TERRA: Earth Warder Chronicles

by Adrian M Ferguson

‘Place your hand back, quickly! There is no time to waste,’ he admonished.

  I quickly set it back, palm down on the ground, and quickly glaring at him I closed my eyes. Immediately on doing this I could feel my right palm start to feel cold and dry again. It pulsed, seemingly eager, and a great cascade of thick energy, akin to the solidity of the mountains, coursed into me.

  ‘Do you feel anything, Deirdre?’

  I could hear a hint of doubt in the stalwart man’s voice.

  I didn't answer. I thought I knew what to do. It was like some instinct was guiding me. I took a huge breath and simultaneously drew in as much of that dry energy as possible. I opened my eyes and looked at this mound of death and decay and willed all that power in its direction. I wanted it gone, swallowed by the earth, dragged down into the cold ground to never desecrate this area again.

  His eyes widened. ‘No, Deirdre, what are you doing? Stop, slow down!’

  The vast energy inside me roared through me and out of my palm, back into the earth, instantly hitting its intended target, but instead of the vile mound being swallowed by the earth, it exploded in a torrential geyser of dirt and rock, throwing me back again, for the third time that day.

  I flew through the air and hit a hemlock tree behind me. Rock and debris followed suit and came flying through the air at me at tremendous speed. I threw my hands up in defense, but was amazed as the strange man was suddenly in front of me, looking down at me with disapproval, as pieces of large rock and scree hit him in the back in a detonation of sound and detonating shrapnel. He continued to look at me unaffected by the storm of stone, face as implacable as the rock pounding into his back.

  ‘Well, that could have been handled better,’ he grated.

  I groaned in pain, the blow to the tree seeping in. I could feel myself starting to pass out.

  I looked at him and whispered. ‘Who are you? How do you know my name?’

  I slowly closed my eyes dimly hearing him speak, his voice gravelly and earth-like.

  ‘My name is Ghob, Elemental King of Earth. I knew your mother. And I've been waiting for you.’

  CHAPTER 2

  I lie inert and cumbersome on my back. All around me is a haze of black midnight with the dense sensation of immense weight pressing down on my closed eyelids. I feel myself moving at a steady but purposeful pace, with the soft murmur of feet echoing around me, treading diligently forward to an unknown destination.

  Lying there unable to move, I feel that I should be stirring into action, but my body is calm and my mind a dark slumber.

  I drift off into the darkness. Unexpected gentle touches flicker underneath me and over me; persuasive warmth spreads into me from their touch, leaving my body healed and renewed.

  Voices murmur around me, a slow, deep, throbbing song reverberates through me, weaving into a single sinuous thread of cold, dry energy, wrapping around me, soothing me, taking away the last vestiges of pain that I wasn't even aware I had until it slipped from my body.

  ‘Good, my children, heal her fully. She has much to do in the world, and she will need all the strength she can muster.’

  The deep voice thrums through me, vibrating into my very bones. Lethargy takes hold, and I sink gratefully into it. I force my eyes open for one brief moment before succumbing to the darkness and stare up at a forest of scintillating points of light. Thousands of dark ebony dark gems stud the cavernous ceiling, reflecting back the sea of large eyes looking down at me.

  I sleep a healing sleep.

  ****

  day two

  ‘Ughh, what's that taste?’ I groaned, and my eyes, caked with something dry and gritty (dirt?) crackled as I opened them.

  ‘Where am I?’ I looked down and was shocked to see that I was covered up to my neck with blankets — in my own bed.

  ‘What the fuck?’ I dimly recalled going for a jog and then — nooo, that didn't happen, did it? Crazy old hag lady and the tall, earthy man?

  I paused, thinking ... Had he said something about my mother?

  I’d moved out here a few years ago after fruitlessly finding no evidence around the unsolved death of my mother. I was a cop back in New York then and after realizing there was nothing holding me there anymore, except sad memories, I decided to move out country to come to terms with her unexplained death. Ketchum wasn't what I had in mind, but somehow I just ended up here. It had one big advantage: no one here knew of my past, and it wasn't information I was ready to share.

