The Demon's Den
by Tanya Huff
Born In the Maritimes, Tanya Huff now lives and writes in rural Ontario. On her way there, she spent three years in the Canadian Naval Reserve and got a degree in Radio and Television Arts which the cat threw up on. Although no members of her family are miners, "The Demon's Den" is the third story she's written about those who go underground, and mines have been mentioned in a number of her books. She has no idea where it's coming from, but decided not to fight it. Her last book out was No Quarter (DAW, March 1996), the direct sequel to Fifth Quarter (DAW, August, 1995) and her next book will be Blood Debt (DAW, April 1997), a fifth Vicki/Henry/Celluci novel.
The mine had obviously been abandoned for years. Not even dusk hid the broken timbers and the scree of rock that spilled out of the gaping black hole.
Jors squinted into the wind, trying and failing to see past the shadows. -.Are you sure it went in there?:
:Of course I'm sure. I con smell the blood trail.:
.-Maybe it's not hurt as badly as we thought. Maybe it'll be fine until morning.: His Companion gave a little buck. Jors clutched at the saddle and sighed. :All right, all right, I'm going.:
No one at the farmstead had known why the mountain cat had come down out of the heights — perhaps the deer it normally hunted had grown scarce; perhaps a more aggressive cat had driven it from its territory; perhaps it had grown lazy and decided sheep were less work. No one at the farmstead cared. They'd tried to drive it off.
It had retaliated by mauling a shepherd and three dogs. Now, they wanted it killed.
Just my luck to be riding circuit up here in the Great White North. Jors swung out of the saddle and pulled his gloves off with his teeth. :How am I supposed to shoot it when I won't be able to see it?: he asked, unstrapping his bow.
Gevris turned his head to peer back at his Chosen with one sapphire eye. :It's hurt.:
:I know.: The wind sucked the heat out of his hands and he swore under his breath as one of the laces of his small pack knotted tight.
:You wounded it.:
:I know, damn it, I know!: Sighing, he rested his head on the Companion's warm flank. :I'm sorry. It's just been a long day and I should never have missed that shot.:
:No one makes every shot, Chosen.:
The warm understanding in the mind-touch helped.
The cat had been easy to track. By late afternoon, they'd known they were close. At sunset, they spotted it outlined against a gray and glowering sky. Jors had carefully aimed, carefully let fly, and watched in horror as the arrow thudded deep into a golden haunch. The cat had screamed and fled. They'd had no choice but to follow.
The most direct route up to the mine was a treacherous path of loose shale. Jors slipped, slammed one knee into the ground, and somehow managed to catch himself before he slid all the way back to the bottom.
:Chosen? Are you hurt?:
Behind him, he could hear hooves scrabbling at the stone and he had to grin. :I'm fine, worrywart. Get back on solid ground before you do yourself some damage.:
Here I go into who-knows-what to face a wounded mountain cat, and he's worried that I've skinned my knee. Shaking his head, he struggled the rest of the way to the mine entrance and then turned and waved down at the glimmering white shape below. -.I'm here. I'm fine.: Then he frowned and peered down at the ground. The cart tracks coming out of the mine bumped down a series of jagged ledges, disappeared completely, then reappeared down where his Companion was standing.
:I don't like this.:
If he squinted, he could easily make out Gevris sidestepping nervously back and forth, a glimmer of white amidst the evening shadows. :Hey, I don't like this either, but...:
:Something is going to happen.:
Jors chewed on his lip. He'd never heard his usually phlegmatic Companion sound so unsettled. A gust of wind blew cold rain in his face and he shivered. :It's just a storm. Go back under the trees so you don't get soaked.:
:No. Come down. We can come back here in the morning.:
Storm probably has him a bit spooked and he doesn't want to admit it. The Herald sighed and wished he could go along with his Companion's sudden change of mind. I can't do that.: As much as he didn't want to go into that hole, he knew he had to. I wounded it. I can't let it die slowly, in pain. I'm responsible for its death.:
He felt reluctant agreement from below and, half wishing Gevris had continued to argue, turned to face the darkness. Setting his bow to one side, he pulled a small torch out of his pack, unwrapped the oilskin cover, and, in spite of wind and stiff fingers, got it lit.
The flame helped a little. But not much.
How am I supposed to hold a torch and aim a bow? This is ridiculous. But he'd missed his shot, and he couldn't let an animal, any animal, die in pain because of something he'd done.
The tunnel slopped gently back into the hillside, the shadows becoming more impenetrable the farther from the entrance he went. He stepped over a fallen beam and a pile of rock, worked his way around a crazily angled corner, saw a smear of blood glistening in the torchlight, and went on. His heart beat so loudly he doubted he'd be able to hear the cat if it should turn and attack.
A low shadow caught his eye and against his better judgment, he bent to study it. An earlier rockfall had exposed what looked to be the upper corner of a cave. In the dim, flickering light he couldn't tell how far down it went, but a tossed rock seemed to fall forever.
The wind howled. He jumped, stumbled, and laughed shakily at himself. It was just the storm rushing past the entrance; he hadn't gone so far in that he wouldn't be able to hear it.
Then his torch blew out.
:Chosen!:
:No, it's okay. I'm all right.: His startled shout still echoed, bouncing back and forth inside the tunnels, :I'm in the dark, but I'm okay.: Again, he set his bow aside and pulled his tinderbox from his belt pouch with trembling fingers. Get a grip, Jors, he told himself firmly. You're a Herald. Heralds are not afraid of the dark.
And then the tunnel twisted. Flung to his knees and then his side, Jors wrapped his head in his arms and tried to present as small a target as possible to the falling rock. The earth heaved as though a giant creature deep below struggled to get free. With a deafening roar, a section of the tunnel collapsed. Lifted and slammed against a pile of rock, Jors lost track of up and down. The world became noise and terror and certain death.