by White, Gwynn
Maybe we’re already dead, I mused. Would we know if we’d died? If we’d been killed so suddenly that our minds just kept walking forward while our bodies lay mangled on the ground somewhere back a ways? I put my good hand on my shoulder and kept moving. Dead or not, the light at the end of the tunnel was a welcome shift from this all-consuming darkness.
“Come on,” I told Arwin, “lead the way.”
She took larger steps forward now, pulling my hand away from my shoulder to drag me behind her. Eventually, I too saw the pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel, and my heart sunk a little in my chest. It was still so far away, and the goosebumps on my arms told me that she was wrong, that we weren’t alone in this mine.
Before long, a putrid odor suddenly filled the air, and I held my trembling arm against my nose to block out the smell.
“What’s that stench?” I felt Arwin pull her hand away, and I knew she was doing the same thing I was, trying her best to cover her nose.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe something died down here.”
“Or maybe it’s the smell of something living…”
I turned my head in her general direction. “So now you believe in the monster?”
“Shut up,” Arwin said, her voice muffled. “Let’s just keep going, we’re almost th—”
Aeeeeeoooorrrrgggg!!!!
“What in the Depths is that?” Arwin swore.
“You know what it is,” I growled, and I searched desperately for the source of light that marked our salvation. The thing’s screech had done something to my equilibrium, though, and the mine shaft swirled around me as I stumbled and fell to my knees, my eyes shut tight against the pain. “Arwin? Arwin!”
Footsteps echoed off the walls, loud at first but becoming softer—she was running. She was leaving me.
“I’m sorry,” she called back. “But only one of us needs to die!”
Was that true? How quickly could the mine monster devour a grown man? What about a bony youth? I wasn’t sure I could even blame her; I didn’t know if I’d do anything differently in her position.
“Depths take her,” I swore, and spat a globule of phlegm and blood onto the ground. I turned my head this way and that until my forehead was more or less aligned with the sound of her footsteps, and then I opened my eyes. There was the light!
I took off at a sprint, my leather-clad feet smacking against the damp floor of rock and dirt as I ran toward the light. A gust of hot air pressed against my back, its warm breath saturating the air around me and making it even harder to move, as if my arms and legs were now furiously pumping through a neck-high pool of water.
Another horrible call—Aeeeeeooooooorrrrrgggggg!—accompanied the cloying presence, the sound coming from every auxiliary shaft, from all around me. Just keep running, I urged myself as the bright light at the end of the tunnel grew larger, brighter, closer.
Something hard and wet smacked me in the forehead, clobbering me unconscious.
6
Oh, Mal, drangr, I didn’t mean to do that!”
Who was speaking? Didn’t mean to do what?
Blinding pain accompanied every syllable of those thoughts—or it would have been blinding, if I weren’t already incapable of seeing. My senses slowly came back to me. A foot twitched, a hand curled. Pain was good. Pain meant I was still alive.
Slowly, I opened my eyes, and as expected it did me no good. Everything was still black, indistinct. I felt warm breath on my cheek, and I rolled away from it instinctively. The monster was back, right next to—
No, it was Arwin. My brain finally caught up enough to recognize her voice. “What happened?”
“I, uh…you hit a stalactite. Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m not all right!” I snapped. “Let’s just…let’s get out of here.”
Arwin’s hand landed on my good shoulder, and then hit my chest before veering sideways to pat down my arm. It took me a second to figure out what she was doing, but then I clasped her forearm and let her pull me to my feet.
“There, see? You’re already looking better,” she said.
I gave her a sightless stare through the dark. “You can’t even see me.”
A pregnant pause passed between us, and then she grabbed my arm again and pulled me—gently this time—in the direction of the exit. “It’s just another minute or so,” she said, a note of calm breaking through the usual edge in her voice.
Another long moment was filled with only the sound of our footsteps before another thought made its way to my lips. “I thought you’d left me for dead back there.”
