The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) (36 page)

Sharing a task with others does not bind those others to you. The knot is not necessarily helpful or even correct. Working and living together for a common task does not protect you from them.

Cleric Bertrand

T
he crackling, hissing, and popping of the fire would not let me sleep. I had dozed perhaps a few hours, on and off, but my mind kept racing through the whirlwind of events. Never in my full life had I experienced so much. I don’t think many people had experienced as much during the course of their pathetic lives, either. Only the so-called Protectors and Knights of the Black Dawn were hardy enough to travel such distance. And they trained for it! Here I was, a farmer’s son, guided to my glory by a dead man; such was the twisted and knotted way of the world. It seemed unfair, that I should succeed at the expense of others, but only for a second—the world would soon crumble.

I yawned as my lids fluttered open.

The sun was dropping slowly off the western wasteland. Soon it would be full dark. I stared into the dwindling fire and thought again of my own Fa. He would always be ‘Fa’ to me, even if I were the highest-ranking mage in Belden. Your Fa is your Fa.

I stood and put another log on the fire. Fa was most likely doing the same at the Temple, carrying out his good works. But I was convinced he worried about me, too—I wished there was a way to reach out to him. As much as I wanted to, it was hard to stuff those feelings away. But they would have to be stuffed.

There was much to do. I stood control over a demonic horde of incredible proportions. It wanted out.

First things first.

I stood again, groaning. It was time to dispose of the once-powerful warlock named Ar’Zoth.

His body was heavy as I dragged it across the entryway. My boots were thick enough that I could walk across the shattered glass of the chandelier without concern. It was somewhat depressing to see such a lovely fixture smashed to pieces on the stone floor, especially given the fact that an inept mage had caused it to fall. As I stretched my screaming back, I stopped and laughed. Why was I doing this? I have the powers he had…living the life of a simpleton had inured me to the fact that I always had to do some sort of manual labor to get something done. Now, however, I could harness the great power of demons to do even the most menial task.

Try as I might, however, there was nothing there! I knew the spells; I knew the methods of keeping the demons out of your mind, but—was it the cold? I could not grasp at anything. I sighed and slowly, inexorably, painfully, dragged the warlock to the edge of cliff. Careful not to slip, I heaved him off and over the rim of the canyon. And out of my world forever. I turned back with the intent of brewing another pot of tea when something stopped me cold. Someone.

“Demon!”
The sound of a human voice startled me. My first instinct was to try to act the old, simple-minded Bimb, but the man had seen my actions. There was no way I could act my way out of it. I turned slowly.

The man was ragged, his fur outfit covered in snow. A grizzled, scraggly, bearded face was barely visible behind the cowl. In his right hand he held a gleaming sword. It was a very impressive weapon and it looked impossibly sharp. But it was no match for me. If only I could remember the damned spells! As hard as I racked my brain, there was nothing there to grab onto!

“And you are…?” I asked quietly.

“My name is of no importance. So. I am too late. You have killed the travelers who have come here seeking you.”

I wanted to speak, but he gave me no chance to defend myself as he roared and started to charge.

* * *

Ar’Zoth had said I would know when I was able to harness the powers that he had possessed. I’d watched the pathetic spells of the little mage, and even though
Bolt of Sacuan
was a frightening and devastating spell, there were always things that could counter it. The great warlock easily batted away spells others had spent years perfecting. And he had said they were now mine.

Mine.

But yet I felt nothing.

The man was charging with his huge curved sword and I stood there like the imbecile I had imitated for those many years.

I reached for something inside my head…
anything
that would give me a clue as to how I was supposed to harness the great magic Ar’Zoth could control. Nothing. I dug in my heart, my stomach, clenched my fists. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!

I was going to die.

Everything seemed to slow down. The burly warrior kept coming forward. With each stair he ascended, I was that much closer to being disemboweled. I backed away a step. He kept approaching. I backed again and nearly tripped over the top stair. My brain screamed at me to turn and run into the castle and hope I could lose myself in the various warrens and corridors.

But he kept approaching. The blade caught a thin sliver of sun that barely peaked through the thick clouds. He growled low in his throat.

