The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) (25 page)

“We can’t eat all that!” Zhy exclaimed.

The mercenary looked out at the snow. “Well, if we have to, we can. I’m going to put all of this out there. Somehow. Don’t want other animals in here sniffing around.” He ventured a few feet into the blinding blizzard and dug a spot in the snow for the meat and the rest of the carcass.

At long last, Zhy relaxed as a chunk of bear meat started sizzling over the fire. The smell was intense and very gamey, but the travelers were famished from the exertion and would eventually eat the cooked meat medium-rare.

They gorged on meat; red juices dripped down their chins. After satisfying the initial pangs of hunger, Zhy leaned back and spoke. “So, how far back does this cave go?” he asked.

Torplug shook his head. “Not very far, actually. It goes back a few hundred yards and ends at a large pool of water. The wood was definitely cut by someone, but we saw no other way in here, so it’s not likely they will come back.” He paused, licking his fingers. “On second thought…” he stopped, then let his hands drop. A chuck of meat dripped its red juices onto the rock.

“Oh,” Zhy said softly. “So the bear ate—”

“Possible,” Torplug replied.

“Poor man,” Qainur said flatly. He shrugged and took another hunk of bear meat off the fire.

* * *

The snow was relentless in its intensity. The darkness descended quickly, and the light of day was slow to pierce the blizzard. Given this, the travelers slept long that night and awoke to a dull light. They were not sure if it was before or after mid-day. There was only the snow. And it was piling up at the entrance of the cave: A foot, two, three, and then four. Finally the drift was as large as Torplug and the light in the cave became dimmer and dimmer, the dim light matching the spirits of the travelers.

Days passed by in a melded blur of rock, damp, snow, and the howling wind. How many days had passed? Two? Three? No one was sure. Conversations were limited and short. Zhy wished often for his bottle, but was too despondent to care if he had it or not. The mercenary practiced is sword-fighting back at the lake in the cave, and Torplug slept. He slept and he slept.

Finally, it seemed as if the drift had stopped growing. Peeking above it, Zhy noticed the storm had abated and he saw no flying flakes. “I think the storm has stopped,” he said. His companions only grumbled.

But as time went on, bright sunlight could be seen streaming in between the massive drift and the opening of the cave. The light seemed to have a physical effect on Torplug, who bounced to his feet and then looked up. He smiled, the entirety of his small face taken by the emotion. Zhy couldn’t help but smile back.

Qainur returned from fighting a great imaginary battle and noticed the sunlight. “Aye, that’s good!”

“With any luck, we may see this melt,” Torplug replied, staring hopefully at the huge wall of snow that blocked their entrance.

The others stared at the snow for a few moments. The small-man’s smile was slowly fading from his face. Zhy looked at Torplug with alarm, for the small-man had quickly placed a hand over his own mouth.

“What is it?” Zhy asked, his voice hoarse in his throat.

“Oh, great Sacuan,” he said softly. Then he repeated it, much louder. “Great Sacuan’s Scrotum!” he finally blurted, repeating Zhy’s catch-phrase. “The lake! The lake! There is no underground river. No! No, the lake is filled by that—” he pointed at the wall of snow. “That! It melts down, into the…”

Qainur swore. Zhy only stared, but he understood. Any melting snow would trickle down into the cave and fill the lake. And bring with it wood and pieces of trees and whatever else.

There was a lot of snow—an entire wall of white the height of a man, and twice again as wide, and who knew how far back it stretched. If it melted rapidly…

“Will it flood in here?” Zhy asked.

“Are you serious?” the mage laughed mirthlessly. “That much snow will drown us!” He spat. “How is…how is this even possible?”

“Is this the warlock at work?”

The small-man nodded slowly. “It is entirely possible. That blizzard was not normal. The cave was too convenient. The bear went down too easy. We were baited.”

“Grinding goats…” Qainur whispered.

“We should figure something out before we drown,” Zhy said quietly, his gaze on the snow.

The small-man growled in his throat. “This is beyond ...” he said and trailed off.

“Was there no higher ground back there?” Zhy asked.

“No.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

The mage thought, then nodded. “This will take some effort, but I can try to melt some of it. I don’t know how far back the wall of snow goes, but I can try to melt it slowly so it doesn’t come at us in one deluge.”

