Alphen: An Off Day
Nine days.
It was nine days of sixteen hour shifts. And finally on the tenth day, they were given a break.
Iron Mask learned a lot during that time. Children who hit their growth spurt were brought to join the adults in the shifts. Those who fell from the heat or from slipping with supplies and getting hurt were immediately brought to doc and given enough time to be steady, but not necessarily better, before they were put back to work again, usually on lighter, but still exhausting labor. The same for any who were pregnant.
Nighttime had many go up to the small pond to fetch water and attempt to wash up or catch a random fish that swam by. Others went hunting for food or bartering with each other. Woven baskets were common trade, or linens or blankets to try and soften sleeping on rocks.
Iron Mask always checked in with Doc, as promised, and usually helped him around the cave, checking on patients, or helping to make supplies from what they had. Doc shared a meal with him, usually, and Iron Mask tried to cook only once. A memorable incident where he had added many of the peppers that Doc had around ("I use them when I need a patient to clear their guts!") and had enjoyed the tingle on his lips and the way it had cleared his sinuses. Doc made sure he was the one who cooked after that, and added spices for Iron Mask when he thought he could.
Evening, after Iron Mask had rested a bit and then helped out Doc, was when Iron Mask made his meal for the next day, from whatever leftovers Doc had. It was his time to hydrate himself as much as possible, given the long time during a shift where water just wasn't available.
But trying to do all this after an exhausting day left Iron Mask collapsing to his assigned pallet and going through the night in a dreamless sleep. Whatever his internal clock was, he always was up before dawn, stretching and limbering up for the day's work, having some food and checking in with Doc, shaving as best he could to prevent a sweaty itchy mess as the day went on, and just… watching the sunrise. Watching the dark, star-strewn sky slowly lighten, pale pinks and lavenders, and the slow encroaching blue of the day before the soldiers set them to work under the silhouettes of Lenegis and Rena.
Iron Mask noted other things with his first work week. On the days he sweated the most, indicating a random hot day as fall continued to turn to winter, those hot days were when the most injuries happened. Barrels fell from sweaty hands, landing on feet, or tipping a shoulder or elbow to a break or dislocation. Overheating led to one person completely collapsing in the line, leaving the other Dahnans to try to hurry to both get the person to safety and medical care, but also doing the work of the collapsed and the three people needed to haul the person to Doc.
When he finally reached his day off, Iron Mask let himself sleep in as he could, spent the entire day getting food with a small party of Dahnans who left to sweep the surrounding areas for stray peppers, potatoes, wheat, or mushrooms. Getting carp if they saw any caught in shallows. What they found was divided and given to those who could properly process it. There was a family that took all wheat and threshed it for the grains and grinding it to flour. An elderly couple took all fish or meats for salting and smoking to jerkies which was a common food for during shifts. Potatoes were given to a pair of families that handled storing them and so on and so forth. In return for foraging such items, each forager got supplies. Iron Mask used his share to get ready for his work, like so many other Dahnans did. He also found an elder who made and repaired tools. Iron Mask liked listening to the hammer, watching as small items were made. It was where he'd gotten his small razor, and he offered to help.
On his second day back at work though…
Everyone knew it was different when they arrived at the loading area.
Normally there were two squads of soldiers, setting up supplies or carts for the Dahnans and their shift of offloading and onloading, going over inventory, and most importantly, to keep an eye on the Dahnans, not that Iron Mask ever saw them do anything other than their jobs. When it was time for roll, the Captain breezed through, doing a check of everything and assigning jobs, and then it was time to work.
That day, however, when Iron Mask and the others started walking up the hill to the loading area, there was a buzz of activity. Instead of the two squads, it seemed like half the complement of soldiers were there, along with Renans in close-fitted white and gold clothes and perfectly styled hair, looking oddly otherworldly compared to the armor of the soldiers and compared to the worn and thin linens of the Dahnans. The Renans bustled about with checklists, and paying close attention to machinery that the Dahnans had never seen before. The droning work of the platform was completely silent, leading to an odd anticipation as the Renans spoke quietly with the soldiers and bustled about.
Iron Mask and the other Dahnans looked at each other, confused. Several folded their food more tightly into their clothes and pouches. Nerves were building and Dahnans were very cautious as they moved into position. Once everyone was lined up, they waited.
And waited.
It was almost ten minutes before the captain came hurrying up the hill, and rushed through the roll. He didn't dismiss them to their usual job, however. Instead, the captain called for Dahnans to form groups of ten. Then explain what ten was to several confused Dahnans in angry tones.
By now, Iron Mask and many others had noticed that the train hadn't arrived.
"What's going on?" he whispered.
The woman, Ember, beside him rose to her tiptoes to whisper as best she could by the mask. "This has never happened before," she replied. "I've never seen the Bright Eyes outside of armor."
"This group has been assigned to me," said a nasal voice, and whispers stopped as Iron Mask's group all looked at a Renan in the close-fit white-and-gold, wearing rimmed glass by his eyes. Balding, and with a stomach that said age was certainly hitting him, the Renan glanced them over. "You all seem adequate. Make sure to do what I tell you."
No one said a word.
The Renan glanced back at them. "Do. You. Understand?" he asked slowly. "Do. What. I. Say."
"We understand," Iron Mask replied politely, formally.
The Renan blinked, strange rimmed glass sliding down his nose. "Hm," he muttered. "So these slaves do understand basic language."
There was a small ripple of irritation along Iron Mask's group, but so small that the Renan didn't notice. The soldier did see that ripple, and Iron Mask watched the guard reach back for a moment, to get one of their rifles, before stopping.
The not-armored Renan with the glasses was going over a checklist and utterly ignoring the Dahnans. Several took this as an opportunity to rest while they could, sitting down, munching on small bits of whatever they'd brought with them discreetly.
The huff of "lazy" from the haughty balding Renan was ignored.
An hour after roll those with better hearing than Iron Mask started to sit up and listen. A few moments later, Iron Mask could hear it through his mask, the squeal of the wheels of a train, but something about it sounded… off. Whether it was the pitch or the tempo, something was different.
"That's not good," Ember muttered to him.
Iron Mask nodded.
Within moments, the train turned into the ravine, and Iron Mask squinted trying to see through the slits of his mask. Around him, the Dahnans gasped.
"Was it attacked by a zeugle?" someone hissed.
"Or was there a landslide?"
