Keep The Engine Running

~POV: Canary~

"Haaaaaalt!"

At the foreman's warning, we all stop pushing our carts and stop. The locomotive passes on the tracks before us. We wait for it to be safe again to pass. I frown a bit.

My hands are calloused. My Kobold wings beg to be stretched; I've been in the mines for too long. In fact, I've been in the mines my entire life. I've never seen the surface or felt the kind kiss of the sun. My little hat is on my head, covering my brown curly hair. My body is lean with some muscle from the heavy work of a miner.

My rags hang off me. Got them second-hand from my second older brother. The eldest one we don't mention.

Is it a punishment, that I am breaking my back like this? No, I've committed no crimes. I was just born in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

…Well, not like there was ever a right time to be born a Kobold.

Our technology is supreme, and the surface world makes sure to take advantage of it. My cart is filled with iron and white iron chunks, with bits of gold we managed to excavate today. At least dozens of my comrades stand around me with the same fill. Gaius will have our heads - not enough gold or precious diamonds, and the Leptirae expect a new shipment soon. 

Sometimes we look for iron and coal to mine, to keep the massive engine running, which powers our entire court. It's always good to be on the lookout for gemstones though. You get privileges if you find some.

My power is special. I can feel the presence of different ores and lead the others to it. They call me 'Canary'; as a canary in the mines. When I stop singing, they know that there's danger ahead; poisonous fumes and gas which no fae can survive. I don't even know why Gaius always decides to put me first - I always hoped my talent would save me from such fate.

"Can't let the others lead you astray," he purrs as he takes another drink in his office.

We finally push into the underground city and wait to pass our carts to the check in point. Kamia is today on the duty. She isn't a kind woman. I much prefer when Trotoar is on duty. He is willing to slip me a pass. 

My friends push their carts. There are sarcastic words and chides. Not enough, not enough. At last my turn comes. I dread it every time yet wait for it, impatient to finally get it done and over with. I stop in front of Kamia.

She snorts as she looks at my pitiful loot.

"Powers not working, eh? They aren't fucking electricity to just stop, Canary."

"It… there just wasn't anything. And I can't work on the rations I get." My voice quivers as I say that. "Not enough fairy dust to keep my talents going."

She clicks her tongue, displeased, and looks at the cart. Mostly iron, a few gems - too small in size.

"Damn. We surely will have to do something about those rations… it's Princess Cybelia's birthday soon. Lord Udvar expects a new jewelry box."

From what I've heard, princess Cybelia isn't even that fond of jewelry. Yet we excavate so much for her. I wish I was on the artisian job, like my older brother, Pavel. But alas, I am just a pitiful miner. He managed to avoid the 'gift' (I say curse) of the gemstone nose.

"Now, Canary, get the fuck going. Get out of my sight." Kamia taps her paper and quill and points me away. My shift is finally over.

I sigh with relief and leave my cart with the others. The workers will go through them and pick anything worthwhile, dump the rest for fuel. I sometimes get that shift too - usually when someone is sick or there is a bigger shipment in plan.

I stretch my wings. Oh, it feels so nice to have them out in the open. In the mines we have to keep them tight to our bodies, not allowed to even move them. I fly up to the upper levels of the city, where my home rests. It's tucked away. The poisonous gas from the big device in the middle of our city which powers the entire thing is the thickest here. I already feel dizzy as I fly.

I land down in front of a small house made of metal; just one amongst hundreds of other houses that are packed as tight as sardines in a can. I wearily sigh and enter.

I am greeted by, perhaps, a gloomy sight, but it fills my heart. My mother is cooking lunch and my brother is working hard on another artisan crafted box. There are dark bags under his eyes, but they are bright, bright like the sun I've never seen. He notices me and smiles.

Mother turns to me and smiles, weary looking. She always looks like that. I wish I could afford a better life for her, for all of us. I've had my eyes on one of the houses on the lower levels for a long while now, but the salary is bad and depends on the profits. And I know the profits aren't bad at all, but the money just trickles down to me, like a broken pipe. There is no way I'd ever afford a nice house like that. Or in Kamen, the capital. This is just some small town in the huge net of underground mines.

"Where is Sierra?" I ask as I put my bag down. 

"She went out. She doesn't know when she will be back," Pavel shrugs and continues working on the box. There is a light smile on his face. "How were the mines?"

"Dreary and awful." I sit down and sigh. "My wings are so sore."

"Take a flight. Stretch them well."

"When was the last time you stretched yours?"

My brother just looks down at the box. My hands are calloused. His aren't. He tries to hide it but I know they cramp often.

"I will stretch them later. You know well that my job isn't as hard as yours."

"Oh that's…"

"I'm not the one breaking my muscles in the mines."

"So what! It still isn't right! They are keeping you chained here from morning to night!"

"Well, I choose my own working hours."

"Oh shut up."

It annoys me, the way he always puts his efforts down. But I can never be mad at him. I know he feels guilty for sitting here while I don't know in the morning if I will even return home.

"You both should watch your tongues," our mother says as she walks to us with two plates. "Mesnati are always listening."

Mesnati are the guards. Recently there's been an uptick in security measures - apparently there have been words of rebels in the streets and a big revolution coming. It's just stupid blabber. Nobody would dare to stand up to the foremen. Strikes? The last one ended in fifty dead fae and multiple flogged and injured ones. I wasn't a part of it. No, thanks, I appreciate my life, as miserable as it is.

I look at my brother, a bit suspicious. I know that he has a friend who has such friends, rebels. I always warn him. Even if I am the younger one, I feel like I'm the more mature, older one. There is sadness in his bright eyes, guilt that I try to dissipate but never succeed in doing so.

"Well, it is what it is. I'm going out," at last he says and gets up.

"Won't you eat?" our mother asks.

"Leave it for Canary," he says and smiles. "He's got a hard day ahead of him tomorrow."

He stretches his wings and flies off. I frown.