Before the sun rose the doors slammed open, a horn no longer required as an alarm. Most of the slaves were awake and growing accustomed to their endless routine. Locked in after dark and awoken just before first light. They were never fully rested, and it kept their minds dull. Anula fell in line and looked over to the other women, only four out of the five returned from last night. They had fresh bruises and one walked with a limp. They would never speak of what happened, the mental scars too fresh to reopen. Their eyes appeared soulless, leaving behind shells of who they use to be. If any resistance had sparked in them, they were extinguished over the past nights. Even the men noticed and used the opportunity to share their bed. Anula wished she could end their misery, they were not living or surviving, food and drink sat in front of them untouched each day.

As they exited their building into the open-air, Anula saw the missing woman. Her clothes were nothing more than ripped rags hanging loosely off her malnourished, beaten body as she slowly staggered away. A minotaur appeared and groped her hard. She winced in pain as the minotaur laughed, then pushed her roughly away growing bored. Anula’s fists tightened at the sight and her anger started to stoke a fire. She wanted to kill them all. They murdered, abused and used humans as their playthings. Looking back to the woman, she had fallen, clutching her side which was covered in dark purple bruises. No one came to her aid as she crawled in the dirt, coughing up blood. It made her sick, to watch fellow humans, including herself walk past the fallen woman as if she wasn’t worth saving. It was fear. You either survived by staying unnoticed or survived everyday as they beat you slowly to death. The torture on the strong willed would take weeks and the crawling woman showed it. Her tongue had been removed; her teeth broken. Her fingers long ago broken and healed awkwardly in different directions. She was the reason no one helped, they saw her every morning, looking worse than the morning before. It was their routine, and what they have come to accept. Every morning she was seen staggering, bloody and knocking on deaths door. Often her legs failed her, and she lay in the dirt till dragged and thrown into the slave quarters. It had become their life, and they accepted the coldness and brutality of it all. Anula kept her eyes down, refusing to accept her new way of life. She was not like the others, she refused to let herself think like them.

“Remove that crippled creature from my sight.” One of the pure blood guards said, motioning vaguely in the direction of the bloodied woman. A half breed appeared and roughly dragged the woman by the ankle across the dirt and stones, a red line trailing after every cough the dust provoked. Anula kept her head down, but her eye traced the movement until it was out of sight. Sounds of cracking whips followed by a short painful cry caught her attention and he pushed the battered woman to the back of her mind.

Survive, my father would expect nothing less. Survive and find a way out.

Anula gritted her teeth and breathed in deeply, sweat and unwashed slaves assaulted her sense of smell. Musty cloths and the foulness of the latrines followed. When it rained last night, it brought out the true smell of the place. A slight smell that reminded her of Hound, her neighbors’ dog, after he spent the night out in the rain chasing rabbits. The memory brought back ambivalent thoughts.

“If you never stop thinking of what was, you will never learn how to conquer what is.” Her dad’s voice echoed in her head as she pushed the memories away. As her thoughts consumed her mind, she walked through the city escorted by half breeds. The journey was at first overwhelming to her senses. Every building made of stone, carved with such precision and beauty it looked to be made from an artist who sculpted it from clay and painted the color of stone. Now it was nothing but a hazy, gray wall of stone that funneled her through the city towards a day of sweat, exhaustion and aching muscles. She worked besides the same large men she spent her nights fending off when they were locked in their barracks for the night. She felt their eyes on her at all times, and they did not care she noticed their looks. While the sun was up and they were guarded, the men left her be physically. She would feel the stares and meet their eyes, seeing their minds calculating how to overpower her that night. She was often thankful for her half-blood strength and agility when night fell. When they came at her, they were all tired from the day’s grueling work, making them much weaker than they believed. The feeling of being defeated by a woman crushed their pride, which seemed to hurt more than the bruises she gave them.

