The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) (35 page)

I’m not sure you did...

I continued as if he had not spoken. “And if you had any opportunity to read my thoughts, which I’m sure you tried, you’d have seen the façade wobble as I stared at Ar’Zoth. He spoke to me, you know, for just a brief moment. When he dropped Zhy...he said, ‘Welcome. I have been expecting you most of all,’ but I never gave him the chance to say or do anything else. He was unstable. Thanks to that poisoned sword, he was dead before he knew what had happened.”

But, how…? Your thoughts
were
simple and…how did you do it?

“Forget it, Lyn. It’s beyond your comprehension. I killed Ar’Zoth and I killed Zhy, by not killing Ar’Zoth first. By simply waiting. Now Zhy can at last go to you…his soul is still trapped down there, but I will release it shortly. But only after we’ve had our little chat. I suppose you want to know what happened and how I did it. And, truthfully, I am tired of acting like the village idiot and am very thankful to have had ‘help’ from Ar’Zoth.”

But…my son.

“Stop with the ‘my son’ prattle. You’ll get him back soon.”

Silence.

I sat in an over-stuffed chair that faced the fireplace. Turning, I glanced longingly out the window at the snowy landscape and finally turned back to face the fire. Anyone would have thought me truly mad, staring at the fire, talking to myself. Alas, as much as I wanted Zhy’s Fa to be gone, I relished our last moments together. Soon I would be truly alone. But I would not regret this.

“Take a seat, Lyn, this will take some time.” I could picture the man sitting at his rickety kitchen table and gently folding his hands. In my mind’s eye, I saw confusion, pain, sadness, fear, doubt, and every other possible emotion flickering across his face.

I began my tale…Lyn interrupted respectfully from time to time, but mostly I talked. In a normal voice. What a relief to talk like an adult. A smart, sophisticated adult. No longer the simple man-child, Bimb. I nearly wet myself I was so utterly relieved to be free.

“I was born simple-minded. Some said that my mother drank too much before she realized she was with child. I believed them. That was probably why she cried so much—she spent a lifetime blaming herself for my condition, and half of another drowning out her pain and her guilt; I surely blamed her for it, although the old Bimb only smiled at her and wondered why she was so sad. Fa never mentioned the reason for my condition, but even a simple-minded kid will wonder if they are responsible for their parents’ pain. And wonder I did. I had caused them both so much pain.

“Around my sixteenth birthday—oh, seven years ago?—I heard a voice in the spaces between the notes. It wasn’t your voice, but the rough and gruff voice of a very skilled warlock. Yes, I would find out later it belonged to Ar’Zoth. There had been many voices between the notes—each time I picked up the sutan, there were many. All asking for this…begging for that…can you tell my daughter this? I would talk sometimes, help them when I could. Until Ar’Zoth showed up.

“He promised he could remove my “disease” as he called it—but for a price. I would have to join him when the time was right. Until then, I would have to play the role and continue on as my old self. I had no reason not to do as he asked, especially after he showed me what one of his demonic bats could do to my face if I refused.  That was enough for me.

“While boys my age were growing, drinking, and flirting with tavern waitresses, I was playing in the fields and letting Fa muss my hair. Thinking about it made me cringe—such humiliation and degradation; an enormous amount of self-deprecation that I had to endure, yet it was all for such an immense reward. And, yes, I really did love my Fa. And I still do. But more on that later.

“I was shown a vision of this castle. It was everything I had ever dreamed of—a giant manse, all to myself. Stone walls and parapets overlooking an endless range of craggy spires, snow-capped peaks and deep valleys filled with giant pine and balsam. Isolation. No more crying mothers or teasing boys. An end to mindless tinkering in the fields and remembering endless litanies of numbers and phrases. (Although I’m glad I was good with the numbers to enter the Tunnels of Woe.)

“Ar’Zoth had promised he would transfer much of his knowledge to me as the years went by, leaving him to vacate this place for a warm beach in the south. I could almost smell the lie a thousand miles away; he was going mad and he needed someone else to take over before he lost all control and missed the fruits of his labor. But he was missing them anyway, wasn’t he?” I chuckled. “That is the trouble, isn’t it? Even for you.”

Me?

“Yes. You saw a simple-minded man. You assumed things. Ar’Zoth was no different—he saw Bimb and, in him, a perfect target. A piece of clay, a blank slate…pick your cliché. Fill my head with magic and whatnot, step away from the demonic horde that was driving him mad, and unleash hell! In your own way, you saw me like that—after all, you convinced me to follow, to track Zhy; whoever or whatever set Zhy in motion coincided perfectly with both Ar’Zoth’s plans, and yours.”

There was a long pause.
I had been trying to reach my son, just to say goodbye, but he heard nothing, of course. When he started on the journey, I could see he was in trouble…and he passed right by your farm, of course not noticing it, but it was…it was coincidence.

“You sound so convincing,” I muttered. “Such a coincidence happened to come along for Ar’Zoth as well. I think he arranged the incident at the Temple, with the demon, in order to send the Protector to our house. I know you weren’t in league with him because he mentioned that your presence was a far better help than what he planned—he was going to have me ski northward and follow above ground.” I shuddered.
I would not have survived that.

“But where were we? Oh, on the dead...”

Please, Bimb, I—

“I had often talked with the departed before Ar’Zoth fixed me. Finding them between the notes was an ethereal experience I cherished at first. But it became a burden after a time, and as much as I loved playing the sutan, I had to turn many away or quickly talk them on to their next place. Wherever that was. Some were afraid to go, but a swift reminder that they would be at peace sent them going—the simple-minded voice of Bimb calmed many fears. But you…you hung on.”

