Somewhere down here, I had no doubt, slept the Destroyer of Worlds.

I scanned the crowd, searching frantically for a familiar face. There were far more people than had been taken from us that night. Other prisoners, I guessed, who had been spared execution only to be sent here. I looked for Ahmed, Shazad – someone I knew. But the faces were so marked with dirt and dust that I wasn’t sure I’d know them even if they were right in front of me, let alone when I was searching from up here.

And then, just below me, I saw a soft, childlike face, dirty dyed hair sticking to her cheek, smudged in dust. She was shaking as she tried to raise her pickaxe again.

Delila.

My heart leaped. I had found our prisoners. And at least some of them were still alive. I glanced down. It wasn’t an easy jump, but I could make it. I could leap down and unchain them and then make a run for it if I …

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. I drew away from the edge as another prisoner entered the cavern, carrying an immense empty wooden bucket in one hand and a torch in the other. As he passed near the line of prisoners, the firelight he was carrying glinted against bronze.

‘You want to see clearly,’ Zaahir said, stepping up beside me. And before I could stop him the glow of his skin grew brighter, casting light on the scene below. There, just beyond the line of torches that illuminated the prisoners at work were hundreds upon hundreds of bronze and clay figures standing in silent vigil.

Abdals.

The sight of them stopped all thoughts of leaping down. I knew what they could do to me if they caught me. And so did every other prisoner here, guessing by the way they worked, eyes down, arms shaking with every stroke into the earth. None of them even looking for an escape.

As I watched, one of the figures wielding a pickaxe collapsed to his knees, breathing hard. He looked skinny and emaciated, like his body had reached the end of what it could do.

Sure enough, he didn’t get back up. One of the Abdals stepped forward.

No. I couldn’t let this happen. I cast around for Zaahir, who was leaning over, watching the scene below. When he caught my eye he raised his eyebrows mockingly. ‘Do you want me to stop it?’

‘Yes,’ I hissed back desperately.

Below, the Abdal rested a metallic palm on the top of the prisoner’s head. The man didn’t try to fight it off or get back up. There on his knees, he leaned forwards until his brow was pressed against the wall. And he prayed.

Zaahir pulled a face. ‘But you also know that stopping him might compromise saving everyone else. And you want that more, don’t you? Dilemma, dilemma.’ I could’ve killed him.

The Abdal’s hand started to glow a fierce red. The man’s praying turned to screaming.

‘Ah well,’ Zaahir said. ‘Too late to decide.’

And then, just like that, the prisoner was ash.

‘Now.’ The Sin Maker’s voice had lost its mockery. He looked on, interested, even as I recoiled from the sight below. ‘That is a novelty.’

I despised him in that moment. But I already knew there wasn’t any easy way out of here. If there was, Shazad would’ve found it and they’d be free. There were so many Abdals and just me.

‘So.’ Zaahir spoke up again. ‘These are the mortals you want to free. Very well.’ I felt the air change around us, like it was solidifying. Whatever Zaahir was doing, I couldn’t stop him now. Watching the prisoners below, I saw a few of them realise that something was happening, though they didn’t know what. They kept working, but some of them winced, as if they were waiting for something terrible to strike them, bowing their heads in anticipation of a blow.

It was as if the air became invisible hands. I could feel them plucking at my clothes. I could see the chains shifting down below. And then the invisible hands pulled apart the chains like they were nothing but thread.

The shackles fell away instantly, hitting the ground with an impossible clatter that filled the inside of the mountain. It was so loud I feared it would wake the Destroyer of Worlds.

Hundreds of prisoners stopped what they were doing as their shackles fell off, looking around, bewilderment overcoming fear. They stared down at their bare wrists, some of them dropping their tools.

‘There,’ Zaahir said. ‘They’re free. Just like you wanted. I would, however, suggest that they start running if you want them alive.’

The Abdals had been staring on mutely. They were pale imitations of us, only as intelligent as they needed to be to accomplish simple mechanical tasks. They didn’t understand that the humans had been released. But they did understand that they had stopped working. And they knew what to do when they stopped working.

As one, hundreds of pale metallic hands raised towards the prisoners, ready to obliterate them.

I felt my heart quicken in fear.

‘Stop them!’ I cried out to Zaahir, not caring about being heard now.

But he just looked on impassively. ‘You said you wanted to free them. They are free. Besides, death is its own sort of freedom. That’s what my brethren dared say to me when they sent your First Hero to her death and locked me up.’

‘You know that’s not what I want,’ I said frantically, staring over the ledge. Some of the prisoners were scrambling to get back to work. Others looked like they might make a run for it, an edge of panic visible on their faces. A few were lifting their pickaxes like weapons, ready to fight, and certainly die. ‘I want to save them.’