Secrets of Urthis

CHAPTER 1

Like a wild boar on the kill, Irwin’s father, Albert, raced through the streets of Kobiton. Irwin hurried to keep up. If he did not, there would be hell to pay. They had come down from their mine at the top of the mountain early that morning. Once they delivered their monthly cache of coal, they then purchased provisions for the next month. Soon after, Albert hurried to get to the Hairy Yak Saloon. A mean son-of-a-bitch, he had a history of turning into a crazed monster when he was in town. It was obvious to Irwin that his father was ready for his whisky and a good hot meal.

They passed a forge where a smithy banged hot metal into shape. Irwin became dizzy—his world spun from the vertigo he suddenly felt. He noticed Albert’s molten gold eyes glaring at the forge. A chorus of metal vibrations echoed through Irwin’s body, slowing him down—confusing him. He struggled to ignore the humming in his ears and tried to keep up with his father. He wished he were home in their peaceful cave.

They wove through the colorful streets and crowded alleyways of the city of Kobiton. The lay of the township followed the mountainous terrain along a gentle slope on the western side of the KruKluver Mountain Range—a peaceful place, full of kindly looking people.

For many years, Irwin’s family had mined coal for this small city. Albert usually brought the coal by himself to the same dealer every moon cycle—trekked down steep slopes, sometimes during horrendous white-outs. On this day Irwin had joined the monthly journey. Their load of coal brought them five pounds of silver. Three pounds would feed the donkeys—Jennies and Jacks—the rest would feed them. His father always made haste to the Saloon before returning to their cave. Usually, he bought a half-cask of whiskey and a meal before leaving. But tonight they would spend the night at the Saloon.

Irwin and Albert entered the Hairy Yak; the door swung shut behind them. Irwin held back. A stout middle-aged woman behind the bar’s long oak countertop watched the two mountain men. Her hair was braided and pinned around her head. Irwin nodded toward her and then chased after Albert who was heading toward his favorite table.

They took seats on two wooden chairs that Albert had scraped noisily across the floor. He ordered the same meal and drink he did every time. Irwin kept an eye on him. Albert’s behavior could change like a winter storm coming from the north at any time. The whiskey helped calm him, but not much.

An older woman shuffled toward the piano in the back of the room. Her fingers raced across the keys, and the melody soothed Irwin, soothed the ringing in his ears. He closed his eyes and there came a smack on the back of his head; he lurched forward in the chair. He had let his mind wander.

The woman who delivered their whiskey and introduced herself as Rosi brought them their hot meat pies; the ceramic plates clanked onto the table.

“Another drink, Sir?”

“Yes! And one for my son.” Albert’s eyes turned from gold to silver. “Make them both doubles. Irwin here will need as much courage as he can muster tonight!”

“Yes, Sir. Will that be all for now?”

Albert pulled out a small satchel of silver coins. He held it up, feeling its weight, then absorbed several ounces of silver through the material and into his flesh before handing the satchel to Rosi. “Tell your proprietor we will stay the night. I assume this will be enough for meals, drinks, and women.”

She peered inside the purse. “Yes, that should suffice, Sir.”

“Tonight, you will become a man!” Albert stared at him, eyes changing again from silver to gold.

What was his father telling him? He thought himself a man already, young and naïve, but still a man at nineteen. He wanted that whiskey now.

***

Since the age of six, after Edwin died, Irwin had labored in the mines beneath the fists of his father and grandfather. It was challenging work for a young boy, but he always obeyed orders, kept focused on the miserable work.

He would always remember that brief time of happiness before Edwin dropped dead one afternoon when they were out exploring the mountainside. His great grandfather had brought Irwin into a new mineshaft to show him the construction his grandfather and father had crafted using giant timbers. Edwin told him to stay put, that he had forgotten something at the mine’s entrance. But for reasons Irwin could not now remember, instead of obeying, he was drawn further into the mine—an internal pull he could not overcome. When Edwin found Irwin, he was plastered against the wall of the mineshaft, crying. His hands enveloped up to his wrists in liquid silver. He was magnetized and could not let go. Edwin was breathing hard when he pulled Irwin from the wall. He asked no questions of him nor scolded him.

Later that day, Edwin keeled over in the mountain grass and never recovered. From that day on, Irwin’s childhood was over. He remembered the scorching sun on his back as he leaned over Edwin lying on the ground, tears burning his eyes and his throat; he remembered Albert finding them there and yanking him away from the body.

After Edwin was gone, Irwin led Grandfather Jebadia and Albert to the lode of silver he had found the day Edwin died. The two beat him until his nose bled and warned him to never ever reveal to anyone what happened in that mine—what he had found and what that find did to him.

Young Irwin was then forced to work in the mines—where instead of play and discovery with Edwin, his life was defined by cave-ins, stubborn donkeys, and his grandfather’s and father’s heavy hands.

***

“Become a man? I do not understand. I thought I was a man.”

“You are a boy, nothing more. A boy and a smart ass.” Albert’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe tonight you will learn something. To be a man,” his father snarled, “you must learn to fuk a woman.”

Irwin closed his eyes and received another slap to the back of his head.

Albert’s eyes swirled with silver and gold, occluding his irises. Irwin was aware of the man’s power and his habit of lashing out at him—same as he would to one of the donkeys. He could feel his father ready to explode. It happened whenever they were here in the city filled with all kinds of metals that both of them voluntarily, and sometimes involuntarily, absorbed into their bodies. Irwin was aware of this power, but he had learned early on to keep it to himself.

Rosi appeared with two more cups of whiskey. Albert yanked one from her and cast the whiskey down his throat. With a hard hand, he slammed the ceramic cup onto the table. He took the other double shot and threw that down his gullet too; his flaming eyes never left Irwin’s. “Bring us another set of doubles.”

Irwin watched Rosi scurry away, empty cups in hand. He squirmed under his father’s glare.

“A woman like that is too meek for you. I promise you, my boy, you will learn something from this night I am paying for.”

Irwin watched the woman he remembered as Saryh walk past.

“Good choice! Do you like her? Of course you do. You will have Saryh tonight.”

“Yes, I like Saryh. She is nice.”

“Nice has nothing to do with it.”

