TERRA
The Earth Warder Chronicles
CHAPTER 1
day one
Have you ever had the feeling of being watched? You know what I mean —when that shivery cascade of dread runs down the length of your spine and leaves you a little sweaty, causing you to wonder if unseen malevolent eyes are not sizing you up for something unpleasant.
Well, that about sums up the end of my afternoon as I was jogging past a steep rocky embankment along a remote hiking trail in Sawtooth National Park. The air was hot and heady with the scent of hemlock, grand fir, and ancient pine. This area was untouched and pristine, which always left me feeling enormously invigorated.
My name is Deirdre Alexis and I usually come out here once a week, as jogging is my little obsession and my main way to keep in shape. I'm in my mid 20s, about 5’8, mountain-tanned and generally energetic. And today I was definitely dressed for the part, with my long black hair tied back into a rough ponytail, a snug black tank top on with, of course, a supportive sports bra as I was a little busty up there, plus my black Nike shorts — and, bam, running ensemble complete.
And to my delight, I found myself working up quite a sweat today too, despite the altitude, and was pleasantly proud of my long hike thus far.
I decided to stop. The feeling between my shoulder blades of being watched hadn't abated if anything it had intensified. I cautiously bent to rest both of my hands on my knees, breathing shallowly but slowly, catching my breath. This gave me the perfect opportunity to quickly glance down and behind me through the crook of my arm, fleetingly enough to be unnoticeable but long enough to see if there was anyone behind me or even off to the sides of the trail.
Taking it all in with one glance I came back with nothing. It appeared to be all clear. I straightened slowly and pretended a long stretch, slightly frowning to myself, perturbed that I might be being a bit paranoid.
Now, I wasn't generally one to get scared by the unknown, or shit my proverbial pants and get the hell out. I'd dealt with much more frightening scenarios back when I was a cop in New York. But if something concerned me enough to give me the creeps, my usual tactic was to err on the side of caution.
This was wild country and large predators like bears and wolves were relatively common around here — I have spotted them numerous times before in the Sun Valley and Ketchum areas. But I didn't recall anything being reported as a potential problem recently. Then again, in saying that, I don't usually check the news before heading out for one of my long runs either.
I wiped my sweaty palms and for the thousandth time — well, more times than I can comfortably count — looked down at the thin white-lined scar on my palm. A scar that I have had since as far back as I can remember. I frowned in annoyance. It was beginning to itch. Thankfully, it was only every now and then, otherwise I think it would drive me crazy.
The scar was on my right palm and the mark was very unusual in that it looked like, I shit you not, a semi-vague outline of an upside-down triangle.
Frowning at my scar again, I wiped both palms one more time, stretched momentarily and, using that slight momentum, continued running at a moderately slow pace so as not to get too out of breath.
I veered into a full right-hand turn with dense shrubbery and fallen trunks on either side, my pace faltering as I noticed a sudden eerie silence from all the wildlife around me — what was usually a constant background hum had all but gone strangely still.
Slowing down, I scanned the brush off to either side of me, when off to the left I heard an ear-splitting shriek of such toxic virulence that I stumbled, flayed madly and literally fell back, landing on my ass. The sheer intensity of the sound made me cover my ears, and I was startled to discover a warm wetness on my fingers. I realized to my horror, as I brought my fingers forward, that my ears were fucking bleeding.
Somehow I managed to scrabble up, and decided that doing the whole proverbial shit-my-pants scenario sounded fantastic right about now. I started running. I panicked a little, I admit, and bolted frantically up the faint trail, because what the fuck screeches and makes your ears bleed?
Ever so faintly I heard some movement off to my left, in the densest part of the underbrush, and was astonished to see part of a filthy, rag-covered arm briefly appear and then vanish into the brush. Someone was here with me. No, that wasn't possible. How could they manage to run or even move in that sort of terrain? A bloody bulldozer would have issues driving through there.