  Was my grief now making me hallucinate?

  I slowly drew my right hand out from under the blankets. Hesitantly, I opened my palm. Yes, it was still there. I hadn’t dreamed it. The old scar was evident and well defined, albeit covered in a bit of soil.

  Rubbing my other palm to get off the excess dirt, I noticed a small flash of white. Blinking rapidly, my breath caught. I rubbed furiously at the grime and to my horror the image of another raised white scar appeared. I rubbed it hard on the sheet and looked again. My holy god, on my left palm was the unmistakable shape of an upside down triangle, as plain as day.

  When the hell did that happen? Last night after I passed out? I just didn’t remember. It nestled there innocently.

  Crap.

  So I wasn't going crazy then, just so insane I picked up scars from nowhere.

  Carefully, I lifted the blanket and, to my confusion, found that I was still in my jogging outfit, though caked from the neck down in clods of earth and even bits of leaves and grass. It was getting harder to dismiss my experience as a crazy nightmare. I carefully moved my back and was surprised to discover that I had no pain. I actually felt incredibly rested and content.

  How did I get here? Where was my car?

  I raised myself carefully and was amazed at the quantity of caked dirt and earth on me. It was warm from my body heat. I pushed the blankets aside and got out of bed, heading straight for the shower. Cascades of earth fell behind me, leaving a path of dirt and confusion in my wake.

  I decided — as I spent the better part of an hour getting the dirt and grit out of my hair and pores — to head to my store for the day. I owned and ran a bookstore called ‘Satire Happenings’, which was, to my delight, bucking the trend against brick and mortar in this age of online shopping.

  I focused on collectibles and hard-to-find books and had a thriving website as well, with an online-ordering system. Due to my success thus far, I was able to be more flexible with my hours than the other stores around me, which gave me some leeway around opening hours.

  I usually opened up around 10 am, but it was already well past that. In light of what had just happened to me, though, I felt I needed a good old' jolt of normality, so I headed off. My car, to my surprise, was in the driveway, but I was focused on the day and resolutely dismissed a resurgence of uneasiness.

  A comfortable small business owner, that's what I was, and up until recently there were just plain old days of normality and peace — aside from nightmares about my mother, that is, and her mysterious death.

  I arrived at my store about half an hour later, scrubbed and glowing after my hot deluge in the shower, feeling physically rejuvenated, though recent events were still weighing heavily on my mind. I unlocked and went in, doing my routine pause so I could take in the musty smell of books in the air. This place always made me feel relaxed, like a home away from home, huh.

  I opened the blinds on the storefront bay window and flicked on the bank of lights; everything was how I’d left it. There was a long counter to the left of the entrance that ran from one end of the store to the other. I liked a lot of space to work in, even though I was the only one who worked here. There was also a partition to enter behind the counter. Opposite the counter, there was a bank of six shelving units, brimming with an assortment of books, magazines, and the odd collectible comic.

  Against the wall near my counter at the back of the store was a long series of glass display cabinets, which were permanently locked. These housed anything I deemed unique, expensive, or har
d to acquire. I also had a trio of large pots with an assortment of tall plants near them; hey, I like the greenery. It adds a touch of color.

  A sigh escaped my lips without my even fully realizing it — normality, finally, thank goodness.

  I went about my regular duties for the morning with several customers coming in to browse and purchase the odd book. I updated the web page and filled in a dozen orders for the next few days. I slowly started to convince myself that life was back to normal, avoiding looking at my newly defined scar and purposely not scratching the other one. I wanted to forget for the moment my hallucinations of the previous day (because surely that’s what they must have been?) and bask in not thinking about them.

  The bell on the store door chimed. I looked up from some paperwork and was surprised to see no one there; strange — maybe the batteries were going. It was only a cheap brand from the local hardware store.

  I heard a pattering down the back near the end of the bank of bookshelves.

