The Spaces Between (A Drunkard's Journey) (9 page)

The forest glowed amber for a few seconds as the fire consumed the creature. Zhy recoiled as the sound of singeing hair and flesh filled the air. And he nearly cried out when he swore he heard the wrenching scream of what sounded like a human. Like a man, screaming...but...how? The giant bat careened wildly, spinning in dizzying gyrations before turning and slamming into a large pine tree. The charred body bounced off the tree then fell still spinning to the ground. Pine needles flew up in a bloody cloud, eventually settling down to the sodden earth.

A most horrible stench filled the air, replacing and by far overpowering the rank stench of the creature’s so-called life. In death, the burned hair and flesh emitted a thick and cloying odor that was enough to bring Zhy to his knees. There was a veritable cloud of odor that clung to the skin, choked the nostrils, and stuck to the lungs with a putrid, vomit-inducing film. Smoke curled from the ground where the creature’s body scorched the earth. Beneath the corpse of the body, the ground would already be turning black with mold and decay.

Zhy could barely croak, “Tor…” before retching.

Qainur, on the other hand, was quick to react. He had heard the human scream and he allowed his shock and disgust to be vented through anger and curses. His instincts had once again gone far ahead of his brain, or other vital functions, and he ignored completely the vile stench.

“Great grinding goats!” Qainur bellowed. “You killed someone!” His sword appeared in his meaty hand and the blade reflected a flash of autumn sun as he ran full-speed toward the sound, crashing blindly into a wall of rust-colored shrubbery. He was only inches from the small swamp when Torplug’s voice rang out.

“Stop!” Torplug screamed, his voice suddenly octaves deeper and decibels louder. The small-man stood on the road, his legs apart and his hands balled into fists. Zhy thought he saw the man pulsating as he stood there, full of—anger? Fear?

Qainur stumbled as if struck and turned back, his mouth open. He brushed off some stray brambles from his outfit and then stared at the little man. He looked askance at Zhy, who was still doubled-over. Then, as if in a wave, the smell struck him, too, and he bent over, clutching his belly. He did not vomit, however, but grimaced. Stoically, he straightened and glared at Torplug.

“What—did—you—do?” he finally asked. His chest felt heavy and breaths came at an excruciating cost. He thumbed his earlobe, not sure what to do. Or what to think anymore. Did any of that just happen?

Qainur finished his sentence. “What did you do? Please. Why can’t we go back there? Someone may be hurt.”

“No,” the mage stated sternly. “No. If you go back there, I will kill you. Because whatever was in that creature can still get out and get to you.” He ignored their questioning faces. “Explanations later. Now, get on your horse. And ride.” He sniffed and then spat on the ground.
So the smell finally gets to him
, Zhy thought.

“Why? What did you do?” he asked again.

“We ride,” Torplug said calmly, ignoring the question. He mounted his horse and started along the road. “We ride, without ever looking back.” Apparently, he had had enough of this conversation. He seemed eager to move on, for before he mounted and rode, he looked nervously into the woods.

Zhy grudgingly mounted his horse, glad at least to move past the horrific smell. But Qainur was right. Someone had died there. Hadn’t they? Isn’t that what he heard? There was a large flying bird, but it was hard to make out a ride—it all happened so fast. There was definitely a scream when the fireball struck.

“But…” Zhy pleaded. He followed anyway, looking back at the forest, listening for any sounds of life.

“So what did you do, and who did you kill?” Qainur growled.

“I did not kill anyone. The demon had already done that. Did you see that massive bat fly overhead earlier?”

“I saw a big bird,” Zhy said.

“It was no bird. It was a type of bat. And since it is several hours from dusk, I’m afraid it was a
gherwza
, a summoned demon.”

Zhy coughed and Qainur blurted, “A what? A gourd-cha?” He spat and then realized what Torplug had said. “And a demon? Oh, that is terrific! I swear you make this shit up.”

“I would not make that up.”

A demon? Knights of the Black Dawn hiding like parasites in Belden’s woods? A seith in the north? Zhy’s head was spinning. Demons were only in children’s’ stories, and ones he was never allowed to read. The world started to spin, and he had consumed no alcohol.

