River Into Darkness

by Sean Russell

  Erasmus untied the man’s legs and they bore him up, supporting him for a moment on weak limbs, then led him to the dammed stream and lowered him to where he could drink his fill, slurping up the water like an animal.

  “I’m not sure he will harm us now,” Erasmus said. “It must be clear to him that Kehler and Hayes are not in league with the Tellerites.” The priest’s condition was causing him some guilt.

  Clarendon hesitated, and then nodded once and addressed himself to the knots that held Rose’s hands behind his back. Free, the priest staggered to his feet, and before either Erasmus or Clarendon could move, Rose threw himself at the dam, breaking it down with his weight and the force of his lunge.

  Water flooded through the gap, taking parts of the dam with it, filling the channel, and swirling down the opening. Erasmus and Clarendon leapt to save the ruins of their effort, dragging the priest out of the mess, not without a few cuffs, shoving him rudely aside. Erasmus struggled into the rapidly dissolving dam, grabbing for the oiled bags that had held the water back. Without them they had no chance of rebuilding, though Erasmus wondered where they would find the reserves to perform such labor again.

  Hayes and Kehler came up, wading into the rapidly receding lake, pulling out the stones they had collected at such cost, glaring at Rose, who knelt in the shallow pool, his eyes cast down, perhaps in prayer.

  “I could not let them escape,” he said, meeting no one’s eye. “You do not realize what you would have set loose on the world. These Tellerites, they appeared to be the most gentle of people, but they are ruthless. Do not doubt it. They will stop at nothing to achieve their goal. And now two of them are free, and they have the cursed seed. You do not realize what that means, but it will give them power, a hundredfold. Our only hope now is that they have drowned, or that the passage does not take them to the surface. Only Eldrich can stop them otherwise. Once that trollop has begun to take the. . . .”

  Clarendon hurled a rock at the man, and dodging it ended his tirade. No one wanted to hear the priest’s rantings. All they could think of was that their only hope—the only possibility of escape—had been closed, and no one knew if they had the strength to open it again.

  “There’s nothing we can do until the water has all drained away,” Erasmus said, looking at the currents that now flowed toward the opening in the floor. They would defeat any efforts they made. The water might only be three inches deep over the floor of the chamber, but that added up to substantial volume, and now it was all running toward the opening. They struggled to preserve what was left of their efforts.

  Rose retreated toward the hallway, wading across the pond, and disappeared through the archway. This left Hayes and Kehler free to curse him, which they did with a passion.

  An hour later the floor of the chamber was rapidly drying, only a few small puddles remaining. The group collected on the steps of the nance, staring at the destruction Rose had caused.

  “It will not be so bad this time,” Erasmus offered. “We have no need to collect or carry stone from the tunnel and this time I need make no experiments in dam construction. We know what needs to be done. It shouldn’t take us three hours working together. And the result will be stronger, I’m sure.”

  “But what of Rose?” Kehler asked. “Will we leave the man behind? There is no trusting him, that is certain. I for one won’t go easily down into that hole thinking that the priest will send a stream of water down to drown me.”

  The others nodded agreement. There was no sympathy for the priest at that moment, but nor were they certain they could subdue him again, now that they would have no element of surprise.

  “I don’t know what to do about Rose,” Erasmus said. “Let us rebuild the dam and guard it carefully. That is all we can do. That, or give up and die, and I, for one, will not give up.”

  They began again, working more slowly this time, but as Erasmus had said, experience informed their efforts and the dam began to take shape, despite their exhaustion. Clarendon and Erasmus made the younger men pace themselves reasonably, and they all took frequent rests, at which they were too drained to speak, but sat with their heads hanging like beaten men.

  But they were not defeated yet. Perhaps eight hours passed in this labor, and finally the water rose so that only a trickle found its way into the opening in the floor.

