The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) (15 page)

Zhy had no reply for this delusional thinking. The first thing that came to his mind was a phrase his mother used to say when he started raving. “You need to eat.”

Torplug ignored Zhy, but answered Qainur directly. “We do not think you are dumb, Qainur. And what you say may have some truth to it—”

“For the love of—” Zhy burst out.

“No, let me finish,” the mage replied, his right hand coming up to wave. He now looked even stranger with just a head and a small arm at the foot of the bed. “While it sounds halfway possible, it really isn’t, I don’t think. But that is for Zhy to tell us. Yes, Zhyfrael was a great leader in Welcfer. But she was not great in the sense you mean…she was—”

“She?” Qainur blurted. “She! Well, that makes even more sense… named after a woman, you want to—”

“Stop, please,” Torplug snapped, his disembodied arm slapping the mattress. “Let me finish. Zhyfrael was a queen of Welcfer in the Third Age. Her greatness was in her incompetence. As I’ve said before, we in Welcfer battle savage native tribes over and over and over again. No one has yet figured out how to deal with these people from the wastelands and the mountains, except to repel their frequent invasion attempts. And they’ve had centuries to figure it out. We may not have war, but we have battles! They are short and bloody. But these savages reproduce like rabbits, and—anyway, where was I? Oh, on Zhyfrael. Well, Zhyfrael thought herself wiser than her advisors and decided the thing to do with the natives was to invite them into the Great Castle and have what she called, ‘speaks’. It failed horribly. Once inside the Castle, the brutes attacked viciously.”

“Didn’t she remove their weapons?” Qainur asked.

“Aye, but you forget these folk. They fought with their bare hands. They tore the unarmed serving men and women apart, literally. From the stories I’ve read—most exaggerated, no doubt, they would eat their victims. Can you imagine a horde of half-naked fiends attacking anyone and everyone in the Castle? Blood dripping from their mouths—human blood? Eventually they were beaten down by armed soldiers, but not before hundreds of innocents lay dead or dismembered. Zhyfrael was exiled to the Temple of M’Hzrut to contemplate her actions, but she was set upon by bandits—or so they say—on the way and was killed. Most scholars are convinced her successor ordered her murder. She didn’t want to have another such debacle. So…now we deal with the savages the way we always have. With force.”

“I had never heard that,” Zhy said quietly.

“Really?” Qainur barked, but he had seemed to calm a bit. “I–” He paused. “Hmmm,” he uttered.

“So I don’t think Zhy has any ulterior motives,” Torplug said.

“Especially since you had to drag me out on this so-called adventure,” Zhy replied, his voice both exhausted and bitter.

The mercenary was quiet. No grunt. No snort. Again his gears were turning, if slowly. “No, I’m…I’m sorry. But, Zhy, did your parents know the real truth?”

“Even if they did know the true story, I can’t fault them.”

“Why is that?” asked Torplug.

He laughed mirthlessly, thumbing his earlobe. “It seems Zhy the queen and Zhy the young Beldener have much in common.” He chuckled again without any happiness. “We are both colossal failures.”

Qainur started to laugh, but stopped himself and looked at Zhy. He swore he felt something bordering on sympathy from the shadow across the room. The warrior started to say something, but Zhy didn’t let him finish.

“Ach, I’m tired. Let us rest and eat large in the morning. Then we need supplies, and then we can leave this forsaken town.”
So I live up to my namesake anyway. Named after one of the worst leaders in a nation’s history. Thanks.

The others dozed off.

* * *

The breakfast was indeed huge. Long tables were set up along the far wall of the inn atop of which rested trays of eggs, sausage, bread, bacon, boiled grains, and sweetbreads kept warm over candles. Patrons could fill their plates as many times as they wished. People were crammed around the eating tables, food piled in front of them. Some even sat on the floor, balancing plates on their knees as they participated in the gluttony of a Festival breakfast feast. A table full of villagers noticed the strangers and kindly offered empty chairs next to them as the previous occupants waddled out the door.

Torplug, Qainur, and Zhy thanked them profusely then tucked into their mountains of food. After a few moments of furious eating, they at last took long pulls of their breakfast mead. Soon their table companions did the same, and there was a great deal of small talk, with the travelers careful to avoid mentioning the seith, the demons, or the Black Dawn. They feared the locals would find excuses to pry for more information, but the excitement was all upon the Festival, the food, and the new vendors.