“Many of the children’s stories are based on some real events,” Torplug explained, seemingly reading Zhy’s thoughts. “Demons are real, although they are not often out in the world. In my mage training, I learned of several, including this bat-like creature, the
gherwza
. I can’t remember any of the others. Nobody could pronounce it right, so they simply called it a g-bat. In any case. In order to turn into a
gherwza
, a person—or animal, I suppose—needs to be possessed by a demon. The thing has to be in your brain to control everything. A demon has to get in your brain first. Then it can transform into these things.”

“How do you get a demon in your brain?” Qainur asked, at once credulous and doubtful.

Zhy coughed. “Please, Torplug. Who did you kill and why?” He had assumed that the mage had invented this story. Demons were not real.

“I’m not lying. This is no invention. Just because things are rare does not make them unreal.”

“But demons cannot be real!” Zhy blurted. The man had just killed someone for no reason!

“And why is that?” The look Torplug gave was the same Zhy, himself, had given to street beggars. He was taken aback at being struck by his own incredulous mindset.

“I—I just never.” He paused. “I just thought they were all part of the children’s stories, that’s all.”

“They are, but they at least are based on some form of reality. Just like war. You have never had war in Belden. Our soldiers battle naked savages every day. Just because you don’t know it or understand it, does not make it unreal. Demons are real. I think I just proved that.”

“You proved nothing,” Zhy said quietly, although he was resigning himself to the fact that all of these wild phantoms from his story books had at least a sliver of a hold in reality.
Maybe I didn’t attend the Temple enough
, he thought,
because the thought of demons running loose, especially in the minds of people, was beyond farcical.
It was a joke so funny that you couldn’t laugh. But Torplug had seen the bat and then immediately cast his spell, so the possibility that he had imagined something was slim. The reaction was almost a reflex, Zhy remarked, one that only years of training could precipitate. Still, it seemed so odd and out of place.

At last Qainur calmed down. Zhy was still a bit confused, but he only nodded at Torplug then up at the road. He focused his thoughts on a warm bed and a hot meal. A bottle of brandy shimmered on the edge of his vision, but he brushed it away. Qainur’s voice shook him back to the previous events.

“So…so how do you get a demon in your brain?” the mercenary repeated his question from earlier.

Zhy suppressed a groan.

“Well, it’s complicated,” the mage began, as if he were lecturing a class. “Warlocks are—for the most part, the only folks who can summon demons and use them. Just because they can does not mean it is common—far from it—they, warlocks, just have more powerful magical ability, demonic summoning and all that aside. And even if a warlock summons a demon, for what dark purpose I shudder to think, he must create wards to ensure the thing can’t pass through and take over.”

“So this was a warlock you killed?” Zhy asked.

“It’s possible. But it could be another scenario...one that is equally dangerous.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, warlocks are normally the only ones who can deal with demons. But, there are...certain items that can be used to summon demons. I’ve only seen one such thing—it was a small rod—and it was behind glass at University. And while the common man can use it, they are mostly useless, unless you have at least some spark of magical ability.”

 “But why?” Zhy asked. “Why would one…want to summon—something like that?”

“Not all people work for good. Some want to use demons and demonic powers.” Torplug chewed his lip. “But why summon a
gherwza
? What dark and evil purpose could one have?”

The mercenary looked at the mage with wide, questioning eyes.

“We’ve done what we can—well, I suppose I have,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “Let’s not get in over our heads. It’s enough to have battled the Dawn. Let’s not go down this path.”

Zhy stared blindly ahead at the road. A small caravan passed in silence. Dusk was coming. “This is too much. I’m staying at the next town throughout winter. I’m going to live on turnips and Zor’Tarak.”

Torplug looked at him with a glance that closely resembled sympathy. “I wouldn’t worry about demons any more. I am hoping that was the only one.”

“Why would there only be one?” asked Qainur.

Torplug only shrugged. “I said that’s what I hoped.”

“Impossible,” Zhy replied. “There must be more—the odds of you striking down the only one? Why, I have a better chance of being eaten by an orca right here!”