  Clarendon argued with Erasmus about who would go down into the shaft first, and Hayes and Kehler lent their support to the small man, forcing Erasmus to concede, though he did not do so easily. Anna and Banks had managed it and though she was slim and likely more flexible than the men, Banks was of normal size—at least as big as Hayes and Kehler, though not so large as Erasmus.

  The small man went down into the hole in the floor, holding tightly to the rope, scrabbling with his feet for purchase on the passage walls. Watching him go, Erasmus realized that he had come to view Clarendon differently after their few days together. His small size was no longer the characteristic that stood out—his indomitable will had superseded that. The man had courage out of proportion to his size. And here, where many passages were so small, his size was a great advantage. Clarendon led the way and the rest followed.

  “How does it seem, Randall?” Hayes asked, trying not to show his own fear of the tiny passage.

  “Big enough, I think,” Clarendon said, trying to look down, his voice distorting strangely up the shaft. He worked down a little farther. Erasmus could see that he was struggling, weakened by his labors. A trickle of water still made its way through the dam and this was enough to keep the shaft wet and soak the rope, making both slippery. He only hoped that it was not far to the bottom, for a fall was a real danger, and injury would leave Randall unable to climb up again. Against Erasmus’ urging, Clarendon had refused to let them tie a line around his waist and lower him down. The passage was small enough that he went with one arm down and the other stretched over his head, which could make it impossible to release a knot if it became necessary. Either way there was risk, and in their desperate state Clarendon had made the more courageous decision—though not the one with the least risk.

  Clarendon’s feet slipped suddenly, and his hand skidded on the rope before he checked his fall. Erasmus could hear his harsh breathing. They were all so frightfully weak. . . .

  “How do you go, Randall?”

  He saw the small man’s head nod, though he spared no breath for speech. The size of the passage made it dreadfully difficult because it was all but impossible to look down and there was no way to carry a lantern. Clarendon had gone about ten feet now and already he was losing the light from the chamber. Soon he would be in utter blackness.

  “You’re all right, Randall?”

  A grunt in response.

  They should have sounded the shaft first, Erasmus realized. It would have been easy to do, but their wits were so clouded.

  Fifteen feet now. The rope had originally been a hundred feet, but a section had been cut off to bind the priest.

  Twenty feet.

  If Clarendon slipped, how far would he fall? No one knew. It could be ten feet to the bottom, it could be a hundred. The small man was only just visible, but from the sounds Erasmus could tell that he was laboring cruelly.

  Don’t fall, Erasmus willed him. Please don’t fall.

  “Randall? Are you bearing up?”

  “Well enough.” The terse reply funneled up the shaft.

  Forty feet.

  They could hear Clarendon gasping for breath now. His strength was fading fast, and they all knew that in their exhausted state there were no reserves to call upon. One could not force one’s strength to hold that moment longer. When it gave out, it did so immediately and without recourse.

  Hold tight.

  Forty-five feet.

  “Flames!” Clarendon swore. “Thank Farrelle.”

  “Randall!” Are you all right?”

&nbs
p; “Yes,” came his tired voice though the relief was clear. “I found a little ledge for my feet and just in time. If this shaft tightens down to nothing at the bottom, I don’t know how I’ll get up again.”

  Erasmus did not like to think that Clarendon might come down upon the drowned corpses of Anna and Banks. “We’ll draw you up, Randall, don’t you worry. Is there any sign of the bottom?”

  “I’m in the dark, here, Mr. Flattery. It could be ten feet or ten miles, there is no way to be sure. Let me rest a moment, and then I’ll press on.”

  It was a long moment, which worried the others, for not only was Randall tiring quickly, but it did not bode well for them when their own turns came.

  “Randall?” Erasmus said when his concern would let him wait no longer. “Can you go on?”

  “Yes, Mr. Flattery. Best to rest while I can when the bottom is some unknown distance away.”

  Hayes glanced at Kehler, the meaning clear. They all worried that they would not be strong enough to make their way out.

