Finding The Soul Bridge (The Soul Fire Saga Book 1)

by Zax Vagen

  Thist stood wearing a new outfit: a black shirt and a black pair of pants with black boots and a studded belt all clean and neat. On his belt was a neatly rolled bull whip that he had retrieved from the cellar. His hair was washed clean and tied back, his young beard was all cut the same length and shaved clean on the cheeks, making him look like an astute gentleman.

  “I have decided” said Thist, “I will be who I want to be and not who I accidentally become.”

  Kelvin shook his head, “Who is not to say that you have accidentally made the right choice. Maybe you had extensive outside influence to end up becoming who you want to be, accidentally.”

  “Can you control your crazy?” said Jem. “Where did you get the clothes anyway?”

  Thist rolled his eyes, “I scavenged everything from different rooms and cupboards in the tavern. What’s the plan for the crossing?”

  Jem looked at the rope; it was pulled tight over the canyon but still bowed down a lot in the centre as the rope’s own weight weighed it down. “One of us has to cross that rope while carrying another rope.”

  Thist’s eyes grew wide like saucers showing more of the red in his bloodshot eyes.

  “Yep.” said Kelvin, “I think we are going to draw straws.”

  “What if you fall?” asked Thist.

  Kelvin waved a pointed index finger at his own throat as he shook his head.

  “We can make a safety harness.” said Jem, “Just a loop of rope around the main rope and around your waist, and a trailer loop where you can carry your gear, without ‘carrying’ your gear.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Kelvin as he raised his eyebrows in denial of the situation. Kelvin was the most afraid of heights out of the three of them and he loathed the thought of crossing the canyon.

  Thist made as if to peer down the side of the cliff, more out of instinct and curiosity than trying to see the river. The raging river was so far down that you could not see it from the top of the canyon for all the mist. But it was so big and fast that you could always hear it thundering.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t want to spend another day here in this haunted tavern.” said Jem.

  Kelvin nodded. “Hear that for sure. Let’s get all our stuff ready and checked twice because… ” he paused looking at the canyon, “…I’m not crossing back to fetch anything.”

  Thist stood riveted as he looked at the swaying rope. “I can’t do this”

  “Did you just choose that yourself or are you just being that person again?” asked Kelvin.

  “Reality sinking in there a bit Thist?” teased Jem.

  Thist tightened his lips and stared at the rope and then flashed a glaring look at Kelvin and Jem, anger flashed in his eyes. “I will show you, I will be the first to cross, you will see.”

  Jem looked at his right hand; it was closed in a tight fist. He turned his wrist up and opened his hand, showing three identical looking blades of hay, two were the same length and one was half of that. Thist reached out and chose the short straw.

  “It’s decided then.” said Kelvin, pointing a rigid finger directly at Thist, “You will go first.”

  “Why is it so bad anyway?” said Thist. “We all have to go.”

  Jem gestured to the far side of the canyon with a nod. “The anchor on the other side is unchecked and untested with no back up. The first one to cross must trail a second rope and then make sure they are both secured when he gets to the other side.”

  Thist looked at his short straw, swallowed hard and cursed. “I’ll get my stuff.”

  The boys had shared most of the supplies between the three of them in equal quantities of weight. Thist kept his tea, spoon and the pouch full of diamonds. Jem had his scrolls and Kelvin had his bow. They had packed all their food, a few bottles of berry wine, some extra clothes that the boys managed to salvage from the cupboards and a few handfuls of gold coins from the chest in the cellar. Everything was bundled and tied ready to be sent across.

  Thist donned his safety harness, a crude collection of knotted ropes that made three uneven figures of eight, all joined together. Two of the loops of rope on each of the three harnesses were already snagged on the rope going across. It was difficult to climb into. Each harness was constructed by Jem to be snug and impossible to loosen or fall out of, making it a torture test to climb into.

  After some cursing and a generous amount of help from Kelvin and Jem, Thist was strapped in. “It’s chaffing.” said Thist.