He poked at the meat pies. They were the perfect temperature to eat. Albert grinned, exposing his yellowing teeth, when Rosi appeared with more shots of whiskey. The grizzly man was in a mood to drink, and fast, meanwhile Irwin sipped on his. Their dinner was turning into a drinking contest for which he wanted no part. But again, another round of whiskey, and again ….

“Your Grandfather Jebadia wanted this night to happen while he was alive.” Albert was already slurring his words. “He wanted you to learn how to procreate another generation. I knew you were too young before he died, but now … now you are ready to learn how to be with a woman.” He slapped Irwin’s shoulder. “Drink it!”

Irwin had not wanted to anger his father, who was drunk, but his shoulder stung. With a quick hand, he flung a mouthful of whiskey down his own throat.

Ugh!

“Swallow boy!” Albert shouted. “Another round for us!” He stared at Irwin. “Tonight, we will make you into a man.” He slapped Irwin’s shoulder again. “By the end of this night, you will know what it means to be a real man.”

“I thought all the hard work in the mines made me a man.”

Albert had leaned so close to Irwin’s face he almost gagged on the odor coming from his father’s mouth. “Knowing how to create children makes you a man. You can work your ass off for eternity and not know what work is until you have a child. We need another generation for the mines. Hopefully, your prick will not disappoint.”

***

Since an early age, he had been constantly reminded of his inadequacies. Grandfather Jebadia, Albert’s father, had complained to Albert on many occasions; said that Irwin was an abomination. He would shout and Irwin could hear from his bed, “The boy is too skinny and malnourished! His legs are too weak, and his arms are too thin. His eyes lack confidence, and even his teeth lack strength. His feet are flat; his back is not strong enough to pull his own weight. And there is something odd about that runt, I tell you. You should never have coupled with that light-haired woman.“ The man had been blunt about cutting Irwin down to a scrap of donkey scat every chance he got. His father was no different. Without his great grandfather Edwin’s hand there for him as a child, Irwin would probably not be alive.

***

He sat back and folded his arms across his chest, staring at the women sashaying back and forth, to and from the bar and the kitchen. He understood what Albert wanted, and he knew that no matter how much he wanted to please, to have his father’s love, he just would not be able to do this thing. He never had that kind of attraction or feeling for girls—not the kind of feelings that swelled through him occasionally when he saw boys his age.

The reds and oranges of the evening sky seeped through the front windows and settled into darkness outside.

He felt lightheaded—giggling and laughing in a way he had never done in front of his father, or ever for that matter. The drunken man was keeping a sinister eye on him.

When Albert tossed bronze and silver pieces onto the table for more whiskey, the metal rattled Irwin’s innards. Drunken men around the place clapped and shouted for more whiskey, for women who could be bought in the upstairs brothel.

“Bring Saryh out here!” Albert beat his fists on the table.

“Father….”

“Here are your drinks, Sirs.” Rosi stepped in close.

As soon as she put the full glasses down, Albert grabbed her wrist. Through a rigid jaw he said, “Bring us Saryh.”

Rosi squirmed from under the force Albert applied to her thin wrist. “Yes, yes, she will be down in a moment, Sir.” She tried to pull herself away, but the fuming miner held on.

“Father, please let her go. Oh, there … I think I … I think I see Saryh.” His drunken father was more violent than ever. Albert loosened his grip, and Rosi recovered her arm. Rubbing it, she asked, “Is there anything else I can get you, Sirs?”

“More whiskey!” Albert pushed the pile of coins at Rosi, bellowing, “A bottle this time. And bring that Saryh over here!”

Rosi and Irwin’s eyes met. Neither wanted Albert to have more whiskey. But she looked at the floor. “Yes, Sir.”

With the brew flowing freely, the whiskey was also getting the best of Irwin. “Father, I think you have had enough to drink.”

He crashed to the floor. His father’s hand was quicker than Irwin’s eyes.

I earned that … I earned that. Damn whiskey!

He stumbled to his feet, felt a soft hand on his back.

“Are you alright, Irwin?” Saryh’s brown eyes were painted dark hues of blues and browns, emphasizing her eyelids. Her brown, ringleted hair flowed across her sturdy shoulders. Her sheer robe was light purple and covered a sleek indigo-colored dress. She smelled like the flower-filled fields they had hiked through early this morning on the way to town.

He never saw anyone like her before and hoped he would not be called upon to speak.

“Good evening, Sir Albert Miner. How may I be of service to you?”

“You are here for Irwin.”

CHAPTER 2

Saryh took Irwin’s hand. He looked down into her kind face. She smiled at him, and he tightened his grasp on his half-drunk glass of whiskey.

Albert grabbed a bottle from Rosi and disappeared up the stairs with a heavy woman with barely anything covering her substantial body. Irwin felt like a child left with strangers. He longed to be back in his cave.

“Would you like another drink, Irwin?”

He knocked down the last if his whiskey, but oddly felt sober all of a sudden. “Yes, please.”

“And then, maybe a bath?”

Dirty from weeks of hard work, his clothes had not been washed in several moons; the smell and the gritty feeling were part of a miner’s trade. He had never been fond of the odor of coal rooted in his hair and skin, but bathing was not something his family did often.

Hat in hand, he said, “Yes, please, I would like that.” Would Saryh be put off by his smell, or the look of him? He was supposed to ‘become a man’ with her. She pulled him toward the bar, and he stumbled over his feet and his embarrassment.

He did not know what was expected of him. He could not tell if the extra shots of whiskey were helping his anxiety and his shyness. He leaned on the bar and looked at Saryh again.

What should I say?

“You know, Irwin, many men bring their sons here for their first time with a woman. It’s a right-of-passage, of sorts, to help you ‘become a man,’ as your father puts it. Though, trust me when I say this, laying with a woman is far from what makes you a man in my opinion.”

He was afraid to look at her, but he felt her kindheartedness, and she seemed to understand his fear. “Father says having to take care of a child is what makes you a man.”

Saryh nodded. “Not every man can be a good father. Sometimes they’re scared of the responsibility. They see it as a burden.”

Their barkeep butt in, “Yeah, some men run like the wind when they find out they’re going to be a father.”

“My mother left.” He looked down at the bar, tracing the lines in the hardwood with his finger.

The barkeep leaned in close this time. “She probably had every reason to leave.”