A few moments later, Iron Mask saw clearly enough what everyone else saw. The trains were usually led by teams of armadillos and the number of armadillos said just how long their work would be. A team of four armadillos meant they could be working into the dark if they didn't finish by the end of their shift, a single armadillo meant they had the ability to pace themselves as opposed to rushing to get it all done. The harnesses said there were supposed to be four armadillos, but there were only three, the remnants of the leg of the fourth armadillo still hung from its harness. The lead armadillo was screaming and panicked, jerking left and right, thrusting its horn like it was still fighting. One of the two in the back was curled into a ball and rolling forward until the harness tugged at it and it screamed back to running before trying to roll again. The last armadillo was being dragged along, limping and bleeding and glaring around in fear.
"Oh, that's not good," someone muttered.
Iron Mask took all that in, and watched the lead armadillo zeugle notice them, red rage in its eyes seeming to shimmer along its body.
"Everyone get back!" he shouted, pushing at those behind him. That zeugle was going to attack!
The soldiers stepped forward, shields at the ready for each group of Dahnans in the lower loading area, but the snooty Renan assigned to them only scoffed. "Those are trained zeugles, just assert your will."
"Not when a zeugle is that enraged!" one of the soldiers shouted.
"Arteless brute, you will not-"
Iron Mask grabbed the Renan and pulled him back, shoving him to the ground and covering the arrogant man with his own body as the armadillos leapt up to the platform, making the train cars dangerously tip over. The soldiers held their shields, but it was effort. The harness, now that the zeugles were closer, were clearly barely holding on. The lead zeugle kept thrusting its horn into the shields, finally finding something to rage at. The injured armadillo just curled into a ball, defenses up, while the zeugle that had been trying and unable to roll finally broke free, rolling through the soldiers line of defense and into the Dahnan groups further down the line from Iron Mask and his party.
There were screams.
An unseen gust of wind came from nowhere, forming almost blades of green vortexes that cut into the raging armadillo and Iron Mask glanced down to see the bright, glowing eyes of the Renan beneath him.
The wind cut through the zeugles enough for one of the soldiers to barge through with the shield and cut down the injured one with the sword. Iron Mask noted that the form was likely the best choice, but the soldier implementing it was sloppy and lacking the technique. It also did nothing to help with the two zeugles who were still raging and attacking the defenseless Dahnans. Another Renan with a different group reached out, eyes glowing brightly and a small wave of water appeared and pushed at the raging armadillos. The one that curled just turned and rolled right through the Dahnans in front of and then into the Renan.
Iron Mask wanted to fight. But he didn't know what to do. He had no weapon, he didn't know how to fight. He didn't even know how he'd been so injured when he woke up in Doc's small cave. Just that the most likely explanation had been Renans due to the cruelty and the slavery. What could he do… what could he do?
The spinning zeugle was fired upon with rifles from the soldiers who hadn't taken any damage, screaming in agony and turning to those firing. The enraged zeugle, however, turned to Iron Mask's side of the loading platform.
The Renan beneath Iron Mask shuddered, before his eyes were glowing again, a wall of wind pushing back at the zeugle.
"We need to move!" Iron Mask shouted. "That zeugle's gone feral!"
"Don't order me around, Dahnan dog!"
Ember, however, had heard Iron Mask and was hurriedly trying to push the Dahnans back behind the iron chain link fence that was between the loading platform and the stairs that headed back up to the upper platform.
"Yes!" Iron Mask shouted. "Get help from the upper platform!"
Another Dahnan took off running.
What Iron Mask wasn't expecting, was to be shoved back as the Renan started to stand. "Embedded! Do what you're told! You must-"
Whatever wind the Renan had been casting disappeared and the raging armadillo came forward, thrusting its horn. Iron Mask didn't think, already on the balls of his feet, he just grabbed the Renan and moved, dodging to the side and into a tuck and roll, shoving the Renan at the other Dahnans.
He grabbed one of the shovels and rapped it against the metal of the loading platform. "Over here!" he shouted. "Come here, big guy!" He slammed the shovel again. "This way!"
The zeugle was looking around confused, still angry, and growled. Beyond the other armadillo was going down under the repeated rifle shots and some of the soldiers were starting to turn.
"Come on!" Iron Mask shouted. "Come after me!"
He swiftly turned his back and jumped off the platform back down to the tracks. He hit the tracks with the shovel with a loud clang, the sun bearing down and making sweat prickle along his skin. The zeugle gave another enraged roar, rolled up and came flying off the loading platform, down into the tracks with Iron Mask.
Iron Mask couldn't breathe a sigh of relief yet. He jumped back, dropping the shovel, and shuffled back, away from the train, not wanting to be in a direct line with the zeugle and the line of soldiers starting to take a knee and aim. More soldiers came down from the stairs and on the upper loading platform, another line of soldiers were taking a knee to aim.
He could only hope he wasn't in line.
When the firing started, Iron Mask could only duck down and make himself as small as possible. As the bullets hit the ground, Iron Mask could feel hundreds of tiny impacts from loose pebble and shale. He rolled away from it, not wanting any stray rifle shots to actually hit him, scrambling away from the immediate danger. Once he felt a safe distance, he stood, stepping back and balancing on the balls of his feet carefully. The armadillo was being pummeled, so Iron Mask took a risk. He ran back to the platform, taking a wide berth of the zeugle, and hopping up to the ledge to climb up instead of trying to orient himself to wherever the stairs to the tracks might be. One of the Dahnans grabbed his wrist and helped him up. They both quickly scrambled back.
"You're bleeding," Ember said, coming over to him.
Iron Masked blinked, looking down. His arms had several cuts from the shale and pebbles, several of which were bleeding, but all of them were small. He simply wiped his hands on his pants and applied pressure to the worst of them, as Doc often advised any who came to him with bleeding wounds.
"Fire!"
Another volley of shots erupted from the soldiers on the zeugle and with one last cry, it went down.
For a moment, there was quiet.
The Dahnans in Iron Mask's group carefully peaked out from the hidden refuges in the stairwell or in any alcove they found, before surrounding Iron Mask and starting to tend to him. The soldiers were already putting away their rifles and a squad was dispatched to check each zeugle was down for the count.
The Renan who had been assigned to Iron Mask's group was standing and looking far less resplendent, remaining hair askew from the wind, rumpled and dusty. He went storming up to the soldiers. "Brutes!" he shouted. "Your job was to protect us and instead some Embedded dog has to manhandle me like a sack of grain! And none of you even think to use artes on those feral beasts?"