Several caravans had ventured far from the very northeastern coast, down to the Golden Road, through Vronga, then back north. They had brought seemingly endless supplies of dried fish, including orca; various crafts made from an exotic wood; spices; herbs; dried fruits; odd-looking vegetables; and countless other trinkets. It was the buzz of the town.

“We will definitely visit their wares,” Qainur said.

A villager nodded eagerly, a wad of sausage, egg, and bread stuffed in his fat cheeks. “Aye,” he said between chews. “Look at this!” He extended his arm to show off a shining ring on his finger. The metal was one Zhy had never seen. Neither had the villager, apparently. He was quite proud.

The travelers gave their due respect, smiling broadly then stuffed their faces again.

When at last the gluttonous festivities ended, they slowly made their way outside and to the middle of town. Where the night before it had been vacant of any humanity or traffic, it was now chock full of carts, people, horses, sheep, wares, smoke, and all the various players in a large autumn festival. “That was a fancy-looking ring,” Torplug commented, looking around. “But cheap.”

Qainur looked at him.

“Yes, a metal common in the far east. But, still, for these folks…very nice.” His focus was now on the numerous vendor tables and the wares. And so, too, did Qainur inspect the goods offered. He was nearly drooling at all that was offered.

The bustling of humanity and the excitement of the festival seemed to counter the slight chill that was in the air. A leaden sky hovered over everything, threatening snow. Yet the vendors and villagers alike were cheerful. Qainur caught the eye of a young beauty and made his way over to her. He was lucky that the atmosphere was so joyous, for even the father of the young lass was smiling as he flung Qainur back to his companions. The man was three times the size of the warrior and could have easily crushed him like an insect, but he laughed like a child as Qainur went sprawling. Even Qainur found it in himself to smile.

Zhy and Torplug were perusing a display table of small, wooden carvings. Torplug was thankful that many of the vendors or their family members were small-people, for most of the display tables were set much lower, and he was easily able to browse the wares. There were perhaps hundreds of figures, each intricately detailed and set in a unique pose. There were warriors, monks, animals, children, mages, and savages. Zhy was amazed at the detail of the figures, and the fact that, if the troupe had even sold half of them along the way, there were still so many others left that had been crafted by hand. The vendor seemed to read his thoughts, and he greeted Zhy and Torplug with the wide smile of a street hustler. “Aye, the winters are ever-long back home, and my daughters and I carve these by the hearth.”

The travelers smiled back out of respect but kept browsing. One table had for sale a large, ten-string sutan. Zhy picked it up and admired it.

“Do you know how to play one of those?” Torplug asked.

“No,” Zhy shook his head. “No, but I have always wanted to learn. You know—I do regret not stopping in Vronga, even though it would have caused us a lot of extra hardship.” He set the sutan down again, as the vendor was scowling at him. He had apparently heard Zhy was no musician and didn’t want the young man to ruin his precious instrument.

“Why is that?”

“There is a group of players there, I hear. I’ve heard travelers speak of them. They call themselves Elites of the Cow—”

“Elites of the
what?
” Torplug howled. “What kind of a name is that?”

“It is a strange name, I admit. But I hear they are quite the wild bunch. Two sutans, drums, and they scream and yell…”

Torplug shook his head, chuckling. “I’m sure it’s quite interesting.”

They moved on to the next table. An idea struck Zhy, and as he casually picked up a small wood carving, he asked Torplug a question. “So, Torplug, you haven’t told us much about yourself—your past.”

“No, I haven’t,” he replied, setting down a bronze statue and reaching for a copper plate engraved with strange symbols.

Zhy cleared his throat.

The mage put down the plate and looked at Zhy. “You know enough about me. I have studied at the—” he looked around quickly, “University. I have little family, and the people who spat me into this world are gone. Not dead. But gone to me. I will explain no more.”

“But—”

“No more,” he whispered, but with such force that it nearly toppled Zhy. He shivered. Torplug had a way of saying things that froze one’s blood. His small stature was always too deceptive—it cloaked an inner power that was dangerous and unknowable.

