The Hickory Staff e-1

by Rob Scott

  Soon they were forced to kneel. ‘Turn us around, Steven,’ Mark commanded. ‘This is getting too tight.’ The passageway closed further, and the raft bumped between stone walls as it pressed ever forward.

  ‘All right,’ Steven agreed. ‘I hoped we might find something, but you’re right. We should go back.’ He was reaching for the staff when his eye caught the faint glimmer of something up ahead. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Where?’ Garec was down onto all fours now, trying to avoid striking his head on the granite ceiling. Mark and Brynne soon joined him.

  ‘There, out beyond the stafflight. Something flickered, like another light.’

  ‘Steven,’ Mark interrupted, ‘we’re running out of room here.’

  Steven was about to lie flat on the Capina Fair’ s deck when he heard Garec shout, ‘Ah, demonpiss!’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The ceiling, Steven, I hit my head on the ceiling-’ Garec shut up as the stafflight suddenly went out and they were plunged into a cruel and forbidding darkness, depthless, blacker than any of them could have imagined. The space ahead had grown too narrow for Steven’s fireball and it had extinguished itself in the river.

  Mark lay flat on his back, holding out his hands. An especially low section of ceiling scraped across his forehead and he felt a warm trickle of blood run down his temple. He tried to push against the rock, an impossible bench press, to force the raft down into the water and make room for his body to pass beneath the granite just scant inches above his face. Terrified, he held his breath and waited for Steven to summon the staff’s magic and carry them back upstream.

  A mantra ran through his mind: What if it didn’t work? It had failed that day on the riverbed; what if that happened again? Why was Steven hesitating – was he trying to summon the magic now, and was it ignoring him? He had agreed to take them back to the cavern mouth, but he hadn’t said a word since, and still they were inching their way forward. Where was he? Mark could hear the river rushing by beneath them; he wondered why the current was suddenly moving so quickly. ‘Steven,’ he cried, a muffled plea, ‘are you still there?’

  Get overboard. That was Mark’s only option. He had to get overboard and maybe find a hand or foothold in the wall so he could stop the raft’s progress long enough for the others to roll off into the water as well. Push and slide. That’s it. Push and slide. One leg down. Push and slide. Both legs.

  Mark relaxed the pressure he had been putting against the ceiling with his arms for a moment to adjust his grip, and in that instant, the Capina Fair buoyed upward forcing the granite down on his chest. Get a breath in. Get a breath in, shit. He tried to roll to one side, to inch one hand, one finger up between his chest and the rock ceiling, but he couldn’t. Desperate, he tried to push with his forehead. Not much, I don’t need much, just enough to get a breath in. Breathe. Get a breath in.

  Behind him he heard Brynne scream; beside him he could feel Garec kicking violently to free himself from the bone-crushing pressure.

  Suddenly everything erupted in a blinding flash. Water splashed over the sides of the Capina Fair, and Mark felt his lungs fill with welcome air. His hands free, he reached upwards for the granite ceiling, but found nothing there. He tried to roll, expecting the stone to hold his shoulders down, but a moment later he tumbled from the deck into the frigid water.

  The cold cleared his head and as he kicked towards the surface, he saw light once again, a bright light that sliced through the darkness.

  Mark broke the surface of the water in a rage. ‘Steven, you stupid sonofabitch! What in the seven shades of Hell were you waiting for?’ His voice echoed back in huge, swollen waves, the inane mimicry of an irritating lesser god. Stunned silent by the din, Mark took in their surroundings. The Capina Fair, now about twenty yards ahead of him, drifted on an underground lake. Garec and Steven stood staring into the distance while Brynne reached out to him with one of the poles. He swam towards the raft. Behind them, he could see the impossibly narrow opening through which Steven had forced the raft only seconds before. There would be no going back that way. The river pushed through a hairline crack in the granite wall with tremendous force, and Mark marvelled at how they had managed to get through without losing their packs or supplies – or one another – in the narrow passage.