  “Yep.” said Jem, “I think we are going to be feeling the chafe for a long time after we have crossed.”

  Thist looked at the knots that had been made in the harness rope. “When I get to the other side, how am I supposed to get out of this?”

  Jem started laughing. “Imagine if you cross all that way only to come to the end with no way of getting out or cutting yourself free? You better take a knife on a lanyard.”

  Thist shut his eyes and shook his head, “You know that the three of us idiots are attempting something crazy, and we have no idea what we are doing. One blunder here and we are done for.”

  Kelvin nodded, “With such fine minds having thought out this plan, what could possibly go wrong?”

  Jem looked at the rope bobbing and swinging in the wind. “We can only prepare for and prevent the possibilities and eventualities that we can predict.”

  Thist put his hands up in the air in a helpless signal, “Meaning?”

  Kelvin shrugged. “I guess disaster is always a nasty surprise.”

  The raging river thundered like an everlasting reminder of what they would meet if they had to fall. Their end would be silent and their remains would be lost. Thist shifted out onto the edge of the cliff and peered down farther than he had before. The cliff was vertical most of the way curling in and out as the river had cut its way through the eons. He shimmied with his arms and legs, hanging like a sloth from the bottom of the rope. Behind him trailed his luggage hanging from another loop. All his possessions were now hanging from and old, greasy rope over an impossibly deep canyon. Thist knew that he had to cross it. He shimmied forward a little at a time, his feet leaving the safe purchase of the ground. The rope wobbled and whipped, as the disturbance travelled to the end of the rope on the far side and echoed back along itself. The sudden jerks were unnerving, the rope harness felt uncomfortable around his neck and he could feel that he was gripping the rope too tightly. Thist’s knuckles went white.

  “Don’t think too much.” called Jem.

  “Easy for you to say.” said Thist.

  Kelvin called to Thist as he shimmied along inch by inch. “It will go faster if you close your eyes and take long strokes with your hands. Just breathe and pull, breathe and pull.”

  Kelvin’s voice echoed a little as he had to start shouting to be heard. The distance between them wasn’t much yet but the ambient sounds of the raging river echoing on the canyon walls was enough to drown out anyone’s shouting.

  Thist closed his eyes and tried to think how many times he should pull himself with the rope to get all the way to the other side without opening his eyes once. He decided it should be about two hundred and started on a rhythm as Kelvin suggested.

  “Breathe, pull, breathe, pull…”

  “Learn to love it!” shouted Jem.

  Thist felt his arms grow weary. He was at a count of fifty pulls when he decided he needed a rest. He hung his arms down to try to get the blood to flow back to them as holding them above his head the whole time was making them numb.

  “I’m hanging over a cliff suspended by a rope that is not tied, my arms are numb and I am too scared to open my eyes.”

  A soft sing-song voice came to Thist. “This is your life now.”

  Thist opened his eyes and focused on the rope. “My life?”

  “For now.” said the voice. “Whatever the situation that you find yourself in at any time, at that time in your life…that is your life. Live it and love it. It doesn’t have to last longer than you c
hoose for it to last, but for that moment it is the part of your life that you need to live.”

  Thist sighed in helpless resignation, “…and I have voices in my head.”

  He closed his eyes and gathered his strength, flexing his fingers to get the blood flowing.

  “Breathe, pull, breathe, pull, and rest…Breathe, pull…”

  Thist lost count, the fine mist spray that boiled up from the raging river was starting to make him wet and he realized that he will be soaked by the time he reached half way.

  “This is my life for now, learn to love it. Breathe pull, breathe pull and rest…”

  A bead of water trickled down Thist’s face and into his ear. He hated the feeling, but now he just enjoyed the satisfaction of being alive and being able to breathe and feel.

  Kelvin shouted something from the edge of the cliff where he and Jem were standing and feeding the second rope as he went along. Thist could no longer hear what they were saying, it was all muffled calling. He pressed on dragging himself across the canyon on what seemed to him like the stupidest quest that had ever been undertaken.

