by Aaron Bunce
Jez appeared suddenly out of the mist and slid, losing her footing. Thorben reacted on instinct and swung around, hooking the young woman around the waist and pulling her back, so they fell together to the steep bank, before momentum could carry her into the water.
“Thank you, Owl. I see you’ve found a bit of your old reflexes,” Iona said, appearing from the mist, huffing and struggling to catch his breath. Thorben grunted as the young woman pushed off to stand, his thigh now throbbing in time with his aching side.
“Are you…okay?” he asked her. She nodded hastily, tucking a few strands of loose hair behind her ear. She hastily turned away as Gor appeared down the slope, the massive man moving down the treacherous rocks with more grace than Thorben thought possible.
Iona looped an arm around Jez and pulled her towards the water’s edge. “Let us cross quickly, we are so close to the cave now. I can feel it,” he said, and promptly reached up into the mist.
“I still don’t understand. How are we supposed to cross? Just look…the water is far too deep. We cannot swim it; the current will push us down…” Iona cut Thorben off by promptly kicking his legs out, his body miraculously hanging just below the mist.
Thorben watched in horror as Renlo reached up into the mist as well, his added body weight pulling a rope down into view. Iona stepped back and let the mule take his place. The stout man then dropped his boots into the water, and hand over hand, started making his way across the river.
This is madness…I can’t, he thought, and moved to back away. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from the dark, rushing water, its violent, swirling current straight out of a nightmare.
Hun followed Renlo, and then Iona gestured Thorben forward. When he didn’t immediately respond, Gor moved up behind him and muscled him forward. Thorben picked his way over the rocks, his boots just clear of the churning water.
“Still afraid of water, Owl?” Iona asked, turning to watch the two mules disappear into the mist. “Come. Take it slowly, and you will be fine. After all, wasn’t it you that once told me, ‘the only thing that separates a successful man from a fool is preparation’? The ropes are expertly strung. This is as safe a crossing as we could manage.”
Thorben finally tore his gaze away from the water and met Iona’s gaze. The man used his weight to pull the rope down, and grasped his right hand, forcing it up and onto the line. “Now, over you go. I wouldn’t dawdle in the water…best to be quick.”
Thorben resisted his nudge forward, trying to swallow past the hard lump now perched in his throat. Safe? How could he consider such a crossing safe? Gor moved behind him and a hard, sharp point came to rest against his lower back. He inched forward until the water lapped up and over the toes of his boots.
His suspicions solidified. Iona and the mules had already walked their path, and very likely new what lay before them. If Jez was to be believed, Thorben wasn’t the first delver either. What other surprises were waiting for him? What else hadn’t Iona told him?
Iona has already crossed the river, Thorben told himself. He has. It is safe. I am safe.
The spear jabbed hard into his back, forcing Thorben to step out into the water. His aching side protested the sudden strain of body weight, his throat closing from fear. He fished around for a few moments, until the sole of his boot snagged on something just under the surface. Thorben relaxed just a bit and let the rope suspended in the water carry his weight.
It is simple. Just put one hand in front of the other…and then one foot, and so on, he thought, walking his hands forward, before blindly stepping out to find the rope with his other foot. Don’t look down, you fool. Just focus on the rope.
The rope sagged under his weight a little with each step forward. The churning water rose up over his ankles, his knees, and then his thighs, until he was waist-deep in the dark water, the strange blanket of mist hanging just above his hands. The damp rope jumped and squirmed in his grasp as someone made their way behind him.
Thorben’s heart pounded away in his chest as he clumsily inched forward. His boots started to feel heavy, the cold water sapping the feeling away from his legs.
“I should have stayed home, I should have stayed home,” he gasped in a mantra, his teeth chattering together. Thorben thought of home, Dennica, and the children – anything to keep his mind off the cold and dark water churning around him. The pain, the sacrifice…he was doing it for them. A fish jumped out of the water a short distance away, the brightly color creature thrashing its fins as if trying to fly. He flinched as another leapt not far away.
Thorben hooked his hand forward, taking another step as another of the fish burst out of the water somewhere behind him. The rope under his feet moved suddenly, his entire body sagging deeper into the water. The current swirled around him, pulling his whole body sideways. A sucking noise filled the air as the water worked to pull him down. The rope jerked again, and in response his body rose a moment later.
Oh, gods. Mani, see me to dry land!
He held his breath, waiting for strangled cries and splashing – but only silence ensued. A heartbeat later the rope shook as the others started to move. A bird shrieked above him, the odd squawk quickly answered by another. A dark form streaked through the mist above him, another swooping down to skim the water to his right.
The rope jerked again, just as debris rained down from above, peppering his head. The water came alive around him, the surface bubbling with dozens of the brightly colored fish, each flopping and leaping above the surface.
Black feathers beat the air next to his head as one of the large birds swooped down, scooping a fish cleanly out of the air. With the fish latched in its talons, the winged creature hovered for a moment. It wasn’t a bird, at all, Thorben realized. It had a scaly body, with small, reptilian arms tucked tightly to its body. It had no beak, either, but a smashed, flat face, with massive, cup-shaped ears, and a mouth filled with pointy teeth. The beast had no eyes, or if it did they were too small for him to see.
