The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) (43 page)

"Oh can we?" Huyen whispered in a voice that was quiet yet fiercer than any battle cry.

"Yes, for now. Something is very wrong. We need his help. Until we find out otherwise, keep that sword in check."

"Why? Can't you see this man bounces like a stuck rabbit? Screaming at voices, and—"

"We've discussed all this already, Huyen. How would
you
act if died and suddenly woke up?"

"I'd kill myself for a demon."

Yulchar sighed. "I seriously doubt that."

The crotchety knight grumbled.

Zhy scratched his head and then thumbed his earlobe. "This has to do with Ar'Zoth. She said her son is now Ar'Zoth. I don't understand." He looked up at the full moon, wishing he were up there, rather than in a freezing, fireless campsite with two assassins. One who wanted to kill him, and the other to save him.
Either up there or dead
, he thought bitterly.

"Son," Yulchar said quietly. Huyen had sheathed his sword and set it by his bedroll. He lay back down, but Zhy assumed he lay there, listening, ready for another chance to strike. His brashness reminded him of someone, but the name and face refused to come to the fore. "Ar'Zoth killed you. Gryn, who was one of us, was chasing after you, and then he was going to deal with the warlock. There was never any word again from him, so we assume Ar'Zoth killed him, too."

"That's at least one thing that is cleared up, I guess," Zhy said with a catch in his throat. His gaze had returned to the moon and he had a brief image of his own father—how could he remember something so far back, but not how he died? "But you can't expect me to be able to help you kill him."

"No, no, we do not," he said sadly. But there was a hint of something in his voice. A knowing. "You died helpless, but you are no longer a helpless creature. We cannot expect you to battle a great warlock. But you can still help us."

I
am
helpless—I can't remember a thing!
He took another longing glance at the moon as it sidled lower behind the spindly branches of a large birch tree. As the black tentacles waved in a small breeze, they looked like fingers, beckoning.
Beckoning? Or shooing away?
Zhy wondered. "Such a relief," Zhy said with a yawn. Yulchar's mouth formed the barest of smiles.

"Sleep. If she comes to you again, let her in. Talk to her. We need to find out more of what happened and why. We are still trying to understand. We know that we do not have much time. Sleep. A couple of hours. Then we ride. We are close to Vronga."

"And what about him?" Zhy whispered, indicating Huyen.

"What about me?" the knight replied gruffly.

"Well—"

"Huyen here would have gone with Gryn, I suppose, and been killed by Ar'Zoth. But he followed orders—better then than he does now—and remained with me. Now he seems to think you were in league with the warlock and perhaps the Dark. Is that not right?"

Huyen coughed. "I wanted more information like you did," he said flatly.

"Funny, that. You still seem to think Zhy here has something to do with demons?" He shook his head. And to himself he muttered, "Why do I always get the insubordinate ones?"

"I was never in league—"

"How do you know that, Zhyfrael? How? You remember names and parts of things, but not everything. How do you know you weren't traveling with demon spawn?"

Yulchar threw up his hands. "Listen, why are we having this conversation?" He was exasperated. "We need Zhy; that is what she said. Ar'Zoth
was
a demon. That much we know from the letter. That does not prove Zhy and his companions were, you know that, and you knew that when we started. This ends now."

"Is that an order?" Huyen replied, a dangerous edge to his voice.

"That is an order," Yulchar said.

"Good night then." He sounded far from satisfied, and his reply was too quick. But Yulchar had settled him down for now, and for once, at least from Yulchar's point of view, he had given an order and had it accepted. He looked at Zhy, his expression blank.

"I don't think he likes me," Zhy said softly.

"I don't," Huyen replied from his bedroll.

Yulchar sighed. "You had best get some rest. Perhaps if she visits you again, you can find out more information." With that, the knight lay his head down and snored.