The captain, who had come down when Iron Mask wasn't aware, turned and strode right up to the rumpled Renan. "Supplymaster," he said formally, "we are in Calaglia. Most of my men have a fire alignment. Do you want my men to make those fuel cells explode with their artes? The defense and run of this outpost is under my purview. My men follow my commands. We have experience with wild zeugles. So, Supplymaster, we used our best judgement."
"I had no idea Bright Eyes could argue," Ember muttered, dabbing at one of the cuts that was still bleeding sluggishly.
"Better they're occupied with each other," an older Dahnan said. "That way we can look after our own…"
"I work directly for Balseph, don't you dare take that tone with me!"
The captain gave a long sigh.
"Of course, Supplymaster. Let me know when you wish me to deal with the fuel cells in the land that ever burns."
The supplymaster turned, seeming to notice for the first time the crashed train cars, the fuel cells that were littering the track, and the ever burning fires along the base of the cliff sides.
The supplymaster huffed as if the answer was obvious. "Use your water artes, you imbecile!"
The captain only sighed. "We have none, supplymaster."
"Artless brutes. Why aren't idiots like you just embedded, at least then you'd be worth something!" The Renan tugged down the rumpled jacket in a vain attempt to look more put together. "Well? Move the fuel tanks away from the fires! Have you no brains?"
The captain simply nodded stiffly, then turned and gestured to the soldiers.
The soldiers started grabbing Dahnans and shoving them back into their groups, with no attention paid to any injuries sustained during the scant few minutes the battle with the zeugle took.
The Dahnans did what they always did and was routine with the Renan soldiers. Those injured were hurried up to the upper loading platform to be brought down to Doc. The Dahnans still there prepared to do the extra work. Iron Mask was already standing and ignoring the cuts and bruises along his arms and side, knowing he'd see Doc later for it. For now, there was work to be done.
The supplymaster was clearly unhappy. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. "There's work to do! Get out to the tracks and get the fuel cells! Captain, how much of a free hand do you give these damn Embedded?"
The captain pulled off his helmet, revealing a grizzled face with a white shock of hair and a heavy scar along the chin, the Dahnans all staring, having never seen the captain out of any piece of armor. "Look, Supplymaster, you either understand that we are a small outpost who has to make due with the resources we have, or you go back to our Lord Balseph and convince him to get us more material. If you don't want to interrupt the harvesting we do here, then let me run my post. I've always made my quota, I've even gone regularly over my quota. My record is impeccable. Keep track of the supplies like your job is supposed to be. I'll handle my resources as best I see fit."
The captain turned back to the Dahnans. "Now get to work or I'll be taking my pound of flesh from each and every one of you!"
The Dahnans didn't need much motivation. Everyone scrambled either into a car or out to the tracks to get the fuel tanks that were spread out on the ground. It seemed only the disorganized run of the armadillos that had naturally prevented the maximum speed that would have sent the fuel tanks crashing into the flaming cliff sides.
The first to get to one of the fuel tanks, a Dahnan man that Iron Mask recognized but hadn't interacted with yet, reached down to grab one of the tanks before immediately hissing and recoiling. He then pulled off his shirt to wrap his hands. That was enough for everyone to know that the tanks were too hot to touch directly. Every Dahnan needed to keep the usage of their hands, both to do their every day work and also to do what was necessary to survive.
Iron Mask couldn't feel pain, but he knew he didn't want to do permanent burn damage to his hands. So like everyone else, he took off part of his rags to cushion his hands and wrap his shoulders as he hefted up a fuel canister and started heading back to the stairs that lead back up to the lower loading platform.
Normally, unloaded barrels would be lined up along the back of the platform for a soldier to go through before a different set of Dahnans would heft them up the stairs. That was what they always did. Instead, the supplymaster insisted on checking each canister before sending them directly up the stairs to the upper loading platform. It made for a long line of Dahnans holding the tanks before the long walk up the stairs to the upper loading platform, where the captain had them line the fuel up like normal.
Iron Mask glanced at his fellow Dahnans. Not much could be done. The captain ran the upper platform, the arrogant and condescending supplymaster ran the lower platform.
From what Iron Mask had heard and seen, there was no denying that the captain was cruel and enjoyed dolling out punishments. But having the supplymaster call them lazy as they continually tired after the events of the morning, the fact that they had to make up for all the Dahnans who had been hurt and were taken to Doc, all while making them hold heavy canisters while waiting for his approval to then haul them upstairs and then come back for another round… There was no question who was the better Renan to be in charge.
When midday came, Iron Mask happened to be dropping off another barrel on the upper loading platform when he saw the children coming up the hill with lunch. He gave a small huff of relief under his mask, as the supplymaster down below hadn't given anyone the time to eat whatever they'd brought with them for the labor. This was the time where the Dahnans from the upper and lower platform switched. He went down to inform his fellow Dahnans.
Ember looked at the supplymaster. "I have a bad feeling about this," she muttered. Everyone down below, unable to snack through their shift, was getting weak with hunger. Even Iron Mask was feeling the need for food, and as they continued working, he had a sneaking suspicion that the supplymaster wasn't going to let them go up to eat.
No one said anything.
When Iron Mask had brought up his next fuel tank, he took a soft breath.
"Supplymaster," he said formally. "We do your work as you ask. If we don't get food soon we will be unable to do your commands."
The supplymaster only scoffed, pulling out a small square of cloth to wipe at his brow. "You're already coddled far too much here, Embedded. You all need toughening up. You'll stay down here and do your damn jobs like you're supposed to!"
That was a dismissal, but Iron Mask risked one more sentence. He gave a polite nod of his head, a bow at his waist. "It is good to know the supplymaster has a plan for when we collapse."
Because they did collapse. There was no way they wouldn't. With a large portion of the lower platform Dahnans, and several of the soldiers injured from the crazy zeugle, those that remained had to do almost twice the work. And the work was harder as the first part had been collecting the fuel tanks from the actual train tracks and hauling them up to the lower platform, and then further up to the upper platform. None of them had been able to eat the little they'd brought and from what Iron Mask observed, this was another gasp of summer as fall continued towards winter. Collapsing was inevitable.
