The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey)

by Martin Gibbs

  Zhy's companions left him to his own devices, and he wandered the farm. Every so often, their paths would cross as they, too, sought something. Huyen would grumble and Yulchar would nod respectfully. But were they looking for? There was nothing here of interest—the place had long since been abandoned, and it was waiting for new owners, or the blanketing snows of winter. Zhy took a last look at the sutan—perhaps the only thing out of place here—and went into the kitchen. Maybe there was some food left over.

  Yulchar pulled out a dusty brandy bottle and set it on the kitchen table. "Fine vintage, that. Care for some?"

  Zhy looked at the bottle with wonder, as if he'd never seen brandy before. A wobbly vision came to mind, of a man stumbling and falling, but then it faded. "No, never had it. Don't care to either," he replied. He thought he heard the man gasp, but when he looked up, Yulchar's attention was directed elsewhere.

  "Not much left here, apart from this, and some knickknacks. Oh, and that sutan out there," Huyen replied. He gave the brandy bottle a sneer, then turned back into the main living area, looking around at the emptiness with an air of total loss.

  "I don't understand what I’m supposed to be looking for," Zhy said quietly.

  "We do not either. There is really nothing here. We have already been here once and come up empty. Anything of value that was here is now in the hands of whatever guards were here before us."

  Zhy nodded slowly. "I wouldn't doubt that… so, if you don't mind me asking, what drew you to this place? Why here?" And how did you find it? he wanted to ask.

  "That is a long story and we do not have—"

  "We don't have time," Zhy finished the sentence for him, a bitter edge to his voice. "If I am dead, which I think I am, or am dreaming—" He waved off the brewing protest. "—I have all the time in… well, I have a lot of time." He pulled a rickety chair across the dusty floor and sat down. The pine chair creaked in protest. He sat, looking up at Yulchar.

  The knight dry-washed his hands, and with a heavy sigh, pulled the other chair to him, sitting down with obvious irritation. His glance darted around the house, no doubt seeking Huyen.

  "Well?"

  Yulchar folded his hands on the table and looked hard at Zhy, his gray eyes sparkling in the dust-covered sunbeam that angled through the window. "We didn't exactly know to come here. Our group had experienced some setbacks—" He looked at Zhy with sadness. "—and made our way to Vronga, trying hard to run from our troubles. Troubles we had no business getting involved in. We lost two of our own, and possibly Gryn to—" He stopped abruptly, his eyes sharp. They bored into Zhy's, who only returned a blank look.

  "Yes?"

  "You do not remember?"

  "Why should I?" Zhy slammed his fist on the table. "Why should a dead man remember anything?" he snapped. The frustration was too much, but the anger quickly boiled away to surrender. "I—I'm sorry. I—"

  "I guess I should say that I understand, but I do not. But I am sorry. I hope that your memory returns to you."

  "So do I."

  A tense silence filled the room. Dust from Zhy's outburst floated up and was caught in the ray of light, and for a moment, Zhy saw the shape of a man, drowning, his arms reaching to the sky. Was he that man?

  "In any case," Yulchar continued, with another glance around the room. "We were going to try to meet some of our Order's members in Vronga and get reassigned, but we overheard a guard talking about this dead woman. Quite a few people seemed to have known her—rather, her husband and their boy—and were concerned. It seemed like a major event here, and with a city like Vronga, that meant something might be important related to… related to our work." He looked at Zhy again, but he only nodded slightly. "We asked the guard, and explained we were also interested, since we had just come from the North, and there were strange goings-on. He gave us directions, and we found the note… it was right there, on the table." He pointed at Zhy's hand.

  Zhy moved his hand away from the table and stared at the knotty pine.

  "But it is gone now… must have blown away or been taken."

  "I see. Well, I—"

  "And the lady has not visited you since you—since last night?" Yulchar broke in, seeming eager to change the subject.

  Zhy shook his head. "No."

  "Let's hope to Sacuan she does, and soon. There is not much time." He chewed on his lip while Zhy thumbed an earlobe.

  At that moment, Huyen stomped in, his face set in a scowl. "Well…?"

  Yulchar shook his head. "Not a whole lot," he said slowly. Huyen cursed softly. "Can't be helped… listen, Huyen, take two horses and get the supplies. We'll take one last look around and get a meal started… there are some things left over, I'm guessing they aren't poisoned. Then we must be going."

