sneered. “Trust me, you fucking coward, by the time we’re done with you there’ll be nothing…” He trailed off. “...What is that?”
In the sudden, painful silence Heff heard a distant sound drawing closer. It was the rhythmic rump of footsteps, a single set slowly approaching, unhurried, almost casual.
“Warden?” One of the men murmured, his confidence fleeing.
“We dun nothing wrong.” Another whispered. “We ain't killed him yet. Even if we did, they wouldn’t really mind.”
“Shut up you fucking idiot.” A third hissed under his breath.
“Who is it? Who was down here with you?” One of the men whispered, his voice horse and nasally. He, or maybe someone else, grabbed Heff, hauling him upright. In response the blind man spat out blood, but he probably missed. A moment later his face was violently reacquainted with the wall.
The footsteps drew closer, never once picking up speed. Callused hands released him, and Heff slumped, no longer pinned to the wall, his dwindling strength failing to support him.
The prisoners, convicts just like him, debated running, but the decision was taken out of their hands as the newcomer came into sight. Or so Heff assumed, he was guessing based on their reactions.
“Shit.” A man hissed. “Not this fuckin freak.”
“We gotta get outa here.” Another said, his tone low.
“This aint nun of ya business, how about you be a good little slave and piss off.” The third, presumably the leader of this particular gang, said. “We ain’t scared of you!”
“His kind can’t talk, boss. But they eat babies, I know a guy who saids so.”
The stranger kept walking closer, steps unchanging. With a curse, one of the men turned and fled, and with that, the nerve of the rest of Heff’s assailants broke. He listened to them flee, the thousand aches all over his body making him unable to take pleasure at the sound.
There was a clink as something metallic met the ground by Heff’s feet. He rolled his neck, the effort causing a spike of pain to lance down his spine.
“What would I do without you, eh, partner?” He groaned, chuckling despite himself.
The silent man didn’t say anything, and after a moment, he kept walking, leaving Heff alone in the bowels of the earth.
===
Chapter Postscript:
Welcome back, it's been a while.
Book 3 will be a wild ride, can't wait to share it with you!
Reminder that there will (eventually) be 15+ chapters available to the Tree tier of supporters, but for the first month of book 3 Saplings will get access to everything at no extra cost. Don't feel pressured to upgrade your support tier, I'm just being greedy :^)
Expect chapters drops at a somewhat higher frequency until we get 15 ahead, then things will return to 3 chapters a week.
Love you all. Hopefully 2025 is a year full of joyful moments and happy memories. It probably won't be though.
Ah well. At least we have books.
Comments
MrWheelsOfMime
I wondered if it was a name I should remember. Nice one.
Rene Christensen
Welcome back, hope you had a nice vacation :) Looking forward to new chapters and a reread.
guillaume nguyen
It seems that the alternate past shown by the System was true, since Heff seems to be Heffnir from the first chapter. Hope he can be saved. And the partner seems to be one of the ant people.
Darthrak
The chef is back
Neuos.t
Also. "Laugher reached his sensitive ears, and Heff adjusted his path"
Neuos.t
Thank you for the chapter! Welcome back!
