SPARX Incarnation: Mark of the Green Dragon (SPARX Series I Book 1) (17 page)

“It’s slippery,” I said.

Kabor was either fearless, reckless or completely oblivious to the incredible peril that went along with his recommendation. I spent a moment pondering the situation, and tried to convince myself that
up
was what we were aiming for all along.
Up
was good – until I looked
down
.

“Are you mad?” I grabbed a loose stone and dropped it down the crevice. It fell for a count of two, then ricocheted several times before coming to rest at the bottom. “Why do you think there are bones down there?”

“They’re probably ancient animal bones,” he argued. Kabor ran his hand along the inside wall of the chasm. “Look at all the holds,” he continued. “No able-bodied Stout – or even a Pip – should have any trouble scaling that wall. Just shimmy up where it pinches in.”

“It’s suicide,” I said.

The argument continued, more for the sake of argument than for finding alternatives, but in the end, the choice was clear. Being the more agile climber, I went first, and the plan was that Kabor would catch my fall on the off chance I slipped. I would help to pull him up when it was his turn.

I held the SPARX stone with my teeth and braced myself for the climb. I started with a forward lunge, throwing my left foot into a small pocket on the far wall. I grabbed onto a small ledge jutting out above. I stayed in a near splits position for a second or two, and then shifted my weight wholly to the opposing side. Slowly, I began my ascent up the slimy wall.

“Wha ish som’ens up there?” I grumbled, jaw clenched on the SPARX stone to illuminate the gap as I climbed. “Wha ish I shlip and fall?”

“I told you I’ll catch you,” said Kabor. His voice echoed in the chasm. “I won’t let you fall past me. Don’t worry, there’s nothing down here but you and me… and her.”

“Wha?” I lost my foothold. Kabor’s hand caught the sole of my foot; he was straddling the two walls just beneath me. Lucky for me, his hands were huge. They cupped around my foot as he gave me a boost.

Kabor laughed. “Be careful,” he said.

“Vewy shfunny,” I said, and took another step.

“That’s good,” said Kabor, cheering me on, “you’re doing it. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

When I reached the high cave, I peered into the opening. It was a sizable chamber, an empty chamber.

“That’s right,” said Kabor, “find a hold; a good hold.”

I located a hold and pulled myself up and in. The grade sloped up and the floor was slippery. Slowly, I crept in, crouched on all fours. Rubble was everywhere, and the ceiling was high and dome shaped. Water poured in from above just two or three steps in, creating the stream and splashing into the crevice. A passage cut across the cave. It ran roughly parallel to the crevice. That tunnel was tall with smooth, straight walls – very different from anything we’d seen up until then.

I yelled back, over the edge to Kabor. “ALL CLEAR. And…”

Kabor was already right there. I grabbed his arm. “Man-made,” I added. Bracing myself, I gave him one last pull to bring him up and in.

“You’re not a bad climber,” I said.

“I just followed the light. Did you notice the walls on your way up?” he said.

“What about them?”

“The other side is limestone, and this side is something else altogether. I can’t quite place it.” Kabor, like most Stouts, had an eye for structural detail, even half-blind and in near-darkness, it seemed.

“It all looks pretty much the same to me,” I confessed.

Kabor’s eyes were all over the new cave. He waved me over to a spot along the wall. He stood in front of it, eyes inches away from its surface. I brought the light down close to where he was crouched. Every flicker revealed something new.

“You’re right, it’s man-made,” he said. “But this isn’t mine construction – that’s for sure,” said Kabor. He pressed his index finger into a groove and ran it along the wall horizontally, then vertically. “There are bricks underneath the dirt and grime, and there’s no such thing as a brick mine.”

“Where do you think it leads? Maybe Men built it.” I said.

“The ceiling height is about right,” he said.

“It must lead out one way or the other.” Kabor paused for a long moment. “Or just
in
. It could be some kind of displaced adit.”

“Why would Men build way out here under a bog,” I said. “And how did they keep the water out?”

“More importantly, why did they leave?” he said. Kabor just shrugged and shook his head.

