March

Issue 30

The Covenant

broken stones
rest in circles, round
hide what lies within
darkness and death
crags, crevices deep-rooted
in Hell’s breath

flesh is weak
stone is strong
flesh bleeds
willingly
seeking freedom
that stone will never have
                         --M.M.

                      
The Path

    On the turn of Eli's sixteenth summer, his master branded him for use in the mines and shoved him in a caravan headed north. His feet carried him towards Arena, just below the icy peaks of Sorrow's Shroud. He could see, looming ahead of them in a high crevice, the Sheol Gate, the door into the bowels of the mountain. Tales Eli heard from the region chilled his blood and weakened his knees. He had listened to them as he grew, prattled about by the kitchen folk. Stories that told of the sounds of weeping children on the wind, slaves stolen in the night, with only blood left behind, shadows that drained you of your very soul.

    His heart pounded against his ribs, harder and harder with each step, but he would not show fear. If he were an animal, at least he would be a strong one.

    Eli didn't know what it was to be free. He was born to the chain, and so he would die. The only thing to clutch at for comfort was his own chest. It was the way of his tainted blood—a bastard of two worlds, belonging in neither. He never discovered why he'd been cursed to live when many children of mixed blood were thrown from the nearest cliff. He barely ever spent time thinking on it. It didn't matter. He was a slave, and now he was a mine rat, the lowest of slaves. He would spend the rest of his days bleeding out his life into this mountain.

    Unless he did something.

    His feet faltered on the path and the guard sent him a warning with a whip. Shards of glass woven into the tails tore at the back of his legs and Eli struggled to stand.

    "Move, cow!" the guard spat. "Or your rations go to the man in front of you tonight."

    Eli didn't look at the guard; he kept his eyes straight to the winding path ahead. Already he had gone without rations the night before. He wouldn't survive another day without water or food.