  In the air above the raft hovered an enormous ball of fire – no, as Mark peered upwards at it, he realised that it was somehow more than fire. It was blinding, a brighter, more intense flame, like something that might have come from a chemistry set, or maybe a magic stick.

  Around them, the lake stretched out to fill the gigantic cavern. Mark could still hear his voice, booming back from what felt like miles away: Sonofabitch… Sonofabitch… Sonofabitch…

  High above, the granite ceiling had retreated to its original position. It looked different now, flecked with iridescent minerals; odd colours sparkling in the magical light. Getting chilly now the fear had worn off, Mark drew his lungs full of air and dropped beneath the surface, allowing the cold to sink in and further clear his mind.

  He felt better. They were still alive. Steven’s fire could ensure they were warm and dry, and after a good night’s sleep, they could put their minds to finding a way out.

  When Mark resurfaced, he caught sight of Brynne, who was still holding the wooden pole out to him and staring grimly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, more quietly this time.

  She pointed towards the shoreline, and the grotesque discovery that had his friends silenced.

  Bones. Thousands – no, millions of bones. Human bones: skulls, femurs, ribs, some still held together in partial cage shapes by strands of rotten cartilage, radii, jawbones, and an apparently endless array of tiny hand and foot bones scattered about: a charnel-house to rival the largest mass grave ever by ten thousand times.

  ‘Good Christ,’ he whispered.

  ‘Mark,’ Steven called, ‘you’d better get up here.’

  The shoreline sloped gradually down to the water; as far as Mark could see the angle and depth remained the same in any direction. The only break in the shore was the forbidding edifice that rose up behind them, a huge granite monolith. Mark wondered if that wall was devoid of a shoreline because the river that burst from it had washed the shore away eons ago. Instead of sand, the shore was made up of small round pebbles mixed with the ubiquitous bone fragments; the way the light glinted from the stones made it look as if they were diamonds. Mark dreaded the moment when he would have to step ashore, for there would be no way to avoid feeling the bones crunch and shatter underfoot.

  He pulled himself up onto the deck and stood beside Steven. Clapping his friend on the back, he said, ‘What a lovely place you have here. How are you getting along with the neighbours?’

  ‘Mark, be serious,’ Brynne scolded.

  ‘Serious? I’m not the one who wanted to go into the cavern in the first place, let me remind you.’

  Steven shushed him. ‘Listen, I really did see something.’

  ‘Something?’

  ‘A light. It flickered for a moment, and then it went out. There’s someone down here.’

  Mark stared at him incredulously. ‘Someone down here? Have you not noticed that the entire population of Uruguay appears to have their bones stacked against that wall? Of course there’s someone down here, but I’m not certain he’s setting out a warm welcome and a nice dinner for us right now.’

  Steven ignored him. ‘What do you suppose it was? A plague? A war?’

  ‘It couldn’t have been,’ Garec replied.

  ‘Why not?’ Brynne asked.

  ‘Look at the bones. They’re not jumbled together like they would be in a mass grave.’

  Mark exhaled. ‘Holy mother, he’s right.’

  Garec summed up what each of them was thinking. ‘Those bones were collected here, organised carefully into similar stacks, skulls here, legs there, arms across the way.’

  Brynne looked like she was about to dive into the water a
nd risk the swim back upstream. ‘Who could have done this?’

  ‘Or what?’ Mark looked puzzled, as if trying to remember something. Grimacing, he turned to Steven. ‘Can you move the stafflight nearer the ceiling?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I hope it’s nothing, but send it up anyway.’

  Mark’s fears were confirmed: through the hazy, half-light they could see the ceiling had been decorated with bones. Some dangled downwards from the rocky roof while others lay flat, displayed against the dark surface of the stone, as if to enhance their ivory colour with a black backdrop. These bones were obviously prized. Skulls were hanging everywhere, ogling the trespassers through long-empty eye sockets.

  His mouth agape, Steven stared solemnly upwards, mute with stupefaction. His mind raced, but the image of what might have committed such a gruesome act made him close his eyes; he pictured some creature, nefarious, and crafty, with an almost human capacity for understanding, but with spindly legs like a spider’s, or perhaps thick membranous wings and wickedly clawed talons.