“Maybe I should have said, the only one we should encounter…of course there will be more demons out there. I just doubt we will see any more. The odds—well, that’s how you put it—are against that, too.” The mage shrugged, but his quick sidelong glances into the woods betrayed a deeper unease.

“Demons…” Qainur whispered, regarding his beefy hands.

“Are there demons around that are not in control of people?” Zhy asked. His gaze on a faraway birch tree slowly unfocused, and all he saw was a gray blur of forest. He wondered how a demon could even interact with this world…let alone take over someone. But if that someone had summoned the demon in the first place, well, then he got is proper due. His overarching doubts took over, and he wondered how demons could
be
…at all. And to take over your mind? He shivered, imagining a snake sliding across his brain.

“No, at least that is what I was taught,” the mage replied. “Demons inhabit the underworld, but are often summoned or consulted by warlocks. Some spells are drawn from demonic power. It is a dangerous game. Too dangerous for many.” He shrugged again. “Maybe that is why many go insane, or don’t bother with demons at all. You have to do so many things at once. Set the wards and set them tight. Then draw the demonic power, use it, then discard the demon, hoping it never left any of its essence inside your mind. Then withdraw the wards in the reverse order. It is quite a lot of work.” He rubbed his head, most likely remembering his University training.

“My head hurts, too,” Qainur said softly.

They rode in silence and eventually found an inn as dusk turned to twilight.

* * *

They remained in the common room through supper. No one spoke. They ate their roasted pheasant slowly, taking hesitant sips of mead, and absently tearing pieces of meat off the small bones of the roasted fowl. They chewed the meat out of instinct. Other patrons regarded them with a few odd looks one gets as a stranger in a small town, but shrugged and wrote them off as weary travelers. A wiry man played the sutan, and he played with amazing dexterity and ability—the travelers paid no mind.

It wasn’t until they retired to their rooms that they felt comfortable discussing the day’s action.

“I still don’t believe it,” Zhy said to the fire.

“I don’t want to either,” replied Torplug. “I saw the demon fly past us, then turn. It could have been after us, or after something else. There are many women in these caravans…demons tend to fall for sins of the flesh.”

Qainur mumbled something. He stared into the fire, hands wrapped around a half-full flagon of mead. It had been half-full for hours.

Torplug continued. “It came back to me so fast.
Light of M’Hzrut
. A spell designed to work against demons. The scream you heard was a host body. Whoever it was had been practically dead the second the demon grabbed hold.”

Qainur looked up and shook his head. “Where do you come up with these names?” he asked. “G’s and R’s and X’s and Z’s, and all that all just jumbled together.” His sudden change of the subject seemed both out of place and comforting at the same time.

Torplug chuckled, assuming he was referring to the
gherwza
. “The ancient language of Welcfer is difficult. I even have trouble with it. There are different ways of speaking and writing, my friend. This town, for instance. What kind of a name is Duynton? It sounds like the sound a court jester would make when you jump on his testicles.”

At that they all shared a laugh, eager to have an image different than of a blue fireball and a demonic bat. Each stared into the fire for some time, and although they had shared a brief moment of relief, the echo of a scream still reverberated in their minds.

* * *

Dawn was just beginning to break when Torplug sat bolt upright in bed. “The Temple of M’Hzrut!” he screamed, wiping sweat from his brow.

His companions stirred, coming sleepily into consciousness. “What’s wrong?” Zhy asked, yawning hugely.

“The Temple! The Temple! Of course!” He said the word temple as if were more important than an average village temple.

“What temple?”

“Far to the north, farther than Welcfer, near the top of the world is a temple –a small little temple, you have not heard of it? M’Hzrut?”

Qainur yawned sleepily

Torplug waited a few seconds, waiting for Zhy and Qainur to come awake. Neither seemed to recognize the name.

“You have not read of it?” The small-man was still incredulous.

“N-No, I have not…wait, a little. Temple of what?”

“M’Hzrut!”

“Savages! Do ever go to the temple for worship?”

At this Zhy laughed. “The last time I was in a temple, my grandmother had died. I was seven.”

Qainur nodded. “Aye, I have only been to one once, and that was to stand for a man who was getting married. I later had to kill him because he went to bed with the lady’s sister.”