River Into Darkness

by Sean Russell

  “Send me down the lantern,” he said, “and your pack as well.”

  A moment later Hayes was standing beside his companion and they both hoisted their packs.

  “I don’t think it can be far now, though I am not so sure that the distances on our survey are really in proportion to reality. I think these passages were measured by men with vastly differing strides, that is what I believe.”

  They set off again, climbing down beside the falling stream, which followed its own meandering channel more or less in the center of the passage. Here and there they were forced to cross over to find dry rock on which to walk, and invariably this led to one of them soaking a boot yet again. They hardly cared now. Their clothing was soiled and torn, the leather of their boots scuffed and soaked through, and they were both in need of a bath, but it did not matter. It would not have been an adventure otherwise.

  “One cannot adventure from one’s easy chair,” Kehler had said, and they had laughed, saying of the less difficult sections, “a veritable easy chair, that.”

  “I think the passage is opening a bit,” Hayes offered, and in a few minutes he was proven right.

  Suddenly they stepped out into a vast chamber, larger than any they had so far seen. Before them lay the dark waters of a lake. The lantern lit the far reaches of the cavern only dimly, but even so Hayes could see great stalactites and columns and formations called curtains, as well as moonstone, the flowing white substance from which the decorations in whitestone caves were formed.

  The hollow sound of water tumbling into the lake seemed unnaturally loud and clear. Even though Hayes knew they were far from being the first to discover this place, it still seemed a deep wonder, hidden away, here, far beneath the surface of the world. A lake, at once familiar and strangely alien.

  “The chamber of the mirror,” Kehler said, taking up the lantern and going to the water’s edge. Hayes joined him, and they both stared down at their murky reflections in the dark water. Two unkempt young men, their faces ruddy from exertion and adventure.

  “I can’t believe you forgot the shaving kit,” Kehler said.

  “Or the servants to tend our clothes and groom our wigs. Yours looks a bit shabby, I will tell you.”

  As if to reinforce the strangeness of the place, Hayes realized there was a bright blue skiff perched awkwardly on the rocks thirty feet away.

  “Where in the world did that come from?”

  Kehler laughed. “I thought that might surprise you. I’m relieved it’s here. Some enterprising individuals brought it down here in pieces and built it in place, if you can believe it. In fact, there are two of them, one at the lake’s far end, or so I hope. It is understood that we will take this to the far end, then use the other to return it, thus always keeping a skiff at either extreme of the lake.”

  Hayes lowered his pack to the cavern’s floor and sat down on it, having realized that it was much softer than even the most malleable rock. “Do we go by boat, then?”

  “Only a short way, and then I’m afraid it’s back to our poor battered limbs—all four of them in places.”

  “Well, I thought it had become a bit easy. Don’t want to grow soft, do we?”

  They sat staring at the scene in wonder, pointing out the formations that caught their eye. Hayes trimmed the lantern wick and turned it up as high as he could, casting light out over the lake, though it did not reach the far shore.

  “Pelier didn’t paint this, I take it?” Hayes asked, and received a shake of the head in reply. He had begun to wonder if Kehler was right in his assertion that what lay ahead to be discovered would bring them fame and, even better, fortune. It seemed entirely possible that he was merely helping Kehler pursue his obsession, though he had to admit that so far it had been an experience well worth the effort, although he shuddered when he thought of the claustrophobia of the crawl. Occasionally he felt some anxiety when he remembered that he would have to pass back through that terrible passage.

  “Do you still feel as confident of finding what we seek, now that you’ve seen the complexity of this cavern?”

  Kehler nodded his head. “We must find it,” he said quietly. Then he stood up quickly. “Well, help me with this skiff, and we will see if it still floats. I can’t imagine who would leave it high and dry like this. The seams are bound to be open, at least a little.”

  They shifted the tiny craft down the rocks, careful not to scrape or bang it, for the boat was so lightly constructed that it would not stand misuse.