  He spoke as if to himself. ‘What is keeping them up there?’

  Mark surprised him by answering, ‘Glue, nails, John the Baptist? Who knows? It’s probably some secretion that comes out of an orifice I don’t like imagining in a creature I don’t like imagining that hardens like epoxy and holds them fast for ever.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘To comfort little baby epoxy-secreting monsters as they go to sleep in their cribs? Again, who knows? Let’s focus on getting ourselves out of here before it – or they – return.’ Mark swallowed hard and began poling towards shore. The Capina Fair had held together so far, but she was badly in need of repair, and they were all in desperate need of food and rest.

  ‘We can use the light to explore along the shoreline. With that much water coming in here, there has to be an outlet – or maybe we can find a tunnel to the surface.’ He cringed when a sickly crunch resounded from below as their raft struck the shore.

  Two avens later, they had eaten, changed into dry clothing and used the stafflight to dry out the rest of their belongings. They explored a little along the shoreline; Mark and Brynne walked while Garec and Steven poled the Capina Fair through the shallows. It took them nearly half an aven to reach the end of the great charnel-house, and each was visibly relieved when they no longer heard the breaking of tiny hand and foot bones with every footfall.

  Finally they found a recessed area in the stone wall, small but dry, and they agreed to take turns sleeping and standing guard in pairs. There was no wood to make a fire, so Steven brought the stafflight down to the ground, weakened its intensity and left it to burn like a campfire. As soon as he fell asleep, however, the flame went out.

  ‘Well, this is a pain,’ Garec grumbled. ‘Steven, wake up.’

  Steven sat up with a start. ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘The fire’s out.’

  ‘Oh, hell and damnation. Okay. So that’s not going to work, is it? Let me think a minute.’ He stared down at the space between them and moments later a pleasant campfire, devoid of fuel, was burning brightly on the pebbly shore. He lay back down and rolled over in his blanket.

  ‘Just a moment, Steven,’ Garec warned. ‘It went out when you went to sleep, and since we can’t have you up all night – or day, or whatever it is now, we’ll need some wood.’ His voiced trailed off as he searched around them. ‘Mark, help me with this.’

  The two men, not without difficulty, pulled a log from the Capina Fair ’s middle deck and placed it in the fire. Garec smiled at Steven. ‘Just stay awake long enough for this thing to dry out a bit on this end.’

  ‘I’ll do you one better, Garec,’ Steven replied and inhaled deeply as he stared at the saturated pine log. Steam began to rise from the trunk in great clouds as Steven heated it from within.

  ‘Hey, that’s hot,’ Garec yelped and dropped the log to rub his burned fingers on his tunic. Moments later the log was dry throughout, and one end was crackling sharply in the fire. Garec pondered the length of pine then shrugged. ‘I guess we’ll just slide more of it into the campfire as that end burns down. Thanks, Steven.’

  Beside him, Mark said nothing as his exhausted friend fell back. Steven was asleep almost immediately.

  Noticing Mark’s stare, Garec cast him an inquisitive look. ‘What is it?’ he whispered.

  ‘You didn’t see that?’ Mark was not confident he could believe his own eyes. He needed Garec to confirm his suspicions.

  ‘See what?’

  Mark answered, more to himself, ‘A neon sign… OIL CHANGE, twenty-six dollars and ninety-nine cents.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It happened that morning when he knocked that tree down as well – the morning you two almost killed each other.’

  Garec’s face flushed. ‘I don’t understand. It’s magic; we’ve seen him use it before… many times.’

  Mark didn’t respond, but instead motioned towards the far wall of their recessed camp.

  ‘So what?’ Garec was still confused. Finally something clicked and he realised what the foreigner was trying to tell him.

  The hickory staff leaned against the wall. In his fatigue, Steven had dried the log and ignited the fire unaided.