  I stood slowly, as I was fairly sure there were no customers in here. It was late in the afternoon, and the cool outside was settling down over the town with a comfortable sigh. My store was at the end of the main street. Most people were heading for warmth and shelter at this time. As I moved around the counter, I heard more pattering footsteps and a tiny rustle of clothing.

  ‘Hello, we’re almost closing. Is there anything I can help you with?’

  Silence was my answer. I walked down to the back of the store: no one.

  I peered between the shelving into the next aisle — no, there was definitely no one there. I reached the last aisle and turned to pass the length of the display cabinets, automatically adjusting wayward books on the shelves. I jumped as the plants at the end of the corridor moved and rustled. I walked up to them, thinking that maybe a squirrel had snuck in through the louvers above the front door. This had happened before with the sneaky little turds. Getting them out was always a bitch — they almost always had a serious attitude problem despite their small stature.

  ‘Stop!' said a small voice, deep within the plant foliage.

  I froze. Did someone say ‘stop’? What the fuck!

  ‘Please don't come any closer. I have a message for you.’ I peered back and forth into the foliage and was startled to see a pair of large dark eyes leaning out from behind the palm trunk and lower leaves.

  ‘Who are you? … What are you?’ I breathed softly.

  I slowly took a step forward, leaning in to peer more closely. The creature inhaled sharply, the eyes disappeared abruptly. Moving closer, I parted the leaves. There was nothing there. The pot was empty, except for the soil and loam layering the top with the odd fallen dry leaf. Shaking my head, wondering for the umpteenth time that day if I were going mad, I started to walk to the counter, disbelieving what I had just seen.

  ‘I have to pass on a message to you,’ whispered the same voice.

  I swung around and there, clutching the palm trunk, was a small creature no more than two spans high, humanoid in features, wearing a pair of earthy brown breeches and a dark russet form-fitting jacket.

  I watched him finger one of several highly polished gold buttons. He looked up at me, his large solemn eyes taking up the majority of his crinkly withered face, which appeared to radiate a gentle, shy confidence.

  ‘I am a gnome, a messenger of Earth.’ He bowed to me, his baldhead touching the soil. ‘Ghob, my king, sends his greetings. He requests you attend him and grant him the honor of your presence.’

  I heard more scampering and pattering of feet and three more separate sets of eyes hesitantly peered out from amongst the foliage, watching me in eerie silence.

  I blinked, stunned speechless — a first for me, I would say.

  ‘What? What does Ghob want with me?’ I stuttered.

  This was really happening. I’d almost passed it off as a weird dream — maybe from too much high-altitude air in the mountains.

  ‘He wishes to speak with you. That is all we know — we are not privy to his thoughts. Please meet him when the moon reaches its zenith tonight at the beginning of what you humans call Alturas Lake. You will be guided from there.’

  The gnomes quickly ducked back behind the foliage. I saw them scuttling to the next pot and tried to track their movements. But they scattered, and I couldn't keep up with them. The door to the store chimed, and I saw a tiny heel disappear out the door as it slowly clicked shut behind them.

  Wow, fucking wow!

  Did that actually happen? I rarely second-guess myself especially for the second time today, but this was so fantastical and bizarre that I couldn't help it.

  I wasn't losing my mind or hallucinating. I am a practical woman who doesn't go around imaging tiny men who talk and issue summonses from kings. So real it must be …

  Ghob wanted to see me again, and yesterday was real, so that dream I had this morning wasn't a dream. Those little men, those gnomes, did heal me underground and put me back in bed. Well, at least they don't appear to mean me harm. Who would heal someone and then want to hurt them — right?

  And if I were to see Ghob again, perhaps I would find out how he knew my mother.

  CHAPTER 3

  Hearing the store door open and chime again, I quickly looked up, still reeling from my encounter with the freaking gnomes.

  Striding through the door was a customer that I’d quickly become good friends with when I moved to this town. His name’s Bruce Farrell, aka State Trooper Bruce Farrell, actually. Trooper Farrell works for the local police here in town. He's been with them for over six years now from what I can remember, and is damn good at his job.