The bloodcurdling scream came echoing out again, and again I stumbled, my legs suddenly wobbly, my ears throbbing, and my eyes blurring. I slowed, swaying on my feet, gasping madly. My steps faltered as I began to feel overwhelmed. What the hell was going on here? It felt like I was going to pass out, holy shit! I started yelling out for help, wheezing it out in a harsh whisper, and then stopped, common sense making me realize that no one was in any direction for miles.
So what the hell was this person/thing doing running through the dense vegetation near me?
I slid to an abrupt halt. I had come to a half canyon, with the canyon sides rising up high and desolate to my right. Tears surprisingly formed in the corner of my eyes. I felt an urgent need to find a relatively safe spot so I could calm down. The screams had stopped. There had been none for a few minutes now, so maybe the person had run off after hearing my joining in with the screaming. I spotted a high spot off to the right and ran up it.
Turing and scanning my position, I could see a bit better now and felt slightly better for it. Fuck, my palms were itchy. I rubbed them furiously on my Nike jogging pants, which just seemed to intensify the itch. I panicked again and stifled a scream. No one was out here but this crazy person and me. What the hell was I going to do? I had to get back to my car somehow, but I didn't want to turn back — maybe it was still back there. My mind raced.
How the fuck am I going to get out of here?
The higher ground I'd reached was scattered with dry, flat granite underfoot, and I made sure I was facing the open space in front of me. Now if anyone tried rushing me, I would have some sort of warning. I crouched down with the canyon wall behind me and sought to regain my calm. Just as my breaths had steadied, I glimpsed a furtive flash of movement in the underbrush from where I had run from. My palm itch intensified again, making me want to rub it on the granite to alleviate it. I resisted the urge and quickly scanned the area around me.
Without warning, in front of me I heard sharp rock flying and clattering, and a figure materialized not twenty meters away. It stood motionless in the clearing, small, meek and unassuming and it appeared it was covered from head to toe in what looked like filthy matted grey robes of some sort. It was short, shorter than me, and I couldn't make out any features. Its head was pushed forward and down as if contemplating the rocky ground.
A low keening started from within the folds of the fabric, the sound pitched. The creature’s head came up, and the decibels exploded from within the hood directly at me. I staggered back from my crouch and, losing my balance, again was bowled over by the severe intensity and volume of the inhuman sound. I hit the ground hard, landing on my hands. The sound cut off in an instant and, to my horror, I heard a sly cackle emerging from the figure. Wrinkly, clawed hands came up and out of the grey folds and slowly pushed back the hood.
Oh my fucking god, it was a woman — a haggard, white-haired crone with intense blood-red eyes. She slowly smiled exposing a mouth full to the brim with over-sized dagger-like teeth. Her gelatinous, swollen black tongue slowly licked at her dirt-coated thin lips in apparent anticipation.
Her mouth opened impossibly wide, her tongue lashing inside and the keening commenced again. I slapped my hands against my ears
, still tacky with blood from the last screech, and tried in vain to block out the sickening sound. It was to no avail. It penetrated my hands and wretched a sob of terror out of me. I was going to pass out. I was losing all control and flashes of light burst in front of my eyes.
I scrabbled back a bit and realized my palm was burning with pain. I managed again to look at her, and she crouched with a fluid motion, with her razor-sharp claw tips resting lightly on the granite in front of her, her hair lifted upwards in a nebulous cloud of white, as if caught in an invisible current.
I heard an implosive whip-like crack, and she was flowing towards me in utter silence as though not touching the ground, in impossibly quick surges of power, darting left to right. Shrieking with excitement, she exploded forward and was almost upon me.
I screamed and was amazed to find my right hand, which had been resting on the ground supporting me, had sunk into the actual stone beneath it. I felt a pulse of some weird sort of energy around my hand and, with a massive tug born of terror I wrenched my hand clear, gasping in pain. My scar pulsated. Glancing at it I discovered it was now very clear and defined in a burnt ochre hue, showing a definite inverted triangle with a line through it.