  THE BEACH CAMP

  When Brexan woke, she felt warm and rested, somehow rejuvenated, although soaking wet. She shook the hazy semi-consciousness from her head and realised she was still neck-deep in the Ravenian Sea. Oddly, it was no longer cold – in fact, it felt quite warm, as warm as bathwater. Darkness was falling, but she could make out the Ronan coast; it looked closer now. Suddenly confused, she wondered how it could be that she was still alive, and how she could have come so far. She called out for Versen half-heartedly; the last thing she remembered was crying as he slipped beneath the waves. Treading water, she turned a circle, scanning the surface for any sign of him.

  She nearly sank in shock when a voice called back, ‘Over here.’

  Through the twilight, she saw him. His shaggy hair was matted down flat against his head, providing a frame for his bright green eyes, broad grin and chiselled features. He no longer looked pale, but robust and strong, fit enough to take up the fight against Malagon and his minions. Tears welled up in her eyes as she paddled furiously across the short distance separating them.

  Throwing herself onto him, she wrapped her legs around his waist and cast her arms roughly about his neck. ‘I thought for certain I had lost you,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Brexan, I-’ Her weight forced his head beneath the surface and the last few words of his response were lost in an abrupt wellspring of bubbles.

  ‘Oh, demonpiss!’ Embarrassed, she let him go. ‘Sorry, I’m not trying to drown you now!’

  Versen floated back to the surface and playfully spat a mouthful of salt water at her. ‘Good to see you again too.’ He reached for her, clasping his large hands firmly on her hips, and pulled her towards him. His stomach fluttered; adrenalin pumped through his veins as she pulled him even closer. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of seawater and warm woman. He dared not speak, for fear of making a fool of himself, his emotions were running so high.

  Revelling in his touch, Brexan stroked her hands down his muscular shoulders and finally gave in to the passion that had been building from the moment he woke from his coma and told her, ‘I love you.’ She ran her tongue over his lips, tasting the saltwater, flicking the tip of it between his teeth until he was almost dizzy with desire. He growled softly and took possession of her mouth, plundering her sweetness with his tongue. The two of them were carelessly lost in the moment and explored each other, hands stroking, pressing, teasing, while their mouths locked together. Finally Brexan pushed him slightly and he released her. As they gasped for air, she wondered, ‘Are we dead?’

  Brexan started to cry again. ‘I saw you go under. I tried so hard to hang on, but it was so cold, and you were so heavy.’

  Versen hugged her to him tightly, marvelli
ng at her courage and strength of will. ‘You did everything you could. It wasn’t your job to keep me afloat.’

  ‘But I saw you go under,’ she gulped as uncontrollable sobs racked her body. Now she clung to his neck as she relived that terrifying moment when she found herself cold and alone in the middle of the Ravenian Sea, too far from land to survive. ‘I gave up. I decided to die, and I was – I was afraid we’d just sink to the bottom and that it would be dark.’ She felt a fool, a little girl afraid of the dark, revealing her feelings in a flood of embarrassing confessions, but Versen interrupted her.

  He kissed her again, gently this time, and calmly said, ‘Brexan, it’s all right now. I’m fine. We’re not dead.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘You mean who.’

  ‘Who? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I think his name is O’Reilly, Gabriel O’Reilly.’ Versen groped for an explanation. ‘I think he knows Steven Taylor, the foreigner I told you about. He came looking for us – well, for me – when Mark told him we’d been separated at Seer’s Peak.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Brexan sounded sceptical. ‘Did he swim off to find us a boat or something? And how did he know to find us out there? And how did he warm the sea up?’

  ‘Well, those are all good questions, and I don’t want you to be alarmed, but I think he’s here with us now.’ Versen’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead in an effort to convey lightheartedness.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Brexan frowned.

  ‘Okay, you’ve got to absolutely promise not to panic.’ She looked at him strangely and he laughed. ‘Not helpful? I can see that. Just remember: Gabriel saved us, all right?’ She nodded agreement and held Versen a little bit tighter.

  ‘Gabriel O’Reilly is a wraith, a spirit of sorts, here from Steven and Mark’s Colorado. He provided a body for Nerak to travel between Colorado and Eldarn a little over nine hundred and eighty Twinmoons ago.’