The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) (17 page)

“But…cannibals?” Qainur quietly muttered, his eyes glazed and on the fire. Whatever counted for gears turned slowly in his head.

The small-man shrugged. “I suppose some might be. It is very harsh on the Icedown Plains. There’s little food, a short growing season—if you can get anything to grow. But they fuck like rabbits and, well, we constantly fight them.” He never quite made it clear whether fighting them was for a purpose or a means of keeping them away from the rest of Welcfer. “Like any story, Zhy, there is truth and fiction.” He yawned. “Like any story. I’m sure the Temple is attacked from time to time, but we’re still here, so it must be holding.”

“If you believe any of that,” Zhy said sternly.

Qainur fingered his trinket then set it on an end table. He stared at it longingly. “Well, I saw the demon as much as you Zhy. I don’t know why you still don’t believe.”

“What exactly is there to believe?” he nearly snarled out of frustration. “I don’t doubt demons, I doubt that the Temple is the place that protects us all. How is that even possible?”
You are assuming that really was a demon
, he thought to himself.
But by Sacuan, that was no normal bird!
“You say there are demons beneath the earth that want to come out. Why would the Temple be the only place to hold them?”

“It’s on some sort of pillar or focal point,” Torplug responded.

“And how would anyone know this?” Zhy asked, shifting his gaze to the small-man, who shrugged.

“It’s complicated.”

Zhy let out a sigh. “I’m tired of hearing that. I’m tired of complicated! I wanted a simple adventure—that is what I was promised!”

“You were promised nothing,” Qainur replied quietly, but his voice had an edge. “I offered you adventure and you got it!”

“Well…” he started, then his face suddenly split into a giant yawn. “You’re right. I am tired. But I am still worried—what was truth and what was lie?”

“From the old man, you mean?” Torplug asked.

“Aye, and I’d like to know too,” the mercenary replied for Zhy.

“The Temple guards from demons, we think. Moose and caribou are most likely not demons up there—I’m sure they find some food. Where you plan to go, there are no savages—it is too far from Icedown, and a small mountain range sits between. That’s all I can say I guess.”

“And, Ar’Zoth,” Qainur muttered. “Is he evil?”

“You were warned about warlocks, Qainur. And you wanted to continue. There are too many rumors and half-truths about them, and about him, that you can’t know until you get there. Correct?”

The bulky man shrugged his shoulders and gazed idly into the fire. Then he pulled out the yellowed note from the University at Vronga, sneered at it and then put it carefully back into his jerkin. Zhy thought he would toss it in the fire. “Aye. Aye!” He repeated. With a creak of joints and leather, he stood and extinguished the lamp by his bed, then started to undress.

Torplug and Zhy yawned simultaneously and followed suit.

Zhy thought he heard father speak again, quietly
. None of what the old man said is true. There probably is no seith. Or at least a very powerless one. Ride on. Enjoy the adventure. For once, let go of your doubts and questions…ride! The land is beautiful and worth exploring. Great trees and snow and mountains…what else could be better?

He grumbled, turning down his own sheets. Qainur did the same, apparently closing the conversation. “Fine,” he muttered. Indeed, what could be better?

“Ale,” he whispered to the dark. But then an image flashed through his mind—it was an image of an impossibly-drunk Zhy, retching horridly onto a pile of cow manure. He was so inebriated he had no idea where he was. After purging several gallons of cheap and moldy ale bought from a dilapidated inn, he rolled back flat in the field, oblivious to the flies and maggots that slithered about him.

He shivered and then shrugged.
I will continue.

An owl hooted twice outside their window then the night swallowed his consciousness.

Chapter 14 — Demons Among Us

He who is a thread without knots is one of two things: Pure Good or Pure Evil. Only infant children are Pure Good. The infant starts with a pure rope, which eventually twists into knots. A demon’s knot is merely a rope that has been completely undone and is pure Dark. There are demons among us.

Prophet Haran, IV Age

“I
s that a fire?” Qainur asked suddenly.

Torplug and Zhy looked up and saw the mercenary pointing to a bright section of light on the eastern side of the road, about three hundred paces ahead. Each man stared, trying to figure out what they were looking at. Torplug finally spoke. “No, that’s most likely a clearing. It’s so dark here that we’ve grown used to the gloom.” Qainur nodded. They proceeded slowly, but it was obvious that there was a large clearing in the forest.

Among the thick cover of balsams, the clearing seemed out of place. A long rectangular area was completely devoid of any trees and was instead covered with low-lying grass, only a few inches high. The grass seemed out of place, given its deep green color and its lushness—it looked as if it had been matted down by a large creature, yet no creature was this large.

“This is very odd,” Torplug mused, as he stopped his horse and dismounted. He walked over to the field and inspected it. “Green. Like spring. That isn’t right—there has been snow up here already. And look! All pressed down, like a giant deer or bear had rested here.”

“How many deer or bear are shaped like boxes?” Zhy responded as he too dismounted.

Torplug only shook his head. Qainur had now dismounted and started walking out in the field. He paid no heed to the strangeness of the grass but seemed transfixed by something far off in the distance.

“Well, it is of no consequence to us,” Zhy stated. “We should probably ride—Qainur, what are you doing?”

The mercenary didn’t hear him, but was walking very slowly eastward, deeper into the large green field.

“Qainur!”

No response.

“Qainur!” Torplug belted, his voice suddenly louder.

At last the mercenary turned dumbly around and looked at his friends. He said nothing, but turned back and kept walking. He slowly raised his hand and extended his pointer finger lazily. Still, he was silent.

Zhy and Torplug followed his direction.

Zhy groaned.