  “I hardly think a boat this small will float the two of us,” Hayes said, “it is barely as long as I am tall.”

  They loaded their two packs in, released the oars from their ties and stepped gingerly aboard. When they took their places on the seats at either end, the boat sank in the water until only a few inches of freeboard remained.

  Hayes shipped the oars, careful not to make any movement that would unbalance them. “I hope a wind doesn’t come up. Our ship will hardly stand any kind of sea.”

  He dug the oars into the still water and turned the cockleshell boat out into the subterranean lake. With Kehler in the bow holding the lantern aloft, and occasionally bailing, Hayes rowed fisherman style, facing the direction they traveled, and gazed in wonder at the cave.

  The decorations were astounding and some of the columns and curtains were on a grand scale—thirty and forty feet tall from floor to ceiling—rising up like fantastic castles of ice. The dome of the chamber itself was lost in the darkness, though from the slope of the ceiling at the edges Hayes guessed it to be sixty feet.

  Kehler waved the lantern at one of the largest columns. “Imagine how long it took for that to form. Thousands of years, certainly. Long before men came to Farrland, this great column might have already spanned from floor to ceiling.”

  “How old does that make the cavern, I wonder?” Hayes answered. They rowed on, their eyes feasting on the wonders of the chamber of the mirror: moonstone, like glacial milk, flowing over the surface of the parent rock, almost translucent, glistening in the lamplight.

  “Surely it was worth all of our efforts and the ruin of our clothing to see this,” Kehler said.

  “Yes. I wish I were an artist, for I haven’t the skill with words to describe it.”

  A small stream appeared from a side passage and added its water to the mirror. The lake opened up so that, for a time, they could see no shoreline, and small headlands began to appear, like the great capes of the world seen from afar. When the shore appeared again, they noted several passages of differing sizes in the walls, and, in one place, a ribbon of water fell from an opening in the ceiling. They rowed once around this in astonishment before continuing on.

  Hayes could not believe the length of the chamber, but when they came to what they thought was the end, it proved to be only a narrowing. From either side a small peninsula jutted out, creating a pass no more than a dozen feet in breadth. On one headland a rock incisor was topped by a white column perhaps three feet across its base with a fine tracery of flowing drape running down from the sloping ceiling.

  “Magical,” Kehler whispered. “I feel like we have entered the kingdom of men who dwell beneath the mountain. A race that have chiseled and inscribed and sculpted for millennia, though now they are gone and their dark world lies abandoned.”

  They quickly crossed this final arm of the lake, which was more like a small bay, and found the second boat pulled up onto a shelf of stone. The stream disappeared into a passage here, and the sound of water falling could be heard.

  They managed to land without tipping and Kehler immediately began dragging the boat up behind them.

  “We have to return that to the lake’s end,” Hayes reminded him.

  His friend stood up, his manner suddenly serious. “I have been thinking that we should leave this skiff here. Do you remember that Clarendon said Demon Rose was asking after me in C
astlebough? And the guide who brought us here will certainly not keep our presence a secret, especially if he is offered a few coins. I don’t want to suddenly find we have company on our quest.”

  “But is that safe?” Hayes asked, looking back out over the dark water. “What if we are injured or lost?”

  “With a little luck we’ll be back before anyone becomes concerned. The Farrellites are not pleased with me, Samual. I can’t imagine that Rose is going to come down here after me, but the church has long been skilled at using others. I don’t think that it is a great risk to keep this boat here for the next day or two. The cave is not visited often until the lower entrances open in summer when the water level is lower. Anyone else venturing in here now would be after us, I fear.”

  Hayes nodded. He was tempted to admit that he had left a note for Erasmus, but decided against it. Kehler would likely be furious, afraid somehow that Erasmus would reveal this knowledge to Deacon Rose, though clearly that was unlikely.

  “Let’s eat a bite and then go on. At our present speed we might be at our destination yet this day. Is it past noon?”

  Hayes found his watch. “Good guess. Twenty past.”