“How long will that take?”

“Days? I really don’t know.”

“Days?” Qainur spat.

“Would you rather swim out?”

“N-no.” The mercenary sat down glumly.

“Well, I can try…” The mage cast a spell of yellow fire, only hair-thin threads that extended from his fingers. Slowly, agonizingly, the threads bore into the snow and tiny rivulets made their way down into the cave. “Better get up if you don’t want to get wet. Stand over there, the ground is a little higher. Not much, but it’s worth a shot.”

Qainur and Zhy watched him and became mesmerized as the yellow fire melted the snow. After several minutes, he dropped his hands and sighed. “That’s enough for now. I’ll try again in a few minutes.”

“It’s working,” Zhy remarked.

“Yes, it is working. Slowly. Let’s see if I can add another spell on top of it, to keep parts of it frozen. If it melts too fast...”

“How will that work?” Qainur asked. “Aren’t you melting it, too?”

“Yes, but...no, it’s going too fast,” he said suddenly. Small trickles of water beneath their feet turned into small rivers. Zhy stepped deftly aside to avoid getting wet, but soon there was a veritable gush of water. Torplug’s feet were already being overrun with water.

“Run!” Qainur barked.

They turned and quickly raced back into the cave as a wall of water raced behind them. Qainur tripped over his sodden winter boots and splashed into the water. His bulky frame thrashed and he was able to mutter, “I can’t—” before disappearing into the churning and icy water.

Torplug dove in.

Zhy tried to stop himself, but the rush of water from behind made the stone impossibly slippery and he found himself submerged as well, struggling to stay afloat dressed in full winter gear. Torplug had found Qainur and somehow had him in a grip, though Zhy could tell he was struggling to stay afloat.

“Stop thrashing!” Torplug barked, as he struggled to hold the mercenary afloat with one arm. His legs worked like cyclones, and his other arm paddled furiously. “Lay back and be calm.”

Zhy treaded water with considerable effort—the weight of his clothing was pushing him ever downward. The rush of melting snow water only added to the depth of the small lake and soon overwhelmed it, spreading out into the cave proper.

“Can you touch the bottom, Zhy?” Torplug asked, panting. Qainur had stopped moving and stared up into the blackness with wide eyes.

Zhy stretched out his leg into the murky blackness of the water and the toe of his boot caught. He hadn’t thought of trying to touch the bottom...how deep could this little lake be, anyway? It was only about ten paces by ten paces. “Yes...yes, just barely, I—” Another foot went down and he gingerly tried to plant his heel. The water was up to his neck. Ice cold and getting colder from the added snow melt, the water would surely kill them—from the cold or from drowning. “I can stand...come—not sure how long this ledge is, it doesn’t feel—” He moved his right foot, but there was nothing beneath and with a violent splashing, worked his way back to the foothold.

Torplug swam slowly over. His legs were constantly pedaling in the water, trying to keep Qainur afloat. The mercenary shivered violently. When the mage neared Zhy, Zhy reached out and pulled them closer. It took effort, but he was able to hold both men upright.

“We’re going to die in here,” Zhy said.

Qainur opened his mouth to speak, but the only sound was the clacking of his teeth.

The rush of water seemed to have slowed, but there was still a small river pouring into the lake. “I think the melting is over,” Torplug said, “we need to get out of here.”

With an effort, Zhy pushed off his foothold and swam—as much as a man carrying two full bodies can swim—to the edge of the small lake. He only had to cover about four paces, but it seemed like a thousand. A few odd pieces of bear meat that had been stuffed into the snow bank floated in the water and he grimaced as his face slapped against the cold flesh.

“I’m…going…to try something…” Torplug said. “Zhy, get out of the water, I can hold Qainur for now.”

“But—”

“But nothing, do it.”

Zhy complied, pulling himself from the water. The entire slope of the cave seemed to bend toward the pool, and his hands slipped on the wet and slanted rock, but finally he hauled himself out and collapsed on the stone.

The mage must have been all muscle, Zhy noticed, for he swam holding Qainur with one arm and with another, reached up and out of the water. Green light blinked into existence between his fingers. Suddenly, Qainur shivered violently and the light blinked out. “Qainur!” Torplug barked... “Never mind, never mind! Zhy, get over here!”