The first was an elder, still strong in the arms, but bowed with all the hauling done over the span of decades. The fuel tank had already been tipping, the man swaying in line as the supplymaster, at the head of the line, brushed off the identification number of another canister to check off. It took too long. It slowed the line, leaving the Dahnans holding the tanks in the line while the supplymaster checked off everyone one by hand instead of trusting the soldiers to do the inventory.
The elder started to buckle and Iron Mask swiftly put down his barrel and rushed ahead to grab the canister as the elder spiraled down, fever-eyed and panting heavily, his clothes soaked in sweat, but his skin was dry.
"Enough! Get to work!" the supplymaster shouted, not even looking up as he checked off another tank.
Iron Mask shook his head, putting down the fuel. The supplymaster would clearly be of no help, so he looked to the soldiers who were helping the other Renans go over the machinery.
One of them glanced over and noticed the commotion and came over.
Iron Mask was already kneeling over the elder, recognizing what he'd seen the Doc treat.
"He's overheated," he said. "He needs the Doc."
"Damn admins," the soldier grumbled. "Come storming in here like they know things better. They don't understand a damn thing." A glove was pulled off and the soldier's non-jeweled hand went to the elder's forehead. "Damn it all to hell."
The soldier did nothing, just stepped to the edge of the platform and glanced up at the sky. Then he walked up to the supplymaster.
The Dahnans all looked at each other. There were whispers, but Iron Mask couldn't hear it through the muffle of his helmet. He just stayed by the elder's side, fanning him with a bit of cloth and no idea what else to do.
There was an argument at the head of the line with the supplymaster, before the soldier disappeared up the stairs. Not knowing what else was going to happen, all the Iron Mask could think to do was lift up both canisters and hope his other shoulder didn't get burned. He swayed once he was upright, the hunger getting to him as well. He had a small loaf in his wrapping around his waist that he hadn't had any chance to pull from, and there was a dryness in his mouth that meant he was thirsty.
After a few minutes, the captain came down and there was another argument, much louder, with the supplymaster. The clothed Renans glanced over and sniffed in disgust, but the soldiers only needed a gesture from the captain.
The Dahnans were all told to put down their cargo and to head to the upper level, escorted by the soldiers.
The Dahnans all did so in an exhausted gratitude. Out of the shade and into the afternoon sun, there was food and water waiting for all of them. The elder and other Dahnans from the lower platforms were escorted by the soldiers down the hill to Doc's small cavern. All Dahnans also knew to take care with the food and water, to not gulp it down. Iron Mask shoved what he could up under the small allowance of his mask and pulled out the loaf he'd had all morning. Sitting in the shade of the machinery, he nibbled on small bite after small bite. Iron Mask noted that the soldiers who had been down below with them were also sitting down to eat. Apparently they hadn't had the chance for a break yet either, but then, they hadn't been doing the heavy lifting the Dahnans were.
Iron Mask thinned his lips, seeing it as unfair. Extremely unfair. But then one of the soldiers who was sitting over by one of the machines near Iron Mask, took off his helmet to eat just as his stomach rumbled. Iron Mask shook his head. The soldiers could get hungry too. He reminded himself that everyone, Dahnan or Renan alike, needed food and water. The supplymaster was being cruel to everyone.
After the meal, Iron Mask thought that they'd be staying on the upper platform, like the usual routine. It made sense. The Dahnans who worked the upper loading platform for the morning didn't get attacked by zeugles, and the lower platform was behind with fewer workers. Instead, all the Dahnans from the lower platform, those who remained after the zeugle attack and the heat, were sent back down to the furious supplymaster.
"You lazy Embeddeds have a lot to do," the Renan said, eyes glowing. "We are hours behind and you let your laziest members disappear. You aren't stopping until the last of this train has been emptied, I don't care how long it takes!"
Iron Mask rolled his eyes. He had already seen ways to make it go faster, but nothing was being done. He was simply glad he still had half his loaf tucked into his waist wrappings. He planned on taking the time to nibble if this supplymaster was going to leave them wasting time standing in line.
Almost two hours later, one of the soldiers just stepped forward with a clipboard. "Some of you Embeddeds, come to me for check off."
"You dare-" the supplymaster started to shout.
"You're making us stay, and I want to get back to my beloved," the soldier shouted. He turned back. "Embeddeds! Two lines!"
The Dahnans immediately did as told, forming two lines, and then three when another soldier came over with a clipboard. The supplymaster was clearly fuming, but the work went faster. This didn't stop other Dahnans from falling in exhaustion, but most were like Iron Mask. When by a fuel tank, he took a quick bite of something before hauling it up to his shoulder to go to the lines. It wasn't perfect. More water was necessary. But it prevented that lingering headache and meant Iron Mask wasn't exhausting himself unnecessarily.
It was also clear to any in line with the supplymaster that he was roiling in rage. His harsh words were blistering, his language more belligerent.
When dark finally fell, Iron Mask looked at the five train cars still not emptied, those that weren't as damaged or scattered as the front cars had been, and sighed. Another four hours of work most likely.
Then the captain came down with all the Dahnans who had been working the upper platform. There was no argument. They just joined the rest of the Dahnans and the soldiers formed more lines to help things move along faster. The supplymaster was almost purple in the face with rage, but the Dahnans just kept doing as told.
Within the hour, they were done, exhausted, and dragging themselves back upstairs to the dinner and water that was waiting for them. The supplymaster had some clear opinions ("These lazy dogs don't deserve any food!") that the captain just summarily ignored.
Iron Mask couldn't even drag himself up the hill to his assigned pallet. He just went into the Doc's little cave, and sat down, mind numb with exhaustion.
Doc came over, already having a jar of some sort of salve for all the cuts and gashes from the zeugle fight earlier that morning.
"I heard the captain was arguing with the supplymaster."
Iron Mask blinked, trying to get his numb mind back to functioning. He still had to prep for the next day. "Yeah," he said softly. "The supplymaster was…" he couldn't think of the word after the entire day of not just hauling, but also standing and waiting in line.
The Doc just thinned his lips. "I wonder how long…"
"Long?"
The Doc shook his head. "Never mind. Let's focus on getting you patched up. You still need something for tomorrow, correct?"
Iron Mask nodded, looking at the cot and wondering if he could just collapse onto it…
Doc snapped his fingers in front of Iron Mask's mask. "Stay with me," he said. "You need to be ready for tomorrow. I've got some leftovers I want in your stomach right now. I'll make you a roll for tomorrow."
