Return of the Matka-Zem (The Sorain Chronicles)

by Chanley, Deborah

  ***

  When Jane entered the huge library, she exhaled deeply to let the stress of the past few days seep out of her body. The Keeper had collapsed outside Jane's bedroom door, and, in spite of her hatred for the woman, she stayed by her side until her death. She withdrew the rusty key from her pocket and plopped into her favorite, over-stuffed armchair to study the small object. It was only a tiny, brass key with two small holes in its bow. As far as she could see, there was nothing special about the key and she had no idea where its matching lock lay.

  "Most likely under the grey man," Jane snorted with disgust. "Now where in this wretched place could he be?" she asked the books on the walls as if they could answer. She swung one long, slender leg over the arm of the chair and slowly glanced around the room. This was her sanctuary, the only room where she could relax and get away from prying eyes. The Keeper stopped following her inside the room years ago, and the others rarely came to the house, much less looked for a good book to read. She knew every corner of the chamber and had read every book twice, some three or four times. They gave her a view of the world outside her prison. Now that her guard had passed away, she was free to leave and experience life. It did not matter where she went, just so long as she left.

  I will miss this room, she realized. She wondered what books to take for memory's sake. As she lovingly gazed around the library, her eyes fell upon a tip of a tiny picture frame, almost hidden in an obscure corner of the room. At the site of the dull, brown wood, she bolted upright in the chair and came to her feet. The painting was new. She'd never seen it before. Her heart raced as she warily stepped towards the painting as if it would jump off the wall and attack her.

  "How did you get here?" Jane questioned the web-covered painting in front of her. It appeared as if someone had recently removed the picture from the attic and hurriedly hung it on the wall, not taking the time to clean the silvery cobwebs from around the frame. She had not entered the room since the Keeper's collapse two days ago and had no clue how the painting had gotten into the corner. She quickly found a feather duster and removed the tangled mass of webs that obscured the tiny painting. As the webbing fell from the wood frame, a portrait of a grey-haired man came into view.

  "A grey man," she whispered. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. With a shaky hand, she ran her fingers over the canvas, finding it hard to believe she had solved the riddle so fast. The Keeper knew her well enough to know she would easily find the picture. Someone who did not spend time in the room would have overlooked the painting as just another picture on the wall.

  "What you seek lies under the grey man." She glanced behind the picture and found only bare wall. "Under the grey man," Jane repeated with sarcasm, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. She glanced at her feet and saw a discolored tile, out of place from the rest. Peering closer, she realized it was a different kind of tile altogether. Feeling a bit paranoid that eyes might be upon her, she quickly looked around the room before kneeling to the floor. With shaky fingers, she touched the tile and found it to be loose. She scanned the library again, then hooked her short nails under the tile and lifted it from its resting place. Hidden in a shallow hole was a dirty, sky-blue handkerchief. As if frozen to the spot, she stared at the worn cloth. Fear of the unknown made her breath shallow. This was a decisive moment. Somehow, she knew that once she peered inside the cloth, her world would change, for good or evil.

  Her hand shook visibly as she reached for the cloth and withdrew it from its hiding place. Feeling a small, round object wrapped inside, Jane timidly unfolded the handkerchief to reveal a black glass marble, no bigger than a cherry. She glanced into the hole one last time, hoping to find a note of explanation. There was none.

  "Is this some kind of sick joke?" Jane got to her feet and glared angrily at the marble. Hatred for the Keeper flowed into her veins. The old woman had always spoken in riddles, never giving a direct answer to anything, but this just added fuel to the fire. Jane fought the desire to throw the piece of glass across the room, however the mystery of the object unruffled her anger. Not really expecting anything to happen, she nonchalantly poked the sphere with a fingertip.

  As soon as her skin brushed its smooth surface, the marble flashed brightly, temporarily blinding her. A tiny squeak of surprise escaped from her lips as a bolt of energy raced from the sphere into her body. Paralyzed by the force that scorched through her, she could only stare at the tiny black ball. Deep within the sphere, the blackness began to swirl and a soft glow pulsed into life. With each pulse, the ball brightened until it burned her eyes. Her heart pounded in fear when the round object rose from her palm to float in front of her face. Before she could react, the marble slammed into her forehead, violently hurling her backwards until she crashed against a bookcase. With books sprawled around her, she slid to the floor as visions began to flash before her eyes.