Irwin looked up the stairs toward the catwalk. Albert would hopefully be in a woman’s room by now. “He gets angry sometimes.”

Saryh petted the back of his head. “Luckily, most women can soften a rigid man. Sometimes men can become so angry—so pent up with rage—the only way they can release that energy is to be with a woman. Let’s have a drink and then get you cleaned up.”

“Another whiskey Irwin?” The barkeep was still leaning on the wooden planked bar.

“Please, yes.”

“My usual.” Saryh eyed the barkeep as if to say hands off.

They sat together on the tall bar stools. Irwin faced the bar; Saryh had her back to the large and long countertop, her eyes on the Saloon floor. The room had cleared out. Nearly every man had found a female to take to bed. Only one man sat across the room drinking and carousing with two of the house ladies.

“I’m curious, Irwin,” Saryh said. “How well do you know yourself? Your body, that is.”

“Sorry, I am not sure I understand your question.”

Saryh turned toward him and put her soft hand on the side of his face. Her touch was cool, and her brown eyes warm and inviting. “Oh, Irwin, I feel so sorry for you. Your father has done a disservice to you, keeping you in that mine for so long.” She held his eyes. “Does he teach you anything other than how to harvest coal?”

“I know how to read, write, and do arithmetic.”

Saryh moved her hand from his face to his shoulder, then placed it tenderly on his crusty miner’s hand. “There are good people and bad people, Irwin, and you are one of the good ones. There are others, like your father, who are, or can be … not so nice. You, you are an outstanding young man. You know that, right? It’s hard to believe someone as wonderful as you came from the belly of that mountain.”

Irwin felt her studying him—shied from her gaze.

“You are the complete opposite of your father, and I am glad you picked me for your first time. I want you to know you have nothing to worry about. I will be kind and sensitive.” Saryh picked up her drink and motioned for Irwin to follow her. “A prost to a good night.” She raised her glass and took a swig.

He, too, took a sip.

I try to not be like Albert…he means well and tries to teach me best, but I am not what he wants me to be.

He studied the glass of whiskey.

And I am alright with that. I have to be, or I will never be happy.

He felt a familiar pang in the bottom of his gut.

Saryh touched his chin, and he felt brave enough to look into her eyes. “You are not like your father. I honestly think you’re the only reason the owner allows you both to return here.”

She slid from her stool, moved closer to him. “I know your visits to Kobiton are usually short, but have you seen any young women who attract you?”

“Albert always tells me to keep my eyes to myself. Once … once he scolded me for looking at women’s clothing in the mercantile.” His head fell forward again—reminiscent of the shame he felt that day.

The barkeep said, “Albert’s an ass. He has no clue why women exist.”

Irwin had been told why women were here for men—for reproduction. But he was beginning to realize that his father’s ideas were skewed. “You are correct about that. He has told me that women are repulsive and should be treated less than men. But I think you are better than men. I mean, well … you always say nice things about each other and … well … you are nicer. You are patient and have compassion. And you always smell and look clean. You are more understanding than Father or Grandfather. And you can cook!” He lifted his glass and took another drink. “And I do like the whiskey—in small amounts, of course.”

“Why, thank you, Irwin,” Saryh said. “I’m glad to see your father’s view of the world has not turned you against womankind.” She lifted her drink to her lips.

“Have you ever masturbated, Irwin?” The woman behind the bar grinned at him.

Saryh rolled her eyes and swallowed the last of her drink. “You ready for that bath, Irwin?” She reached for his hand. “Follow me.” She led him into the kitchen. “Grace, would you boil water for a bath, please?”

The woman cleaning kitchen countertops turned to acknowledge Saryh. “On it!” She stepped toward an enormous stone hearth and poured a bucket of water and then another into a large cauldron, then heaved it atop the fire.

“Thank you, Grace!” She called to her housemate.

Saryh took his hand. She led him through the saloon kitchen. They went through a narrow passageway that connected with a back door and stairwell leading to the upper floors. “First, we are goin’ to the basement. Have you ever been in a basement?”

“What is a basement?”

“It’s a below-ground floor, like a cellar, but much larger. We have a cellar too—where the whiskey is made. Basically, it’s a hole in the ground, down below the basement.”

It smelled musty down there. Three lanterns hung from thick crossbeams. He had ducked his head several times as he moved with caution through the large space.

“We store food down here, and after the whiskey is brewed, the casks are brought over here to cure. It usually takes three years to make a good batch—the kind your father buys. We do most of our laundry here, too. Though, on hot days, we take advantage of the sun.” Saryh pointed into a room where an old woman was piling folded sheets, dresses, and clothing onto a wooden shelf.

“This place is massive.” Irwin took it all in.

“Over here is the bathing room.” Saryh had motioned for Irwin to pass through two sheets she pulled open. “Sit on that bench and disrobe. There’re hooks to put your clothing on over there.” She pulled the sheets closed and moved toward him. “Any clothing you want washed; we can do that too.”

He did not take the seat; he had never been naked in front of a woman and didn’t think he could start now. “Do you do this for all the men?”

“No, I don’t. Though sometimes I wish I could bathe them! Come on, let me help you take off your clothes.”

“No, I can do it. Thank you.” He tried to fill the silence. “My father usually watches me undress. He ridicules my body.”

“Your father doesn’t respect you, Irwin.”

He took off his shirt and put his hands on the button of his pants. He knew he had a man’s body, well chiseled by years of demanding work. Saryh was staring at him.

“I respect you,” she said. “I don’t want your first time with a woman to be jaded.”

“Thank you. Thank you for respecting me, Saryh.” Irwin stopped mid-motion with his pants still straddling his hips. “I hope doing this will finally earn father’s respect.”

“I don’t see that happening. I don’t believe Albert respects anyone other than himself. If he hasn’t shown ya love and respect until now, I don’t think he ever will. What interactions I’ve had with your father …. He is a very disturbed man.”

***

Irwin had been programmed from birth, until Great Grandfather Edwin died, to be himself: happy and energetic. Then, in the flash of death, that was all taken away, and he ceased to be himself. He became the servant of his father’s and grandfather’s expectations.

