Free Sink: Old Man's Tale by Perrin Briar

arms.
    “They’re your kids?” Graham said.
    “I hope so,” the little man said. “Otherwise I’m going to have a stern word with my wife. They’re diggers, born and bred.”
    A cold towel was placed on Graham’s head, a large knot already forming.
    “Can I help you?” Graham said.
    The family looked at one another with solemn expressions. The eldest figure stood before him.
    “I’m afraid you’ve come to a dangerous place,” the little man said.
    Graham glanced around.
    “Doesn’t look very dangerous to me,” he said.
    “Not here,” the little man said. “In the castle. Leader is not what he seems.”
    The door was just behind the little man. Graham could easily knock him aside and make a run for it, though he suspected his legs might still give way beneath him.
    “Leader might appear friendly,” the little man said. “But he’s not. He’s evil, manipulative, and controlling.”
    “He seems nice enough to me,” Graham said.
    “That’s exactly it,” the little man said. “Him and his ancestors have been ruling since before we came down here, since we were a tribe called Manu.”
    “Leader said your old tribe name had been forgotten,” Graham said.
    “It hasn’t,” the little man said. “They tried to make us forget, but we never will. We were called the Manu. In our tribe’s language, our name meant ‘empty fist’. It’s about the only words of our original language we remember. There’s a foulness in Leader’s blood. It’s because of him and his ancestors we got sucked down here in the first place.”
    “Whoa, whoa,” Graham said. “Back up. What are you talking about?”
    “I’m sorry,” the little man said. “I forgot you are a stranger here. First, let me introduce myself. I am Chief Digger 138. It is my job to decide which direction to dig.”
    “You’ve done a swell job so far,” Graham said.
    “Leader wants us to forget our past,” Digger 138 said, “to forget our past and what we once were. But we still pass our history down from parent to child, to share in the old ways, but it’s difficult. The guards watch us every moment and it’s hard to get away. Sometimes some of us must make a sacrifice not to enjoy the ceremonies so others can.”
    There was a sound outside, of shouting voices, and the father nodded to one of his sons, who pushed aside the curtain and peered out.
    “It’s just Cook 3897,” the little boy said. “Overexcited as usual.”
    “Five hundred years ago, when we were on the surface, our tribe met white people,” Digger 138 said. “This is why we now speak English. They had technology and weapons unlike anything we had ever seen. It was like magic to us. And we revered the white man like a God. But they explained it was not magic, but exploiting the rules of nature and the universe. Our ancestors tried to replicate the technology of the white people, but they couldn’t.
    “And when they saw a map of the world, how big it was, and how small our part of it was, our Leader developed a hunger for more. But he knew we could not achieve this with just one tribe. They would need all the tribes united to create a force great enough to take on another, foreign nation. And so they sent envoys, spies, to get information on these other nations, their technological level, their friendship with other nations, everything they could discover.
    “Meanwhile, our Leader met the other tribe leaders. He convinced some to join. Those who did not were later forced to join us. They were given a choice: become warriors, or be killed. Their wives would be given to great warriors, and they would breed a mighty army.
    “But our Leader was still not happy. With so many leaders, who was the supreme leader? Who would lead our army? And so they created army games, ways to test and educate and learn. They bred a supreme general, who would lead us into war.
    “We became a warrior race. But our weakness was technology. Advancement took time, and great minds. We had