Zhy nodded slowly and started to make an innocent remark about a length of rope when he felt Torplug tugging at his leggings. “What is it?”

“Qainur found something. Look.”

It took a few seconds of gazing through the throng of people, but soon he noticed Qainur, frantically waving his arms at them. He was pointing to some small figure on display in front of him.

And just how did that small-man see him?

Torplug and Zhy struggled through the throng of bustling people. He was nearly bouncing up and down from excitement. His joy finally burst over. “Look! Look!” he piped, his voice almost an octave above its usual timber.

You really are a little kid, aren’t you?
Zhy thought. Qainur was so exuberant; he apparently did not hear his companion’s thoughts this time.

He held out a carving of a building of some sort. The vendor here was a large woman, but she was not as motivated as the others for she sat a stool and scowled. Zhy gave her a look as if to say, “Well that’s a fine attitude that will make money.” She paid no heed.

“What is that?” Zhy asked.

“The Temple! It’s the Temple of Marzhout!” Qainur blurted, holding it up.

Torplug scowled and looked at the carving. “The Temple of M’Hzrut? Hmm, could be.” Qainur let the small mage take it from his hands and inspect it. He then handed it back to the warrior. “Could be.”

“But it’s so small…” wondered Zhy.

“I’ve heard the Temple itself is quite small,” Torplug replied. “But this looks like an ordinary country temple, not the one that holds the very world together.” He looked at the selling-woman. “Is this indeed a replica of the Temple of M’Hzrut?” he asked.

She slowly turned her gaze to him. “Yes, it be. Yes, it be. That be our last one. Very popular this time of year. What with the dark winter coming.” And she turned away, scowling.

Zhy ground his teeth.
Yes it is, not that it be
. The backwoods and cliché speech was irritating. He wished everyone could talk properly.

“But who carved it? And how could they know what it looks like?” Zhy questioned. He’d seen “replicas” before, especially of various buildings in Belden City made by those who lived thousands of leagues away; they were nothing like the original.

The large woman grumbled. “I carved it.”

“You?”

She was slowly becoming irritated enough to stand and the ground shook a little as she alighted from her chair. “Aye. And do ye want to buy or not? I have other wares, too. But that be the last of the temple.”

“How do you know what the Temple looks like?” Zhy persisted. The glare from Qainur was bright enough to melt the leaden clouds over head. Torplug said nothing but watched intently. Apparently, he wasn’t quite buying the realism of this trinket, either.

“Young man, if I tell ye, will you buy it?” There was the slightest hint of a smile.
Ah! So there is the true hustler! If I want to know from whom she stole the template or bought it or…whatever lie she tells, I must buy this silly contraption.

Zhy looked at Qainur. “How bad do you want this thing?”

The mercenary smiled. “Oh, it is very interesting. How—?”

“Twenty-five ochre,” the woman replied before Qainur could say “much.”

Zhy stepped in, his upbringing as a child of semi-privilege paying off. “Fourteen if you tell me where you got the pattern for it.” Fourteen ochre was high for such a small and flimsy trinket. It was made of oak, however, but such a small amount didn’t warrant the cost. In fact, this entire town square was full of over-priced junk. Zhy had been taught from a young age that “ancient artifacts” were nothing more than replicas of replicas of a past age’s cast off garbage. Or it was a pure fake from the beginning: a brand new clock carved from cherry, then attacked with carving tools to make it look “ancient”.

The large woman shifted her bulk. “Twenty.”

Zhy laughed. “Fifteen. Or we walk away.”

She started to say something, but Zhy was already starting to turn away. Qainur stared at him with a hurt look on his face.

“Fifteen it is. And the money first.” Qainur started to dig out coins, but Zhy stopped him and retrieved ten ochre. “Ten now. Five later.” He handed the sculpture to Qainur, who smiled and continued to look at it in seeming rapture. Apparently, having a so-called replica of the temple gave him a sense of peace—as if this were a reminder of the real temple and farthest northern reaches.

Torplug shook his head. But then a look came over his face, one Zhy swore was one of kinship towards Qainur. He briefly felt it, too. It was never easy traveling with other people and especially challenging with complete strangers. There would be moments like this, he supposed, friendly moments. Times when they were not trying to tear each other apart. He smiled briefly at Qainur then looked at the woman.