That got through Iron Mask's numb mind. "But, you also have to prepare for tomorrow. After the zeugle attack, you have more patients than usual."
The Doc just gave a small, sad, knowing smile. "I'll have even more tomorrow."
The following day, Iron Mask woke at his usual time, his internal clock set despite his desperate need for more sleep. With a sigh, he got up and stretched, regretting that he had forgotten to do so the previous day after all the chaos. He was stiff in a way he wasn't used to, but with each stretch, he felt more like himself. He found Doc pulling out bandages and his limited supply of salves and gels.
"Doc?" Iron Mask asked, trying to reach under his mask to rub sleep sand from his eyes.
"Just preparing," the old doctor replied tiredly. "I think I know how today is going to go."
Iron Mask didn't like the sound of that. Still, he had his morning routine to do. Breakfast, shave as best he could, pack his bread for the day in his rag around his waist. The train hadn't left the previous night, given that just emptying and inventorying it had taken all day. Iron Mask suspected that today was going to be a long day of loading as inefficiently as the previous day had been at unloading. And, with no zeugles to pull the train, it was likely that the train was stuck in Mosgul for repairs as well.
Iron Mask nodded to himself, and helped Doc with whatever he needed.
A short while later, a glance outside showed it was time for Iron Mask to start heading up to the upper loading platform. Iron Mask wished Doc a good day and headed up the hill. A quick glance at all the cuts and gashes from the previous day showed most had scabbed over.. The deeper ones Doc had patched up, and in one case, done two stitches. The gels he had did a lot of the work, according to Doc, but Iron Mask never felt any change.
Up on the loading platform, Dahnans were once again in lines, and several Renans in the close-fitting gold-and-and white were once again on the platform going over lists. Each looked perfectly styled, clean and neat, in a way that made all the Dahnans look rough and scrappy. Which was true, the Dahnans had to forage to supplement their diet and they needed to use everything they had just to get by. Iron Mask looked down at his rags, rags he only had time to wash once a week because of how much was done during a shift, and wished he had something clean to wear. The oily feel of dried sweat in his rags was uncomfortable, especially since he usually took the time to wash himself up.
He shook his head. Reflecting on the vague feeling that he used to have clean clothes wasn't going to help. He needed to get through the shift today, hopefully without so much mind-numbing exhaustion, so that he could try and help Doc with all the patients. That was his plan. He needed to conserve his energy, try and get this done, and help Doc.
The Dahnans all stood in line, and the captain came forward at his usual time, briskly going through the lines and making the count.
But, the same way yesterday was unusual, today was unusual as well.
The captain didn't dismiss them to their work. Instead he stood in front of them, arms crossed behind his back, and through his helmet, seemed to glare up and down the lines. Behind him, stood the supplymaster.
"Oh no," Ember murmured behind her. "This can't be good."
Iron Mask rather had a sinking feeling in his stomach as well. Especially with how much the supplymaster was smiling.
"Several of you abandoned your post yesterday," the captain said, projecting loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Abandoning your post is a punishable offense."
There were gasps throughout the lines.
"It may be normal to drag a Dahnan away in a normal work day, but for some of you dimwits, yesterday wasn't a normal day. You didn't check with your superiors, you didn't ask questions, you just grabbed people and disappeared."
"That's not what happened," Iron Mask muttered, anger flaring. People were getting the injured away. He looked around, seeing dread on many faces.
"Iron Mask," Ember said softly. "If anything happens to me… look after Kohl. Tell Ashe I love them."
"They can't-"
"Promise me."
"... I promise."
Around him, similar promises were being made.
The captain was still talking. "-so you Embeddeds broke the rules, and will now face your punishment." There was a tone in the word punishment, and an anticipatory note that just settled a pit in Iron Mask's stomach.
The first Dahnan to be called forward had to be dragged up by two soldiers, who forced him to his knees and held his arms.
The captain stepped forward and Iron Mask noted a long leather whip at his hip, ending in a small knot.
Then came the lashings. One of the soldiers kept count as the captain whipped the bare back. Each crack of the whip was thunderous in the silence, as was each cry of pain. The captain didn't seem to feel anything as lash after lash was given, with only a count of perhaps five breaths between before the next lash. Iron Mask looked around, wondering what could be done. Back by the line of soldiers at the hill leading up to the platform, he could see Doc there, on his knees, with a pair of soldiers hands on his shoulders.
In a crash of insight, Iron Mask realized that Doc had been expecting this. That he had been prepping his gels and potions and bandages. How did he know? And, Iron Mask realized, what darkness had Doc seen to be prepared and expecting this?
Twenty-five lashes. The man dropped to the ground and Iron Mask couldn't tell if he was still conscious or not. Then another man was dragged forward.
One by one, they all stood in the rising sun and watched as Dahnan after Dahnan was whipped, any who had dragged fallen Dahnan off to the doc were stripped to a bare back and endured twenty-five lashes, spaced and clearly counted, forced to watch as the morning progressed on.
Ember was finally dragged forward, mid morning, and knelt down. She was already screaming after the second lash, and by the tenth, she was limp waiting for it to be over.
Then, after a long morning of whipping, the captain made a mistake. Iron Mask could see it in how the arm moved, it wasn't the graceful stroke he'd been forced to watch for hours, it was off-centered, something in the shoulder having shifted. The whip cracked, wrapped around Ember's neck, and the smooth motion of the captain, more stilted but still in a momentum that couldn't be stopped, yanked.
Everyone heard her neck snap as she fell dead.
And in the gasps, Iron Mask thought he heard the captain curse. The next Dahnan brought forward for whipping was forced down, and Iron Mask watched the captain pull forward his second in command and hand over the whip, no one else seeming to realize the mistake that had just occurred.
Hurriedly, Iron Mask looked around, trying to find Ashe, Ember's beloved, an androgynous person that helped Ember raise her son. Ashe was in line, face ashen, tears streaming down their face. They should be able to go to Ember. They should be able to… do something!
But for now, they were all powerless. And they all could to wait.
Each Dahnan was dragged over to Doc, who immediately set to work, doing what he could with his limited supplies, but none were allowed to go back to the cooler, shadowed interior of the Doc's cave. The usual smoke of the Calalgian air seemed thicker, as each whipping occurred.
It was a horrible, disheartening morning.
"Iron Mask!" the captain called.