Right now, he felt a strange sense of relief. He took in Saryh’s gaze. He could not recall ever being this far removed from any of his family members, or the cave. They had never left him alone with anyone not blood related. Not before now. His family had kept him restricted up on the high mountaintops, away from civilization. Tears filled his eyes and dribbled down his face; he leaned into Saryh. “I miss Edwin.”

She received his partial nakedness. “Who is Edwin?”

“My great grandfather.” He tried to contain this embarrassing outburst, and recoiled from her embrace. “I am sorry, I should not have ….”

“Irwin, it’s alright. I’m here for you. You don’t need to feel ashamed or embarrassed of your feelings. They’re yours. Trust me. I’ve had fully grown men, older than your father, breakdown in my arms. Men tend to hold back their emotions until they can’t any longer. Some men explode in rage, some cry in secret. It’s good to cry now and then. That’s how ya know you’re alive.”

He held back, studying Saryh, daring now to take her all in. Beneath her makeup, he saw wrinkles of wisdom beginning to form. Beyond her soft, enduring nature, Saryh had a deep insight and a nurturing side that made him long to cuddle in her arms. But he rubbed his arm and looked around.

“Great Grandfather Edwin was the one who took care of me. From the time I was born until his death, he watched over me. He protected me. He taught me how to be me, you might say.” He paused as memories flooded his mind and his heart. “He taught me so many things about myself—those that I still keep close, no thanks to Albert. Edwin was so kind. He allowed me to feel free, to dream, and to make my own choices. He encouraged me to think for myself.”

“That’s what a mother does. It’s good you had that in your life.”

Irwin nodded, wiping away another tear.

“He must’ve had a kindly patience. I would never imagine your father to be that nurturing.”

“Edwin was my mother, I guess. No, I never had a mother. I did not know what a mother was … what one looked like … not until I saw a woman at the mercantile my first time here. She had a bunch of children. I heard them calling her Mother. I asked father what that meant. He told me that a mother is nothing more than a whore with children.” He longed to put his head on Saryh’s shoulder again.

“I have one daughter. And we don’t call ourselves whores.”

“I am sorry, Saryh, I was not implying—“

She pressed her fingers against his mouth. “It’s alright, Irwin. Your father and grandfather know very little about women. There’s nothin’ wrong about what you do not know.” She put her hands on Irwin’s pants, slowly pulling them along his hips. “I will teach you all I know about women.”

His pants fell around his ankles. He froze. He wanted to shrivel away from her.

“I won’t hurt you.” Her eyes sparkled and stared deep into his.

He put his hands over his genitalia. “It is not that I am scared.” He tried to find the right words. “I am just not sure what I am getting myself into.”

“Well, first you’re getting yourself into a bath.” She smiled and reached for a spigot and turned it on. Cold water spilled into the bathing tub. Next to that tub stood a larger, round wooden tub that could fit several people. “This is the cold water,” Saryh said. “In a little while, that bell there will ring, and I’ll summon the boiling water through this spigot here—which is being boiled for ya upstairs.”

He stepped out of his pant legs. “How inventive; caves are boring compared to this place.”

Soon the bell chimed, and Saryh grabbed the second spigot. Hot steam preceded the hot water. “Put your hand in the tub and tell me when we reach the best temperature.”

He was embarrassed to show off his manhood and knelt slowly.

“I have never had a hot bath.” The cold water began to warm. “This place is amazing, Saryh. Are all the buildings in Kobiton like this?”

“You mean with the plumbing? Probably most of the houses have it. Those further up hill, maybe not. They’re the oldest in Kobiton. All the water for the Saloon is gravity-fed. There’re barrels and funnels, and it makes harnessing the water easier. That’s all I know.”

Kneeling at the tub’s side, he moved his hand around in the water. “Father might have a hard time convincing me to go home.” That was the alcohol talking. They would return to the cave—back to their doldrums, harvesting coal and sometimes precious metals. All of this would give him much to think about for a long time. “Hot baths,” he said and played in the water. “I do not want this moment to end.”

Saryh bent down, caressed his hair. “It doesn’t have to.” She leaned in to kiss him.

“Why did you do that?!”

“I’m so sorry, Irwin!” She put her hand on his bare chest. “I won’t do that again. Unless you want me to.”

Anxiety over this moment gripped his throat. He had a hard time swallowing. “I think I am ready for the bath. Indeed, it is warm enough.” He stepped into the tub, steadied himself, and then pulled in his other leg. “Oh, this is nice. Thank you. Do you have any …?”

She brought him rags, sponges, brushes, soaps, and sweet-smelling oils. “Take what you want, Irwin. I recommend this brush. It’s good for cleaning all your parts. And this pumice stone is good for calluses.” She put them down, but kept a few vials in her hands. “We can add drops of any one of these fragrant oils.” She opened the lids for Irwin to smell. He picked one, and she sprinkled a few drops into the water. She was coy as she flirted with him. “Where do you want me to scrub first?”

He pointed to his shoulders, and she began to rub.

“I have never had someone scrub my back, but I must do it for my father and grandfather. I have never had this!” He groaned as layers of coal, dirt, and sweat were scrubbed away.

“It’s nice to be fussed over,” she said while she scrubbed Irwin’s back, arms, and head. “We ladies sometimes take group baths in that big tub. We wash and massage each other, brush and braid our hair, and just relax together. It’s nice.”

“I am always last to get a bath. And the water is usually cold and dirty by then.”

“Ew! That sounds repulsive. How often do you and Albert bathe?”

“The last time I had a bath was … it was ….” He counted on his fingers. “Well, it was about … over two moon’s time, I am guessing. The rock thing we bathe in collects rainwater and snow. But we must wait for it to fill.”

“Don’t you add boiling water to help warm up the bath?”

“Oh, Father always does, but I do not get that luxury.”

Saryh finished scrubbing his upper body. “We should rinse your hair.”

“Have you always lived in Kobiton, Saryh?” He asked as she tilted his head back.

“No. I was born and raised in a small town far west of here. My father was a pelter. I grew up raising rabbits and watching him kill them. I was the second eldest of five girls. My father wanted boys. But he taught us girls pelting—how to make a living killing rabbits, squirrels, muskrats, badgers, and raccoons—how to preserve the meat and the pelts. When I was about twelve, I decided I wanted a different life.”

“I have always wanted to be a goat herder.”