At last, their walk through the stone tunnel of buildings ended and they walked through the gates on the north side of the city. The gate was thick and matched the southern gate, which faced the human civilization. Anula looked out to the small towns that dotted the open lands, feeling freedom at her finger tips. Wind naturally flowed along the grassy expanse, flowers moving gently as if dancing in the sun shine. The grass was still wet and the leaves on the tree sparkled at first light. She enjoyed one single breath with her eyes closed before she opened them and narrowed her eyes at the large building which hosted her new cell. Large, bellowing black smoke plumes slowed out from the chimneys and the heat of the building killed all the plant life, leaving dry dirt. As carts moved past the building with various materials and metals, dust was thrown into the air, where it slowly drifted back to the ground before being kicked up again by someone walking through it. The building was wrapped in a constant dust storm which made Anula cough whenever she forgot to cover her face with a foul-smelling rag that a half breed gave to her after taking it off of a dead worker and rubbing it across his sweat-soaked genitals. Every time she placed it near her face, she gagged from the smell, but breathing in dust proved impossible and she succumbed to the rag to get through the day. The smell from the rag she tied around her face as she entered the dust cloud smelled now of dirt, wood smoke and other metallic properties. As the weeks passed, she found the work almost enjoyable. She remembered the blacksmith from her town, a tall burly man that smelled always of smoke and his hands stained black. His unruly beard was burnt at its tips and his muscled arms flexed as he moved them. He often visited her father’s tavern and her father often visited his forge. She learned some basic things from them both.

“When you work with your hands, you appreciate what they make.” The rugged man would say in an accent she couldn’t place. “You take care of your tools, and they will take care of you.”

Her father would nod along and would show her how to sharpen her weapons and craft small daggers with the smith keeping a close eye and stepping in to critique her every movement. At the time there was not enjoyment, just mistake after mistake until she made a dagger that looked more like a sharpened spike then a useful weapon. Her time with her father and the smith planted a hidden seed that grew as she worked at the forge as a slave. Memories of her father and the smith laughing and drinking around the forge as they tinkered with bindings and curses as they slammed the hammer onto the red metal rang out in her mind. She was slave labor, but with the forgotten memories came rushing back, a smile appeared as her rhythm picked up beating the red metal. Her rag coved in sweat stuck to her face, covering her little secret from the minotaur watching.

When Anula was first assigned to the dusty forge, she was nothing more than a grunt. She was harnessed to a cart on two wheels. She felt like a work horse, pulling a plow on a field, a field of dirt, sweat and broken dreams. Her route started with the scorching sun beating down on her until it reached the mountain. Once it passed the largest peak, she walked in the shade. It was the only relief she had while working as transport. Her cart assigned to her had a stiff right wheel that would lock up randomly when filled. Deep grooves made from the wagon wheels, from the years or centuries of transporting heavy metals and materials from the mines and workshops dug into the dirt and rock. Anula’s cart would stick, but the grooves kept her cart from leaving the path. The wooden wheel was wearing down where it slid across exposed rock, but the stubborn wood refused to break under the pressure. Half-bloods laughed as she dug her heels into the ground and dragged the cart loose many times. When at last her cart wheel broke, she was moved to the workshops. She was grateful for the change at first, no longer would her hands and feet blister from working the cart every day. Sadly, the fresh air she had access too became the most treasured gift when she was relocated to the melting shops. The buildings were small and scorching. She loaded raw metal in and shoveled coal endlessly into a small opening until the metal became liquid, filling up brick size molds. She learned fast to stay clear of the flowing molten liquid. One slave was too slow, and the filled mold began to overflow. The third slave tried to cut off the flow in time, but the slow one found his hand and feet covered in the overheated liquid. Such screams of agony Anula knew she would not soon forget. As the days flashed by Anula began to notice a pure blood keeping a close eye on her and the half-bloods kept their distance when he lurked in the shadows. On her way to the smelting building a half blood stopped her and pushed her with the butt of his spear towards the forge.

“You have been reassigned.” He nodded in the forge’s direction and the spear reinforced her new path. He kept his eyes forward and ushered the slaves behind her in their intended direction. The forge had black smoke rising high into the sky as it had every day. The carts were few in the morning, with only a few half-blood slaves finishing their nightly routine. She often made trips to the forge when she was on transport, but it was dusty and her eyes glued to the ground to prevent the dust from stinging her eyes. She never entered the building before so when she did, the size of the open room surprised her. Three large forges blazed and the heat of the room created a thick cloud that enveloped her. Sweat immediately began to bead on her face and body.

“You lass, stop gawking an come hur.” Said a man equal to her size. His shoulders were broad and his hair was cut short and uneven as if he used a dull knife on it himself. When she was close enough to see his face, she realized that on the right side of his face the flesh was singed and pink. His top lip had a chip missing which made his canine tooth stick out.

“Hold this…like this… dull lass, I said like this.” He grabbed her wrist as she held onto metal tongs. “Hold still, while I give her a few of my thoughts.” He raised a large mallet and slammed it down crushing the red metal. The vibration of the hit flowed through the tongs and up her arms.