The soldiers came to grab Iron Mask and, under his mask, he glared at them. Anger at the injustice simmering, but he simply stepped forward, didn't let them drag him, and walked to the front. It was midday now, the sun directly overhead. No one had had any of the food they had tucked away, and there were several who were starting to sway from standing still in line for so many hours. The whole display had been horror, and Iron Mask now understood what Doc had said when he mentioned that the captain enjoyed punishment. That was more than evident. The only Renan still there was the supplymaster, whose face had borne a twisted smile of retribution as each Dahnan was flogged.
Iron Mask had watched. Everyone who had helped get a collapsed Dahnan to the Doc had already been flogged. Yet Iron Mask had been brought forward.
Seeing the gleam in the supplymaster's face, he didn't need to wonder what had happened to see him face the whip.
Iron Mask knelt down, at ease. In this, at least, he knew he wouldn't feel a thing.
"This Dahnan did worse than abandoning his post!" the captain told the Dahnans. "He dared raise his hand to his better. He took down a Renan, surprised and overpowered the supplymaster and threw him down." Behind the captain, Iron Mask watched the supply master scowl back to the captain. "He held the supplymaster down, interfered with the work of the day, and killed a zeugle, the property of the Renans." The captain turned and walked up to Iron Mask, standing tall, before leaning down. "The supplymaster wants you flogged, Iron Mask," he said softly. "He's a moron who doesn't know anything. I've a far better punishment in mind for you."
Iron Mask glared, though none would see it.
The captain straightened, went to his second in command, and took the whip, walking behind Iron Mask.
"Abandoning your post yesterday, could be arguably understood given the extreme circumstances," the captain continued. "Still punishable, still unforgivable, but understandable. That is why the punishment was only twenty-five lashes. But the Iron Mask did worse. One hundred lashes."
The Dahnans audibly gasped, and in the distance, Iron Mask watched the Doc, busy with patients look over and start to rush forward. The soldiers stopped him and held him back.
Iron Mask settled himself down, straightened his back, and waited.
There was a loud crack, and he felt an impact along his back.
"One."
It was strange. He felt the impacts, he knew something was hitting his back, but he knew he should be feeling something. He had watched dozens of people through the morning be lashed, collapse in pain, backs bruised or ripped open. He'd seen blood and watched Ember's neck get snapped. He should feel anything other than an impact.
"Ten."
He felt it when the knot caught in his rag of a shirt, tear it. He felt when the whip was off-centered, striking him along his right arm, or along his hip. He felt moisture trickling down his back and he didn't know if it was sweat or blood. He felt it when the sleeve was ripped off and he felt it when half his shirt fell down to the side.
"Thirty."
He heard the Dahnans behind them, whispers and harsh words from the soldiers to quiet them. He watched Doc strain against the soldiers before sagging, and returning to all the patients he'd ended up receiving that morning. He could feel sweat trickling along his hairline under the iron mask, and he knew that his stomach was rumbling. This was pointless. He couldn't feel any pain. If this was a punishment, it was nothing.
"Sixty-five."
But Iron Mask could see the supplymaster, watching like divine retribution had just been handed to him. A sick smile and rapt attention, barely taking time to pull out a square of cloth to wipe at his brow. Iron Mask stayed upright, ignored how his legs were falling asleep, and sat defiantly. He would not be bowed by lashes. He couldn't be bowed. Not by what he couldn't feel. He adjusted his legs to allow for more bloodflow.
"Ninety."
Another bad lash, this time along his left bicep, the whip almost completely wrapping around his bicep and the pull back digging through his arm and yanking it. Iron Mask merely straightened himself again.
"Ninety-five."
A quick glance at the sky showed that it was almost the end of the usual lunch break. Beyond the Doc and all his patients, he could see children with water, being held back from coming up and quench their thirst.
"Ninety-seven."
The thirst was bothering Iron Mask. His lips were chapping and he knew that meant he was behind in his water.
"Ninety-eight."
His stomach rumbled. And Iron Mask watched the supplymaster's face switching from a twisted smile to a rageful scowl.
"Ninety-nine."
Iron Mask nodded to himself.
"One hundred."
Slowly, cautiously, and aware that he hadn't had any food or water, Iron Mask carefully brought himself to his feet and then eased himself to standing. There was a small headrush, and briefly, his vision darkened at the edges, but he stood unaided, turned, and bowed politely, to the captain, awaiting the next order.
Just barely within the vision of the slits of his mask, Iron Mask watched the supplymaster roiling in rage, before turning swiftly and disappearing back down the hill in a huff.
The captain strode forward with pride, chest puffed out, obvious even with the armor. "You stay right here," he ordered.
"It's been a long morning, Embeddeds," the captain said. "I need your backs for work this afternoon. Get your water and food, and then be ready to work until you're told you're done. No abandoning your posts today. One of my men will take care of any injured."
There was palpable fear through the lines of Dahnans, who quickly dispersed. Several wanted to check on those who had been whipped, but the soldiers didn't allow for them to leave the platform, leaving them to have their meal and water that the children rolled forward.
The captain turned back to Iron Mask, who had stayed bowed.
"You know, you're a conundrum," the captain said. "You are the strongest back we have. I need you alive and functioning. The same way I needed every Embedded alive and functioning for as long as you can function. I didn't see a point in the flogging today, but the supplymaster insisted." The captain leaned forward. "My slaves are not going to be efficient for at least a week because of that arrogant administrator. But I can get them back on schedule, and, I'll admit. This was fun. I haven't had to do a good flogging like that since I came to Mosgul."
Iron Mask's lips thinned, and he wondered when… or if, he was going to get his chance at food or water. If the captain needed him as a good back…
"I'll admit, I had a lot of fun whipping you. I enjoyed watching that bastard admin not get any satisfaction from my flogging the one Embedded he wanted to suffer the most." The captain leaned back. "But you still need to be punished. And punished in a way that makes you learn. Pain won't work on you. But."
Iron Mask could almost hear the cruel smile.
"Isolation will. Follow me."
Iron Mask could only stand and follow. What else could he do? Soldiers were all around, also getting a meal the same as the Dahnans.
They walked down to the base of the hill and over to one of the watch posts, a platform at the top of a long ladder for an overseer to observe the town and keep an eye out. Or rather, to keep an eye on the Dahnans.
A soldier was already there, and Iron Mask grit his teeth as he held out his wrists. He was soon chained to the supports of the platform, his hands bound around the post with his back exposed.
