The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey)

by Martin Gibbs

  “I can’t move!” the mage screamed. “This is not—” he wiped snow away from his face—”natural! Qainur!” he barked. The mercenary turned. “Get over here!”

  The burly man forced his feet through the deep snow. He could not get his feet up and over the top of the snow, so he plowed his way though, cursing. “Come on, Torplug,” he said, reaching down and picking the small-man up. He heaved him over his shoulder and continued forward.

  “I’m not—sure—I can—make—it,” Zhy said. The snow was up to his thighs. “Just push through it!” Qainur barked over the roar.

  Zhy moved an inch forward and felt as if he were walking through solid rock. Looking up at the rise to his right, he thought perhaps there would be more shelter beneath the tall trees, but they would never get there at this pace.

  Qainur emitted every curse he knew as he hauled Torplug along. Suddenly, he shouted and pointed. A black smudge opened up ahead of them in the rock. Zhy hoped it wasn’t moss or a discoloration in the rock.

  “There! There! A cave!” the mercenary barked as he tried to push forward

  “I can’t...” Zhy groaned over the wind.

  “Push forward!” Qainur barked. Snow whirled around them in violent cyclones, stinging every inch of exposed skin.

  “Sacuan’s—” Zhy screamed and forced his legs forward. He reached Qainur in time, and the strong man grabbed him and pushed forward. As one they fell into the opening of the cave, panting.

  “This is far too convenient,” Torplug howled over the roar of the blizzard. But no one stopped to think. They made great haste and dove further into the safety of the dark hovel. Looking back out into the mountainous world, they saw nothing but white as the blizzard hammered the countryside.

  “I wonder how far back this goes.” Zhy wondered, staring into an abyss. Where they were sheltered, the rocky walls of the cave closed in a few inches above their heads. Snow was swirling into the cave and starting to pile up. They inched backward and noticed that the ceiling had opened up beyond their view, and the rocky walls faded back into an unknown abyss.

  Qainur was staring into the blinding snow. He turned slowly. Zhy saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. “I don’t know. Could be miles.”

  “Hmm,” Torplug mused. He shivered. “I wonder if there is any fuel for a fire back in there? I’m cold.”

  The mercenary looked at him, his eyes wide. “But how can you see back there?”

  Torplug smiled, but said nothing. Instead, he answered with a spell. He snapped his fingers and muttered something. A small blue light appeared in front of his right hand, which he had clenched in a fist. There was not much light given off, but enough to highlight the gray-brown walls of the cave as they stretched back into the mountain. The ceiling of this place was still invisible, but Zhy was taken aback by the strangeness of the walls…it wasn’t their dull granite color or their smoothness—but what was painted on them.

  Someone had painted elaborate drawings on the walls, and the drawings covered the cave wall as far as he could see. There were fur-clad people fighting large beasts, people huddled around campfires, women stretching thread between looms, and countless other scenes that would take years to catalogue.

  “Wights!” the young mercenary blurted, staring at his companions.

  “What in the—” Torplug replied, staring at the drawings.

  Zhy was also staring at the primitive art. “Qainur, look at these people…they look like you and I!”

  Qainur looked closer. Then he smiled. “So I guess they were not demons after all.”

  “Who knows?” Zhy shrugged. He stepped closer to examine the drawings, but Torplug snuffed out his magic light.

  “I can’t keep that up for too long,” he said. He sounded out of breath.

  “Well, I guess we’ll sit and wait out this storm,” Zhy said, looking out into the howling blizzard.

  “Aye,” Qainur said gruffly. Hours seemed to pass in the cave and the three watched the storm with interest. But as the daylight started to dim, the mood soured. It was obvious that the storm was not going to pass over quickly.

  Torplug used the magic light sparingly and was lucky enough to find dried wood deeper in the cave. But he scampered quickly back to the entrance—the deepness of the cave was unsettling. Every so often, a brief gust of wind would flow up and touch their faces. It was a warm and damp wind, leading them to believe that water was deep down in the cave. But it also carried a smell that was musty and cloying. It smells like a wet dog, Zhy thought.

  “Something…is down there,” Qainur said, nervously eyeing the darkness of the cave.