  All her senses came into play, as old suppressed memories came flooding back. Flashes of places and unknown people seared into her mind. A male's deep laughter, a loving brush of soft lips against her forehead, a curved blade slicing through a strange creature's breast, glowing yellow eyes and other visions rushed into her brain. The visions penetrated her mind so fast she could not distinguish one from the other. She grasped her head, and with a moan of agony, curled into a fetal position.

  "Come home, daughter," echoed a deep voice in her mind. Out of the rush of memories, a single male's voice pierced the pain. A silhouette of a man emerged from the jumble of images. Jane focused her attention on the stranger and finally the vision became clear. He was a handsome man of middle years. Tall and lean, dressed in golden robes like those of a Greek aristocrat. His fair face looked ageless with a straight nose, and full lips surrounded by shoulder-length hair so pale yellow it was almost white. His pointy chin and high cheekbones only enhanced large, ice-blue eyes that were soft and kind. In his right hand, he held a golden disk wrapped in a new, sky blue handkerchief.

  "This will show you the way home." The vision stretched out his hand towards her. "Come home, daughter," the man whispered one last time before the vision faded into the cluster of memories.

  The visions finally ceased and slipped deep into her mind. Slowly the pain abated and she found herself sprawled on the floor. Several books lay scattered around her, yet she ignored them as she struggled to her feet. Sluggishly, she made her way to the small washroom near the back of the library and splashed cold water on her face to clear her mind.

  What in the hell just happened? Jane stared at her reflection in the glass trying to assess the wound on her forehead, but to her astonishment she bore no marks from the marble—not even a red spot. All she saw was her pale face, framed with fire-red hair and large, green eyes.

  Still dazed from her experience, she slowly returned to where she had collapsed. Shakily, she knelt to the floor in search of the round object, but found only a clear white marble between two books. As soon as her fingers brushed its surface, the little sphere crumbled into dust. Off to her left, she spotted the dirty, blue handkerchief half buried underneath the pile of books. She pulled it from the heap and fingered the thin material. The image of the older man came flooding back.

  I have a Father. She was shocked with the knowledge she had a family, But, where are you? Where is home? With the vision of her father holding the blue handkerchief clearly in her mind, she peered closer at the square of fabric to find the next clue. The cloth was a simple blue fabric that showed no special stitching nor symbols except a white laced border. Remembering the golden disk she'd seen in the image of her father, she searched the hole again, but only found dirt. With a sigh of disappointment, she ran her fingers over the dirty lace and felt raised knots throughout its design. Taking a closer look at the dots, she could make out the shape of a "P."

  "Not another puzzle!" Jane whined in frustration. "Why can't you just tell me.?" she asked, directing her comments to the handkerchief, "instead of playing connect the dots?" Clearing off a nearby table, she fla
ttened the handkerchief on its surface and grabbed the nearest felt pen. Running her fingers over the lace again to find the beginning of the knots, she started to color the top of each elevated nub. She ripped a blank page from the closest book and pushed it on top of the fabric. Although some of the marks did not transfer, she was able to make out the words "Puerta de Hayu Marka."

  What's the meaning of this? she wondered. She made her way to the encyclopedias to see if she could find anything on the unfamiliar words. After some searching, she found what she was looking for and read the first paragraph aloud:

  The Puerta de Hayu Marka is a huge door-like structure in the Hayu Marca mountain region of Southern Peru near Lake Titicaca, revered by local Indians as the "City of the Gods." It is part of an area known as a Valley of the Spirits, or Stone Forest. The door or the "Puerta de Hayu Marca" (Gate of the Gods) has been carved out of a natural rock face and measures exactly twenty-three feet in height and width, with a smaller alcove in the center at the base which measures in at just under six feet in height.