  They made a silent dinner on the shore of the lake. Hayes felt a little guilty that he had betrayed Kehler’s trust by telling Erasmus, and at the same time he was annoyed that Kehler would not return one boat to the far shore. If some misfortune befell them, reaching them would be difficult in the extreme.

  After their silent meal they took to the new passage, leaving the chamber of the mirror with great regret, and followed the underground river that drained the lake. The flow of water was strong here and had cut a deep channel in a soft vein of rock. The going was comparatively easy, and they made good time, saving their breath for their efforts.

  Hayes wondered what Kehler was thinking. Was his mind completely focused on their goal, or was he really worried about the priest who apparently pursued him? Hayes could not shake the feeling that Kehler had not yet told him the whole story, as though afraid that he might not continue if he knew the truth. And Hayes was not sure that his friend wasn’t right in this. What were they searching for? Kehler’s belief that it was lost knowledge was, at best, a guess.

  Whenever Hayes asked himself this question, he thought of a small boy, trapped in a tiny hole in the stone, impossibly far from any comfort—and that small boy was somehow Hayes.

  The passage proceeded to drop and twist its way down, like a bowel, Hayes thought. After an hour the sound of falling water grew to the point where they would have needed to shout to be heard, had they talked.

  Finally they were forced to wade into the rushing water, though the stream had widened and was barely two feet deep. They moved slowly, placing their feet with care, and finally came to the lip of a falls. A small dike of rocks, like jagged teeth, raked the water as it plunged out of sight. Warily they moved to the very edge, holding the lantern out so that they could look down. A chaos of white water disappeared down a large well, twenty feet across, but they could see no bottom. Hayes felt the pull of the water’s movement, drawn mysteriously to the darkness.

  The way, by darkness, into light.

  “How far is it?” Hayes asked, stepping back, a little breathless.

  “To the bottom? I forget what I read. A hundred and fifty feet? Something on that order. Farther than one would want to fall, that is certain.”

  “But where do we go?”

  Kehler pointed out over the falls, and up the right-hand wall Hayes could see only a dark shadow on the stone.

  “That is a passage?”

  Kehler nodded.

  “But how do we get there?” Hayes looked down again, a sudden feeling that the motion of frigid, coursing water flowed through him.

  “It is not so hard as it looks, apparently. There is supposed to be good footing, and as they always say, the trick is not to look down. We will use the rope. I will try it first, if you like.”

  “No,” Hayes said quickly. “You have gone first too often. I will take my turn.” He felt a chill run through him as he spoke, a sudden weakening of both his will and his limbs. He glanced down again, wondering how many men had stared into their own, freshly-dug grave.

  Kehler balanced the lantern on a high shelf, so that both of his hands were free, and then tied the rope around his waist, making a loop of one end and throwing this over a tooth of rock at the fall’s edge. The other end was made fast around Hayes’ middle, then Kehler fed the rope out slowly, snugging it around his own waist in the way of mountaineers.

  “Have you climbed at all?” Kehler asked.

  Hayes shook his head, looking out at the route he must take.

  “Nor have I, but I have a friend who is something of a fanatic about it. He told me that the trick is to keep your body away from the rock wall. You must maintain your weight over your feet. Do you see what I mean? If you lean into the cliff like this, you force your feet out and they can slip much more easily. Are you ready?”

  “No. But I shall not become so with time. Weight out over my feet,” he repeated, and went to the edge. His leather soles would be impossibly slippery, he realized, and elected to remove his boots and go on in stocking feet.

  Balancing on the corner of the falls, Hayes looked down for the briefest second and felt his balance waver. Automatically he grabbed the wall for balance.

  “Flames,” he heard himself whisper.

  “Easy on, Hayes,” Kehler said.

  Gathering his resolve, Hayes stared out at the rock and tried to pick his route to the opening. He stepped out onto a foothold and found to his relief that it was quite large and the wall was not as vertical as it looked.