She poured water over his head. “That sounds more appealing than being a miner.” Leaning back from the tub’s edge, she grabbed a robe hanging near his clothing. “This is for you. We can have Bethel clean your clothes—hopefully all dry by morning.”

He liked the idea of having clean clothing for his clean body. “You do not have to do that.”

“It’s a treat we only offer to our most special clientele.” She winked.

“Thank you, Saryh.” He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated all this, but instead he reached for his dirty clothes. She grabbed them first.

“Follow me; we can leave these with the laundress.” She led him back through the basement; they stopped at the laundry room and Saryh deposited the grimy pants and shirts. He followed her up the narrow staircase. There was a musky smell in the small quarters, and he heard what might have been rodents scurrying inside the walls. Now the two of them were headed to her bedroom—an unknown place—for an unknown experience.

CHAPTER 3

Saryh’s room smelled like her. Sheer drapes billowed in the night breeze coming through open windows. Long and narrow, her room held a massive bed in the middle covered in what looked like clouds and soft, fluffy animals. Candles flickered in the far corner, their soft light radiating into the room. Irwin looked around; his gaze rested on two paintings of places that he thought must be far beyond Kruluver Mountains.

“Take a seat on the bed,” she said, and began to undress.

He lay back, enjoying the comfortable covers and soft mattress. He did not watch her. She approached the bed with only a feathery stole draped across her bare shoulders. “This is so comfortable.” He brushed his arms across the bedspread.

Saryh spread his legs apart and positioned herself between them. He kept his eyes closed. So many emotions raced through him—fear above all else.

“Irwin. Look at me.”

He opened his eyes and studied her naked body—her small but sturdy frame, her ringleted hair, full breasts, and lack of the kind of private parts he was used to—and there was no hair between her legs. She touched herself there. “This is what makes me a woman—and these.” She pushed her breasts together and bent toward him. “You can touch them.” She was smiling down at him in an odd way.

“Are they uncomfortable?”

“Sometimes. Like, when it’s too cold they shrivel up a bit, like your penis.”

He stared at the breasts—had never seen any before. “I would think that they would get in the way.”

“I’ve never had a problem with them getting in the way,” she laughed.

He kept on studying this new landscape of a woman’s body. “I meant in the way of doing things—like working, or even walking.”

“They help me do my work. If I did not have breasts, men would not look at me; and if men did not look at me, I couldn’t do my job.” She leaned closer to his chest, her breasts touching his. “You do not find me erotic?”

“I find you beautiful. And smart—nurturing and kind … you have an amazing spirit.”

“But you are not physically attracted to me like most men, are you?”

“You are beautiful, Saryh.”

“Don’t you just want to take me and have your way with me? You know, fornicate with me like animals do?”

He wished he could sink into the bed and disappear.

“I see; that’s not you. You’re not like your father, or most anyone else for that matter.” He continued to recoil from her. She softly pressed, “Did I just find out a secret no one else knows?”

I am failing her too. Why can I not do this?

He closed his eyes.

“You are a better man than your father will ever be.”

It seemed like she was reading his mind. He shook his head, felt a tear well at the corner of his eye.

“Oh, Irwin, I’m sorry. Don’t worry. I will keep your secret. No one will ever know.”

She lifted his face in a tender way no one had ever done.

“I am supposed to become a man tonight. How much more can I disappoint him?"

“You might think you are a disappointment to him. And maybe in his eyes you are. But in my eyes, you’re not.”

He forced himself to look into her eyes, but then looked away.

“Remember the time, I think it was last year, you fell over backwards in your chair? You choked so loud, holy Hakra! The ladies ran to help, but your father wouldn’t let us and he beat out that piece of meat from your throat! Your skin turned gray. I thought you were going to die!”

Had I choked a moment longer my powers would have been revealed.

Saryh put her hand on his. It was warm, and it made him sweat with fear again. “Maybe in time you’ll find a female to take in your arms. Or someone who makes you feel special.” She rubbed his arm and then his chest.

He couldn’t help but relax.

She tossed her hair and leaned in close to his ear. “Ask me anything you’ve ever wanted to ask of a woman. Anything.”

He took a moment to contemplate. “Who decided to live in buildings and not caves? And how did they know how to build them with plumbing and basements and cellars and all?”

“You’re a man who thinks about how the world works instead of how a woman’s body works. Only our Hakra, our lord and savior, would know who gave us buildings. It’s possible he came up with the idea to use rocks, wood, and mortar. He has been known to create many things, including the use of pipes and hot water. He also gave us ways to dispose of human waste—how to be clean in our daily living. He has much wisdom to share with those who follow him.”

“Who is Hakra?”

“Hakra is Hakra. Hakra’s immortal, lives forever. It’s written he came to Urthis to guide people toward enlightenment. He’s been present since the beginning of time, since Urthis was dark, and the sky rained fire one day. It’s written that he brought this world out of the darkness and beamed the knowledge of creation into those who followed him. They say that if you follow him you too might become enlightened.

“There are fanatics who tout his word and his writings. The most devout followers make pilgrimages to the capital city, Akarah. They say he answers prayers, works miracles.”

She doesn’t believe a word she is saying.

“And as long as we pay him homage, he allows us this life. So we can’t question why things are the way they are.” She folded her arms and smiled at him.

“So, then Hakra built these buildings?”

“No. Generations of Kobiton men and women built all these buildings. But they received the knowledge from either Hakra, or from his writings.”

“My father never told me of this Hakra.”

“Probably for good reason. You’re a lucky man, Irwin. Indoctrination of Hakra—his philosophy and his way of life—happens from birth around here.”

A cold gust of air shuddered across his shoulder.

“My parents filled our thoughts with Hakra’s teachings. Like you, we were used as workers when we were children, breaking our bodies and souls before we were old enough to know what was going on.”

He wanted to shiver, but was afraid. He listened to her go on about her life, about her lack of learning, about how her mother and father filled her and her sister’s minds with Hakran garbage.

Saryh continued to muse, “As far as I’m concerned, Hakra is just a way to frighten common folk into being good with the presence of PCP.”

“PCP?”

“PCP is an organization that patrols the world. It stands for the Public Constable Patrol, but some say they should be called the Population Control Patrol. They look for miscreants.”

“Miscreants?”