"Iron Mask is to stay here," the captain said to the soldier. "He will not speak or interact with anyone. If anyone approaches to talk or tend to him, strike them down and beat them to unconsciousness. The only who can approach are Renans. I'll bring the doc to him after the shift is over."
"Yes, sir!"
The captain started to walk away, before turning back. "I hope, Iron Mask, that you learn to never raise a hand to your betters."
Iron Mask took a deep breath. It was going to be a long rest of the day.
Iron Mask was chained to that post for the rest of the week. He was only ever released at night to collapse on his pallet, where he was still under guard. Doc tended to him every morning and every evening, when he was tied up and released, but no words were allowed. There were still things the other Dahnans did for him. He often found food in one of his baskets in his room, and the captain did allow for water to be brought to him. He needed Iron Mask's strong back, after all.
He was released on his rest day, and instead of being helpful, like he wanted, he just collapsed in Doc's cave and slept most of the day away.
When the new week started, it was back to work. Dahnans were still allowed to take injured up to Doc, but they always needed permission from a Renan, and usually only one had to haul the injured, instead of two.
Iron Mask spoke for a long time with Ashe and Kohl, doing what he could. As the months wore on, he made sure to share whatever he was able to forage with the small family. But as winter wore on, the nights were longer, the fires and smoke seemed to hang even more in the air, the smoke and ash heavy.
It was early spring when Ashe slipped on a pebble with their barrel. After that Kohl was alone. Iron mask did whatever he could think of.
But as spring continued into summer, and Iron Mask watched more and more start to succumb to the heat he didn't feel, he noticed a tension in the Renans. Whispers.
Then, one morning, Iron Mask went to Doc as he usually did, to have a gash from two days prior checked and the dressing, such as it was, changed. He was surprised to see the doc closing up his cave.
"Doc?"
"It finally happened."
"What did?"
"The supplymaster got what he wanted. He wasn't happy with what happened last fall and how the captain treated him."
"So? What does that mean?"
Doc let out a heavy sigh. "The lord has seen fit to replace our captain."
"I'd say good riddance," Iron Mask said, reaching back to the raised welts on his back from his whipping. "But you're closing your cave."
"I only had this cave because the captain and I had an understanding." Doc hefted a small crate and carried it to a stack. "I suspect we'll be getting the more common type of captain. I've already been told I can't have a full cave. And that I won't be getting any supplies."
"What?" Iron Mask felt his stomach drop. "But, you don't have enough as it is!"
Doc let out a bitter laugh. "I don't think I'll have as much patching up to do. I hated that captain. But he let me tend to us Dahnans, and he knew that he needed to keep us alive for work. Most captains… In my time here most captains don't really care if we live or die." He let out another harsh sound. "Women folk are going to have to make sure they're always pregnant, in order to replenish the people we're about to lose."
Iron Mask gaped. Yet somehow, he knew deep down in his bones, that the Doc was right.
Of course he was right.
Two months later, Iron Mask met an ethereal woman in white with a dour attitude and thorns. That was when Iron Mask… Alphen, realized that maybe he could do something.
Shionne: The Fire Master Core
Getting to Dahna had been… well it took some effort.
Shionne looked out over the fiery wastes, rifle in hand, ready for everything to fall apart. She only had so much food in her containment zone, the rest of the space for storing her rifle. She waited, expecting the worst, but nothing happened.
Taking a breath, she straightened, looking out over the bluffs. It was all rocky desert, buttes and valleys and tumbleweed. She scoffed. Orbus Calaglia: the Land of Brimstone and Swirling Ash. Of course she'd have landed in the roughest country of the lot. Fire astral energy was notoriously hard to create without some kind of instigation, but here the energy hummed all around her, flooding her nostrils along with the smell of soot. The air was filled with so much smoke the sky was nearly green from the chemicals, and she wondered why anyone would willingly choose to be Lord here. Erwolsey Teldilys - called Balseph even on Lenegis by the news cycles - was brutish and unrefined. Powerful enough to be a Lord, obviously, but not exactly popular with people outside of his own house. House Teldilys had produced Sovereigns in the past, most notably early in the conquest, but their power had waned of late, and now Shionne had to decide how best to get into his circle and steal the Fire Master Core.
Sighing, she pulled up a map of the Dahnan continents, noting she was on the southwest corner of the map: nowhere near the Circle's Sea and therefore isolated from major sources of trade or information. Shionne frowned, wondering how the economy even worked on this planet, but decided it didn't matter. Nothing mattered until she had achieved her goals, and she could finally rest.
Actually, with Cysloida as their only neighbor, the isolation would probably do her just as well. She nodded, packing away her map and turning back to her means of escape, summoning the artes to destroy it.
Her Lenegis clothes were traded out for more local fare, a white sundress to ward off the heat, heels to keep her above the rocks, a decorative gold belt to complete the ensemble. Far too simple for her tastes, but appearances weren't going to impress Balseph, and Shionne didn't have the charisma to ingratiate herself to his circle. Her best plan was to walk right up to Glanymede and beg an introduction - she could get the lay of the castle and a more intimate read on the lord, and from there she could determine where the master core was kept.
Plan in mind, she began her trek. The local zeugles seemed to be all strays, aggressive but ultimately weak against her determination. Everyone and everything would fall beneath her, if push came to shove. All she needed to do was get the master cores all in one place. If she could do that, she could get the Renas Alma, and if she had that…
Well.
Maybe then the pain would stop.
It was a two day trek through the desert to the capital of Ulzebek. She ignored the slave pens and work sites - she didn't want to draw attention to herself and the concerns of the people of this country were none of her concern. By the time she made it to the frankly appalling capital, she was more than ready to start a fight and had to remind herself that shooting first wasn't going to get her to learn the location of the master core. Instead she cleaned up as well as she could and crossed the tacky Trench of Flames and entered the castle. The castle was as brutal as the lord himself was rumored to be - sandy floors and utilitarian barracks - no refinement whatsoever. The castle circled around its central conceit: the mass of fire astral energy that was harvested.
Shionne glanced over the lip of the spiral, saw the flows of lava from the trench oozing in, the astral energy concentrating and then funneling up. Like a volcano, she noted, only instead of belching out into the atmosphere it was collected into the master core. Nodding to herself, she continued through the dirty excuse of a castle - the Wall of Fire was more impressive on a sheer engineering perspective, metal piping to funnel excess fire to keep the castle from combusting with all the astral energy in the air.
