Chapter 57: Empty Cave
Soon, night fell again, second night or so on mountain, or third, Danny lost count, days blending because snow never stops and night never fully dark with snow.
Moving around in darkness would be bad idea. After everything they had encountered on mountain, neither Danny nor grey-haired man wanted to risk running into another monster, or Mirebeast coming back for seconds when it got hungry again, or wolves following blood smell from sacrifice, or things that only come out when snow glare gone.
Wind had picked up just after sunset. It came down off high ridge with thin keen, like knife on plate, like metal being sharpened on stone far above, and threw ash sideways across path, not snow now, ash from far north volcano, grey and warm. Path itself was gone now, washed by Mirebeast fight, shattered by claws. What was left was frost and black rock and occasional cairn that someone had kicked over long time ago, maybe pilgrims, maybe prisoners, maybe empire road builders marking safe. In that light, in dusk, every shadow looked like mouth, like vertical slit waiting to open, every rock like six limbs crouched.
Fortunately, grey-haired man spotted open cave not far from path, ten meters off, almost invisible unless you looked for wind break, unless you knew to look for lee side where snow doesn’t pile.
It was not much. Low cut in rock, half hidden by slab that had fallen years before, leaning like tired guard, like old door left open. Mouth narrow, barely shoulder width, but dark inside deep, going back further than lamp could show, back into mountain. Grey-haired man stopped and put hand up, signal. He did not have to say stop. Danny stopped anyway, legs grateful, knees grateful.
"Wait here," he told Danny, voice low, not whisper, normal, not wanting to carry in cave.
Danny nodded, throat still dry, mouth still tasting sleeve and blood and fear. Grey-haired man had lamp, though lamp low, oil almost gone after two nights on mountain, flame weak and yellow. He also had knife that had not left his hand since ridge, since cutting tendons, broken sword now tied to back with strip of prisoner cloth, useless but kept, like habit.
He ducked head and went in, lamp making shadow huge on wall, shadow of old man becoming giant, then thin, then gone.
Danny watched as man entered cave alone, silhouette getting small then gone into dark, swallowed but not like prisoner, just dark. He waited outside, back to wind, listening carefully for any unusual sounds, hand on rock in pocket again, small sharp stone he kept since wolves, luck stone.
Night was full of them, mountain never quiet at night, only quiet like holding breath. Wind in rocks, whistling through cracks like flutes, like children playing far away. Faint tick of cooling stone contracting, like something tapping, like nail on rock. Somewhere far above, loose stone fell and fell again, clack clack, then silence that was louder than clack. He listened for breathing that wasn’t theirs, for soft scrape that things with too many legs make, wolves, mire things, eyeless things. He listened for other thing, one that does not breathe at all but still makes air feel crowded, like Mirebeast did, like weight in air.
He counted to keep from panicking. One. Two. Three. On four, wind stopped completely, unnatural pause, like mountain listening too. On five, it started again, stronger, pushing ash sideways.
A few minutes later, grey-haired man returned, lamp higher, face same, tired but not alarmed, not tight like when beast near. That was good. Knife still out. That was not bad, just habit, old soldiers never put knife away in cave, especially not after day like today.
"It’s empty. Come on. For now. Empty tonight."
Danny followed him inside, ducking under slab, into dark that smelled of old stone and no animals, no rot, just cold mineral smell, clean.
Cave was dark and cold, but at least it offered some shelter from night, from wind that now had edge like blade, from ash falling that would cover tracks by morning. Floor was stone, but dry, not like previous cave with dripping water, dry enough to sit, to sleep without waking soaked. Walls sweated little near back, where rock went deeper than light could reach, dark going back maybe five meters, maybe fifty, couldn’t tell, lamp didn’t reach, dark ate light.
Danny sat with back to wall and knees up, making himself small, back to solid rock, eyes to mouth, habit he learned yesterday. Grey-haired man sat nearer mouth, where he could see out, where wind couldn’t get both of them at once, where he was barrier, where choice was visible. He set lamp down between them and turned it down to save oil, flame small, circle small, two islands of light in mountain.
For while neither spoke. Kind of silence that comes after long climb, after killing, after being saved and seeing saving cost blood, silence that is tired and doesn’t want words yet. Silence heavy, but not hostile, just tired, like bodies need to be quiet to heal.
Danny looked at back of cave. Too dark to see. Lamp did not reach that far, only few feet, then black ate. He thought he could see shape there, bulk, like something sleeping, like Mirebeast’s back with moss. Then he thought he could not, just rock shadow playing after day of snow glare. He blinked and it was gone, or still there but darker than dark, blending. Eyes playing after snow glare all day, after red eyes.
"Are you sure this place is safe?" Danny asked, voice small, echo tiny off close walls, not traveling deep, swallowed by dark.
"Well, I don’t know," grey-haired man admitted, not lying, not making hero speech, not saying Fort Haven safe speech. "I came in and found it empty. No bones. No shit. No tracks but ours. No old fires. That’s as safe as mountain gives you on night like this. Empty is best you get."
He said it plainly, without trying to make it sound better than it was. He had looked. He had seen no tracks, no old fire, no bones, no moss scraped by claws, no smell of piss that marks territory. In place like this, that was best you got, empty was good news, empty was luxury.
Danny wasn’t reassured by those words, empty now doesn’t mean empty later, doesn’t mean nothing lives deeper where lamp doesn’t reach, but nodded anyway, because what else could you do, keep walking in night and die for sure, sleep in snow and freeze, or stay in maybe safe cave.
He shifted weight. Stone cold even through cloak, through prisoner garb, through skin. He could feel pack against shoulder where he had leaned it, broken sword hilt digging into back, though sword was on old man’s back now, not his. Iron colder than stone, always. He did not like leaning it, but nowhere else to put it, cave narrow, floor uneven.
Outside, ash fell past mouth of cave in slow grey lines, like snow but warmer, like world shedding skin, from volcano far north that Danny had only heard in stories. No footsteps in it. Not yet. That was good. No footsteps means no wolves yet, no Mirebeast returning, no things that walk on two legs and then four.