Seven Swords by Michael E. Shea (digital book reader .TXT) 📖

The Wither had clearly gotten her name from something other than her looks. She was beautiful, slightly on the far side of middle age. She had six children, all alive after the first assault, and a tiny husband of a man who kept quiet. Clearly the Wither commanded the family. Jon liked her at once.

“I thank you for what you have done,” she told Jon. “Many here do not understand it but I do. We would have died last night if it were not for you.”

The Wither’s eldest boy, one of the four of the town militia, saluted in the old style with his stick sword. Jon smiled and bowed to the boy.

“Thank you for the words, m’lady,” said Jon. “They soothe a weary heart. I need your aid. My friend, the Kal, a spear has pierced his side.”

Jon left the Kal with the Wither while he, Vrenna, and San’doro went to Ca’daan and Gauve.

Ca’daan’s uncle looked ten years older since the day before. His hair was disheveled and dust covered his face and body. He sighed visibly when he saw Jon but tensed when he saw the importance in Jon’s eyes.

“What is it?” asked Gauve.

“Who are the Sticks?” asked Jon. “Why are they here?”

Gauve was silent for a long time. His face went white and his ears went red. The man hid something. Jon didn’t need Susan to see a man preparing to lie.

“It is as Ca’daan feared. They traveled south along the undefended towns,” said Gauve.

“They know you and they know this place. We have bled and killed for your town. The scout we killed said they came for vengeance. Of what did he speak?” Jon felt his anger growing. “Don’t lie to me again.”

Gauve looked at Jon again, his face looking even older. He looked away as he spoke.

“Much of our town’s prosperity comes from these mines. Salt is desired all over the desert. For centuries it was our primary trade. Fena Dim was destined to one day grow into Gazu Dim, a city with its own king.

“The mines were the key to this growth but the mines are a rough trade. Tunnels collapse. Shafts fall deep into chasms under the mountain. The dust fills a man’s lungs, stealing years off of his life. Even now our miners work for only five years and are paid the rest of their lives for it. It is expensive and such a system permanently keeps us limited in profit and growth. There was only one way to mine more and build Fena Dim into something greater.”

“Slaves,” said San’doro. His voice cold and guttural. Gauve saw something in San’doro’s eyes and grew even more pale. He nodded.

“We began trading salt for the captured enemies of the desert tribes. Only a few at first but more as salt production increased. They worked much longer and harder than our own workers. Ten or twenty years.”

“Before they died,” said San’doro. “And what of their children? Were they born into freedom?”

“No,” said Gauve. “They too supported the mines.”

Jon tried to imagine the conditions in these tunnels. Dark and cramped, crawling and chipping at an invisible wall in front hoping the mountain didn’t collapse. Poison dust filling their chests, stealing life with every breath.

“But you soon came to your senses and freed them, right?” Jon didn’t hold hope for the right answer. Jon had lived around slavery his whole life but seeing a town as beautiful as this one perverted by such inhumanity chilled his heart. Perhaps San’doro’s views had grown into him. Again Gauve shook his head.

“No,” he said. His voice had quieted. “The richest deposits grew thinner and we began digging deeper. It got harder, the salt burned the skin of the miners.”

“The slaves,” San’doro corrected.

“Yes, the slaves,” said Gauve. “We went higher in the hills to the feet of the Old One and dug new tunnels. It was rich up there. We had about three hundred and fifty slaves at that point, all working deeper in the mines than we ever had. Some of them got really sick or went mad down there. They didn’t see daylight for months.

“One day a wall collapsed and killed six of the slaves. When they were dug up they found an antechamber under the rock. It was a palace, huge and carved inside out. Halls as large as open fields and statues of unknown gods and demons. No one was there, no bones at all.

“The place scared everyone who saw it. They claimed they could feel a hum or whisper, deep and powerful. They called it the voice of the Old One. No one wanted to go in, even when forced.”

Gauve paused for a moment. He feared his next words.

“We made examples of a hand full of them. The slavemasters showed them worse things than bad dreams or scary statues. We sent them all in to explore and find anything valuable.