  "Going… where?" Zhy asked.

  "Zhyfrael, it is not yet time for you to know," Huyen snapped, then left with an irritated wave from Yulchar.

  "Impetuous. He'll be straightened out soon enough."

  "Why do you call me Zhyfrael? It's Zhy, please."

  "That is what the lady wrote," he replied. "But we all know of Zhyfrael. It is a bitter part of Welcfer's history. And any Beldener worth his salt should know the history." He cocked an eyebrow at Zhy.

  Indeed, Zhyfrael and her—her! A woman! Her great folly, letting in the savages to rend and tear and destroy everything in sight. Zhy pounded the table again, softer this time, frustrated that he could remember something like that, but not what was important. As the image faded, he saw a smaller man float by in his mind's eye, a small-man, a man from Welcfer, who had told him the story. But a glint of sunlight caught his eye and everything went dark again. "I don't need to be reminded. Apparently, I already died for that. Possibly twice."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I don't know," he snapped. He stood suddenly and walked out of the farmhouse.

  Yulchar muttered something about the fields and wandered off into the rows of dead turnips while Zhy poked around the stables. He picked up the sutan and tried to play a chord, the ten strings were difficult to adjust to, and he couldn't get his fingers to make any discernible sound. Nonetheless, it was a very beautiful instrument.

  "Why is a sutan laying in a stable?" Yulchar's questioned, startling Zhy. He turned. "And, I am sorry, Zhy. Tradition and history go very deep in our Order."

  Zhy only nodded. "Strange, this. Who would leave it behind?" A sutan! A sutan... had she said something about a—

  "We hope that the lady would have told you, well that and seven hundred other things. I hope she comes to see you again."

  I don't. I don't understand any of this. It is senseless. If I was dead, why not let me stay dead? I can't seem to remember much about living.

  He nearly jumped at the hand on his shoulder. "I am sorry, son." The voice was suddenly soothing, even with the rough edges. "Fighting the Dark and demons for so long, we often get lost in our mission. We forget about people. To Huyen, you are still a tool to be used to get to Ar'Zoth. I can't imagine what it must be like to be dead—and then alive. I'll try to give you that if I can—that peace, anyway. Time alone, I mean." The man struggled to get the words out and they sounded forced, but Zhy accepted them tentatively as an honest attempt to soothe him.

  I'll probably wake up soon anyway. "Thank you." Zhy set down the sutan and returned to the house. He had the same look of loss and confusion as Yulchar. What was so important? What am I missing, if anything?

  "They took away the poisoned tea," Yulchar was saying as he rooted through the cupboards. He had found some turnips that were still decent and some dried meat; there was a pan and some fat and he got to frying both items together. The fat smelled slightly rancid as it heated, but Yulchar poured out spices in heaping handfuls—after sniffing them for poison. "So you could make some I suppose, although… on second thought, never mind."

  "Poisoned tea?"

  "A spicy-sweet tea, apparently, they drank it a lot here. Found a cup next to her and a Healer came, took one whiff,
and knew it was poison. Someone killed her."

  "Her son."

  "Maybe, but—wait, how did you know?"

  "She said so—said her son murdered her." She had told me, hadn't she?

  "Well, that proves that, then. Straight from the dead woman's mouth. So, the idiot child did it? Interesting. And where is the man of the house? Folks said he was a strong, loving man who just up and left."

  That proves it? That proves nothing! "Left?"

  "Disappeared, more like it. Had this wife and idiot child, and the farm, and left. Before he left, though, locals in Vronga said he came to the university with a young man, and they were desperate to find a mage. They dragged some old guy out of an inn where he was drowning in his cup, then that was the last."

  "Why at the inn?" Zhy's foggy mind was trying to process all of the information, but only holding onto small bits. Somehow the inn stuck out as important.

  "All the other mages were busy with final examinations or research. This guy was almost ready to retire, so they sent him. For what, I do not know. They were very close-lipped about it all."

  "And they disappeared?"

  "Yes." Yulchar stirred the sizzling food.

  "Maybe the mage kidnapped him, or…"

  "Yes, but everyone disappeared. Everyone. Why?" The knight shook the pan and the smell of fragrant spices filled the kitchen.