Only four more stairs.

And then somehow time stopped. In a mere fraction of a second, I felt a flood of awareness. Like the dreams that take seconds, but in which you travel the length of the world and solve great mysteries, a torrent of understanding was emptying itself into my mind. The words that Ar’Zoth had told me, my discussions with Lyn, and even the music. The warlock always reminded me that it was not magic, as in a children’s story. It was the harnessing of energy. The world’s energy locked away from the view of others who could not channel it. Inaccessible to the untrained like myself. It had taken years for Ar’Zoth to impart his knowledge ... it was not something one could teach from afar. It was a painstaking endeavor, which, until now, appeared to be wasted. Everything I had learned was in danger of being sliced into bits by the man’s great sword.

With the light flitter of a fragment of a song in my mind, I raised my arms to the sky. I had it! I now knew how to do it. The music!

The notes!

The
SPACES BETWEEN!

Everything was made of something, Ar’Zoth had said. Even thin air was made of small particles no one could see. That was how magic worked. Even demonic magic had to draw on something unseen. Energy unseen. Energy present in the spaces between the motes and particles and fragments and waves of light and sound. The power is a wave and it is pieces—all at the same time, the warlock had said. If you LOOK you will see it. If you LOOK, you can harness it.

Demonic magic came at a cost, however. One had to create a barrier to one’s own mind before grasping at the red waves and fragments that hung between the spaces. Could those who wove non-demonic magic see these? Most likely not. For it took Ar’Zoth two years to teach me where to look. I hadn’t been born with the ability, so the training was exhausting, but it had finally paid off.

And barely in time.

I opened my eyes and they were everywhere: The particles and waves that made everything, that drove everything, the foundations for magic! Many mages could not truly see these things, but they used them anyway. I could see them. Spinning and whirling and diving and
pulsating
in the thin air. And even more amazing were the infinitesimal black flecks of the building blocks of these particles! Surely, this would require further inquiry, but the sword of a so-called Knight of the Black Dawn was only inches from my bowels.

For the man charging me, it must have been quite a sight. There I was timid and scrabbling back for safety, nearly incoherent in an attempt to save his pathetic skin. A man who had been fleetingly coherent and sane, now bumbling and broken. I’m sure he welled inside as he pictured the curved blade of his sword slicing into my stomach and spilling my internal organs along the snow-covered stone.

And then, in an instant, there was a flash of red light.

A throaty curse echoed over the valley as his precious sword exploded in a halo of crimson heat. It glowed brighter than the noonday sun and spun like so many kaleidoscopes as it went sailing from his hand. The weapon clanked briefly on the stone steps, took a small bounce, then hissed as it landed in the deep snow that rimmed the staircase. The snow melted with fury; then the remaining water boiled as the sword burned itself into the ground. Smoke curled up in ferocious tendrils.

The man stumbled, then raised his head and glared at me. He raised his fists as if to cast a spell but did nothing.

I quickly cast a ward around myself, grabbing at particles of metal that hung—how could metal hang in the air? I didn’t question that now; I just grabbed them and created an invisible shield around myself. Whatever he was planning, I was not going to give him the chance to succeed. I quickly spun off a web of green tendrils—exactly what Ar’Zoth had used to trap the three village idiots. In some regards, Ar’Zoth was still primitive. He forced too much, not taking his own advice.

The spaces between. Music is in the notes you do not hear. The best drummer sounded that way, not because of how hard he hit the skins, or how fast he could drum, but of what happened when the sticks (or his hands) were in the air. This was knowledge everyone should know. When I first picked up the sutan as an imbecile child, I knew this. People marveled at my ability to play a multitude of notes—but that was not impressive. It was the spaces between those notes. Everyone should know this. Apparently not everyone did, the great warlock included. He worked too hard.

To my horror, the webs bounced off the man. Instinctively I ducked, temporarily forgetting my own shield, and they smashed into the lintel above the door. Quickly I darted to the side and tried another spell. A blue tendril expanded into a kind of fist as it approached the target. The intent was to knock him down. Again, the magic failed and shattered like paper-thin glass.