Iona’s words echoed back in his head – be quick. Best not to dawdle. The reality of that warning sunk in as a large, dark form moved through the water to his right. In response, a school of the brightly colored fish bubbled to the surface, flopping and jumping into the air.
Thrasher fish, he thought, just as another of the winged creatures swooped down towards the churning water. It dropped its talons into the water, snared a small fish, and flew right by him, careening off into the mist.
Wobbling on the rope, Thorben swung forward a step, and then another, his movement clumsy through the water. His eyes darted upriver, and then down, searching the dark surface for signs of movement…but he couldn’t make anything out in the turbulent water.
His mother told him stories of thrasher fish growing up – how the beasts could grow to the length of a man and double their weight. She drew pictures of them in the dirt outside their shack…finger-length teeth sticking out of a long, snapping maw, razor sharp barbs covering their fins, and massive, unblinking eyes.
She’d told her story, toothless, and drunk on bread liquor.
“I was a girl when I first saw them…the thrashing beasts. Big, monsters they were, but not fish. Our people say they are the spirits of dead mothers, driven mad by the memory of their dead children. They haunt the water, always looking for children to pull in, to pull down into the depths and drown, a child to hold for all time.”
Thorben remembered the story. He’d peed himself, his gran immediately throwing a spoon at him. He hadn’t gone swimming since, the fear of being pulled into the water and eaten like the children in her stories growing into such a debilitating terror that he refused to even approach the water’s edge. Now he was waist deep in it, surrounded by the very monsters of her stories.
He managed another half dozen paces forward, the rocks of the western shore materializing out of the fog. Thorben cleared his throat, and tried to swing his right arm forward again, his fingers catching the slimy rope and promptly sliding off. T
he sudden shift in weight spun him, and before he could grab the rope again, his boots slid free.
“Nnno…!” Thorben hissed frantically as the entirety of his weight fell on his left hand, his body sliding chest-deep into the water. He managed one terrified jab for the overhead rope, before his fingers broke loose.
Thorben’s head plunged beneath the surface, his arms going rigid with panic. He dropped like a stone in the cold water, until something hard snagged his arms, his weight forcing them out straight. It hit him, and he clutched just in time, the submerged rope almost sliding completely out of his grasp. Thorben hung in the water for a moment, the strong current pulling his body out and away from the rope. Pain stabbed into his chest as panic fought to unravel him.
Lungs burning, Thorben pulled forward and tucked the taught rope against his body, and gave a mighty push. His face broke the surface and he gulped down a quick breath, and then another, but the current quickly pulled him under once again. He fought forward again, but the strain was too great, and his body too heavy. This was it. This was his end.
Thorben forced his eyes open and gave a strangled cry as something moved in the water before him. He felt it more than anything, but now that he was surrounded by the water, everything appeared in a strange, blue-tinged clarity.
A massive form approached, its body undulating smoothly, propelling it against the current. The thrasher fish moved through a column of dim light shining from above. Long, sharp teeth curved over its elongated mouth, the scales covering its body shimmering like blue-green gems in the diffuse glow.
The fish approached, easily as long as he, if not longer. Colorful ridges and spines covered its fins, driving it easily towards him. Thorben tried to scream, his voice lost in a flurry of rising bubbles. He flinched, anticipating the bite, his eyes locked on the animal’s toothy grin. Only the thrasher fish didn’t attack. It tilted in the water, its massive, silver eye studying him.
Thorben pulled his legs up as the creature flicked forward in a surprising burst of speed. He turned, choking a bit as the urge to draw breath grew in intensity. The fish circled twice, its unblinking silver eyes appraising him, and then without warning, the water denizen flicked its large tail and disappeared into the depths.
Water slipped into his mouth as Thorben’s body almost forced him to draw a breath. He pulled on the rope, but there was no more strength in his arms. He’d never be able to pull himself up for another breath; so instead, he pulled his body along the rope. Hand over shaking hand Thorben went, a dark fuzziness creeping over his mind.
Bright flashes of light started to fill his vision, but he could see rocks ahead. They jutted up from below, slanting away from him. He managed another pull, and then another. The rocks were right under him, growing in size and rising towards the surface. Thorben hooked a boot on the closest rock, pushed off and caught another.
The rope slid out of his hands as water rushed into his mouth. The urge to draw breath intensified, but a horrible, cold pressure bit at his chest. He clawed at the rocks ahead and above him, pulling his body forward, the current pushing him stream at the same time. He reached for the next rock, but missed. The fuzziness closed in as dark objects splashed into the water to his side.
Chapter Nine
The Real Reason
Thorben’s body felt heavy, and in an instant, became buoyant again. He was rising, the dark water getting lighter, until his head broke the surface, the unruly water gushing around and spattering his face. And yet his arms and legs felt dead. Lifeless.
He floated forward before dropping heavily onto the sandy rocks, the heavy, icy pressure in his chest strangling him. Thorben tried desperately to draw breath, but couldn’t seem to find any air. Strong hands released their hold on his arms, the sharp rocks stabbing into him as he rolled over onto his side.