“Then they disappeared. We didn’t see them for most of the day. Then a hand full came running back, covered in blood and screaming. They spoke of a pool that called to them and promised to quench their thirst. They spoke of a statue of a woman with long twisted arms and the head of a beast. Some drank and when they did they went crazy, mad with blood lust. They tore each other apart and feasted on the dying and dead. They drank the fresh blood of the weak.

“No one believed the stories until we saw them. One of the whipmasters went in to beat them into submission. They ripped him apart. We didn’t have any choice. We saw the murder in their eyes and the blood on their hands.

“We collapsed the tunnels. We broke four barrels on the supports and pulled the mountain down on them. Only six of us knew. Only two of us were there. Nearly a full generation has passed and none of us who lives in those times speaks of the days when the slaves bled for our town.”

“Now we accept our standing and limitations. We will always be a small town. Slavery is outlawed here and the mines at the feet of the Old One are banned.

“Who is Stark?” asked Jon.

“Many of the… slaves came from a single tribe that had been broken and sold. They were a quiet bunch of strong miners. Stark was some form of commander or leader in this tribe. They always looked to him for advice and he worked hard. Every so often one of our whipmasters would end up murdered, strangled, or throat cut, and we would suspect Stark’s hand in it but we worried about revolt if we punished or executed him. He was one of the men sent into the antechamber.”

“Why did they burn Fena Set?” asked Jon. Gauve paused again.

“They sold us the slaves. It was the hunters of their village that had captured the tribes.”

Jon was sickened. He could feel San’doro’s tension behind him. He did not say another word. He turned and put his hand on San’doro’s shoulder. Jon, San’doro, and Ca’daan left. They picked up the Kal and Susan on their way out.

The Wither had given the Kal a strong herbal drink that made him gag and wrapped his wound with dark blue crushed leaves. Jon smiled at her but had no stomach for further conversation.

Ca’daan started with them as the five of them made their way out.

“Leave us,” Jon told Ca’daan. He saw the hurt in the man’s eyes but he had to talk to the Swords alone. Ca’daan nodded. Jon turned with the others and left.

Jon told the Kal and Susan of the Sticks as they made their way back to the town, careful to avoid any of Stark’s spies. Jon had no idea what to do.

They sat and took lunch as the sun rose high in the sky. Jon told Thorn and Adrin the tale of Stark. Silence followed. San’doro stood and looked east at the cyclopean statue of the Old One.

“I want to kill everyone in that cave,” said the Desert Ghost. His voice was even and calm, not a hint of rage.

“What will we do?” asked Adrin.

“We can leave them and let them die,” said Thorn. “This is the result of their sins.”

“Most of the men, women, and children in those mines now had nothing to do with the enslavement,” said the Kal. “Leaving them to die is a harsh condemnation.”

“So is collapsing a mine on three hundred people,” said San’doro. “We’re fighting here because those men want their revenge. And they deserve it.”

Jon paused for a moment before speaking.

“There are some times where a man does something unforgivable. All his life he will live with what he has done, knowing that act, no matter how good, will ever wash the blood from his hands.

“I am damned. No one could ever forgive me for the acts I have done and nothing I do will ever make them do so.” Jon looked at Susan. “But that won’t stop me from trying. They have committed an unforgivable act, but so have I.”

His words hung in the night before Adrin spoke.

“I didn’t come all this way to leave and let them kill all those people,” said Adrin. “I’m staying even if I have to fight them alone.”

Jon felt a surge of pride.

“I am staying as well,” said the Kal.

San’doro looked at the man and then at Jon. “Will you stay, Gray Wolf?”

Jon nodded. San’doro kept his eyes on Jon for a long time.

“I will not let you die here because of those people,” said San’doro. “I will stay and fight for you.” Jon wondered how many men died with such brave ideas in their heads. He turned to Thorn and Vrenna. They both nodded.

Fena Dim had kept its protectors. Jon turned to Susan.

“Tell Ca’daan we’re staying.”

Susan nodded. Jon stared at her for a long time and ran a finger along her cheek. He saw Stark buried under the earth, screaming for a mercy or death that would never come and crawling out of the rock decades later. What sort of anger would that spawn?

What would they have to do to stop it?