It wasn't until early afternoon that I realised I hadn't dreamt the night before. It was the first time in months Ssserakis hadn't plagued me with nightmares. In honesty, I think I preferred the nightmares to the hangover.
Chapter 8
Josef
I saw Death today. I see death every day. Things are different ever since the riot and Eska's escape. Deko is ruthless, merciless. Much more than he was before. Scabs are killed every day down here, some for almost no reason at all. Deko makes it public, a spectacle designed to keep us all in line. Nobody wants to be next. I saw Maeter die just last week. He was about as close to a friend as I can claim these days. Deko doesn't have enough of his captains or foremen left for every job, so us scabs are given some of the more laborious ones. Maeter was given the task of spooning out the gruel at feeding time. One ladle per scab. One ladle per scab. One ladle per scab. Last week he missed a bowl, just a little. I think the woman was pushed as she raised her bowl, I saw her stumble, and a little slop of gruel fell to the floor like a sodden cloth. The scab complained and Maeter gave her a second ladle. But Deko was watching. Beady little eyes shining in the gloom. I hate him. I hate all of them. I hate Deko and his foremen. I hate the scabs. I hate the overseer.
Deko pulled Maeter away from the gruel and shut down the Trough. More than half the scabs went hungry that day and the bastard said we could all blame Maeter for the growling of our stomachs. That could have been punishment enough, Maeter would have caught a beating or two for his mistake, and the scabs would have dished it out. It should have been punishment enough. But of course it wasn't. Deko is a fucking tyrant! He forced gruel down Maeter's throat, made him eat while the rest of us watched. He made Maeter eat until he couldn't anymore, until he was reeling from the pain in his stomach and gagging with the effort of keeping it down. Then Deko took him up on one of the lifts, all the way up to the third level. And pushed him off. It's a long way down, but Maeter didn't even scream. And then he hit the floor and many of the scabs who had eaten that day lost what little they'd had. I've never seen a body burst like that. Deko knew what he was doing. He knew it would happen. I hate him!
Deko put me in the charge of the gruel after that. I don't know why. I don't know if it's some sort of punishment for something. Maybe he still thinks the overseer is protecting me and this is his way of getting back at me. Maybe he just wants me to screw up so he has a reason to kill me like he did Maeter. I won't. I won't give him a reason. I won't give any of them a reason.
At least everyone sees me again.
I think I preferred being invisible.
But that isn't what I wanted to write down. I keep this diary in the hope it will someday lead to my freedom. I know the overseer reads everything I write. Why else would soldiers come, once a week, down here in the darkness to take my pages and give me more, fresh ones? I know you read this, overseer. Please, let me out. I can still be useful. I'm still a Sourcerer and I'm loyal to Terrelan. I don't care about Eska or her stupid need for revenge. I just want out of the Pit. I just want to be free of Deko. I just want to be free of the damning stares and whispered insults. Please let me out.
Death. She walked into the Pit like it belonged to her. She was a vision, tall and straight, dark hair cascading like a waterfall of onyx. Maybe it's just from spending so long down here in the darkness and filth, but I've never seen anything so mesmerising. She wore red leather on a black uniform with golden plate on top, etched with enchantments. The way the lantern light caught it made it shine so bright I thought I might go blind. I wasn't the only one. Even Deko shielded his eyes. Even Deko stayed out of her way. She rode the lift down to the floor of the main cavern and two others came with her, wearing the same red and gold. One of them was wrinkled with age yet carried his years well. He wore a shield strapped to his back, wrapped in cloth, and an axe in hand. The other was a giant of a man, taller even than Hardt had been.
I still wonder if he blames me for Isen's death. He should. I am to blame. I killed him out of…
The other man was a giant and had a hammer slung across his back. I remember the look in that one's eyes as he swept the crowd as if he didn't see people just the stench that comes off us. Who can blame him? We're little more than vermin to those above us.
But Death, she was different. She looked at us, each of us. She met our eyes and held them. She walked through us, close enough to touch, and didn't flinch. She wasn't scared. A single standing figure of beauty down with the filth. Down with the very worst Terrelan has to offer. Murderers and thieves and war criminals, and worse yet. We're monsters. Everyone down in the Pit is a monster. If we weren't when we came in, the Pit soon turned us into one. She didn't care. Death walked among us as though we didn't even pose a threat. And I'm not sure we did.
She carried a sword I have seen just once before. It used to hang on a wall at the Orran Academy of Magic, in a locked room with no lock, hidden away from us all. I had to pull Eska away from the sword when we snuck in that one time. The way the metal shifted and moved held her mesmerised. There was a plaque underneath it. I think it read "Neverthere". Maybe that was the name of the sword. I don't know. It was definitely the same sword, though. I remember the way the metal seemed to bubble with a sickening yellow shine. A hideous blade. I can feel my skin crawling just thinking about it.
Death stopped in front of the Hill and Deko's cronies parted, like the skin of an orange peeled away. I miss oranges. I miss fruit. I can still just about remember how they taste, so sweet it's almost sickening. My mind keeps wandering. Ever since I didn't die, I find it hard to keep everything straight. Hard to concentrate. Deko wouldn't meet her eyes. Death stared through him and he looked away. He knew where the power lay, and he knew it wasn't in his hands. I bet the slug kisser hated that, to have everyone in his little kingdom see who held the true power. To have everyone reminded that the Pit is just that, a pit where all the refuse is thrown. Deko is nothing but a shit king ruling over shit.
When Death turned away, I expected Deko to make a move, to leap at her and stab with one of his little shivs. He carries a few, we've all seen it. He didn't. Deko sat there as quiet and meek as the rest of us. All the population of the Pit gathered around. I don't know how everyone knew something was happening, but for the first time since I've been down here, I couldn't hear digging. It echoes throughout the tunnels, a permanent ringing that hammers against my senses. I hear it everywhere, all the time. Even alone in the dark, as far away from everyone as I can get. Even with my hands pressed so hard against my ears until I feel like I'm crushing my own skull. Even then, I can still hear the digging.
But not when Death stood there watching us. For the first time in months, I didn't hear the digging. I almost threw myself at her feet for that. For that one brief moment of respite.
She asked for Yorin in a voice that rang like tempered steel. There was strength there, strength, and power, and grace all in the sound of her voice. How did she do that?
When Yorin came he matched her in height and stood as straight as Death herself. His bruises, given to him by the overseer's soldiers, had mostly faded; a lifetime of pit fighting will do that to a person, bruise hard and heal quick. He had the brawn, but they looked a true pair, Death and Yorin; both strong and proud and beautiful.