He laughed. “You don’t think I would come here without protection, do you?” He unzipped his coat partway, then reached under his collar and fingered something. “I’m sure you’ve heard of these?” he asked, smiling.

I opened my mouth, but in a blur, he sprinted to his sword. But if the talisman only worked on him…my thoughts raced. Again, I sent the red light directly at his sword and flung it into the ravine.

“So be it,” he snapped, turning to face me. He cast a brief and longing glance to his left, but his left hand remained open, as if it still gripped the sword that was no longer there. “Your magic may work against my weapons, but not me. We will fight to the death.” He raised his fists.

I let out a chuckle. “I could just run back inside and lock you out.”

“No,” he said forcefully. His eyes were piercing. “You will stay and fight, you murderous demon. I have sworn my whole existence to destroying the likes of you. My Order has abandoned me because they did not believe you were a demon—they did not believe those boys were demons. I knew you were in league with them, but you killing them only confirms what I suspected. You! You are the demon, and you killed—whomever they were. Minions? What where they?”

“They were—”

“I knew! I knew! You are the very evil we work so hard to destroy. And now you will die.”

“I am not a—” I started.

“Silence, demonic filth!” he roared. “The Dawn has found you. You have murdered three innocent men, and now you will die!”

Another magical ward came quickly to mind, and I cast it, waving my hand swiftly. There was nothing he could see, but in the spaces between, I grabbed more iron. This time I used the particles to create a cone around the stranger, only feet in front of him. I let my shield drop.

“Well, then, approach.” I smiled.

He cocked an eyebrow at my arrogance, but his own bloodlust drove him forward. A loud
oof
erupted from his lungs as he slammed forcefully into the hidden barrier. I laughed giddily as I watched him scamper around, trying to find a way out. Like a rabid dog in a cage. Trapped.

“Why…” he growled. “Release this trap! Fight like a man, not a coward!”

“You still have spirit. I will give you that. No, I will not release the barrier. Who are you?”

“I am a Knight of the Black Dawn. My name is of no importance. I have come hunting the three travelers, thinking they were demon spawn. Now that I see it is you who are the demon, my only course of action is to dispose of you as well. Now let down the barrier!”

I shook my head slowly, in a near perfect imitation of Ar’Zoth’s pensive demeanor. “Do you think everyone is demon spawn?”

“I don’t quite—”

“Those three men were not demons. They were bumbling fools who had somehow decided to travel together. The drunk was named Zhy. I was supposed to help him. The others—I don’t really care. They are dead now. All of them. Ar’Zoth was the warlock who lived here, but he is now gone. I killed him after he killed the three.”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“You are not supposed to. It is very complicated, and if I tell you, you will still call me demon spawn. Tell me,” I said, quickly changing the subject. I was glad to see his face changing from anger and hatred to confusion. Witch-hunters—the lot of these Knights of the Black Dawn. Ar’Zoth had warned me of them, and Lyn had no idea they even existed. “Do you think all magic-wielders—no, I take that back. Do you think everyone is a demon?”

“Of course not!” he spat, slamming a fist against the invisible barrier.

“Then stop trying to kill me. I am not a demon. I am not the warlock.” I was tiring of this.

“So, then who are…who are you?” I heard him ask.

I had to stop myself from calling out my real name. Bimb was a silly and contrived name. It was a child’s name. Bimb was dead. “My name is nothing to you.” I stood up a little taller and glared at him. “Does your Order believe warlocks are demons?” I repeated the question.

“No! I have said no! Not all warlocks. Only Ar’Zoth I believed was a demon. We question their sanctity, but we do not believe they are all truly demons.”

“Good! Good!” I chirped, rubbing my hands together. A thought sparked in my mind, something Ar’Zoth would have said. For some purpose that was beyond me, it sounded right and perfect to say. Many would have called me mad, but I was not mad. Any sane person would say this, wouldn’t they? “You are a piece of wax. And now will you leave? There are no demons here. I will return inside the castle, rustle up some provisions, and send you on your way.”