“I don’t know you that well, and Beyland seemed to have it out for you back in Pointe, but drangr”—she accompanied the curse word with a low whistle—“we’re about to get out of this alive. I won’t be the one to deprive you of life just because I’m—” She cut off abruptly, and I sensed that she was looking away.
“Just because you’re…afraid?”
“Your words, not mine.”
The mouth of the cave was within view now, the one that led to the outside world on the opposite side of the mountain from Pointe. Vague features—scattered stones, a handful of stalagmites—were just barely visible through the haze of shadows between here and there. Arwin expertly led us around the obstacles on the ground, her feet moving much more surely than before. I stumbled alongside her, unable to see so well myself.
A tremor rippled through the earth as something big moved somewhere behind us.
“Run!” Arwin shouted.
She didn’t need to tell me twice. I stubbed a few toes and nearly stumbled face first to the ground once, but I threw myself headlong down the tunnel, following right behind her.
“Can you see what’s chasing us?” I yelled ahead.
Arwin spared me a glance over her shoulder. “What? Why?”
“You can see in the dark! Just tell me if it’s close, or if we’re going to make it.”
“Depths take you, it’s really close! Shut up and keep moving!”
My lungs burned, my legs screaming for air. Tunnel vision—literal tunnel vision—narrowed my sight until all I could see was the light of the outdoors. After so many hours cold and exhausted, all I wanted was to feel the sun on my skin. Morning awaited us just a dozen steps away.
And in the blink of an eye, we stumbled out of the darkness and into the light.
I gasped, breathing in the fresh air and relishing the taste of it on my tongue. Floral scents, morning dew, and, somewhere, the delicious aroma of bread being baked to be sold at market.
Arwin leaned against a nearby boulder as she recovered, her gasping breaths shuddering as the cool air reached her lungs.
I looked back at the mine shaft. “It isn't following us.”
“It never came out up top. Why would it down here?”
“Aversion to sunlight?”
Arwin shrugged. “Probably. Why does it matter? We're never going back there.”
“I don't know, I think it would be nice to—”
“To what?” She stared down at me with her hands on her hips. “Answorth was a fat, worthless pig and you know it.”
I didn't challenge her on her other, unspoken reason for not wanting to return. She didn't have anybody she could consider family. As terrible as Answorth had been, he'd given me food and lodging when everyone else had only seen me as the cursed boy whose family had perished in a freak fire.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“We? I'm following the smell of food and going to Mitbas. I might've gotten pinched for stealing in Pointe, but Mitbas is supposed to be twice as big. If anyone sees me, I'll get lost in the crowd.” Arwin gave me a long look up and down. “You, on the other hand...you'll just slow me down.”
“Hey!”
“What? It's true. You're cold, wet, hungry, and don't have a single drachma to your name. Just because we Walked together and lived doesn't mean we have to be bound at the hip.”
“I know, I know. I jus
t thought that maybe we'd...” I shrugged. “I don't know, that maybe we'd travel together. We don't have anybody else, and I'm definitely the more charismatic one between the two of us.”
Arwin stood completely upright and glared at me. Beneath its veil of hair, the wedge of scarred skin by her right eye gleamed in the morning light. “Don't ever talk to me again,” she spat. “Don't follow me, and don't try to find me later. We completed the Walk; that's all we'll ever share.”
With that, she turned away and half marched, half jogged in the direction of Mitbas.
“Wait!” I called out, but she didn't glance back.
I hadn't meant to call attention to her scar; truthfully, I hadn't even been thinking of it when I'd declared myself to be more charismatic. But maybe criticizing her quick anger and hostile personality wouldn't have been the best plan, either.
“Depths take me, I'm an idiot.”
When the sun was a little higher in the sky, I rose, brushed the dust and dirt and sweat and blood off the torn remains of my clothing, and trudged toward Mitbas. I wasn't following Arwin; it was simply the closest bit of civilization, and I was starving. The scent of bread in the air was soon joined by that of seared meats, and I forced my legs to move faster even as my wounded shoulder and the back of my head pulsed with pain.
