The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) (16 page)

A concerned look passed the woman’s face, as she looked at the warrior holding her trinket. But Zhy produced the remaining five coins and showed them to her. “Don’t try to hoodwink me, and I will be nice. I merely have an interest in knowing where you learned to carve this.” He made to reach out and point at the miniature temple, but Qainur spun his arm away, like a small child would his precious toy. Torplug chuckled.

The woman snorted. “Well, then. I guess that’s how it will be.”

Zhy nodded. “So…”

“A Protector retired to our village. No, it be true,” she responded to Torplug’s snort. “They are sworn to secrecy—”

“What is a Protector?” Zhy asked. It was apparent by the way she said it that they were important.

Torplug answered for him. “They are supposedly the secret watchmen of the Temple. With sword and sorcery, they keep the—” he looked around quickly, “demons at bay.”

Zhy’s mouth was wide open, but he said nothing. And yet for fifteen ochre their secrets can be revealed!
I just spent good money on a worthless trinket and a worthless story.

The large woman was staring at him. “Your small-man is correct. And after the years of watching, they oft retire to small villages. Like mine.” She ignored the look of utter repudiation. Instead, she shifted her focus to Qainur.
At least he’s gullible
, Zhy thought despondently. “He retired several decades ago and left a drawing behind. My father bought his house and found it.”

“So you learned it from your father?” Zhy managed to ask, his gaze still detached. He was still bitter about having spent any money on this complete waste of time.

She nodded heavily. “Aye. But only from the pattern. For my father died when I was young.”

Zhy looked up, and his emotion switched slightly to sympathy. Then back to skepticism.
She’s lying about that, too, probably.

“Aye, and he had always said the temple pattern was the most true to the holy place.”

“But he never said this to you. Because he was dead.”

“No,” she answered flatly. He was not sure if she was trying to keep the lie in check, or if she was telling the truth.

“And did he ever see the temple?”

“No.” An uneasy, heavy, shift of bulk.

“So what you are saying is this. A person, whom you have never met, brings back the drawings for the most sacred, most secretly guarded temple. Which you have never seen. This person happens to go to your small village. But you never met him. Then your father, whom you never knew, finds these drawings. Apparently, your father, who has never seen the temple, says that the drawings are spot-on resemblances of this holy place. But, he’s never seen it. And he couldn’t have told you about the Temple. Because he’s dead. And I paid fifteen ochre for this!” He flung the coins on the table violently then stalked off, leaving the woman and his companions staring, open-mouthed.

A few snowflakes began to fall lazily from the leaden sky.

“Zhy, what are you doing?” Qainur asked, miniature temple still in hand. They had chased him from the town square to the stables at the inn, where their horses were.

He was gently rubbing his horse’s nose, but the horse seemed aware of the emotional tension. “I’m leaving this place and continuing north. I’ve had enough of charlatans and lying cheats.”

“You really get worked up about these folks, don’t you?” Torplug asked, regarding Zhy.

“Too many times they tried to cheat us out of house and home,” Zhy replied. “And now I’m out of my father’s money. For a fairy tale.”

Qainur gazed at his trinket.

“Well, what do you expect?” Torplug replied. “So very few people see the Temple. Even you should have known you were in for a story.”

Zhy grumbled. “Indeed. Indeed. I just want to put this awful place behind me.”

“Well, there is something you should know. The Protectors are real. If you attended any holy services in your life, you would have heard of them.”

“I’ve been to a couple. When my father died I lost all faith in anything other than a heartless world. And yes, I’ve heard of them, but I thought it was part of the story…not real people, but a way to keep people happy that others guarded the world for them, so they could harvest turnips. Actually…” his gaze suddenly lost focus and he stared off at the great throng of people in the town square.

“What?” Torplug asked. He regarded Zhy patiently.

“I think my father punched a man once. Just once. He said something like, ‘The Holy Light has blessed my crops, as I have asked in the temples,’ or something like that. ‘And how many children do you have?’ my father asked. ‘Oh, none.’ So Father belted him. Dropped him out cold, and it cost him a night in the restraining room.”

“But why?”