  Erasmus ran his eye over their dam, which so far appeared to be holding, but it was yet another cause for concern. They had been tending to it regularly, and how would the last man down manage that?

  “Mr. Flattery? I’m going to go on,” Clarendon called up, though he did not sound confident, as though he realized that no amount of rest would restore him to any greater degree.

  “Take care, Randall.”

  Almost immediately they heard the small man’s breathing grow harsh and quick, partly from fear, they were sure. They could not see him now, but marked his progress only by the sounds. The dull scrape of boots and the rasp of his clothing against the too smooth stone.

  “How far is he?” Kehler whispered.

  Erasmus shook his head. “Sixty feet? More? I cannot say. Light the lantern, Hayes, and we’ll see if we can cast some light down to him. It might bring him comfort at least, even if it does him no real good.

  “Randall? How goes it?”

  “I cannot hold much longer,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm, though very small.

  Hayes jumped to light the lantern, fumbling with the flint, as though light would make a difference. They could hear Clarendon’s breath coming in short, quick gasps now. And then suddenly, unmistakably, the sounds of him falling, and then, only a second later, silence.

  “Randall?!” No response. “Randall?”

  “I seem to be down,” they heard the small man say.

  “Are you injured?”

  “No . . . not so much. I have wrenched my knee cruelly, but nothing seems to be broken. The passage turns here. Give me a minute.”

  They waited. Hayes lifted the lantern over the opening, and cast its dim light down into the darkness. They could make out something, perhaps Clarendon’s fringe of white hair. Movement. Erasmus thought it might be a hand waving.

  “Mr. Flattery? Can you send down the lantern?”

  Quickly, Hayes hauled the rope up, and the lantern was sent down more slowly, care being taken not to shatter it against the stone. Finally Clarendon appeared in the descending illumination, though, still, he could not be clearly seen. He released the lamp from the rope, and then began to wriggle, painfully, disappearing from view.

  The next minutes crept so slowly by that the others began to worry that something had gone wrong—Clarendon had passed out, or fallen again.

  “Perhaps one of us should go down,” Hayes said. “I will do it,” he offered, showing his character, for surely none of them wanted to attempt this difficult descent less than he.

  “A moment more,” Erasmus said. He glanced around at a sound and there, by the door to the hallway, stood the priest, watching. For a moment Erasmus met the man’s stare, but then turned slowly back to the opening in the floor.

  Hayes and Kehler looked at Erasmus expectantly, clearly wanting him to make a decision. He took a deep breath. “As things stand,” he said, “the three of us can likely draw Randall up again if the passage goes nowhere, but if one of us goes down after him, I don’t think that the two who remain will have the strength to bring anyone up. We must wait, I fear, although Randall might be in danger, until we are all but sure he will not return.”

  They stared down into the darkness of the shaft, wondering if this pit offered any hope at all.

  A splash behind him caused Erasmus to whirl, and there stood the priest, only a few feet away.

  “Stay away from this dam!” Erasmus ordered, and Hayes put himself quickly between the dam and Rose.

  “You need have no fear,” the priest said. “The Tellerites alone were my concern. Even Kehler’s betrayal of trust is of little matter, now. . . .”

  “As though we would take you at your word, priest,” Kehler spat out.

  “But what I say is true, nonetheless,” Rose said, his voice so utterly reasonable, that even after what he’d done, he made Erasmus feel as though they were persecuting him. “And besides, I can help you. As Mr. Flattery knows, I have spent some little time wandering in the hills and mountains. I know how we can all descend safely, and if need be I can help draw a man up. I will tell you honestly, that I no more wish to die in this foul place than do you.”

  “You want to pursue the Tellerites, if they survived your attempt to drown them,” Hayes said.

  “I wish to live, Mr. Hayes, just as you do.”

  Just then a dim light appeared at the shaft’s bottom, and then the lantern appeared, followed by Clarendon’s too white face.

  “Mr. Flattery?” he called up in a thin voice. “It goes. . . .”

