Never Ending Darkness (title pending) - Chapter One

Kyanna Rosenfeld

It was so dark. I was tired of the darkness. Everything was black, like death. The death-dust covered my clothes, and my arms, and my face-- it coated my hair, and felt gritty as sweat grew bitter cold on my neck. I lifted one of my arms, trembling with exhaustion, and pushed against the heavy iron cart. It groaned loudly. I did too. The cart was heaped with the disgusting rock we'd been digging for hours.

Slowly I got the cart in motion; slowly it became easier to push. Stooping until I was nearly bent double, I pushed the cart of coal to the mouth of the cave. The foreman, a big, burly man by the name of Jareth Ainsley stepped out and took the cart from me, easily pushing it off to the side.

"I told you that you don't have to push the carts, Kyanna." He said, stepping back so that I could join him outside of the cave.

"I know." I carefully crawled out onto the stone slab, and very slowly straightened my back. The vertebrae in my back snapped and popped loudly as I did, the ever-present pain getting as sharp as the cracking was loud.

"Then stop being a... a... glutton for punishment."

"I'm not." I slowly pulled my shoulders back, glancing up at the sky. The sky was nearly as dark as the death dust on my pale arms.The sun being long since hidden by the hills, and the moon just beginning to rise on the other side of the sky. "I'm doing my job."

"Kya..." He said slowly, looking down at my disapprovingly.

I lifted a shoulder, wishing he'd stop patronizing me. I could handle the job. I might've been the only woman working in the mines, but that didn't mean that I wanted special treatment. I knew that all of the men were just as sore and exhausted as I was.

He looked at me a long moment, then sighed. "Get some sleep."

"Yes, sir." I murmured. "Is there anything else you want me to do first?"

He shook his head. "No. Just get home, get cleaned up, get some food-- and sleep."

I nodded. "Goodnight."

He nodded once, and walked past me.

* * *

Jareth Ainsley

That girl. I sighed again, shaking my head, as I watched her stumble down the road toward her farm. She was trying her best not to act tired— to walk tall and deliberately. She still couldn’t help the fact that she kept stumbling over the uneven ground. I rubbed my face, and walked into the small, rickety shack I’d been given for an office.

I wished I could knock her off work, once and for all. The mines were no place for a woman. I threw my old, torn hat onto the makeshift desk I’d been using for years, and sat down on the crate I used for a chair. I could still remember the tears she had in her eyes when she came to me, pleading to keep her job, after the first time she got hurt.

I knew something was wrong, the instant I walked out of the privy and saw the men flocked together, urgently whispering to one another. Someone sprinted off toward my office. Someone else sprinted into the town. I hurried over to the group. “What’s going on here?”

Then I saw. She was standing in the middle of the group, her right hand clenched into a tight fist, jaw hard, eyebrows knit together as she insisted that she was fine. Her left was wrapped in a bundle of rags, blood still quickly seeping through the bandages, even though it appeared that they’d wrapped many rags around her hand already. They added another.

“What happened?” I pushed my way closer to the center, not sure why I was suddenly so afraid. I’d seen blood before. I always got nervous when one of my workers got hurt—but I never got as queasy as I was just then.

She started as she recognized my voice, and turned toward me, renewing her attempts to fight away the help. “Nothing, sir, I just—“

“That’s definitely something.” I interrupted, gesturing at her hand. “What happened?”

“I made a mistake, sir, completely my fault. It won’t happen again.” She said quickly.

“It sure won’t.” It couldn’t happen, if she was at her home where she belonged.

She looked hurt. “You mean…”

“Don’t listen to her.” Someone, I wasn’t sure who, cut in. “It was Ker’s fault, not hers. He didn’t put the chain on the bolt right. It flew off and took most of her hand with it—nothing she could do to stop it. None of us knew it would happen.”

I felt so very useless as the doctor shooed her onto the small cot in my office and made her lie down. My stomach churned as he took the rags away from her hand, and I saw how bad her injury really was. Most of the skin on her hand was gone—especially on her last two fingers. Her pinky was the worst—it was stripped of all the skin, and most of her flesh, bits of the bone visible in places.

I never was so relieved as when Doc got her hand bandaged up and said that she was good to go—as long as someone walked her home. He said she’d lost too much blood. That she might not keep consciousness if she tried a walk as far as she had to make. I gruffly ordered Ker to walk her home, told her not to bother coming back out.

I didn’t notice that she wasn’t crying, until my words brought tears to her eyes.

I shook my head. I didn’t have time to relive the past. I pulled the mostly smoked cigar out of a drawer, and touched a match to the end as I leaned against the wall and threw my feet on the desk—just like how I was sitting when she came in to beg for her job. Suddenly I was remembering the day once more.

The day after the accident, I expected she’d show up to argue her case. She didn’t seem the type to just accept that I fired her, when she really hadn’t done anything except give me an opportunity to send her home, like I’d wanted to for several months.

But, to my surprise, she never turned up. She didn’t come the next day either. I was starting to think that she might not come for a fight after all, when I heard soft rap at my door. “Intrude.” I called flatly. She stepped into my office, timidly at first, but quickly regained her courage. She straightened her shoulders and strode toward my desk.

She stopped, seeming more nervous than she’d probably ever admit. “Mr. Ainsley.”