  "And the son is gone?"

  "Yes."

  Zhy scratched his head. It's where, not why. Probably abandoned his wife.

  "What was that?"

  "I—" he started, then stopped. He had a vague memory of someone else reading his thoughts—a large man. Not fat, just muscle. With a sword. He shook his head. "Where, not why. Maybe he just wanted to leave his wife, so he killed her and left. But where? And what in the name of—of… What is the point of bringing me back from the dead for it?" He scratched his head and scowled, surprised at his own emotion. I can't even remember how to curse!

  "That is a good point. But we know the where. At least we think we do. We need the why."

  "I don't understand. You know where they went?"

  "Yes, but did they go together? If we follow and get to Ar'Zoth, will we be facing the others, including the idiot son?"

  "No, I… wait." His head spun and he sat down on a pine chair. "She said her son was up there. Trying to destroy the world. What does that mean?"

  The pale man went a shade paler. "Sacuan help us all," he breathed. He set the pan off the heat and sat down himself. He collapsed in the chair, his vision blank and his face splattered with worry. The food sizzled on the hearth.

  "I don't…"

  "Is that what she said? I hope Huyen gets back. We don't have much time. If the son… it makes no sense. But yet it might. The son… the father. Not together. Where is the father?" Suddenly, he jerked, then grasped Zhy's arm. Zhy gasped in pain—the main's grip was stronger than an orca's jaws. "Zhy! You must find out more! Must. Ask on the way. She may reach you—in there. Are they together? What happened? Did the boy kill the father? What? Who was the third…" He trailed off again. "Protector…" he whispered.

  Zhy merely stared. Yulchar's gaze went to the kitchen, then to Zhy, and when his eyes met his, they were hollow and wide.

  Yulchar's voice trembled. "The Temple. They went to the temple! Damn Huyen, where are you?" He slammed his fist on the table.

  "What… you don't mean? Oh no…" Zhy groaned. He had a memory of a temple. Far away. There was a fascination with it, by someone. And anger and sadness. When had awoken in Belden, there had been a small miniature temple at his side—was that where he had been?

  "She better reach you in there. Do we go to the temple or to Ar'Zoth? Or both? Can we? Is there time? Does it matter? I—" His voice gave out in a hoarse whisper, but his mouth still moved, mouthing silent words that were curses and blessings and everything in between.

  "Where?"

  His mouth kept moving as if he were raving.

  "Where?" Zhy repeated, a little louder.

  "In the Tunnels."

  "Tunnels?"

  Yulchar pointed a shaking hand out the kitchen window, clearly indicating the large stone slab in the hill. "There."

  "I don't see anything!" Zhy barked. "Just a stone!" But when he looked again, he could see how the slab might be a door. Set perfectly within the side of the shrub-covered hill, nothing grew in front of it, save a stray dead turnip plant, its leaves black. It could be a door, if one had the imagination of a child…

  "That is the entrance, Zhy, the entrance to a very secret, very long tunnel system. Well, not a system, just one long tunnel that stretches from here to the Temple of M'Hzrut. Or near to it, anyway. But you said Ar'Zoth. Rather, she said Ar'Zoth." Why was he rambling? For such a tough man, he liked to prattle from time to time. "So that means we have to get out short of the temple."

  Zhy let out a sigh of relief, but he wasn't sure what he would be relieved about. It was too fantastical to be real, and he pinched his arm just to ensure he was still awake. Fool! Pinching your arm, like a child. Of course it's fantastical. Everything is fantastical.

  "Because I'm dead?" he asked himself.

  Yulchar shuddered as if struck. "Excuse me, what did you just say?"

  "Oh, sorry, nothing, just thinking about something. So, you said there are tunnels—rather, a tunnel behind the stone?"

  Yulchar nodded.

  "A secret tunnel?"

  "Of course."

  "And how do you know of it, and why, if you knew, did you not…?" He trailed off. Not what? Why would anyone go blindly into a tunnel, even if they knew about it? Who just takes off on a long journey without knowing all the right information, and where they are going, who they are going with, and what might face them at the end? He thought he heard someone laughing, and looked up to see Yulchar with a smirk on his face.

  "What?"

  "You were muttering something…"

  "And what is funny about that?"

