Wayfarer (Wanderlust 2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

"—deal," the darkness echoed back.

Tanden took a deep breath. The last thing he wanted to do was panic. In an attempt to force away his newly realized claustrophobia, he started thinking of things he had to do. First on the list was free his arm. Second was... second was...

"Fuck," Tanden grumbled. He listened to the word bounce around in the narrow mineshaft. When the echoes stopped, he made himself move. First, he reached over to feel what was pinning down his left arm. Whatever it was felt firm, but it didn't feel heavy enough to be rock. He ran his hand up until he found an unnaturally perfect corner. One of the crates, then.

With a groan he rolled over so he could push against the crate with his right shoulder. He pushed, doing his best to ignore how the shifting weight was pinching a different part of his arm. Then, very gingerly, he pulled his arm free. As soon as he could, he shuffled away and let the box fall with a splintery thud.

The fingers on his left hand still worked. He wiggled them slowly as he sat up. It was a small thing, but it was encouraging.

"All right," he muttered to himself, "Time to assess the damage, mate." He pulled off his right glove with his teeth and dropped it into his lap, as he lay his left arm across his knee. As carefully as possible, he prodded his arm. Starting at the wrist, he gently walked his fingers up the underside of his arm. The pain built, but it was bearable until he reached his elbow. It was hard to tell through his bulky winter jacket, but nothing felt swollen. The whole area just hurt.

There wasn't much he could do in the dark other than try to immobilize it. Muttering to himself, he unwound his scarf. He struggled to tie the ends together without moving his left hand too much, and ended up tightening the knot with his teeth. Then he hung the loop around his neck.

He had to bend his elbow to hold his arm against his chest, and he clenched his jaw to bear the pain of it. Once his arm was in place, he slipped the scarf around his wrist. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

That taken care of, he gave himself a moment to think. He was in the dark, so he needed a fire. That would help with the chill, as well. He knew that wandering further into the mines was a mistake, so he was going to stay put. He also knew that Soren and Jale were already going to be working to rescue him. He had to believe that, because there was only one reason they wouldn't be, and he banished the thought as quickly as it had come.

His stomach grumbled. In typical Tanden fashion, he hadn't eaten much on the ride, too distracted by his conversation with Jale. It seemed very unlikely that there would be food in the crates, but maybe there would be something helpful in the old mining supplies. He rummaged around for his glove and put it back on.

He stood up, taking stock of his other aches as he did. His right ankle twinged, and he vaguely remembered slipping as he had careened across the cave. It wasn't anything he couldn't ignore. His knees, which had taken the brunt of his collapse into the mine, stung, and he suspected they were scraped and bleeding under his pants. His torso and right arm felt achy. He had definitely bumped his head, but didn't feel too bad. All things considered; he had been very lucky.

"Thank the Goddess," he said, and then for good measure, "Thank Zianesa, and her family of gods and goddesses. Thank Jawn. Thank Tier, and her brothers and sisters." Then, because he knew sometimes head injuries made it hard for people to think, he thanked them all again in their own languages. Teltish, Deoran, Navirian, Morcean and finally Tallenese.

The first crate he investigated was the one that had fallen on him. The fall had loosened the lid, making it easy enough to pry off. Buried in the dried straw that had been used to cushion them, he found what felt like the loose heads of pickaxes. Maybe, if he managed to hit one against the rocks just right, he could create a spark. The dried straw would act as perfect tinder.