A Question Of Time by Fred Saberhagen (8 ebook reader txt) 📕

as long as we have, even the smallest amount of light can almost burn your retinas. It certainly illuminates the darkness, because we get to the source in record time without any stumbles.

It’s a small crevice in the ceiling, maybe ten or fifteen feet in the air. The crack is no more than ten inches long and two inches across at its widest point.

He just looks up and shakes his head.

“We can do this!” I tell him excitedly.

I slide off his back and bring rocks that litter the floor all over the cave, trying to build it up enough to walk out of here. Slag helps, but it’s obvious from the start that the pile never gets taller, the rocks just tumble to the edges of the area. It would take days and days to make this work. That’s time we don’t have.

He’s what, close to seven feet tall? I’m over five. Plus, we still have the axe.

“You’re going to put me on your shoulders. I’ll work at the crevice until I can wiggle through it.”

Actually, I think it will work. My big friend can do anything; I know he’ll get me through. My jubilation disappears, though, when I try to imagine the rest of the plan—getting him out. Once I’m outside, I’ll never be able to pull him up.

He knows it. He knew it before it dawned on me, but he nods his head in excitement and stands directly under the slim sliver of sunlight and fresh air.

He hoists me to sit on his shoulders, then holds my knees to steady me as I stand. After a while, my legs quiver with exertion as I chip at the hole with the axe. Whenever he senses my arms are too tired to continue, he helps me down and has me sit on the ground.

At first, when his strong fingers moved to massage my aching thigh muscles, I batted his hands away. Soon, though, I stopped arguing as I laid down and let him ease my quaking muscles to get ready for the next round.

The effort strains my shoulders and arms as well as my thighs, but every time we take a break I see more daylight peeking through the ceiling.

Our efforts go on for hours, but finally, I think the hole is big enough for me to shimmy through.

While I’ve worked, the room has been filled with the sound of my grunting efforts. Now, though, it’s silent as I imagine we’re both contemplating the fact that I’ll be escaping and leaving him to rot underground.

“I’ll find a way to get you out,” I tell him with more conviction than I feel.

Luckily, I’ve kept my tennis shoes on since my abduction. I take them off, tie them together, and hang them around my neck. I stand not on his shoulders but with one foot on top of his head and one foot in the palm of his hand as he balances me while I reach trying to get a grip on the soil above ground.

After many false starts, my fingers gain purchase on the dry sandy dirt above the cavern.

“I’m almost there, Slag.”

Once I have a sturdy hold, I say, “Now.”

He lifts me higher, with one foot in each of his palms. Even though he’s the strongest male I’ve ever known, he’s trembling from the effort, but he keeps his movement to a minimum while I try to hoist myself up.

I’ve never had much upper body strength and my muscles are totally spent from using the pickaxe for hours over my head. I have to rely mostly on my strong friend to push me up until my elbows are through the hole and can hold my weight while I catch my breath.

I’m still only halfway through the opening when I feel the top of a pickaxe under the sole of my foot. I quickly slide my other foot onto it and through monumental effort he pushes me up and ultimately through the hole.

I lay on my stomach, panting, my dehydrated body shaking with fatigue. I observe the lay of the land. The blowing red sands are whipping across the landscape, but it’s not gusting as hard as when I walked from Ryone’s mansion to the mouth of the mine.

Slag and I just walked miles through the darkness—I don’t see the mansion in the distance. I think we’re safe, at least for the time being.

How am I going to get Slag out?

Even though I’m still panting with effort, I force myself to my knees and ultimately to my feet as I visually inspect the landscape. It’s barren here except for a pile of large rocks I can see in the distance. The punishing wind relentlessly whipping pounds of sand couldn’t be easy on local flora.

After a minute, I head back to the hole I escaped from. Getting down on my knees, I put my face in the opening and feel my chest tighten when I see Slag’s expectant green face and shining green eyes looking up, quietly waiting for me.

“I don’t see predators. I think I’m safe. I’ll look for a way to get you out.”

He grunts angrily, shaking his head vigorously. I know what he’s telling me—find shelter, forget about me.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily,” I tell him in my perkiest voice, then leave in search of a miracle.

A few moments later I return, arms full of rocks. I build a little cairn so I can find this spot again, then leave.

Minutes turn into hours as I wander looking for something, anything, in the barren landscape. Finally, I see what looks like the entrance to a mine. I hide behind a boulder for what I estimate to be about an hour, waiting to see who’s working the mine, but as dark approaches, I feel confident it’s deserted