I wish I could sleep
, Zhy thought bitterly. These men were used to traveling and sleeping in the wild. He lay down, a small root in his back. No amount of shifting seemed to help, so he moved his blanket a few feet away. The moon sidled across the sky and he watched as it slowly dipped beneath a large hemlock and was gone.

He thought on the dead woman's words, on the journey thus far, his pieces of memories, and of Huyen. The man would kill him if given the chance, he knew. Zhy feared that no amount of convincing could do any good—at least as long as his own memories were so clouded. He was no demon, was he? He had not been in league with them either, had he? Why had they traveled to see Ar'Zoth? And why had Ar'Zoth killed them all? Zhy at least understood Huyen's anger and suspicion, but it was going to be distressing to watch out for his own neck during the journey.

By the time sleep reached him, Yulchar was loading the horses and barking at them to take their leave.

Only a bare hope of a sunrise was visible beyond the trees. Frost hung everywhere, even on his blanket. It clung to his chin and he wiped away the icy covering with a groan. Muscles ached, and his head throbbed from lack of sleep.

"Hurry…  Zhyfrael," Huyen barked. "There is not much time."

Not much time. I'm getting sick of hearing that already.

Chapter 3 – An Abandoned Farm

It is said that Death is the End. There is no more. But I have spoken to the Dead. Some walk among us. Some are truly long buried, but they remain as loafers in this world. They hang onto the plane between this world and the Void, in an attempt to finish what was undone in Life. Many will wander forever in such a vain attempt.

Prophet Zher'wen

T
he farmhouse was empty. Someone had removed the body and buried it near a Temple inside Vronga. All that remained was a field of dead turnips, some pumpkins, a hill with a massive stone set into it, and an empty farmhouse. The horses were gone, and the only item left in the stables was a single sutan, sitting on a bale of hay.

When Zhy's companions stopped suddenly before the front door, he was confused, but slowly realized that his must have been that woman's home... the dead woman. They had said something about a farm, hadn't they? Or had she?
A dead woman who was talking to me.
They dismounted quietly.

There was strangeness about the place, and not in the fact that it was now abandoned. As they approached the farm, Zhy never saw the farm or the fields, even though both were directly off of the Crown Road. A low mound of dead grass sat perfectly aligned between the road and the farm—the eye would catch on the low rise, and then skip past the farm to the copse of pine and poplar that bordered the edge of the farm. By then, the average traveler would have been long past and never seen the residence. Wagon ruts led around the south side of the small knoll and to the farm. Were it summer, grass would be growing in the ruts, but now only a stray blade of clover grew in the matted depression.

"Let's have a look around," Yulchar said, patting his horse. Huyen grumbled and stomped off, muttering.

Zhy's companions left him to his own devices, and he wandered the farm. Every so often, their paths would cross as they, too, sought something. Huyen would grumble and Yulchar would nod respectfully. But were they looking for? There was nothing here of interest—the place had long since been abandoned, and it was waiting for new owners, or the blanketing snows of winter. Zhy took a last look at the sutan—perhaps the only thing out of place here—and went into the kitchen. Maybe there was some food left over.

Yulchar pulled out a dusty brandy bottle and set it on the kitchen table. "Fine vintage, that. Care for some?"

Zhy looked at the bottle with wonder, as if he'd never seen brandy before. A wobbly vision came to mind, of a man stumbling and falling, but then it faded. "No, never had it. Don't care to either," he replied. He thought he heard the man gasp, but when he looked up, Yulchar's attention was directed elsewhere.

"Not much left here, apart from this, and some knickknacks. Oh, and that sutan out there," Huyen replied. He gave the brandy bottle a sneer, then turned back into the main living area, looking around at the emptiness with an air of total loss.

"I don't understand what I’m supposed to be looking for," Zhy said quietly.

"We do not either. There is really nothing here. We have already been here once and come up empty. Anything of value that was here is now in the hands of whatever guards were here before us."