  The rope was wet and his hands stung from the chafing of the rope. Thist reached what he knew to be the centre of the rope bridge. He could feel that the journey had gone from a head-first upside-down journey going down-hill while hanging on a wet rope, to a head-first upside-down journey going on a level plane while hanging from a wet rope.

  “Enjoy the moment that you are in.” said the voice again.

  Thist opened his eyes, the faint mist had soaked him and he was now cold, stiff, cramped up, chafed, dizzy and nauseous. He couldn’t turn his head all the way around to a facing down position without letting go of the rope. It occurred to him that if he should vomit now then he would soil his own face.

  Thist held tightly with his left hand, let go with his right hand and looked down.

  Kelvin scratched his chin. As Thist was inching forward across the rope he fed some of the second rope after him, every couple of yards Jem would slip a hanger onto it. The hanger was a crude piece of wire that slid over the rope and held the second one up so as not to cause undue weight on Thist. A couple of yards of rope didn’t weigh much but a hundred or so would become a crippling burden.

  “How do you think he is doing?” asked Jem.

  “He has stopped.” said Kelvin.

  “Why?” said Jem.

  “Probably exhausted.” said Kelvin.

  “Or else having one of his unconventional sleeping spells.” suggested Jem.

  “No, it looks like he is chucking up his breakfast.”

  “Should we pull him in?”

  Kelvin looked at Jem with a deep frown. “No, he is half way, the only way out for him is through, that boy needs to learn to pull himself together and finish this.”

  “It’s been hours you know?” said Jem.

  Yes, I’ve been getting sunburnt while sitting here on this rock outcrop, feeding rope to an imbecile who is hanging on a bouncy rope, over the tallest canyon in the world.”

  “Bouncy?” said Jem. “The poor kid is seasick.”

  Kelvin looked at the rope as it bounced and swayed over the canyon. A deep sense of dread came over him. “We did this.” Kelvin stood up and handed the rope to Jem, “Just take over for a while.”

  Kelvin dashed into the old tavern. He ran to the hearth in the middle of the lounge and kicked over the fire bucket. It was a conically shaped pewter bucket that was old dusty and artistically engraved. It sported many dents on the rim as it had been kicked over many times before due to its small bottomed shape and its top heavy neck. He grabbed it from the floor and shook the last of the sand out of it, ran out and slammed it over one of the sharp looking stumps outside, piercing a hole through the bottom.

  Kelvin skipped over to the edge where Jem was not feeding any rope, as Thist had stalled in the centre. He raised the pewter bucket, bottom end first, to his mouth and shouted into the hole. “Thist, come on, you can do it!”

  The shape of the bucket was poor as a loud hailer but it was effective.

  Kelvin’s voice erupted from the bucket and travelled straight at Thist.

  Thist choked. His body swayed in the light breeze. His left hand cramped stiff to the rope overhead, his right hand dangling down. He had aspirated his vomit and was trying not to die as he clung on to the rope for dear life. The rope harness had chafed his chest so badly that he could feel a trickle of blood over the rope burn wound. He was seasick from the bobbing and swaying. His stomach was empty but he was still retching.

  Thist heard Kelvin’s voice calling him to press on; he raised his right hand to the rope and pulled. “Breathe, pull, breathe, retch, choke, spit, breathe and pull.”

  The tears streamed down Thist’s cheeks and into his ears, and made a gurgling sound as it passed either in or over his ears. He closed his eyes again, it was better like that. He went through the motions of moving his mass along the rope. He could feel his body become heavier as he started moving on the upswing arc of the rope. “Why am I crossing this infernal river? Why am helping build this infernal bridge?” Thist sobbed. “Why did I take the stupid short straw? I miss the cave, at least it didn’t move like this.”