I looked up to see this crazy animal-like hag descending on me in a flurry of blurred motion. I cringed expecting any moment to be ripped to pieces by her razor-sharp claws when behind me I felt a subtle presence.
I turned my head, and saw a man rising directly behind me from out of the cracked granite. He had jet-black hair, dark, fathomless eyes, thick lips, and blunt, rocky features. He had no shirt on. I watched his muscles visibly ripple along his taunt torso. I could see faintly that he was wearing what appeared to be some sort of loose pants, though only half of him was visible; the other half was, unbelievably, still under the rock. He smiled beatifically at me, cocked his arm back and casually threw an obsidian hammer past my ear.
I felt the wave of displaced air eddy past me and swung my head around to face the screeching hag. She hadn't noticed the hammer, and it resounded with a crack of air and pressure directly into her chest. She screeched in surprised pain and flipped through the air backwards landing expertly in a half crouch, screaming incoherently in manic psychotic anger.
The otherworldly man smiled down at me in a melancholy fashion and pointed to my hand with the now well-raised scar, ‘Raise your hand, Deirdre, and concentrate on stopping the banshee. I will guide your power. It is now alive and filled with Earth’s energy.’
‘Who are you? What power? What’s a banshee? How do you know my name? And how the fuck are you half-way in the ground?’ I babbled, all relevant questions as far as I was concerned from my undignified vantage point, ass down on the ground, still cringing in terror.
‘Quickly, do what I say. She is recovering, and she will not be surprised again!’
I reached out my hand, scared into action by his urgent words. I raised my hand and aimed it in her direction. I felt a pulsation of pressure from behind me and my hand throbbed. I automatically slapped it to the ground, some unknown animal instinct driving my hand down. It hit the ground and on contact it released a wave of dense, dry coldness; pebbles scattered into the air ahead of me and dust billowed up in concentric circles as the power was released making my ears pop.
The banshee screamed again, her volume much diminished this time around, and attempted to erupt into action. But her left arm, to her surprise, had sunken into the loose scree. She stopped abruptly and peered down at her imprisoned arm, head cocked to the side, a questioning look in her blood-red eyes as though contemplating her dilemma.
She paused for a brief moment and then visibly inhaled. Her bony chest expanded and erupted with another intense screech aimed now at her arm, which under the force of the sound completely ripped off at the elbow. Scrabbling up, her arm gushing in a wide arc of dark, thick crimson blood, she hissed in glee, unperturbed by the wound, immediately starting to madly scurry back in my direction.
‘Again, Deirdre, again, if you hope to survive this,’ the dark stranger quietly intoned.
Without hesitation I slapped my hand down again with more force this time and willed this bitch hag to die. She keened excitedly, though this was cut short as she was abruptly halted when both her legs were forcefully caught ankle deep in the earth. The sudden loss of movement slammed her face-first into the granite belt, bucking and writhing, her legs and abdomen dragged into the unforgiving ground.
Amazingly, I felt a connection with the land around her. Closing my eyes, I sensed the feeling deepen. I could feel the pressure and subtle slow movements of the earth as it adjusted to accommodate her body. Concentrating harder, I willed the banshee to be dragged under. She screamed in agony, her bloodshot eyes focused on me; then looking past me, she screeched again — but this time in terror.
She shrieked in alarm, apparently addressing the strange man, ‘Forgiveness, Elemental, forgiveness!’
Her eyes bulged, and one exploded in a torrent of gore from the pressure now being placed on her abdomen and the added blunt force of the rock engulfing her lower half.
I glanced back at the grim man behind me. His features, though aquiline and calm, were resolute and as hard as the granite he was half encased in. He pulled back his hand, the hammer once again appearing in his unforgiving grip. He let it fly, hard and accurate. It whirled by my head and connected with her wrinkled face, half burying itself into her cheekbone. She shuddered. The hammer pulled out with a sucking noise and flew back into his palm.