Kabor judged the left passage to be up-sloping. I adjusted my pack and we started along it. Partially caved-in areas became commonplace along the way, and once we had to dig our way through a heavy choke point. Over time, new openings began to appear on either side. There were brick throughways, wide at the top and narrowing downward in a slow curve to the earthen floor, nearly to a point. To my untrained eye, it looked upside down to what it should be.

We kept to our path with few words. I thought back to the Mire Trail and the abandonment of good friends.
They’re dead in the mud and I sure as put them there,
I told myself. I needed to say it, but I couldn’t get the words out. Kabor’s own thoughts were churning.

“Gariff abandoned us,” he said, walking alongside me. “How could he do that? He’s
your
best friend and
my
cousin. He should have been all over that old hag when she was dragging you in, and double when she had us both. The three of us could have pummeled her.”

I took a deep breath.

“I don’t know why things went down that way, they just did,” I said. “We were all trying to get away. And those hags were more than a trifle cunning – they were
trying
to separate us. They were
scheming
to funnel us this way or that. They were good at it too. Gariff did what he could. We all did what we could. Nobody knew any better.”

“We knew the legend,” said Kabor.

“It was
just
a legend, back then,” I reminded him.

It almost seemed prophetic how Kabor and I had only recently recited the “Legend of the Bog Queens,” and were now hopelessly entangled in its inner workings. We had told the story and laughed hysterically at how frightened stuffy ole Gariff had become. Good Gariff. He probably had nightmares. Did the hags hear us that day? Was this some kind of punishment? Poetic justice? We went from telling the story to living it in a matter of days. A kind of morbid recurrence seemed to be at play in the world.

“What do you think happened to them?” I asked, solemnly. I knew Kabor was thinking about it.

He scrunched his shoulders once again, and then shook his head, his expression uncommonly blank. I left the conversation at that.

*

Further along, we came upon a new source of running water. Mist and the noise of random patter filtered into our passageway. Rounding a bend, the tunnel suddenly lost most of its man-made features and opened up into a large, airy chamber with a domed roof again. The original construction was fractured. Piles of rubble lay scattered about, and water poured through a gaping hole in the ceiling. It splashed into a pool that spanned the room from side to side. Water swirled in the centre and drained to unknown depths, and a gentle stream spilled out of the chamber on the far side.

“We’re down-sloped,” I said.

Kabor nodded. “Could be a temporary dip to get around something.”

“Like what?”

“Another structure, a pond… the mayor’s basement, hard rock… anything you wouldn’t want to dig through or run into.”

“I wouldn’t mind running into the mayor’s basement right about now.”

Kabor laughed. “I bet he has some nice wine down there…
up
there, I mean.”

Crossing the pool was easy enough, owing to the rubble that littered the floor. We stepped from pile-to-pile all the way to the rushing column of water. In that feat of dexterity, Kabor far surpassed the abilities of his cousin.

To complete the crossing, we had no choice but to get wet. Very wet. Before wading through the waist high water, we stopped to fill our waterskins.

“I need a quick dip,” I said.

“I’ll wait,” said Kabor. “What choice do I have?”

I removed my pack, placed the bog stone gently on top, and suddenly became conscious of how filthy I was. With measured reluctance, I waded into the cold waters of the pool, dove under and swam to the bottom. I floated there, hovering, arms and legs spread wide apart, listening to the pacifying rush of the falling water. It was refreshing, and healing, and almost spiritual in the way the rest of the world just disappeared. The weight of the water surrounding me kept me bound, intact, and together, the way it gently pushed in from all sides. I appreciated the purity of it. If only I could live beneath the pool’s rippled surface and forget the world, I would.

Eventually, I surfaced and ferried my pack to the other side. Dripping wet and more reluctant to leave than I had been to enter, I pulled myself out and shook myself dry as best I could. Kabor had tossed his clothes across, and was already on the other side putting his boots back on.

I gathered my things and we set out on our way without so much as a word between us. The events of the day replayed in my mind. Kabor seemed lost in thought and didn’t say anything.

Once my thoughts were organized, I passed them on to Kabor. They weren’t completely honest, but they broke the heavy silence.

“Gariff could have pulled free of the hags grip by brute strength alone,” I started. “Holly could have avoided detection, plus she’s tougher than she looks. If Bobbin got to the water, maybe he outswam them. After all, he would never outrun them. And Jory, well, maybe he was just knocked out.”