  There was no answer, the rope wobbled and bobbed. The cold mist that soaked his body dripped from his back. The chafe marks stung less and had instead turned into an inflamed burn. The throbbing of pain in his arms, back and neck harmonized with the pounding of his headache. His arms were exhausted and he could feel his neck muscles were so fatigued that he could hardly keep his head still anymore. Thist let go of the rope with both of his hands and let them dangle underneath him. He took a deep breath. Then he started to wiggle out of his wet shirt until it was bunched up around his neck. He pulled his arms out of his shirt and wrapped the sleeves of the shirt around the rope bridge and tied a knot. With his shirt off, his skin was now exposed to the rope harness and was chafing on the sores, but the shirt cradled his head like a pillow.

  He drew in as deep a breath as he could, sniffing in a few drops of water through his nostrils and into his sinuses. They burned as if he had snuffed the contents of a boiling cauldron. Thist ignored his burning sinuses, and let out a shout of frustration. The sound of his shout was muffled by the deep rumble of the raging river and there was no echo.

  He reached far forward and pulled himself along. His muscles no longer had a choice and the pain subsided to a dull ache. Thist could feel the rope cutting into his ribs, the bile from being seasick scorch his throat. He could feel the fire in his muscles but one thing burned hotter than all the pain in the world.

  Thist’s soul had become an inferno.

  41

  Thist groped.

  It was dark by the time he reached the other side and pulled himself up onto the outcrop. The last bit of rope had been a steep uphill battle. He had weighed the rope down during his traverse across the canyon and had stretched it, giving it too much slack. He climbed out of the canyon and lay on the cold stone for a while. He was relieved to rest his weight on something other than his raw and naked chest. The rocks were sharp and uncomfortable but they felt like a comfortable mattress in comparison to the rope.

  He pulled the trailing rope a short distance until his pack of luggage filled his arms. Then he dragged himself and his pack up over one ledge and then the next while still harnessed in. Thist tried to climb out of the harness that Jem had fashioned. After a few attempts, he realized that if it took three fresh and rested guys and a struggle to get into it then one fatigued man wasn’t going to get out of it on his own. He needed his knife. Thist felt for his knife. It was on a lanyard, and he remembered that Jem or Kelvin had put it there to help him cut himself free. “Good foresight, Jem.”

  It was dark. Thist couldn’t see anything as he fumbled. He couldn’t find it. He was trapped in his harness, strapped to the rope bridge. Thist sighed in frustrated resignation and started to chafe the rope harness on a sharp rock. Thist was exhausted, dehydrated, c
old, wet, hurting and trapped. He shifted the rope harness higher up under his armpits and away from the burning chafe marks. He put his head down on the cold stone, took a deep sigh and tried to catch just a moment of sleep.

  “You have changed.”

  “Who are you?” asked Thist.

  “I cannot remember.” said a raspy old voice, neither male nor female.

  “How can you not remember who you are?”

  “My life was insignificant.”

  “I don’t believe that,” said Thist. As he looked around for where the voice came from “Everyone’s life is significant, you must have mattered in some way, to someone else if not yourself.”

  “Maybe,” said the voice as it sounded closer.

  Thist looked at where the voice was coming from. There was an apparition like a smoke cloud hovering over a pool of mud.

  “What is your name?”

  “I don’t know, I just am around, I hover around.”

  “Are you a lost soul? Like the others?”

  “Yes, that much I know, and that I did nothing before my soul was lost.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I don’t know, I guess this is where I’m doing nothing today.”

  “Look, nameless one, every lost soul that visits me in my dreams has a profound effect on my life, surely you are here to give me a message.”

  “I saw your soul and could not help but come over to see what the light was.”

  “What do you see in my soul?”

  “It’s just very bright.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, but I have never seen such a bright soul.”

  “You are no help; you are more of a nuisance than anything. At least give me one lesson to help me along my way.”

  The apparition looked fidgety and nervous; it writhed a little and tried to hide the fact that it didn’t have anyway. “Sure…don’t ever be like me. My soul was lost before it was lost.”

  “Are you the soul that is in the diamond that doesn’t shine on its own anymore?”