  Torplug had piled his wood and looked back, his eyes wide. “Yes,” he said quietly.

  Well, isn’t that nice? Zhy thought to himself. “Wights?” he asked, but the word sounded very strange coming from his lips.

  “I’m not sure I care to know,” the mercenary said. He was trying to sound brave, but his voice faltered. “We should stay close to the entrance in any case.”

  “Are you sure the seith isn’t down there somewhere?” Torplug asked.

  Qainur scratched his head. “No, I don’t think so. The documents I found describe a castle. Plus—well…” he trailed off. His glance went from the whiteout at the mouth of the cave, back into the darkness inside.

  “When do you want a fire?” Torplug asked, cutting off whatever train of thought was coming. He sniffed loudly.

  “Is that all you found?” Zhy asked.

  “Yes…well, I didn’t look very hard.”

  There was silence, and no one answered his question, but he did not seem to mind.

  “How long will this storm last?” Qainur asked, staring out into the mesmerizing whirlwind of snow.

  The mage shook his head, following his gaze. “It is hard to say. In the mountains, storms like this can last hours, or days. We are still somewhat in early autumn, so there is hope much of it will melt.”

  Zhy groaned. “We brought so few possessions with us. I hope it does not last for days!”

  “Well,” Qainur said, stretching. “We will need to ration, then. At least we have water!” he pointed at the snow.

  The three laughed nervously.

  A gust from below caught their noses, and they grimaced at the unbearable stench. It’s getting worse. Or closer, Zhy thought, a second before they heard it. Whatever it was, it was big.

  The breeze from the depths suddenly shifted from a random tuft of wind to a discernible pattern. Huff-huff-huff. It took a few seconds for the travelers to realize that was no longer the breeze, but breathing. Something big. The ground shook as huge feet padded the floor. A massive snort of some kind reverberated in the cave.

  Qainur was quick to draw steel, and Torplug set out another magic light.

  Zhy stumbled backward at the sight of a massive brown bear just a few yards into the gloom. Its huge black nose sniffed the air and he snorted. The eyes blinked at the light. Qainur held his sword out, and Torplug started to cast a spell, but the big bear didn’t charge. Instead, it cowered like an abused puppy and took a step backward.

  “What…?” Zhy wondered.

  “Back me up Torplug!” Qainur roared. He paid no attention to Zhy. He had suddenly charged the great beast. Torplug tried furiously to find a point of attack, but Qainur was too fast and was atop the great beast. To the surprise of everyone, the beast did not charge or make any attempt to swipe at the mercenary with its deadly claws. Instead, it slunk further backward, in a defensive stance. Torplug had no need to cast a spell as the great mercenary gashed the huge beast’s throat and stepped back. The bear looked up with stunned eyes, then slowly slunk to the floor as the life poured out of it.

  Torplug and Zhy stared at the corpse. Zhy was still not used to seeing things die—well, large things, in any case. He’d seen countless roosters, chickens, and goats slaughtered, but he still was not used to humans or large animals pouring their blood out into the heartless ground.

  Qainur, either through his
stubbornness or callousness, assessed the situation coldly and gruffly. “We now have dinner.”

  Torplug was staring at the beast as well, and he simply nodded his head slowly.

  “And how will we cook it?” Zhy asked, looking back at their meager pile of wood. Then he looked back at the corpse of the massive beast. His hackles rose suddenly, and he had to turn away and focus on the snow.

  Torplug and Qainur looked at each other. “Well…” Qainur began, “if…if…” A pause as he thought.

  The mage finished the thought. “If there are other beasts, and they are just as timid, I think we can search more of the cave for fire wood.”

  Zhy nodded, still looking into the snow. “I can—I can stay here,” he said quietly.

  Qainur grunted. “Then let’s go looking.”

  * * *

  The two returned after about fifteen minutes, and each held an armful of wood. “There’s more,” Qainur said, panting, as he dropped the pile unceremoniously near the existing pile. He and the small-man disappeared without a further word.

  Once they returned, Qainur began the gore-filled task of dressing the bear. There was a tremendous amount of meat that was produced. Zhy was amazed at the thick layer of fat between the skin and muscle. Qainur took over an hour to cut out a countless number of slabs of meat.

  “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 som
ehow 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.