The dirt road remained a dirt road, but its borders slowly became more defined, and I saw fresh marks in the dew-covered dirt where Arwin must have walked before me. Once I crested the next hill, the town of Mitbas came into view.
Thatched roofs covered tall, sturdy homes of stone and timber, and I saw smoke rising from a number of buildings toward the center of town. That was where the food was located. I looked down at my soiled clothes and battered body and wondered how I was going to get within ten feet of any food. People would mistake me for a beggar the instant they saw me.
But that's what I am now, isn't it? A beggar, a vagrant. I felt eyes on me, and when I glimpsed toward the windows of the buildings I passed, flashes of color darted out of view. I could only hope they were the curious eyes of small children. Small children would be far less likely to call the guards on me.
Townsfolk were already on the streets, hawking homemade wares or trawling the small market square for food or supplies or petty luxuries.
My gaze was locked on the market stall that I was sure belonged to the baker. It was a wide stall with a red silk canopy overhead to trap the aromas of fresh-baked goods and also protect them from rain. There were no storm clouds in the sky today, though; today, the canopy served only to inflame my hunger.
The baker's stall was backed up against another stone building, and this one had a small metal door in the side, a hinged square no wider than my forearm, behind which I saw the reddish-orange coals of a low fire. It was a two-way oven, I realized, one that could be accessed both inside and outside the house.
I watched with hungry eyes as the baker, a thick man with discolored fingers, retrieved a long loaf of sourdough bread from the confines of the oven. It steamed gently as he carried it on a long spatula from the oven to a plain platter on the wooden shelf at the front of his stall. A deep rumble growled in my empty stomach, and I wiped saliva away from the corner of my mouth.
“I would kill for that loaf of bread,” I muttered under my breath, and then I stopped short, shivering at the thought. Would I really?
Pain raked my insides as I thought of when I had last had something to eat—more than a whole day had passed, at least. I'd entered the Grimwood to hunt for food, and my life had been a downward spiral ever since. In one day, I'd lost my home, my people, my life. Now here I was, shivering despite the sunlight, contemplating what I would or would not do for a taste of bread.
The scent of sourdough hit my nostrils again, and all those doubting thoughts vanished. I was hungry. This man could spare a loaf of bread. It was his duty, really, to provide to those in need. The spirits would look favorably upon him, even.
I couldn't approach looking like this, though; even now, more people were exiting their homes, and soon it would be impossible for me to hide.
A guard was walking my way, and I panicked. He was going to apprehend me, keep me from disturbing the peace, keep me from getting my bread. But even as I shrunk into the shadows between two buildings, making myself as small as possible, the sound of his boots never faltered; his leather-clad form came into view for a moment as he passed my line of sight from the dark alleyway, and then disappeared just as quickly as he kept walking. I breathed out a sigh of relief, but then another thought struck me and I threw myself from the shadows back into the light. I chased after the guard and said, “Excuse me, sir,” and reached out to grab his tunic.
The sandy-haired guard turned to face me, and my hand stopped short of actually touching the red-and-gold fabric of his uniform. “I don't have any coin for you,” he said.
He made to move again, and this time I did grab at him. “No, that's not what I—”
“Unhand me and back away,” the guard said immediately, his hand dropping to the pommel of his sword. It remained sheathed, and he didn't even reach for the grip; it was just the faintest of warnings.
I did as he commanded. “Please, I just wanted to know where the well was located.”
“I don't have time for this.”
“Too busy walking the empty streets, are you?” The words flew from my mouth before I could stop them, and I flinched as the guard turned to face me fully.
“What did you say, you little shint?”
“Please, I'm just so tired and thirsty from making the Walk. I need something to drink, and to wash these wounds.”