It was my way of saying, “They might be all right.”

Kabor spilled the contents of his mind as well, having mulled over a different topic.

“You just can’t trust bog queens – they’re shifty creatures,” he said. “Things might have turned out the same or worse even if we had given them all they asked for and did what they said to do.”

I think it was his way of saying “I don’t really blame you.” And there was a glint of hope in his words.

But Kabor hadn’t seen what I had seen, just before being pulled under. He couldn’t have. I decided there was no point in flattening what little hope he could muster. I needed him to stay focused. I needed us both to stay focused.

So I could not find absolution in his words without knowing what had become of the good friends we left behind, for the sinking feeling in my gut and the echo of Holly’s scream etched in my memory left me little doubt about their fate, and my role in it.

I wished I had never found that stupid stone.

Chapter XXIII

Flicker

I
n time, the schedule of flashes became so familiar that the intervening dead-times – the dark intervals – went by unnoticed. When I relaxed my eyes and let my mind wander, the gaps seemed to fill in all by themselves, phantom-like, smoothly morphing one illuminated scene into the next.

With the mystifying light as our only guide, our heavy feet fell into the monotony of a steady march through the underground cave system. The going was good and progress was even-paced for what seemed like hours. Spurious noises became commonplace: scratching, clicking, drips, drops, echoes and the hollow sounds of wind were all present. That meant life, food, water, and circulating air. Kabor took it as a sign that we were nearing the surface. “Cave dwelling animals don’t venture far underground,” he had said. I wasn’t so convinced.

Again, my senses were on high alert, having picked up on a repetitive scratching sound, nearly hidden in the clutter of familiar cave noises. It was a rare and subtle thing, but distinctive, and only barely within earshot when it was there at all. If I stopped to listen, it would silence. I found myself questioning whether or not it was ever really there. But it was. The signature pattern of scratching persisted for long minutes at a time before disappearing for a while, only to return later.

Chk-chk-fwip… chk-chk-fwip.

Most times it came from behind us, but sometimes from ahead, and once, even from above after we had stopped to rest in yet another domed chamber – the fourth of our journey.

Our going was by no means direct. Three times along our course, debris-choked passages blocked our way and forced us to backtrack and take a side tunnel. With all the winding about, eventually we entered a new zone. The air seemed fresher again and there were less structural problems. Despite marginally lifted spirits, our souls were too weary to carry us much farther. We had gone too long without sleep, and all the swimming, climbing, worrying and decision-making had taken its toll on our minds and bodies.

At first, we talked to keep one another awake, mostly about the events that shaped our predicament: the chance meeting with Mer at the Flipside, the visit to Fyorn’s, Jory’s enthusiasm to accompany us, my decision to take out the stone… Mer – whatever happened to Mer? I wondered aloud if the hags had gotten to the prospector as well.

Kabor stumbled along for some time barely cognizant, having nearly fallen asleep at least once while walking (and mumbling incoherently). He tripped over his own feet. I caught him under one arm, mid-collapse.

“Time for a break,” I said. “It’s late. And you can’t keep my eyes open…” I tried to shake the tiredness off.

“I mean, I can’t keep your eyes open.” I shook again.

“Whatever the specifics, our two pairs of eyes cannot remain open much longer,” said Kabor, followed with a sleepy nod of agreement.

We took half a moment to settle into adequate, if not comfortable, resting places along one side of the passage. The floor was earthen with a few scattered stones and pieces of brick protruding. I shrugged the backpack off my shoulders and slumped against a dry and plain looking section of wall. My body ached everywhere, and my shoulders were raw where the straps rubbed against my skin. The simple act of taking the load off my legs was absolute luxury though. I tucked the stone away and decided that I wouldn’t be getting up again for a long, long time. As sleep began to wash over me, I pondered the prospects of endless days persisting on bugs for food – if it came to that – and imagined all of the places they might be hiding.