“Don’t you move.” He roared again as the mallet slammed down again flattening it even more. He repeated the process until the last of the red glow faded away. “Into the fire with her.” He said pointing to the open flames. Anula tensed unsure of her next movements waiting for someone to grab her and throw her into the heat.

“If you don’t put that in the fire, my mallet will get to work on your dullness.” Anula remembered the metal and placed it in the fire.

“Now let’s take a look at ye.” His brown eyes looked her over as if she was a prized horse, his eyes tracing her hands, arms and shoulders but nothing more.

“I say, you will do nicely if I can sharpen your mind.” Anula frowned at the large man and met his eyes which locked her in place. His eyes were a deep brown with slight hazel rings around the edge. His eyes looked like no other humans she had seen before. She felt small in his gaze and his gruff voice from years of inhaling smoke barked out again.

“Names Urik, yourself?” Urik’s eyes never left Anula’s and her lips moved and her name came out in a mumble.

“Moola? That’s a name, guessin you’re a farming lass then. Thinking you shoed a horse or two. That could be of use.” Urik said scratching a pink scar as he looked into the fire, eyeing the glowing metal.

“This aint anything special, so you can’t mess this up. Swing the heavy end down hard when I place the metal onto the anvil. Need to know what I have on my hands.” Urik handed the mallet to Anula, and he removed the glowing metal from the fire.

“Hit her Moola, like she called your mother a bull fuckin’ whore.” Urik placed the metal on the anvil and Anula slammed the mallet down hard as if it was Urik’s ugly head.

“Now that is a strike!” Urik said in a rumbling laugh as the mallet slammed down hard again. “Now that’s the strength I’m needing here. Give her another good lick for dirty talking your ma.” The mallet slammed hard again and Urik placed the metal back into the fire and clapped his hands.

“Now that was something. You will do nicely Moola.”

“Anula.” She said through gritted teeth, lowering the mallet. His left ear was torn and burnt and almost looked like cauliflower as she looked at it while he went back to stoking the fire.

“Amoola? I’m thinking your parents really were farmers.” Urik laughed to himself not looking Anula’s way.

“Your gonna give her a few more, then I’ll do the finishing touches. Ready that mallet.” Anula’s powerful hits thinned the metal out and Urik’s grin widened.

“Good, have you worked metal before lass? You hold the mallet like you have.” Urik said placing the flattened metal back into the forge.

“I have, use to spend some time working with my father.”

“Ahh, so you’re a smithy’s girl are you?”

“No, I just helped from time to time.”

“I see, what did you do there?” Urik brushed his hand through his uneven brown hair and the sweat held it up in an awkward standing angle when he looked back to Anula. “Well? Out with it.”

“Small daggers, sharpened my sword, fixed the bindings. Worked on my leather armor. Nothing really.”

“Nothing really you say. Well, your nothing is better than most I have to work with. Daggers are good. If you can shape out a small knife you know the basics. Better than the last fool I was given, he didn’t even know the red part of the metal was not to be touched. Learned that real quick he did, and lost feeling in it too.” Urik nodded over to a man who had a dirty cloth wrapped around his right hand.

“Not much use to me now and the horned ones know it. Will be only a matter of time till we see the last of him.”

“What will happen to him?”

“What use is a one-handed slave?”

“He can… still hold a broom and keep the floor clean.”

“That strikes true, but that’s the reason you’re here. Need a strong arm and a keen eye to keep the forge running while I keep shaping the metal.”

“You’re just going to let him be killed?” Anula shot Urik an accusing look.

“Been here long enough to not get attached. I love the metal and the fire. I do what I love and the horned ones leave me be. Even had a visit from a fancy metal tip bull. Didn’t even know they came over this side of the wall. Said I was to keep an eye on someone and show them what I know.”

“Me?” Anula said taking a step back.

“Dunno, don’t care. You’re here, and I need the muscle. You touch the red or do something like it, I’ll need a new muscle. How I see it, not every tool is sharp. Some are just dull, but still have a use in my forge. Maybe you’re just a hammer, maybe you’re not. Time will tell which you are.” Urik removed the metal from the fire and began to hit the piece more precisely and in rhythm.

“Listen when I talk of fire and metal, with some luck I may make use of you.”

Anula narrowed her eyes and then relaxed listening to the sound of metal.