At the very far reaches of the field, nestled between stoic birches and an ancient balsam, was a structure made of stone. It was constructed using medium-sized boulders, possibly from this very field, Zhy mused. The building was small and square, and its steeply pitched roof, full of holes and divots, looked ready to completely collapse. Moss grew rampant in the grout holding the stones together. The combination of faded stone and bright moss gave the place an eerie and haunting look, and to Zhy it resembled an evil hermit’s lair—right out of the stories he read as a child.

But the only thing that kept him from associating evil with the place was the fact that this structure exactly mirrored the miniature temple Qainur had purchased.

Instead, his cynicism triumphed, even though he swore he heard his father’s voice shouting in his head. But the voice was dull and muted, as if something were barring the barrier between this world and the next. “So I think we found the real template for that temple of yours, Qainur.”  He chuckled, but the laugh fell flat in the cold air of the clearing.

Qainur did not hear him, but kept creeping toward the structure.

“I don’t think so,” Torplug answered for him. “I’ve seen replicas of temples like this. True, it resembles the Temple of M’Hzrut. Or what we know of it. But…well, maybe you are right.” He shrugged. “I don’t know at all anymore. I have never seen a temple built like this in Belden.”

“Nor I,” Zhy agreed.

Qainur had stopped but feet before the overgrown path which led up the crumbling stone steps to the unimposing door. He stared blankly for a minute. Then he seemed to come to his senses as he stared at the gaping black hole that was the entrance. No doubt other adventurers, probably much younger, had long ago removed the door and explored the abandoned temple. Was it a temple?

“Is this a temple?” Zhy asked. “I know it looks like one, but ...”

“Oh, it is,” Torplug replied. “See the rod at the peak of the roof? A Holy symbol was there at one point—now long gone. There is something very strange about a temple here. And about this field. Where is a town around here?” he asked, looking around.

Zhy looked back at the road, only hundred paces away.
We should ride out of here.

Qainur started forward, but Torplug bounded forward and pulled at his leggings. “Stop! Stop and think!”

The warrior seemed to emerge from his trance. Then he shook his head and looked at Torplug. “Why? This. This temple…it is so much like my little one. Could this really be the Temple?” He kept inching forward

“Of course not! It only looks like it. It cannot be the true Temple, and you know that!” the mage barked. He glanced furtively at the temple again, then at Qainur. “Stop, please!” he pleaded.

Zhy was starting to get nervous. The bright sunlight that bathed them earlier was being slowly replaced by thin high clouds. A gloom was settling over the clearing and the temple. He could not shake the feeling that someone or something was watching them. “I think we should get back on our horses and find a place before dark.”

“There is still daylight left,” Qainur replied, returning his gaze to the temple. He finally stopped, and the small-man heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’m…I’m not very comfortable being here,” Zhy said quietly.

Torplug sensed his unease. “I am not either, Qainur. This place is wrong. What matted down all of the grass? Why is it still green? What is a temple like this doing out here, with no towns around?”

Qainur finally seemed to see a grain of reasoning here. He looked around and frowned. There were at least a few warrior instincts in the young man, and he muttered something.

“What was that?” Zhy asked.

“You are right. Why is the grass green?”

Torplug’s glance bounced around, down to the grass, up to the trees with still-green leaves, then back to the grass. He looked afar—back to the road. It was very unsettling to see the bright orange and yellow colors of birches contradicting with the spring-green lushness of the field. His glance slowly went back to the grass, and then he looked up sharply, his strangely-large eyes suddenly much larger.

The small-man gasped. “Oh no! Oh no! That is right…” His horrified glance locked on the temple. He started to back slowly away. A disgusted look plastered his face.

“What?”

“A reversal! A
reversal!
”

“Excuse me?” the mercenary wondered dumbly.

“A what?” Zhy frowned.

“The temple looks like the real temple. Only it is in a place with no people,” he muttered, still walking slowly backwards. His eyes remained locked on the temple. “The grass is green now. But it will be dead and brown in the summer. Don’t you see?”

“I don’t follow,” Zhy asked, his thumb nervously working at his earlobe.

“There is good and evil. Good and evil. Demons, boys, demons! We must leave. Leave now!”

“What?” barked Zhy.

“A Reversal! A re—”

“For Sacuan’s massive balls’ sake!” Qainur barked, finally tearing his gaze away from the temple. “What?”

“Didn’t I already tell you this?” the small-man snapped. “A reversal! Where night is day and light is dark and winter is summer!”

“Why’s it still light here?” the mercenary snapped. He looked at Torplug with contempt.

“I—I don’t know. Maybe the demon wants it light. It’s darker in the forest…” the mage trailed off. Again, he looked at the road as if it was hundreds of miles away and he had to traverse a field of thick mud to get to it.

“And why is it so close to the main road?” Zhy wondered. He looked back to the road, but somehow it seemed much farther away than it had previously. Between the road and the clearing was a wide field of dead grass and juniper bushes. He did not remember crossing that path of earth before.

“It…” Torplug trailed off. “I think it moved,” he whispered.

“Wait! You said...demons?” Zhy breathed. Qainur was staring, dumbly, at the bright green grass.

“I did...what else could cause this?”

Zhy sucked in the warm air. Warm air. Too warm to match the cold forest they were traversing. Sunlight reflected off Qainur’s sword, but it seemed dull and faded, as if it were artificial. Zhy shivered even with the warmth and felt as if a thick blanket were slowly descending over him; a blanket of something sticky and cloying. Torplug stared at him, his eyes wide, and he dry-washed his oversized hands. “This...”

Gazes turned to the temple and the oppressing sensation intensified. Zhy could see shapes and shadows dancing along the crumbling walls and in the black voids that were windows—all in his imagination, the thought, but there could indeed be demons inside.

“Qainur, snap out of it. We need to leave. Now.” Torplug started to turn. Zhy took a step backward.