“Now I know you're lying,” the guard said. “Nobody makes the Walk and lives.”
“We did!” I protested. “The commander of the Brigade there is named Beyland. The magistrate is—”
The guard shook his head. “There is no Brigade outpost in Pointe. There hasn't been one there in years, not since the accident.”
That wasn't possible. Beyland and his men had been appointed by the Empire to protect the citizens of Pointe and to serve as the peacekeeping arm of the Qati Empire. I'd grown up with this knowledge, told to me by...by Beyland himself.
But if they weren't representing the interests of the Empire, then who were they? And how had they gotten themselves installed as Pointe's de facto law enforcers?
“Whatever, I don't have time to deal with crazy,” the guard continued. He lifted a gloved hand and pointed a finger back past the market. “Well's that way. Clean up and get yourself treated.” He pointed in a different direction. “There's a retired war doctor down that road, and an herbalist just beyond that.”
I nodded and backed away. “Thank you very much.”
As I started to run toward the well, I heard him call, “And don't let me catch you sniffing around where you don't belong!”
* * *
The well was a low stone circle in the middle of an open courtyard. It had been torture to walk past the baker's stall again without being able to make a grab for the bread, but I had to be clean to get close, and I wasn't sure now if the guard would send someone to watch what I was doing—or maybe he would follow me himself to make sure I stayed out of trouble.
When I arrived at the well, an elderly woman was working the crank to lower the wooden bucket attached to a rope down to the dark pool below. Her wrinkled hands worked in a jerking, uncertain rhythm, and she had to put her whole weight into it to turn the crank half a rotation.
“Here, can I help with that?” I asked.
She didn't respond, so I repeated the question a little louder and moved into her line of sight. Her rheumy eyes passed over me, barely pausing at the messy patchwork of blood-soaked fabric at my shoulder, and she smiled a crooked grin that revealed several rotted and missing teeth.
“Thank you, young man,” she crooned, moving back one slow step at a time to let me grab hold of the hand crank. “Such a nice boy.”
I thought it strange that she did
n't seem to care about the wound on my shoulder, or the fact that I stunk like something that had crawled its way back from the Depths. She just smiled that cheerful, gaping grin as I cranked and cranked, the handle squeaking in protest at my labored movements. The bucket rose rapidly, but smacked against the sides of the well on the way up, its wooden exterior making dull thunk sounds as it collided with stone, closely followed by the sloshing of spilled water finding its way over the rim. Through it all, her smile didn’t falter for a second.
Finally, it reached the top, and I pulled the bucket close so that I could pour the water out into the woman’s pail. It was smaller than the well’s bucket, and it was full before I had finished pouring out all the collected water.
“Keep the rest for yourself,” she said kindly, patting me on my good shoulder. “Gods know you could use a bath.” And then with no effort at all—no hesitation, not even a quiver in the arms—she grasped the thin handle of her metal pail and lifted it to waist height and was on her way without a further word.
I looked down at what was left in the well bucket—it was enough for a long draft to quench my thirst, but certainly not sufficient for bathing. I eyed the well again, and my wounded shoulder twinged at the thought of hauling up another full bucket. Why had I offered to help the old crone? She certainly hadn’t needed the help, it seemed, and she’d said I reeked even after I’d helped her. And now I wouldn’t be able to bathe.
“Hey, you! Stop!”
I dropped the bucket and wheeled around, my legs tensed and ready to run, and I saw the guard from earlier. But he wasn’t looking my way—he was turned toward the baker’s stall, pointing with one arm extended toward whoever he was shouting to.
“Stop!”
The guard shot off at a dead sprint, and I caught a whirl of long hair disappearing around the corner. I almost turned back to the well, but then my eyes fell on an empty spot on the baker’s front counter—my sourdough loaf was missing!
I started running as well, in the direction of the guard and the bread thief. There was no way I’d let them get away with my prize. I needed it to survive—there was no room for compassion now.