Zhy edged close to the edge and reached out for Qainur. The man was wet and heavy, his gear soaked through with icy water. “I can’t…” he grunted, as his grip slipped. Qainur’s big head slipped under the water. “Sacuan be—” Zhy cursed, hands reaching blindly into the murk.

“Let him be for a second,” Torplug said, his chin vibrating with the cold. The small-man swam furiously to the edge and hauled himself up.

Zhy stared. “He’s going to—”

“No, he’s not,” Torplug snapped. The green light burst into being again, and Torplug stretched his hands toward the water. Zhy swore he heard the energy sizzle as it entered the water. The colors faded, and the shapes bent strangely as the mage force his spell down into the depths, and it looked like an oddly glowing fishing net as it descended into the black water. As it descended, the light disappeared, leaving behind small steaming tendrils on the surface of the water.

“What are you—”

Torplug only cursed as he worked the energy There was a splash and a loud hiss as a log-shaped web of green light emerged from the water. Inside the net of light was the still form of Qainur. Torplug’s neck was a net of rope itself, with every vein extended in obvious effort, as he moved Qainur’s form down onto the stone.

“Is he—?”

“No, he better not be,” Torplug said, letting go of the light. He moved to Qainur and pushed his strong hands on the mercenary’s chest.

Nothing.

Torplug pushed again, and only a small trickle of water dribbled from the corner of the mercenary’s unshaven mouth.

“Is there any magic...?” Zhy wondered.

“Nothing that can bring back the dead, Zhy.” The mage was shaking. He reached up to push down on Qainur’s chest, and Zhy heard him mutter, “only the dead can do that.”

“Come on, you massive beast,” Torplug muttered, slamming down his fist again. Nothing. The mage cursed and summoned a small web of yellow light, then cursed again, letting it dissipate. Instead, he pounded Qainur’s chest again and leaned closer to the man’s mouth. “Come
on
!” He leaned back on his knees and swore. “I’m…sorry, I—” The small-man scrubbed at his soaked head, muttered another curse and finally generated a small ball of white light. He raised his arm, and the light drifted high above Qainur before screeching down atop his chest with a loud
whoosh
. Nothing. “Don’t you die on us, here!” Torplug swore. “Great grinding—” Zhy swore the mage sniffed away a tear as he collapsed back to the cold and wet stone, eyes closed, hands on his knees.

Zhy opened his shaking mouth to ask if there was anything else that could be done when a gush of water burst from Qainur’s mouth, and he rolled to his side, heaving. Water poured out of his mouth in a heaving torrent.

“Thank Sacuan,” Zhy muttered.

“Don’t thank him,” Torplug said softly. “Thank yourself. You saved us.”

“I? I did nothing.”

Torplug sniffed. “We’re out of the water, but we’ll still die in these clothes. Quick, let’s get a fire going—Zhy grab as much wood as you can, and I’ll start the blasted thing with magic.”

Zhy nodded and padded off to find more wood, while Qainur continued to heave the contents of a small stream onto the cold rocks. He would stop and try to offer his own thanks, but each time he opened his mouth, more water would pour out; Torplug admonished him to let it all out.

Most of the wood was wet, but not soaked through, and would work.

It took a good day and a half to dry their clothes and their gear. The sun that filtered in was warm, and there were no more blizzards. Though there was a snow cover beyond, and the visible fragments of trees were still clothed in their powdery blanket, the cave was no longer blocked. But they would have surely died of exposure in their water-logged equipment. With care, they could keep a very small fire going, and the rock soon dried, leaving the small lake at the back of the cave; when they inspected it again, it had drained to half its depth.

Qainur took every spare minute to thank Torplug, who finally tired of the attention. “You are welcome, but mention it again and you’re going right back in there!”

At that, the mercenary laughed. “Maybe someday,” he said with a smile, “I can use that magic and just get myself out! Zhy told me how you did it…”

“Maybe you just need to learn to swim!” Zhy said around piece of bear meat.

Qainur laughed again.

Once they felt they had sufficiently recovered from the deluge, they started out on the trail. Every square inch of equipment and clothing was inspected to ensure it was dry.

“Unbelievable!” Torplug chirped as he stepped out into the snow.

“What is that?” asked Zhy.

“Look! The snow on the trail. It’s exactly as deep as it was before.”