  The sound of the falls changed as he moved, and he could hear the frightening cascade falling into the dark well beneath him. He tried not to think about what a slip would mean. Another step onto a smaller foothold.

  “Keep your weight out, Hayes,” Kehler reminded him, and he tried to comply, though he felt that he was leaning out dangerously far and feared the weight of his pack might suddenly drag him back.

  He searched for another place to move his foot, and for hand-holds, reaching out and testing the rock, which all seemed sound, if a bit too smooth. He took a larger step this time, up and out to his left, pulling on a good handhold. And there he stood, looking for a way to go on. A small platform a foot or so square was not far off, but he certainly could not reach it in one step, and perhaps not even in two.

  “Can you see the route?” Kehler called over the sound of the falls.

  Hayes shook his head. “There are no handholds and the foot-holds seem too small—barely toeholds, in fact.” He felt panic begin to grow in him, and he glanced back. He seemed already to have come impossibly far. The safety of the lip of the falls seemed too far away; he was not sure he could get back without falling.

  Hayes felt his leg begin to quiver, perched as he was on such a tiny hold, the muscles rigid. Suddenly the rock all looked impossibly smooth and slippery. The sound of tumbling water seemed to grow louder, reverberating inside his chest, as though making him part of it.

  “Hayes? Either come back or go on, but don’t stand there! Your leg is trembling, I can see it. Come back and let me try.”

  “Martyr’s blood, there is nowhere for me to go.” Hayes looked back but could not see the footholds he had used to get this far. His fingers began to cramp where he clung to the stone, and he realized that in a few seconds he would fall.

  “Take hold of yourself, Hayes!” Kehler said, his voice rising.

  Hayes saw Kehler sit down in the rushing water and brace his feet against the rock, readying himself for the coming fall.

  I cannot fall, Hayes said to himself. If I fall, even if the rope holds me, I don’t know how I will ever get back up again. I must not fall!

  He looked desperately at the small platform that seemed
so far away. There were two impossibly small toeholds between where he was and the comparative safety of the platform, but he could see nowhere for his hands. If he could only land on the toeholds lightly and pass on, perhaps. . . .

  “Give me slack, Kehler,” he called out, and felt the rope release its pressure.

  Realizing that his shaking legs were about to fail, Hayes focused on the possible holds, forced his legs to be still, and then stepped quickly onward. One toehold came under foot, and he brought his other foot onto it, feeling the tiny ledge with only three of his toes. His hands found no purchase and he could use them only for balance. He moved again, setting his left foot on a hold equally precarious. He brought his other foot inside this, and passed on, almost leaping onto the platform.

  It seemed a dance floor when he stood there. Impossibly large. He felt he could perform a jig there without fear of falling.

  “Well done!” Kehler called out.

  Hayes stood, catching his breath, nodding to acknowledge his friend’s support, unable to speak.

  He glanced up at the opening. Ten feet to go, but the way looked comparatively easy—almost a staircase.

  “Are you all right there?” Kehler called.

  “Yes. . . . Yes. I’ll go on in a moment. The way looks easier now.” He felt himself smile with relief.

  A moment of rest and relative security helped him immeasurably, and his confidence was somewhat restored by what he had done. He caught his breath, and then examined the rock before him.

  “I’m ready to go on,” Hayes alerted his friend, and then went deliberately out, picking his footing carefully, feeling the cold rock beneath his stocking feet. Three or four minutes of intense concentration, thinking of nothing but where to place his feet and hands, and how to move, and he pulled himself up into the passageway. The light was not good here, but he felt around and found a place for his pack. Kehler sent the lantern over, and to his dismay discovered that he now had very poor light for climbing.

  After a moment of standing and shivering, he found a candle in his pack which he could not light with a flint, and so the lantern was sent out over the falls again, swinging on the rope. Kehler lit his candle and sent the lantern back yet again. They managed to bash it into the rock as it came near to Hayes, but miraculously the glass chimney did not shatter.