Kabor was already snoring by the time my dragging fatigue pulled me under the liquid gloom. I quickly succumbed to exhaustion and plummeted into a deep sleep. In the netherworld of dreams, I envisioned the vast wetlands outside of Webfoot, with fields of green reeds swaying in a light breeze on a drizzly day. Only a faint patch of light shone through the grey sky where the sun crouched over the horizon. It began to flicker.

I awoke startled, with the scent of bog water heavy in my nostrils and the sound of the whirring wind still in my ears. Except the scent wasn’t bog water – it was the dampness of the cave. And the whirring sound was not wind – it was Kabor’s raspy, early morning voice. The Stout’s choppy speech suggested that he had not slept much either.

“Go away,” I said.
How long was I asleep? A minute?

The annoying noisemaker did not go away.
Is this another dream?
He kept on about something.
Who cares?
Unwilling, I spiraled up and away from imagination’s abyss, through countless layers of cryptic illusion, and crashed through the paper wall of consciousness.

Kabor shook my shoulders. “I heard something,” he whispered.

“You heard nothing,” I countered, and promptly fell back to sleep.

He shook me again. “Nud, we’re almost there. The way out is just ahead – we should go.”

He was beginning to sound like a recurring nightmare: “just around the corner” or “maybe up that way” or “I can smell a Stout mine on the breeze” – I’d heard them all. And he wasn’t the only one fool enough to proclaim we’d be out in no time. Wishful thinking – dangerous thinking – all of it.

I didn’t open my eyes or say a word. I just shook my head.

“What if the hags are following us?” he pleaded. “We have to keep moving – we don’t have much food – just a few berries I picked along the way and some maple candy from your uncle that I didn’t tell Bobbin about.”

“He’s just Fyorn now,” I said.

“Huh?”

“Those hags… just let me… think for a bit,” I said. “If we run out of food we can… well… if we have to… I hear all kinds of scurrying sounds in the walls.”

“Bugs and mice?” said Kabor. “Fine fair for a Pip maybe, but not for me.”

Chk-chk-fwip… Chk-chk-fwip.

I sat up and took out the bog stone. In the first flash of light, something moved along the far wall. I pointed.

“There!”

A shadowy thing about a quarter my size scurried into the darkness.

The
spider?

I scrambled to my feet and stared down the passage, holding the stone above my head. With dead eyes and a sideways look, Kabor stared too.

“Do you see anything?” he said.

I waited for the next burst.

“Nope… wait… nope,” I said.

“Is it a hag, do you think?”

“Nope… it might be a giant spider.”

“Shit,” he said. “That’s just great.”

We both held our breath and listened intently. The air was dead and the passage deathly quiet… the regular noises that cave things make in the dark had subsided. Only the sound of water dripping into a shallow puddle persisted.

“I don’t like this,” I said. “You’re right. What I’d do for a simple torch.”

“What about your bow?”

“A shot in the dark?”

“Better than no shot.”

I passed the bog stone to the Stout and unhooked my bow from the side of the pack. It took half a minute just to untangle the bowstring. In the mean time, Kabor picked up a rock and whipped it into the darkness.

He watched and he waited. Nothing. I strung my bow and notched an arrow. Still nothing. Slow and quiet, we turned away and footpadded deeper into the cave.

Kabor offered to take turns carrying the pack – I let him. He offered to carry the stone as well. Not that it was heavy, but holding it up in front of me the whole time was tiresome – I let him. I even kept an arrow notched and my bow slightly bent for a good long time as we continued on our way. Not surprisingly, the way out wasn’t “just up ahead” as Kabor had thought. The air did shift again though. I couldn’t quite place the difference. Kabor said it was a mine smell.

After that encounter, we spent a daylight’s worth of hours exploring the network of tunnels.

Legs weary, we gave in to the notion that we’d be stuck underground at least one more “night,” and so once again settled to rest. This time, we chose a section of passage that we had passed twice already and taken special note of. The area was home to a protected cubbyhole for sleeping.

I cleared a space to rest and lay my pack down as a pillow, then put my boots on before cocooning into my cloak. Kabor and I agreed to take watches. His was the first. The moment my head hit the pack was the moment I found myself somewhere in Deepweald, at least in spirit. A normal sleep just wouldn’t do though, and so I slipped into recall. Having seen the spider-thing in the hag’s garden had stirred up old memories.