I paused and finally went to the kitchen to refill a teapot, then set it on the hook over the hearth. Tea would be a wonderful respite from the chill of traversing so far over the land to get here. I loved the country, do not doubt, but it was damned cold!

You don’t drink wine?

“I?” I paused, pouring the steaming tea into a large mug. “Why no, I didn’t want to become like…” I let the words die out. In my mind, I could see him turn crimson and hear his teeth grind.

I continued the tale.

“The hardest part was really keeping you inside my head.”

I don’t follow.

I heaved a sigh. “You started visiting me between the notes when I was a simpler person. When Ar’Zoth had my condition “fixed,” I worried that if you found out that I was no longer the Bimb you first met, you would vanish. All the other voices had.”

Why would you think that?

“I don’t know, I just—it’s something you mentioned before that I constantly dwelled upon. You had said that it was easier to visit me than other people, because my ‘gift’ was an opening you otherwise could not find.”

Some people here claim to talk to the living, just like in the world of the living they claim to talk to the dead. I never believed them…I thought it was only ones like you who had the gift—that those with simpler minds were easier to reach. What a fool I’ve been.

He was more than a fool, but I kept on. I was surely not the only one who could be reached by the dead. “In any case, Ar’Zoth did a marvelous job of blocking my thoughts and my skills. I’m not sure anyone outside of Ugly Nose could have seen them, but he never moved a hair to do anything. Perhaps he was scared of me as much as I was of him. Coward. Anyway…you were good about leaving me alone when I asked and not intruding. I am thankful for that.”

I think he grunted.
I wish I had left you long ago.

“You’ll see your son soon enough. Why can’t you be happy about that?”

He is dead, how can I be happy?

“I have come all of these countless miles for you. Through the mysterious Tunnels of Woe! Across an inhospitable landscape and through the very Spires of Solitude. All for you and your son.”

You did none of that for me. If it hadn’t have been for the demon warlock, you would have never come this far. I see that now.

So much for the omniscience of the dead! “You simple man. You simple, simple man. It is not like that at all. Nothing is ever so clean and easy—and there is never a simple solution to any problem. Knots, man! Don’t all the Holy Orders talk of knots and the complexities of life? And here you thought I was only serving you and your needs.”

I—

“When, in fact, I was acting for multiple reasons. One was for me—I give you that. Yet I was also working with you to save your son.”

Save him! You killed him!

“And in so doing I saved him. Didn’t I? He will now be with you forever. Why can’t you understand that? You should be happy!”

That is the second time you have said that. Are you truly cured of your illness?

“What do you mean?”

You keep focusing on one thing, that I should be happy. You seem to miss the obvious fact that my son had an entire life ahead of him.

I sipped some tea. “Well, so did you. And how did that work out?”

It was quite the surreal experience to “hear” a dead person yelling as they violently defended taking their own life.

I had no life left! Do you not understand? My wife had been dead for years, and once I got the disease, it was all but over. It was in my
bones
, for Sacuan’s sake! I was being eaten from the inside out! The blasted magic and powders and so-called prayers—none of it worked. None! There was no way out!

I let him have his say, then sighed. “I still do not understand why you cannot be happy. In any case—” I waved off his brewing protest. “I tire of this. There is much to do and little time. I am going to release Zhy to you, and I am releasing you forever. Don’t ever visit me in the spaces between the notes. Ever.”

Good riddance.

I’m not sure what I did or how I did it. Ar’Zoth had taught me much of magic, but the actual practice was difficult.
How could I ever cast a single spell?
I wondered. It was easy to take a deep breath and release the two souls, but how would I ever be able to do what the great warlock had done? He had taught me, but now it seemed so out of reach. Perhaps I didn’t do anything at all!

Then I thought of the moose and the flash of light. I had tried to do something, to grasp at something I thought I had seen. Once I’d seen the animal elude the trap, I had pulled what looked like threads, but I had no idea what they were. The flash was probably magic, but it was nothing I was directly trying to accomplish. I think Lyn had seen it, too, but the last thing he had expected of me was an ability to harness magic.

As I thought wearily back on the travelers, I felt the souls of Qainur and Torplug. I
felt
them, writhing in their own self-pity, wanting to be released. Soon they would be, wouldn’t they? I wasn’t sure how it worked. When I looked at Zhy, his soul seemed to shimmer and waver, if in fact, that is what it was. It was more of a memory than something tangible. I would never understand all of this. But Zhy and his father vanished.

It felt like my chest collapsed as I breathed deeply.
Gone!
They were gone. Gone from my mind forever. My mind returned to the Bimb of old for a brief second, and I thought of the sutans Ar’Zoth had promised. But a part of me worried that Lyn would return and bring Zhy with him. Later, when things had settled, I would play.

Right now, there was much to do. And I was exhausted. I started to pour another cup of tea, then set the kettle and cup on a side table. I didn’t like leaving half-full cups of tea, but it was hard enough to even raise the cup to my lips, let alone find energy to drink it. I needed to rest.

On the other side of the hearth was a long divan, plush with velvet cushions. I kicked off my wet boots and collapsed on the sofa with a groan. The sheer distance I had traveled seemed to slam into me full force.

I was thankful for whatever magic was in the Tunnels that allowed us to go on foot for so long. But the trek across the wasteland was brutal, and the climb through the Spires took every last ounce of stamina and willpower. It would have been easy to lay down and die. It was too bad we could not take the other easier route that Lyn had mentioned, but alas, I had to go along with his plan. Such cold I had never experienced, and I truly thought I would expire along the way. To sit alone before a roaring hearth in such a massive castle, in such a wasteland—it was truly sublime. Rest, I needed rest. There was much to do.

One needed energy to unleash a demonic horde.

Chapter 32 — Dawn at Dusk