“Yes?”

She took a deep breath, then hurriedly started into her obviously rehearsed speech. “I understand that I made a mistake.” She made no mistake. ”And that my carelessness hurt your productivity.” It was Ker’s carelessness that hurt the productivity. “But I promise you that I will be more careful, and always pay attention to what I’m doing, and not mess up anymore, just please, please let me come back to work.”

Her voice, her body language, her words—everything was pleading with me. I frowned. “It was Ker who made the mistake, from what I hear.”

She hesitated. “Well… I… I don’t know what he might’ve done.”

“Mm…” I looked at her a long moment. Her clothes were disheveled, her hair a wild mane that covered half her face. Strange, I thought. Kyanna often left work in a state of disarray—but she always arrived looking neat, if somewhat dirty on occasion. “What happened to you?”

“Sir?”

I gestured at her. “You look like you just got in a fist fight.”

“Oh…” She suddenly looked very guilty.

“What did you do?” I asked accusingly, as I slowly stood up.

“Nothing.”

“Kyanna.” I said sternly.

“Nothing!” She insisted.

I walked around my desk. Her body instantly got tense as I approached her, but she didn’t flee—contrary to what her body language suggested she wanted to do. I brushed her hair back, out of her face, and saw a large black bruise covering her right eye, the cheek so swollen I doubted she could see out of that eye.

“What happened?” I was instantly concerned again, rather than annoyed that she’d gotten in yet another fight. This looked like an injury that was inflicted by someone that not even Kyanna was foolhardy enough to cross.

“Nothing, sir.” She swallowed hard, her words stiff. “…Can I please have my job back?”

I glanced out the window. My eyes fell on a soldier, who was shouting about something. I narrowed my eyes and looked back at the timid girl in front of me. I figured I had a pretty good idea of what happened to her face. “Alright.”

I smiled a little when I remembered what happened after that. Her face, even half-covered with an ugly bruise, transformed into an image of excitement. A girlish grin that betrayed her true youth broke out across her face, as she thanked me over and over.

I extinguished the cigar in the ash tray, and slid it into its drawer— I could still get two, maybe three if I was careful, smokes out of it later. I slowly stood up and stretched my sore muscles. I was going to take my own advice—home, food, sleep.

* * *

Kyanna Rosenfeld

It was a half-hour's walk to get from my farm to the mines, but it seemed like it always took three-quarters of an hour to walk from the mines to my farm. I stopped by the barn first. The animals were already by the gate, waiting to be let into their stalls for the night. Tiredly I led first the horses to their stalls, and then the milk cow to hers, and then stumbled to the creek with a bucket for water.

A few trips later I'd filled each of troughs with water. We didn't have anything to feed them, so I simply wished them each a good night, and began stripping down. I walked back down to the creek, downstream from where I got the animals’ water each night, to the next little pool. I lowered myself into the cold water and quickly scrubbed off as much of the death-dust and sweat as I could, before climbing out and stumbling back to the barn.

I quickly dressed and walked toward the house, still trying to work the stiffness out of my body before I went in to see Father. I found him sitting by his table, still working on weaving the same basket he was this morning. I shook my head, offering a small smile. “You shouldn’t be working still. You need to rest.”

“Good evening to you too.” He turned his head toward me. “And you need rest more.”

“Nah, I’m not that tired tonight.” I lied.

"Kyanna." He said flatly.

I shrugged, even though I knew he could't see it. "Did you eat yet?"

"No."

I kicked my boots off and walked into the kitchen, washing my hands once more in with a basin of water. I pulled a loaf of mostly stale bread out of the box, and grabbed a knife. "How was your day?"

"The same as always." Father answered. I glanced toward him. His hands were stilled, and his sightless eyes were turned toward where I stood in the kitchen. "Slow and rather unproductive. And how was my little girl's day?"

"It was good." I divided the loaf into three portions, being sure to leave the biggest on my plate. I grabbed two cups and the skin of water, and walked to the table. "I was able to sell all of the eggs in town."

I sat the plates down, giving Father the smallest portion. He always insisted that I was to eat the largest portion, but I always refused. It was a nightly argument, until he'd lost his vision. Then he just started switching our plates, since I used to always put the larger portion on his. I sat down as he took my plate, and gave me his own, smiling a little.

"Good, good."

I nodded. "Yeah. Mrs. Draven wants more herbs, too. I figured I could dig those tomorrow."

"Okay." Father folded his hands. "Ready?"

"Yes sir." I answered quietly, as I bowed my head.

"Father, we thank You for seeing us through this day, and for giving us this food. We pray for Your continued strength and protection to be with us always. In your Son's Holy Name, amen."

We ate quickly, talking little. Once we'd finished, I took our plates to the kitchen, and grabbed the last portion of the loaf. "I'm going to Auron his dinner now."

"Be safe."

"I will." I slipped my feet into a pair of soft-soled leather shoes, and quietly let myself out into the darkness of the night. Everything was so still. I silently walked through the small clearing behind our house, to the place where the underbrush leading into the woods wasn't so thick. The moon was behind a cloud, leaving me in utter darkness to navigate. I didn't mind. I'd always loved the night.

I carefully stepped over the first briar. A strong, harsh hand grabbed my arm, jerking me backward, off balance. "Where do you think you're going?"