She hoped the other castles at least had an aesthetic.
It wasn't until she arrived at the top floor that she saw any fancy stonework: greens and golds, not quite marble, but with a shine even through the layers of smoke and ash. She walked up to the throne, unaware of a red woman watching her every move. She curtsied. "Lord Balseph," she said with soft, subservient tones.
The lord was large, easily eight feet, and almost as wide. Not from fat but from thick, stocky muscle that shouted power in every twitch, Balseph straightened and leaned forward, face littered in curiously artful (deliberate?) scars and narrow eyes. "And who are you, girl?" he demanded, his voice low and gravelly.
"Shionne Vymer Imeris Daymore," she said, "Of House Imeris. I come with urgent news of the Crown Contest."
"Pah," Balseph scoffed. "What news?"
"The master core from Mahag Saar has been stolen, and there are rumors of plans to steal other master cores. From which lord, we do not know."
Balseph laughed, a great, haughty, unseemly guffaw and tilted his entire frame back. "I knew that Kaineris bitch didn't have it in her to be a lord. Serves her right!"
"My lord," Shionne said, keeping her eyes down. "I'm here from Lenegis to inspect the security of the other master cores, and to help shore up defenses in case of another theft. Please direct me to the fire master core that I may inspect its security."
"You insult me, Imeris, to say that I can't keep my master core. I'm not that upstart nobody Igniseri or that simpering fool il Qaras. I have no weaknesses in my defense!"
What a fool. "Nevertheless," she said, keeping her head down, "I was sent from Lenegis to make an inspection to ensure there is no treachery in the continued Crown Contest."
"Then look, girl, and tell those ingrates to stop interfering. I have more astral energy than any of those other fools, even Valkyris. I could be the next Sovereign now, if I wanted."
"Of course," Shionne said gracefully, straightening. If you would be so kind?"
Teldylis grunted, rolling his eyes and standing. One massive hand patted his hip; he was armed, obviously, but neither of them said anything as Shionne let him take the lead. The stairs were had the same shimmering stone, and as they moved up to what was obviously some kind of sky garden or roof structure, the sun gleaned off of the shining floors and she could see the contrast of colors more clearly. Well, there was some artistry here to begin with - Not as strong as Renan art, obviously, but there was a rustic charm that Shionne could almost appreciate.
The master core was floating over the energy spiral that was bubbling up from the caverns below. The fire astral energy was intense, the heat a veritable wall, and the elements licked the air. Everything hummed with its potency, and the pressure of it was its own natural deterrent. Balseph wasn't kidding - there was enough astral energy packed in the core for untold power and artes.
"As you can see," the lord was saying, "The astral energy itself is enough to keep those animal Dahnans at bay, as well as any low-arte vagabond who aspires to a station higher than they deserve. Only a lord can reach that core! Haha!"
"Well," Shionne said, "That's everything I needed to know."
She reached out and grabbed his arm, her thornes doing the rest of the work. Teldylis cried out in surprise, and then pain, falling to his knees. Shionne pressed in closer, her hand vice-like and unwilling to let go. "Give me the core," she said calmly, "and I'll let go."
"... Go to… hell…" Balseph grunted.
"You first before me," she said, touching him with her other hand. He growled, then, trying to reach for his hip and whatever weapon he kept there. Shionne wouldn't allow it, frowning and digging her nails in. "Give. Me. The. Master. Core."
"G… Guards!"
"What?" Shionne asked, "and let those low-artes brutes see you on your knees? Is that what you want? Tch, you're useless to me." She freed a hand and held it up, calling on her artes and beckoning. The master core started wiggle, warble. Balseph watched, horrified, before crying out and pulling out of her grasp. That didn't matter, however, because the core was close enough, and that was all she needed. She ran through the heat, her thornes radiating off of her and protecting her from harm as she grabbed the fire master core.
"Betrayal! Why are you doing this? Traitor! Traitor! You're an enemy to all Renans!"
Shionne ignored him - all she had to do now was get out, and her thornes would help keep her safe. She ran back to the stairs, faster than Balseph but only barely - his massive ax was out and he was swinging it in blind rage, crying out slurs and epitaphs. Once she was back in the dirt and stone of the center of the castle, she leapt off the edge of the upper floors, knowing this was going to hurt but it was worth the risk - distance was what she needed first and foremost. The master core hummed in her hands, and she needed time to hide it away.
Her legs broke in the fall, but her thorns were already flaring out even as she cried out in pain. Energy was pouring out of her legs, her thorns working overtime to heal her wounds. All she could do was bear it, crawling down the slope of the castle and drawing her rifle out in case she needed it. She was sweating and gasping by the time she could move her legs, and she got up, staggering slightly with the phantom expectation of pain. It didn't matter, she reminded herself, none of it matters as long as she could gather all the master cores. Pain was nothing - she had borne it all her life and she would bear it as long as it took to end the dreams.
Grunting, she ran out of the castle, past confused guards that hadn't yet had word of what had happened above. She ducked through the filthy capitol, finding shadowed alley and closing her eyes, focusing. She tuned into her artes, listening to the fire master core, holding it close to her chest, telling it her will.
The heat faded to warmth, a soft sensation she had never known in all her life, and she pressed the core to her bosom, casting her arte and letting her body absorb the container of so much astral energy. There was no pain, not like she was expecting, the fire master core settled into her chest and pressed near her heart, giving it a warm, comforting presence that almost made her relax.
Almost.
She straightened, dusting off her sun dress, and stepped out into the light. Now all she had to do was get out of Calaglia.
She lasted four hours before Renan forces found her.
End
Authors Notes: And now we're ready for the game to begin, in theory.
Scenes we wanted to write but never got around to: Dohalim establishing the Department of Welfare and recruiting Drashin; how in GOD"S GREEN EARTH the economy of Menencia worked that the enslaved Dahnans were compensate fairly for their work; poison in Autelina Palace to further isolate Dohalim; how the Colosseum was shut down and reoppened, establishing Dohalim's relationship to Migal and to a lesser extent Kisara; how Kisara became a guard captain; how the scapegoating and break with Migal happened; how Rinwell met Hootle and how she met the head of the Silver Swords; Shionne's escape; in theory Law's time in a reeducation camp before we round the fic that wrote it all for us.
Maybe someday we'll replay the game and go into these lost scenes, but now the school year has started and our mental health degradation has returned. Oh, well. Hope everyone enjoyed.