  He did occasionally make me pine for my old career, and I did have to be a bit careful with my mannerisms as most cops can spot another cop from a mile away, but he’s a good guy — and damn sexy.

  Broad in the shoulders, he had that build that most guys go to gyms for — that classic inverted triangle shape, large and powerful at the top with a slim waist and hips. And at 6'1 he was tall too. His physique, of course, was from his job. He certainly wasn't some desk jockey, and I think if it ever came to that scenario he'd give in his badge without batting an eyelid.

  He smiled at me in greeting, those dimples appearing as per usual. They always got him a lot of ribbing from his work colleagues. Being too good-looking in his line of work was a recipe for a lot of teasing, and there was probably more than a little jealousy thrown in there too. I remember how hard it was to be a female cop back in New York. Geez, if he thought it was hard here sometimes being a pretty boy in a country town, being a cop and a woman in the big city was ten times the challenge. You had to show a spine of steel at all times and never appear to mind the sexist and often sexual ribbing that came your way.

  ‘Hey there, sugar,’ he drawled, ‘How yah doing?’

  ‘Heya, Bruce, and don't call me sugar,’ I limply quipped back at him. This whole ‘sugar’ thing had been going almost since he met me. He realized how much it irked me, particularly around other people. But right now it was just the two of us and I didn’t have the energy to give him my usual sharp rebuke.

  He looked at me questioningly, ‘Hey, are you all right, Deirdre?’

  ‘Yeah, it's just been a very long day. Hey, grab a stool and have a coffee. I think I need to de-stress a bit. The day is almost over and I reckon I can leave the last of my orders for the moment.’

  He ambled over to the front counter, where the three barstools were lined up for customers to have a seat on if they wanted.

  ‘I'm actually on duty at the moment, Deirdre, so I won't be able to stay long.’

  I poured him a hot cup of straight black coffee, wincing at the fact that he liked this muck, and no, the coffee machine is so not for my use. I strictly bought it for when friends and customers pop in, and so usually had a carafe brewing. Someone once told me it’s an inviting smell when coming into a store, ergo a good investment. I think coffee smells like crap, so sue me.

  ‘Thanks,’ he
muttered over the top of his cup, not even blinking as he sipped at the scalding coffee.

  ‘So how's the store going? I heard that you got in late today.’

  ‘Oh really, you heard, huh? And from whom did you hear about my exact movements, Brucey?’

  He laughed, cringing slightly at my icy tone.

  ‘Crap! I think I wasn't meant to say it like that.’

  ‘Zoey! It was her, wasn't it?’

  ‘Ummm yeah, she was worried about you. You didn't call her after your jog yesterday, and well she kinda gave me a call to check up on you and make sure you were alright.’ He looked me in the eyes unabashedly.

  Zoey was a friend of ours who owned a coffee shop down the street. She was loud and way too perky for her own good and also, much to my annoyance, a little nosey. But, in saying that, her heart was in the right place.

  I would generally give her a quick call after a run. She insisted on my doing this (against my will), as she thinks the areas I run in are way too wild for a lone girl. And after my most recent encounter, I was ready to agree with her.

  ‘Don't you try and look innocent, Farrell.’

  He winced again. My using his surname was never a good sign.

  ‘You know I don't like being looked after,’ I continued. ‘I’m a big girl, and you and she need to stop this. I'm sometimes not going to be able to ring her after a run — something could come up, you know. I could be having a shower, having dinner, or maybe even going out on a date.’

  He snorted at that last example, quickly covering it with a fake cough.

  He looked up at me, with those dimples shining. My glare shut that right up.

  ‘Okay, okay, though she has a point at the moment — that's the “on-duty part” I haven't mentioned to you yet, Deirdre, so don't ring her and rim her out quite yet.’

  ‘Oh, and so what’s going on? … Though don’t think that she won't still get a piece of my mind. I should never have agreed to call her every time I want to go get a bit of exercise.’