  "Could this place be some kind of wormhole of some sort?" Leaning back in the wing-backed chair, she stared at the book. "Where would it take me . . . home?" Fingering the laced hanky, her stomach twisted into a hard knot. The realization that Earth was not her home was disturbing and unexpected. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. After a few minutes of contemplation, she rose to her feet. Now that she had a destination where she could learn her identity, she quickly shredded the message, then tore the page from the encyclopedia and shoved it deep into her back pocket along with the hanky. With a little searching, she found a string strong enough to hold the key around her neck. She tied the key to the string and tucked it between her breasts.

  In spite of her misgivings about traveling the forest at night, she decided to leave immediately, before anyone could realize she had gone. She did not trust the staff, especially Inga with her false laughter and eagerness to help. A sense of urgency filled her and she fought the desire to race to her room. Reaching the third floor, Jane realized the house had a stillness about it. The manor was always quiet, of course, yet something made her insides quiver.

  "It's the Keeper's death," she mumbled, not really believing she had solved the mystery. Out of habit, she briefly glanced out the third-floor window that overlooked the hedge maze. With a gasp of surprise, she stopped short and witnessed the cook and two of the workers as they knocked over one of the male statues.

  They're looking for the key, she realized. She watched the men dig where the statue once stood, but they found nothing. To her surprise, she saw Inga strike one of the males with her fist, knocking the man to the ground. Startled by the cook's behavior, she gasped in shock and stumbled away from the window. Not looking back, she raced down the hall towards her suite.

  "What in the hell is going on?" She leaned against the closed bedroom door as she tried to calm her nerves. "I don't think she saw me." Not confident of her assumption, she hurriedly locked the deadbolt with shaky fingers and dragged the closest piece of furniture in front of the door. There is more to Inga then just being the cook, she thought as fear filled her soul. The urgency to leave intensified into panic. She hastily rummaged through the walk-in closet in search of some kind of carrier to aid her in her flight. To her astonishment, she discovered a backpack buried behind her winter clothing.

  Where did this come from? To her surprise, the backpack was already packed and there was a note pinned to the front. As she carried the pack into the main room, she ripped the note from its pin and saw that it was written in the Keeper's handwriting.

  "Run! Trust no one!" The words sent a shiver down her spine. With those written words, she realized the Keeper may not have been her jailer at all, but her protector, and now that the old woman was gone, she was no longer safe. She squealed in fright when three hard knocks shook the bedroom door.

  "Jane, are you in there? Dinner is ready." Inga's voice was syrupy. The door handle slowly turned but the lock stopped it.

  Jane backed away from the door as the handle shook with more effort.

  "Are you okay in there?" said Inga.

  The sound of Inga's concern rang false in her ears. Jane jumped when something hard rammed against the door. Thankful that the wood held, she threw on a jacket, and thrust the pack over her back. Before bolting towards the balcony, Jane patted her boot to make sure the knife the Keeper insisted she carry was secure. Panic-stricken, she searched for a way to get to the ground, but only found a thin vine delicately clinging to the wall. Trapped like a bird in a cage, she whimpered in despair.

  Chapter 2

  With no other options available and time running out, Jane reached for the thin vine knowing the fall would surely maim her or worse. Panic stricken, she did not recognize the unfamiliar sting of power that swelled inside her until the energy spontaneously surged like a lightning bold into the plant. With a wail of both pain and ecstasy, her body convulsed as the current poured from her outstretched hand. Like the fairytale of Jack and the Beanstalk, the tiny vine tripled in girth. With a mind of its own, the now strong vine firmly wrapped around her wrist and hauled her off the balcony. She heard the crack of the bedroom door just as the vine gently lowered her to the ground. When her feet touched the damp soil, she glanced toward the balcony and saw Inga and two of the male farmhands staring down at her.

  "Jane! What on earth are you doing down there?" Inga's voice grated on her ears. "Come back inside. We need to talk!"

  "Oh no, we don't," she mumbled under her breath.

  One of the male groundskeepers snarled like an animal and swung one leg over the railing.