  "Nothing…"

  "So, these—this tunnel, it’s a secret?"

  "Yes."

  "And you know about it?" Yulchar nodded. "Who else?"

  "I'm sure a few people."

  "I'd say the people that live here may have, and maybe the guards, probably that 'Protector' you mentioned, maybe a stray hermit, or an uncle to—"

  "That's enough, Zhy," Yulchar said quietly, his voice soft but deadly.

  "So what do you call the tunnel?" Zhy asked. He could feel his face heat.

  "The Tunnels of Woe."

  Zhy burst out with a hoarse laugh. "Please wake me up or bury me or something, but stop with the silly names. First there was—" He broke off. There was what? A man with a puerile name, but what was it?

  "Why do you find the name funny? Once you get down there, you will not be laughing. I can assure you." His demeanor had changed dramatically, and he glowered at Zhy.

  "I don't know," Zhy replied. His smile was slow in fading from his face, but the icicles in Yulchar's eyes were enough to temper his mirth. "It just sounded funny, that’s all."

  "There is nothing funny about any of this, Zhy."

  Glossary

  Demons: It is an odd reality, but one nonetheless, that there are demons but no angels. In the underworld and in dimensions set apart from the waking world. That said, there are areas underneath Welcfer where demons can break through in physical form. Such areas, such as beneath the Temple of M’Hzrut, are well guarded. Warlocks can summon demons but need special wards and barriers against the subversive tenacity of the demonic underworld.

  Gherwza (gārz’schw’ɒ): A summoned demon. Shaped like an enormous bat but with the ability to see in the light and dark. Those in communion with demons can summon them, and demons can transform into them. They can be killed by most any powerful magical spell or weapon. One of the only known creatures that can be summoned from the underworld.

  Knights of the Black Dawn: A fairly secret order of skilled mages and assassins, whose purported goal is t
o rid the world of demonic influence. They wear black, cover their faces, and generally slink among the shadows.

  Magic: Magic in Belden and Welcfer relies on the employ of the spaces between matter and energy. Though practitioners have little clue as to what they are doing, some do, and are doubly powerful in their magical ability, be they warlock/seith or mage. Bolt of Sacuan, Tendril of Doom, Temple of M’Hzrut, and Web of Deceit are some of the most powerful spells used by mages and warlocks.

  Protectors, The: Men who guard the holy Temple of M’Hzrut. There are usually three who are sent north every six months to sit at the Temple and meditate their purpose in life and to protect the world from the great demonic horde.

  Qainur (kaɪ’nɜːr): An experienced mercenary, or so we are led to believe, who has traveled southern Belden. His lack of scars are testament to his skill, he claims, but his quick temper may create problems during the journey with Zhy and Torplug.

  Sacuan (sæk’u’ahn): Although many people refer to Sacuan like a god with their sayings such as, “Sacuan-knows-what”, Sacuan was not a god. Instead, he was referenced quite often in the III age and a little in the IV age. Older texts list him as the first Prophet, and one who addressed the deeper concerns of the people over the so-called spiritual directives of Holy Orders. Other texts credit him with the first use of the word “knot” to refer to the soul, but this link is tenuous. Still other words from the bygone ages refer to him simply as a mad man who wrote nonsense that was read by later scholars and interpreted as spot-on predictions of the future. But he was no god.

  Seith (zaɪð): Another name for a warlock. Much in the same school as a mage, warlocks, however, can use demonic energy and demonic forces. They are thus very powerful wielders of magic. Mages can be very powerful, almost to the level of warlocks, but the use of demonic energy was something that set warlocks apart. Many thought warlocks were demons, while many thought they were just mages who had big heads and inflated egos. See: Magic.

  Sutan (suː’tɒn): Although lutes and flutes made up a majority of the instruments—as any good fantasy tale should have—the sutan was the most common instrument. The sutan could be held in the lap and was made of hollow balsam, pine, or even cherry. The five strings were strung over a hole in the base and then stretched out along a short neck. There were tuning pegs, which the player could adjust as needed. Some sutans had ten strings, but only the most adept could master the complex chords and fingerings of these hybrids. Often, the musician played and sang at the same time. Sometimes they were joined by a flautist or a drum player. With the more extreme styles, a drummer was required, and the flautist was left to ponder the flowers.