“That was the year we ate very little because of poor crops. Father asked the same Holy Light for help, but got none. What use to pray if you are forsaken for no reason? If the Light is so fickle, I have no need for it.”

Torplug shook his head.

Zhy started to swing up on his horse, when Qainur suddenly broke from his trance and put an arm on Zhy’s shoulder. “My friend, look at the sky.”

“It’s cloudy, I know. Yes, there’s snow. What is your point?”

“No…it is more than cloudy. It is getting dark. We have been here quite some time. I did not get a midday meal. I am very hungry.”

“You ate an entire pig, a loaf of bread, and twenty eggs in the morning!” Torplug blurted.

The mercenary grumbled.

Zhy stopped and looked up. “Gaah,” he muttered. “Gaah!” He spun violently around. “We wasted a whole day—”

Torplug held up a gentle hand. “It is not that bad. But...it is getting dark, and we can’t start out now or we’ll wind up stopping only three miles outside of town! Let us stay here again. They are very nice people.”

That was true. He hated to admit it, but it was true. He swore anyway, out of frustration. “As long as we don’t have to deal with any of…them,” he pointed out to the vendors.

“No, don’t worry about them. They camp on their own.”

“In-breeders,” Zhy snapped, then looked up at his companions with embarrassment. “I’m sorry—I don’t know where that came from. Perhaps I am hungry.” He sighed. “Let’s go.”

The serving boys and girls had cleared away the roast boar and lentil soup, and the travelers leaned back in their chairs. If anything, this town knew how to put on a feast. The old man across from them had also finished his meal and relaxed, his mug of ale perched precariously in a bony hand.

“Where ye be travelin’?” he asked in a tired and raspy voice.

Zhy almost got up and walked out at that. But he bit his tongue and remained seated
. For Sacuan’s sake, speak properly!

“We are going north,” Torplug responded, sipping his ale. The meal had made him thirsty, but he had stuffed himself so utterly, he was forced to sip the thick beverage for fear it would expand and burst open his stomach.

The man looked down at Qainur’s trinket. His dull eyes seemed to twinkle briefly as he regarded it. Then they darkened. He moved his hand ever so slightly, and again Qainur acted the part of the small child, moving the temple to his other hand. The mercenary could not be parted from it. “Aye…ye be headed there?” the old man finally asked, pointing to it.

“And just how do you know—” Zhy began, but stopped and folded his arms.
That’s right.
Everyone knows. Everyone. And now the best part. He’s going to tell us another secret or scare us in some way.
All of this could have been avoided if we had set out directly after gathering our supplies. Oh, but no. I had to waste fifteen ochre on that stupid temple! But, if I hadn’t spent fifteen, Qainur would have spent double that amount, and we’d still be in this predicament.

The old man twitched slightly, and Zhy knew he’d probably been overheard in some way. Qainur shook his head. “No. Not that far. But I would like to.”

Zhy groaned and leaned over and whispered in the mercenary’s ear. “Don’t drag this out. I only ride to Gray Gorge.”

Torplug spoke while Zhy was whispering. “No, we are only headed close to Gray Gorge.”

The old man shook his head gravely. “It be getting late for that, young lads. There was snow today. There will be more. Best to stay closer to here until spring. Plus, seeing that temple there reminds me. There be evil farther north. Great evil.”

Zhy groaned again.

“Son, do ye wish to leave? If so, you may leave. If not, please heed my words. I am wiser and older than you.” The old man’s tired eyes were suddenly alive and full of an old schoolmaster’s glare.

Zhy colored, but said nothing.

“Indeed. Indeed. Aye.” The old man seemed to be fumbling for the right words. “It is a time of change and darkness. I hear of demons. And they are close.” He gestured south. Qainur and Torplug were suddenly keenly interested, while Zhy only watched passively. He’d had about enough talk of demons. “Aye. It seems they march. It be not known if they march north. Or south.”

“Which would be worse?” the mercenary asked.

“South, my son, south. If they are coming from there—” again, he pointed at the temple. “The pillars have failed and we are doomed. And you ride into it. I fear for those farther north. The snow and ice will not protect them. The rocks of Gray Gorge are no match for the great demons, which pour forth.” He drained his ale and waved his empty mug at a passing serving boy. “And that is not the worst of it.”