The power I had unleashed was unrelenting as the banshee was dragged under the ground slowly but unforgivingly, the scree and rock taking on the appearance of liquid. I felt the pressure in my hand settle as she scratched frantically at the ground. Gouging out long furrows of rock and earth, her nails raised small sparks as she was dragged along, but she was held fast in its grip, her shoulders, filthy rags and all were pulled under. The ground settled, sighed, and she was gone, completely devoured leaving behind just a pile of rock debris and the desperate nail-gouge marks.
‘Come, Deirdre, we must hurry. There will be more if we don't destroy their tumulus, their mound of graves.’
Destroy a bunch of graves? What is he talking about?
‘Don't be afraid, Deirdre. I will guide you, but you must assist me.’
I now noticed, to my horror the small, squat forms creeping around his vast shadow. Beady eyes darted and peered around his legs and disappeared just as quickly. I rubbed my eyes. I was in shock. It had to be shock. This was too fucking unbelievable otherwise.
I scurried up, my hands and backside aching, and turned to run; but his strong, gravel-like hand gripped my arm. His hold was firm, and I vaguely noticed he was not half way in the rock anymore. He was tall and lithe, though had a sense of inevitability about him, a calmness that seeped down into my arm and body.
I had the sudden sensation of being extremely well grounded and my mind calmed with a gentle heaviness; his loose dark pants crackled with a rock-like sound, and I vaguely noticed that they looked like the cracks you'd see in a rain-deprived desert, jagged, dry and deep. Turning, he started dragging me implacably across the rock belt, further up the embankment, and further away from my car and safety. Still feeling unnaturally calm, I allowed this, though I dimly realized that if I protested it would be like struggling against the mountain itself.
Moving quickly, he dragged me along with grim purpose. We came to and passed the part of the trail that was generally my cut-off point to turn back to the car and go home. We edged through some thick brush, it parting obediently aside, leaving just enough room so as not to get caught on the brambles. Minutes later we abruptly came upon what appeared to be an impenetrable area of thick, lush growth.
The dark stranger motioned with his hand, and the lush undergrowth moved aside like before, rustling quietly. We glided through into a large area circled with thick, aged hemlock. In the center of this dark brown ring of heady quietness, we could see a mound of earth several me
ters high, dotted with large blocky, loose rocks and decaying moss and fungi. The stench of rot wafted up at me and made me turn my head, gagging in instant revulsion.
He gestured with one thick-fingered hand for me to be still. I glared at him. His silence and slightly arrogant attitude were starting to bring me out of my calm reverie. My adrenaline and terror had somewhat abated as well, which was good. I pulled my arm out of his grip. Looking at me with those startling dark eyes — the color of dark patinated bronze, he gazed down steadily at me, calm and ancient.
‘Why did you bring me here, and what is that god-awful stench?
‘That is a tumulus, or mass grave, used by banshees to hoard their kills and nest in. You are going to destroy it for me.’
‘What?’ I exclaimed, fear creeping back into my voice by his vivid description of what was in front of me. ‘A mass grave of … people?’
‘We don't have the time for explanations, because there will be more. When one banshee dies, others always follow to enact revenge for their kin, and it would be beyond your capabilities thus far to manage to destroy them all. Quickly, sit on the ground, Deirdre, and I will guide you. Hurry, sit,’ he ordered. ‘We must destroy the tumulus and whatever banshees are residing inside before they are alerted to our presence.’
I grudgingly sat for him. He looked down at me with grim contemplation.
‘Place both your hands on the ground, close your eyes, and feel the solidity of the earth. This is an element with tremendous power, and I want you to harness it through the scar that was activated on your hand. Envisage the energy flowing into you and back out through your earth mark.’
I closed my eyes. This was crazy — wasn't it?
I placed my palms on the ground, now suddenly noticing that the ever-present itch in my right hand had disappeared. I was so startled by this revelation that I had to look at my hand again and confirm that the scar was still there. It was and in stark bas-relief. I wasn't hallucinating.
TERRA: Earth Warder Chronicles Page 1