  "If only there were bars across the balcony," she whispered as the plant began to unravel from her arm. The vine trembled before it uncoiled from her wrist so fast that it cut a thin slice into her flesh. With dazzling speed, the thick vine encased the balcony, forming an impenetrable barrier, preventing the man from jumping to the ground. Frozen in place by the plant's behavior, she watched the vine entomb the servant.

  "Jane!" The cook's angry bellow broke the spell and she was able to force her paralyzed limbs to work. As fast as her trembling body could move, she dashed towards the barn. To her utter shock, an inhuman screech echoed off the hills, sending a shiver of terror coursing through her body.

  "What in the hell was that?" Jane panted when she reached the barn. As she rounded the corner, she noticed the barn's double doors were wide open and she pulled the knife from her boot. As fear shivered down her spine she glanced around the field to see if anyone followed, not wanting to be caught between two foes. With a gasp of horror, Jane spied the bloody heap that was the remaining groundskeepers. Their dismembered bodies did little to stop her from recognizing the distorted faces of the men who had been at the compound as long as she could remember. "Oh my God!" she whispered as she pressed her back against the wall. Her mind was too numb to feel her body slide away from the disturbing site.

  A ragged exhalation of breath escaped her lungs as she fought to control her trembling body before she stepped into the dark opening of the barn. She screamed in fright when a large, gloved hand grabbed her by the nape of the neck and pulled her deeper into the structure. Suppressing her fear as best she could, Jane attacked the stranger with a vengeance, and fought for her life.

  "Ch'iidii!" The man hissed in pain. He'd been caught off guard by her viciousness, and her first thrust sliced into flesh. To her dismay, the assailant quickly adjusted his stance and easily blocked her every move. It took him less than a minute to disarm her.

  "Get away from me!" she snapped in anger. The Keeper had taught her combat fighting and she thought she was skilled in the art of war, but the stranger easily disarmed her. When her blade went flying across the barn, she still fought on, striking at him with fists and feet.

  "That's enough!" the man said sternly as his gloved hand backhanded her across the face. His blow was so hard it sent her sprawling to the floor. As the assailant towered over her
, she glared at him with hatred in her eyes. The stranger resembled a character straight out of a fantasy. He was gigantic, almost eight-feet tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, muscular body. His traveling clothes were those of a woodland warrior with sword and bow strapped to his body. The shadows of the night hid the stranger's face under the hood of his dark cloak. As she glared at the strange man, she thought she saw a flash of yellow in the black emptiness of his cowl.

  "Good. Naji taught you how to fight." The stranger chuckled softly and extended his hand to help her to her feet. "I feared she would have broken your spirit, but I see I was wrong."

  "Leave me alone!" she spat, and refused to take his hand. His slap still stung her face but she resisted the desire to rub her cheek. She would not give him the pleasure of seeing her pain. She struggled when the man grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.

  "We don't have time to play games tonight, Princess," the man whispered in her ear as he pushed her towards a waiting horse. His words felt hauntingly familiar and she stopped struggling. "You're in danger and I need to get you out of here."

  "Who are you?"

  The stranger's only answer was to push her onto a chestnut-colored horse that had been saddled and ready to ride. "Stay close, don't get separated from me," he instructed firmly as he mounted his own tan steed.

  "I've never ridden a horse." She briefly wondered how the huge animals had gotten into the barn in the first place, having never seen one in there before.

  "Just hold on!" the strange man demanded. "Trust your horse—she knows where to go." Without looking back, he kicked his mount and bolted out the rear of the barn onto a worn dirt path. She yelped in surprise as her steed lunged forwards to follow the other horse. She hurriedly grabbed the saddle horn to stay on the animal's back.

  Another screech filled the air as they raced down the dirt road. Jane glanced over her shoulder, and gasped in shock. Chasing after them was a two-legged creature with hairless, sickly gray skin that appeared luminous in the dark night. It looked like a prehistoric velociraptor, minus the tail, with clawed hands and an elongated neck and enlarged jaw, lined with sharp, pointy teeth, made for tearing flesh off its victims.