“People who don’t follow Hakra’s ways. PCP are easy to spot. They wear drab indigo outfits and ride giant black horses. They don’t look like you or me, and now that I think of it, I’ve never seen any females in their ranks. Most of the PCP have darker skin and are larger than the average Kobiton man. Never trust a PCP soldier.”

“No wonder father kept me so isolated. This is not the world I thought it was.”

“It was probably good for you to grow up in a cave.”

I do not think so. “How old is Hakra?”

“They say he’s been around since time marked Urthis. And that’s at least a thousand years, probably more. So maybe he’s ten thousands, yes thousands, of years old.”

He gave her a skeptical look.

“No really! I’ve seen him, although this was many years ago. But he looked flawless, no wrinkles, and the blackest of skin. It was like staring at a shadow, except for his blue eyes.”

“Black skin and blue eyes?”

“Black as night. And blue eyes the color of snow filled mountain lakes.”

“But you do not believe that,” he said.

“Have you heard of Telepaths? They have those same blue eyes, but they don’t have dark skin; not that I know of.”

He said nothing, but questions swirled.

“A Telepath is someone who can read or influence minds.”

“Have you ever met one?”

“Yeah.” She gazed off, and for a while, they lay together in silence. “I hate it that people are encouraged to be like everyone else. Hakra and his PCP want us all to be the same.”

“I was supposed to have a twin,” he said.

“You were?”

“Father told me once that every Miner is born with a twin. They look the same and talk the same. They even think the same.”

“What happened to your twin?”

“Father told me I killed him in my mother’s womb—that I must have been jealous and did not want to share this life. He reminds me sometimes that not having a twin is my burden to bear.”

Saryh cuddled into his side.

“I bet your father killed your twin.” Her hand went to her mouth. “Accidentally, of course. I’m so sorry Irwin, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“That is alright. I have thought that a few times.”

There was an uneasy silence before Saryh said, “Goat herder? Why a goat herder, and not a merchant or carpenter?”

“Goats love the mountains. Their meat is wonderful, and so is their cheese. I could wander from mountain top to mountain top with them and escape into the light of the world—away from the dark underbelly.”

“Do you have a kinship with goats?”

“I think they would be easier to handle than donkeys. Donkeys can be so stubborn.”

“Irwin the goat herder.” She giggled. “I’d buy your cheese and your meat!”

CHAPTER 4

Neither of them had heard Albert’s approach. His father strode into the room as if it were his to claim. The two sat up. Rage like Irwin had rarely seen wrinkled the old miner’s face. “This whore is taking your money.” Albert grabbed Saryh.

Irwin watched her try to scream, but she was muffled by Albert’s hand across her mouth and nose. “She is taking your silver away from you by talking, giggling, and filling your head full of nonsense.” He pulled her to the edge of the bed and turned her over. “If she had it her way, she would not sleep with any man. She would just talk the money out of their pockets … a great boost for her benefactor.” Saryh tried to fight Albert off her body. “She cannot save you,” Albert said and pushed her harder into the mattress and yanked her into the position he wanted—she was naked and ready for service.

Irwin froze. He had seen his father act this way, holding himself down to beat or sodomize—a momentary glimpse into how he might have looked if his father was doing the same to him, as he had. Albert jammed a large silver rock into Saryh’s mouth to keep her silent. He was full of power and rage, and though she was trying to push herself up and away from his rough hands, he pressed her body into the bed. Irwin wanted to help, but could only watch this thing unfold—watch his father’s eyes swirl with gold and silver, staring angrily at Irwin. It was familiar, but this time, here in this place, different.

“First, you must get your manhood hard. Beat it against her back, if you must. Think of something that gets you ready and then insert your prick.” Albert pulled his pants down half-way and was demonstrating the act of copulation. “Once you are in, you give the female your manhood, leaving nothing behind and then … then you are done, and she is ready to hold your baby.” He grunted and pulled away, but not too far.

Saryh stared at Irwin. Her deep brown eyes pleading for him to do something as his father held her down.

“Now if you do not want the whore to have your child,” Albert pulled Saryh up by her hair, and Irwin saw the metal ball Albert had wedged in her mouth, gleaming from the reflection of candlelight. “… produce your dagger.” He placed his other hand across Saryh’s mouth. “… and slice her throat.” Albert summoned the metal from her mouth, morphing the silver ball into a sharp dagger, bringing the blade across her neck.

Irwin had never imagined they would use their secret power to kill. “No!” Bright red blood splattered across Saryh’s white bedspread.

He had never seen this look in his old man’s eyes, and now it was too late to help Saryh.

“That is how it is done, boy. What is wrong with you anyway?” Albert tossed her head down, stepped back from the bloody mess, and pulled up his pants. “Where are your clothes?”

Saryh lay face down, lifeless. Blood oozed from her neck, soaking her bedcover. “No. No! She did nothing wrong!” Irwin touched her hand; it was already turning cold.

“Get off that bed, you foul-mouthed child.” Albert reached for, but missed, Irwin’s hair.

Irwin reached around Saryh’s body and pulled her across the bed, blood spilling everywhere on his arms and his chest. “Why!?”

Albert reached for him again, but Irwin and Saryh were across the bed, away from his father. “Where are your clothes, boy?”

“Saryh had them washed,” he could only whisper, holding and staring at her lifeless body.

Albert leaped onto the bed, landing on Saryh, hitting Irwin. “We did not pay to get our clothing cleaned. We paid for time with a woman, each of us.” The old man grabbed Irwin’s ear. “Now get going.” He pulled Irwin across Saryh’s bloody body.

Irwin cried. “You did not have to kill her!”

Albert punched Irwin again, tossing him to the ground. “These women are not suitable for true procreation, boy.” He spoke through gritted teeth, kicking at Irwin to stand. “They are only here to learn from. Too bad you did not!”

Irwin limped toward the door. He looked back at Saryh’s bloody body. “Why did you …. Saryh was …. You did not have to kill her!”

“Shut your mouth, boy.” Albert grabbed and twisted Irwin’s ear, pushing his bloody body out the door.

Naked and shaking, Irwin led them down the long, wide hallway. He knew to comply, but he wanted to resist. But how? He headed for the catwalk above the barroom and felt Albert using his Metalist abilities as he strode down the darkened hallway, blocking each and every door by fusing metal hinges, or door locks, into a solid piece of unmovable metal, sealing everyone inside their private bedrooms.