A blow struck him in the back, between his shoulder blades, and the tightness in his chest intensified. Thorben slipped a little further into the darkness, silently yearning for a release from the pain. A second blow rocked him, and then a third. A dull roar filled his ears, distant shrieks and calls barely piercing the blanket of sound.
Water bubbled up his throat and out his mouth, his entire body starting to shake. Thorben gagged, and coughed. Air, blessed air, entered his lungs. Another sharp blow snapped him forward, the strike causing him to cough up another mouthful of warm water. His guts contracted, water and vomit flowing up and out of his body. He retched into the darkness, his eyes still unseeing.
Gritty sand forced its way between his fingers as Thorben finished, curling his numb limbs into his body, his chest and side aching with every violent cough. He blinked over and over, but everything remained dark and blurry. Finally, after an untold amount of time, he rocked onto his back and managed to sit. Thorben swiped at his face, dislodging sand, mucus, and rock.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, a raspy rumble sounding inside his chest. This time when he blinked, his surroundings started to come into focus.
“W…h…a…t?” he croaked, trying and failing to form a simple question. In response, the darkness above him shifted, and strong hands pulled him off the ground.
Renlo held him a moment as his legs shook and threatened to fail. His gaze fell to the spear at the man’s feet, his eyes snapping back to the stout man’s dark eyes.
“The others are on ahead. Let’s catch up,” the mule said, and firmly urged him forward.
Thorben wanted to tell him no, to demand more time to collect his wits, but stumbled forward instead, mostly blind, doubling over and waving his hands before him. He tripped on a rock, stumbled over a shrub, and almost walked into a tree. No, not a tree. The hewn pine log jutted up into the fog, supporting the stout bridge somewhere above them.
Yes, the bridge, the fog…the river, Thorben thought, finally putting things back together in his mind. He leaned against the thick support, took another deep breath, coughed, and wiped his face. He looked back to the river and its violent, dark water. He’d managed it...made it across, if only just.
Renlo moved behind him, but it wasn’t the poke of a spear point in his back to motivate him forward, but the gentle grasp of strong hands. Thorben pushed away from the log and moved to walk, but the strong man held him back.
“You should have said…about the water,” Renlo said, his flat, crooked nose and broad forehead appearing less severe in the fog, his dark eyes less menacing.
“Would it have mattered?” Thorben asked, his voice still hoarse.
The mule considered his words for a moment. “You helped me back there…in the trees, with that beast. I…I…”
“It’s not something a man easily admits…that he is afraid of the water…that he cannot swim,” he said, interrupting the shorter man.
“All men fear something. Death, beasts, blades,” Renlo whispered, his dark eyes searching Thorben’s face.
“True,” he said, choking a wet cough into his hand. His chest didn’t ache quite so bad this time, the pain throbbing in his side less acute. “But is that something your fellows will admit or accept from a man like me? I think they would sooner laugh in my face and mock my weakness.”
Renlo looked to his left and down the river valley, where his counterparts moved somewhere in the mist. His forehead scrunched up for a moment, and then he silently shook his head.
“Why did you come? You’re not like the others,” the mule said after Thorben coughed and wrung out his shirt. “You don’t belong out here.”
Chuckling quietly, Thorben unbuckled his satchel and poured out the water trapped inside. “Thaws ago I was that person. I spent more time in the wilds than at home and lived for each delving, but now…” he said, his thoughts sliding effortlessly to Dennica and the kids. He envisioned them grasping shrunken bellies and shivering from the cold…suffering. “…now, I have no other choice. I am here, because if I am not, my family will not survive.”
Renlo hovered next to him for a moment, his thoughts playing out through his changin
g facial expressions. Finally, after shifting his weight between feet several times, he said, “Let’s go. It is just down the river for a time. We shouldn’t keep Gor waiting.”
They moved off together, the big man draping a wide hand on Thorben’s shoulder, guiding him onto a sandy strip of bank where the rocks weren’t quite so treacherous. The river bubbled and rushed by just a few paces to his left, and its angry current entirely too close for comfort. Thorben fought to keep his gaze locked on the ground before him, fighting the urge to turn toward the dark, turbulent surface.
The heavy fog cleared after a time, the oppressive smell of silty water lifting with it. A short while later Thorben came around a bend and spotted Iona and the rest of the group waiting.
“Owl, I am so relieved to see you up and well. When you dropped into that water, we all feared you lost,” Iona said, but it was Jez that leapt off of her rocky seat. She ran forward and grasped his arm, her eyes wide and glassy. For a moment, he thought she might cry, or hug him. Thorben saw something in her eyes…a message she couldn’t convey with words. Was she happy to see him? Or…sad?
I can’t return empty handed, he thought. He wished that he could make her understand. There were stakes that involved more than just him.
Clearing his throat, Iona stood and moved over behind Jez. She sniffed, quickly looked away and walked off, their brief connection broken. They fell into line and moved down the river, the wind picking up gradually.
Thorben looked longingly at the sun’s diffuse light kissing the opposite side of the valley, where the rocks left no room for shade trees. He shivered, wishing only to stand in the light and let the warmth dry his damp clothes, but that wish would not come true.