Zhy nodded slowly. "I wouldn't doubt that… so, if you don't mind me asking, what drew you to this place? Why here?"
And how did you find it?
he wanted to ask.

"That is a long story and we do not have—"

"We don't have time," Zhy finished the sentence for him, a bitter edge to his voice. "If I am dead, which I think I am, or am dreaming—" He waved off the brewing protest. "—I have all the time in… well, I have a lot of time." He pulled a rickety chair across the dusty floor and sat down. The pine chair creaked in protest. He sat, looking up at Yulchar.

The knight dry-washed his hands, and with a heavy sigh, pulled the other chair to him, sitting down with obvious irritation. His glance darted around the house, no doubt seeking Huyen.

"Well?"

Yulchar folded his hands on the table and looked hard at Zhy, his gray eyes sparkling in the dust-covered sunbeam that angled through the window. "We didn't exactly know to come here. Our group had experienced some setbacks—" He looked at Zhy with sadness. "—and made our way to Vronga, trying hard to run from our troubles. Troubles we had no business getting involved in. We lost two of our own, and possibly Gryn to—" He stopped abruptly, his eyes sharp. They bored into Zhy's, who only returned a blank look.

"Yes?"

"You do not remember?"

"Why should I?" Zhy slammed his fist on the table. "Why should a dead man remember anything?" he snapped. The frustration was too much, but the anger quickly boiled away to surrender. "I—I'm sorry. I—"

"I guess I should say that I understand, but I do not. But I am sorry. I hope that your memory returns to you."

"So do I."

A tense silence filled the room. Dust from Zhy's outburst floated up and was caught in the ray of light, and for a moment, Zhy saw the shape of a man, drowning, his arms reaching to the sky. Was he that man?

"In any case," Yulchar continued, with another glance around the room. "We were going to try to meet some of our Order's members in Vronga and get reassigned, but we overheard a guard talking about this dead woman. Quite a few people seemed to have known her—rather, her husband and their boy—and were concerned. It seemed like a major event here, and with a city like Vronga, that meant something might be important related to… related to our work." He looked at Zhy again, but he only nodded slightly. "We asked the guard, and explained we were also interested, since we had just come from the North, and there were strange goings-on. He gave us directions, and we found the note… it was right there, on the table." He pointed at Zhy's hand.

Zhy moved his hand away from the table and stared at the knotty pine.

"But it is gone now… must have blown away or been taken."

"I see. Well, I—"

 "And the lady has not visited you since you—since last night?" Yulchar broke in, seeming eager to change the subject.

Zhy shook his head. "No."

"Let's hope to Sacuan she does, and soon. There is not much time." He chewed on his lip while Zhy thumbed an earlobe.

At that moment, Huyen stomped in, his face set in a scowl. "Well…?"

Yulchar shook his head. "Not a whole lot," he said slowly. Huyen cursed softly. "Can't be helped… listen, Huyen, take two horses and get the supplies. We'll take one last look around and get a meal started… there are some things left over, I'm guessing they aren't poisoned. Then we must be going."

"Going… where?" Zhy asked.

"Zhyfrael, it is not yet time for you to know," Huyen snapped, then left with an irritated wave from Yulchar.

"Impetuous. He'll be straightened out soon enough."

"Why do you call me Zhyfrael? It's Zhy, please."

"That is what the lady wrote," he replied. "But we all know of Zhyfrael. It is a bitter part of Welcfer's history. And any Beldener worth his salt should know the history." He cocked an eyebrow at Zhy.

Indeed, Zhyfrael and her—her! A woman! Her great folly, letting in the savages to rend and tear and destroy everything in sight.
Zhy pounded the table again, softer this time, frustrated that he could remember something like that, but not what was important. As the image faded, he saw a smaller man float by in his mind's eye, a small-man, a man from Welcfer, who had told him the story. But a glint of sunlight caught his eye and everything went dark again. "I don't need to be reminded. Apparently, I already died for that. Possibly twice."