“What are you doing?” Irwin felt each door seal as they scrambled away. “I cannot allow you to do this!”

“Shut your mouth, you stupid boy.”

“I am not a boy.”

Albert’s eyes flushed silver this time, his Metalist powers churned. “I will put an end to you.”

They reached the end of the hallway and stepped out onto the catwalk. “You cannot end me,” he said, aware that miners only die from old age, by ingesting too much ore over a lifetime, or from cave-ins.

He knew he could not die from a broken neck; it had happened to him before, and he lived through it. But it occurred to him that he had seen injuries on his father and grandfather take longer to heal than his own. He did not want to fight; instead, he ran away from Albert toward the stairs.

“You better be going to get those donkeys!”

Though Irwin wanted to escape, he did not know what to do or where to go. He paused at the saloon’s front doors, his head bobbing and spinning, looking out at the street. The old man raced down the stairs. He did not know Kobiton as well as Albert. He knew of only a few places to go; none would protect him from his father’s wrath.

Feeling Albert bearing down on him, he pushed open the doors. Though he had the same ‘abilities’ as his father, Irwin was still learning how to use them. He could manipulate metal with his innate power, but he was not as strong or as confident as the angry man behind him.

Irwin struggled to summon the metal door hinges into his outstretched hands. But Albert stole that metal from him—pulling it through his flesh into his own outstretched hands. The front doors of the saloon crashed onto the dining hall floor.

His father did not relent and summoned what little metal Irwin had stored in his body; silver and gold seeped out of Irwin’s skin and the liquid metals flew into Albert’s hands. He shouted at his adult son, “Get the donkeys ready!”

Irwin howled in pain as his metal was taken from him. He fell to the ground trying to find his center, but without his metal he had no center. That had been HIS metal; ore Irwin had found and mined himself. Taking that metal away was ultimate agony. Albert stepped down from the porch. Irwin stumbled to get up, faltered, but managed an upright stance. He sprinted toward the livery.

At a young age, Irwin had been taught by great-grandfather Edwin to identify different precious metals. And once Irwin was old enough to feel his powers, Albert and Jebadia taught him how to harness what they called ‘the natural Talent’. His father would gloat about mastering his Metalist abilities at a young age, so often in fact, that Irwin felt his father undermined his own strength, his own powers. He knew now how much more time he needed to become a master Metalist, but time was not on his side.

The boys who tended the stable were asleep. An old draft horse nickered at Irwin when he pushed open the door. Another whinnied loudly. Others shifted in their stalls to see who had entered their dark domain. Albert’s donkeys were tucked away tight, six to a stall, their belongings still packed and ready for transport—always tied up and ready to go.

Irwin tried to be quick and quiet, but the donkeys bellowed as he rushed to their stall. His two Jennies were still eating hay. They stepped forward when he entered their stall, nuzzling him, hoping for scratches. He pushed them away. He did not have time to be kind.

They quietly munched the last bit of hay while he slipped into pants and a tunic. He glanced at the bloody streaks on his legs and arms. I need another bath. Shit! I left behind my only boots. There was no time to spare. Irwin secured the first set of packs onto Jenn Jenn and then cinched up Nee Nee’s empty packs.

Albert pulled the barn doors open. His Jack donkeys were attentive now, listening with ears forward as the hardened old man grunted toward them. When he yanked open the stall door, they knew to comply.

“Out.” Albert’s lead donkey bolted from the stall, pulling along five others. He opened the second stall and shouted at the other half dozen. They bounded forward, each keeping their position in the line. Albert only had to tie up one lead line, securing all the donkeys to each other. He did not need to tell them to follow. The lead Jack knew to stay close by his side.

Irwin worked at balancing the panniers on Nee Nee who carried the jugs of water, but the weight did not even out. Shaken to the core, he fumbled with the tie-down straps—he didn’t know what he was doing or why.

“Hurry up, boy!”

Irwin dropped the tie-downs and grabbed the Jennies’ lead lines. Albert was out in the dim streets of the sleepy Kobiton. All the windows along that section of road were dark.

His Jennies balked; sensing or smelling his fear. Both Jenn Jenn and Nee Nee halted at the barn doors. He looked at Albert and then at the ground. “Why should I go with you?”

Lanterns shone at the intersections like the dawn’s faint light. “If you want to live, you will.” In the distance, the sounds of horses’ hooves echoed between buildings. “You hear that, boy? That is the PCP. They are coming for us.”

“If anything, they are coming for you, not me. They do not scare me.”

“You are an idiot, boy!” Albert’s line of a dozen donkeys trotted aside the old man’s side—swiftly down the street they went, and on to the main boulevard heading north.

Irwin’s Jennies stood, still resistant. Pulling them as hard as he could, he peered both ways down the road, yanking on the lead lines. “Come on, girls.” He whipped a lead line around, trying to startle them. He hated using anger and fear; his Jennies had always been kind and nurturing for him, but now they had to move.

He was afraid to linger, but afraid to follow. And his suddenly stubborn Jennies were not helping.

The sound of horse hooves grew louder as he neared the main boulevard. PCP rode proudly on their black horses, shrouded by the night. They slowed upon seeing him. The beasts skidded, rearing, the riders watching him standing there at the well-lit intersection. The riders appeared evil, almost faceless, under their dark cloaks. Even their horses looked angry, heads held high, nostrils flaring, and chins tucked to their chests as they pranced in place. Their long manes and tails fell flat but were irritated to be held still. Their dancing hooves were the size of Irwin’s head. The monstrous men in dark uniforms atop these steeds were as scary-looking and agitated as their mounts.

Every rider wore a dark cloak. He felt their sinister black eyes staring down at him from inside deep hoods.

They look like hungry wolves.

A biting chill gripped his spine.

He moved with swift precision and implemented a Metalistic tactic Albert had shown him once to motivate his Jennies. The soldiers only saw the donkeys jump forth and race off, carrying Irwin in between. He cried out as they yanked him along the street, heading them toward the northern gateway out of Kobiton.

***

Albert stood before the closed, massive wooden gates. They needed to flee Kobiton. He was shouting at a guard atop a guard tower to let him pass through the closed exit. Irwin had slowed his donkeys but heard the rhythmic beat of the hooves of PCP soldiers’ steeds in pursuit. He had not been able to muster the nerve to look back.