  Erasmus felt Hayes clap him on the back, such relief on the young man’s face that Erasmus thought tears might appear.

  “What could you see, Randall?”

  “Only a small passage with a stream running in it. Very wet, but hopeful. All the hope we have at least. It might come to nothing in a hundred feet. Perhaps only one more should come down so that we can explore. I’m a bit crooked, I think—this leg . . .”

  “Who will go?” Kehler asked.

  “Either you or Hayes,” Erasmus said, knowing he must stay to watch Rose. “Whoever feels stronger.”

  The two candidates looked at each other, and then Hayes spoke up. “I feel quite recovered,” he lied. “Let’s get on with it. I fear Mr. Clarendon’s injury could be more serious than he is saying.”

  Rose took a step forward, and everyone glared at him, which stopped him in his tracks. “I can make your descent much safer, Mr. Hayes, if you will allow me.”

  Erasmus looked at Hayes and nodded. He did not trust the priest at all, but he was quite sure the priest badly wanted to know if the Tellerites lived, and would pursue them if so, and that made it unlikely that he would try to destroy the dam again.

  “If this is treachery, Deacon,” Kehler said, “I swear, I will throttle you myself.”

  Rose did not respond, nor did he show anger, but only looked down at the floor—the posture of a man unjustly persecuted by his fellows. He stepped forward, his manner humble, his voice as reasonable as ever. “It is a simple thing, Mr. Hayes. Sit here, on the rim. Now take a turn of the rope around your boot and then hold it in your left hand. Yes, like that. There will be enough friction that you can control your speed easily—but you must keep your leg utterly straight and never let the pressure off, or the loop might come off your foot. If you feel it running off toward your toe, point your toe down a little. With your other hand, grasp the rope above your head. That’s it. You should have no trouble, but have Mr. Clarendon move to safety, all the same.”

  “I am clear,” came Clarendon’s voice up the shaft, for clearly he heard every word.

  Hayes let himself over the edge, letting the rope run jerkily through his hands.

  “Good, good. That’s it,” Rose coached. “Try to let it run more smoothly, and then stop every few feet, for you will cert
ainly burn your hand if you go too quickly and then you risk losing control of your descent entirely.”

  “Are you all right, Hayes?” Kehler asked.

  “Yes. . . . This works well enough, though I fear I’m sawing my poor foot in two. Better than falling to the bottom, though.”

  They watched him make his slow descent, the rope hissing slightly at each drop, until he disappeared into the darkness. Every few moments they called down and he answered, and then, unexpectedly he was at the bottom.

  “It is easier than a stair,” he called up, a bit of laughter in his voice. They heard him speaking then but could not make out his words. “Erasmus? I will go on and have a look at this passage and see where it might go. If it appears to go some distance or branch, I will come back and you can follow. The dam is holding, I take it?”

  “Yes, but go with care, Hayes,” Kehler called down.

  The men remaining retreated to the steps of the nance, for the entire floor had some water on it now, and here they collapsed, Kehler clearly fighting to stay awake, not wanting to leave the priest unwatched, Erasmus thought.

  But try as they might, sleep would not be denied, and one by one they slipped into troubled dreams, dreams in which food figured largely.

  Erasmus awoke when someone shook him, and found Kehler doubled over on the stair, his eyes dark, his face somehow seeming years older. “I heard a call,” he said.

  Erasmus started up, his wits still fogged. Rose awakened as well, looking around as though unsure of where he was. Immediately Erasmus went to the well.

  “Hayes?” he called down.

  “Ah, there you are. I thought you had all expired or escaped some other way. I cannot tell how far it goes, but some distance at least. There is a falls that will have to be negotiated, and once we’ve done that I doubt we’ll get back up again, but I think we should chance it. Is there any way you can bring the rope with you? It would make the falls less treacherous, I’m certain.”

  “I don’t know, Hayes. You’ve been down the shaft. Can one of us climb it without the rope?”