Qainur leaned even closer to the man; his left hand still idly fingered the miniature temple, and his gaze was locked on the elder.

“There is a great—” he paused and looked at his companions, each in the eye. For Zhy there was a slight scowl. “Seith.” Then he leaned back. In almost impeccable timing, a new mug arrived, and he lifted it and drained half in one pull. Qainur and Zhy turned white. If it weren’t for his already pale features, Torplug would have too. Each traveler was frozen, staring at the man. He grinned slightly, and Zhy thought his look was one of triumph—that he had finally scared these young men witless.

Zhy’s mind was screaming.
Oh capital! Exactly the wrong words to say to someone like Qainur! Sure, you’ll terrify him for a few moments, but then he will be doubly motivated to go on this journey. I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die.

His thoughts were broken as the old man continued. “Aye. It be said that such a great seith is bent on shattering the pillars. He waits. He waits for the world to weaken slightly. If demons travel south, he may have already struck. When that happens, all is lost.”

Qainur spoke. To the surprise of Zhy and Torplug, his response was calculated and slow. Zhy knew he was repressing an inner child aching to go charging off into the great unknown. But his response was quite clever. “I thank you for the words of warning. You see, I am a seasoned warrior, but I will not fight an unknown enemy. Perhaps it is best if we turn about in the morning and go south. What say you?” he asked, turning to his companions. His words were somber, but his eyes danced and sparkled.

Zhy nodded.

“It would be unwise to travel any farther north,” the stranger said sadly, as if seeing through the façade. “There is a grave danger in the north that the likes of you should never face.” His aged lips curled into a sneer, then forced themselves into a small smile. “Sit and listen.”

Ale arrived at a wave of his bony hand, and he continued his warnings in his sandpaper voice.

Zhy thumbed his earlobe vigorously, fighting to keep his irritation in check. As the man talked, he wished nothing more than to slam his fist on the knotty pine table and storm off. The eyes of the old man seemed to hold him in his chair like an iron anchor.

“Aye, there is more than a warlock in the north. Savages, naked cannibals, roam the cold snows along the Spires of Solitude. They refuse to die, because they are truly demons above the earth.”

Torplug suppressed a guffaw at this but quickly raised a mug to his lips.

“And caribou, moose, and elk wander around where they should not rightly live. The very Temple is attacked daily by demonic forces. Once you get past Gray Gorge, you will feel peace and calm for many miles, but it will change so fast you will never know what happened to you. And by then it will be too late.” He tossed back the rest of his ale and set the mug softly on the table, then pushed it slightly forward with a craggy finger. “Do not go north, boys. Do not.” His last words were but a whisper, but the travelers heard them as clearly in the inn, as if all sound had stopped and waited for the man to speak.

The old man finished the rest of his ale and stood slowly, his joints creaking. “My good men, I wish you safety. Pray to Sacuan that all is not lost.” He left, but not without taking a long look at the small temple and giving Zhy a brief, cold stare.

When they at last returned to their room, Qainur was indeed as giddy as a small girl. Zhy thumbed his earlobe and yawned. He shared none of the excitement. Torplug was unreadable as he started a small fire.

“Did you hear? Did you hear? Ha! So, this seith indeed is!” he piped as he dragged a chair before the fire. Torplug and Zhy each sat on the ends of their beds as the fire flickered to life.

“Qainur, are you concerned that this seith will try and hurt us?” Zhy asked.

The mercenary shook his head slowly. “No.”

“You say that too easily,” Zhy replied. He started to say something else, but instead, reminded them that staying here was indeed a mistake.

“What, you wanted to ride through the night? That would be far more dangerous…we must rest,” Qainur replied.

“Yes, but…”

Torplug was already pulling the sheets down from his bed and yawning. “I’m going to bed. If you turn back for Belden City in the morning, or if you continue, I do not care.”

“So is what he said about the North true?” Zhy wondered. Qainur seemed to have forgotten the other things the man had said about demons, cannibals, and savages.

Torplug scratched his head, then stopped his fiddling with the ratty bed sheets. “Yes, and no. There are savages—I’ve said that before. We fight them so often it’s just part of how things are.”