A red-headed soldier shouted at Albert from the tower. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you passage at this time of night.” The soldier’s comrades thundered toward the scene at the gates.

Large black beastly horses slid to a halt right behind Irwin. He glanced up at the menacing riders. They all looked similar in their indigo uniforms, neat and clean, three were brown-skinned, and two sets of eyes were reflective, like an animal on the hunt.

One of the mounted soldiers shouted to the others, “I’m guessin’ we’ve got ourselves a couple Talented miscreants ‘ere.”

Irwin had put up his hands. “My father is the miscreant.”

Albert was clearly ready to bring about an all-out brawl. He threw down his lead line, and all his donkeys halted, waiting obediently. Irwin watched Albert look around, calculating. His voice boomed. “Miscreants are creatures that morph into predators who then feast upon their prey.” He then stepped around Irwin and the Jennies, heading toward the PCP riders.

Staring down a soldier, Albert said, “Miscreants are people who take advantage of unknowing souls. They convince them to believe lies—sell them snake oil that cannot cure what ails them.” The seasoned Metalist flooded metallic daggers at the horses, magnetically manipulating the blades to pass through their jugular veins. “Miscreants plot up diabolical ways to harm their prey.” All four horses fell dead, crushing their riders, breaking their legs, and trapping them under the weight of the giant steeds. “They have no regard for the safety or livelihood of anyone other than themselves. They are amused by others’ distress.” Albert had wiped his lips in satisfaction.

The horses did not have time to scream out in pain, but their riders wailed in agony. Irwin watched his father use his metal to silence the first three riders. He had showed no mercy.

“Miscreants are PCP hiding under the shroud of a false Hakra. He cannot save you. And yet, without him, your kind would not exist. This is not a world for people like you.” He moved toward the last soldier who screamed in agony, his dead horse crushing his leg. Albert summoned the soldier’s squat sword from its hilt, inserting the blade into the belly of the screaming man.

A flame burst from the tower. The gate below had been drawn open. Another flame exploded and a soldier from above shouted, “Go from Kobiton; never return!”

Albert spun on his toe and stomped toward the tower’s entrance. “You cannot tell me what to do!” A fire appeared in the soldier’s hand, and the red-headed man threw fireballs at Albert. “Do you think you can kill me with your paltry fireballs? You cannot!”

His father stepped into range of the raining fire and cackled as it flew into his outstretched arms and hands. All that fire snuffed out the moment it made contact with his skin. Irwin then felt Albert’s energy magnify. His father retaliated; with outstretched hands, small daggers flew with precision and were thrust into the soldier above who cried out as his life ended. His body slumped forward and toppled over the side of the rampart. Landing face down, his head cracked like an egg as it hit the cobbled road, blood splattering all around.

Irwin took in the bloody sight. He had seen Albert angry before, but never like this.

Was it the whiskey? No, it is because I failed him again, maybe both. I should not follow him, but if I do not….

He imagined what could happen.

Albert went further into the nightly abyss beyond the gate.

Irwin was afraid to stay.

Will the townsfolk seek revenge? Probably. Even if I want to stay here, the people will seek retribution—hold me accountable for Father’s actions.

He pushed his Jennies and himself to leave the scene. If he was to follow his father, he needed to be only a few strides behind. Passing through the lit gateway, he tried to ignore the bloody mess. He started to walk toward the shadowy forest beyond Kobiton, back along the road where they had walked in peace but a day ago.

The dark forest enveloped him, and his Jennies as they followed the narrow roadway heading northeast. An owl hooted; bushes rustled as they passed by. It was still as midnight in any forest. The road began to angle, and they made a slight ascent, narrowing the distance toward Albert. When his father noticed him following, he turned livid. He tossed down the lead line attached to his Jacks and stormed toward Irwin.

“You are no son of mine! Go, you privileged asshole! May you have bad luck, you damn sniveling, pitiful, ungrateful child.”

He had heard these words before, but not with such venom.

“You are a disgrace to our family name. I paid that whore to teach you something, and you conned her into thinking she did not have to teach you anything! All you did was chit chat with a mouse of a whore!” Albert had been in his face, and with the force of his rage, knocked him about, flinging him onto the road like a dying chicken.

Albert kept on and on like the madman he was. “You are not a worthy Miner. You will never amount to anything more than a disgrace. You are no son of mine.” He spat on Irwin, turned, and left.

The man raged on as he stomped back up the road. Before passing out, Irwin had struggled to find his center—knowing the metal in his bags would help. He could use his Metalist powers to absorb all the nearby metal. A Metalist’s body can hold up to eight pounds total of multiple kinds of metals, and his cast-iron pot was three pounds. He pulled all he could from his pack and the metal turned to liquid—poured through the canvas fabric and into him without a tear. He was adept at extracting metal from the tightest of spaces.

But Albert had stopped, turned, and summoned the metal Irwin had begun to absorb.

It felt as if the metal was tearing through every muscle, organ, and bone in Irwin’s body.

A Metalist’s body was made to absorb and expel metal. Samuel Irwin Miner could manipulate the molecules of whatever metal he was absorbing, making it pliable. His skin could filter out impurities. He could separate ores used to make steel—iron and nickel. He could distribute metal throughout his body unless it was needed in one specific area. Pulling metal into his body was easy, but it burned and throbbed when it was unwillingly extracted.

He screamed in pain. Weakened by the fight; he pleaded for mercy.

“I cast you aside!” Albert roared like an angry bear.

Irwin rolled away from his father’s foot that was again looming above him. Albert’s eyes were glowing gold. “Why Father? Why do this? Why? I have done everything you ever asked. I have always complied. I have—”

“You were daydreaming with that whore I paid for.” Albert kicked at his only child.

Irwin knew he would not win this fight. He grabbed his head and tucked it toward his chest while his father beat him one more time.

“Goat Herder … stupid, ignorant fool!” Albert kept on kicking Irwin in the gut, backside, shoulders, face, arms, and pushed him into the muddy roadside. “Stupid … pathetic … pitiful …. I cast you away … you are no longer my son.”

He had heard his father walk away, heard the animals walk past, and then soon passed out from the pain of it all.

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