Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending

by Brian Stewart

  I stowed the camera behind the seat and slid in. “I’m going to take you to a very special place. We’ll have to walk a short bit, but it’ll be worth it—at least I hope you’ll think so.”

  “Do you take all of the girls to this ‘special place?’” Her question was tinged with just enough sarcasm to make me unsure exactly how seriously she meant it. I caught a nanosecond’s shift of her eyes in the direction where I had put the camera. Emily’s camera.

  I shook my head. “Just be patient for a little while longer.”

  “OK.”

  I continued up the trail, electing to drive over a small, freshly fallen birch tree rather than winch it out of the way. After another quarter mile or so, we pushed out onto the old logging road. I could still see the evidence of my northbound passage in the Gator, but it had broken down before making it this far south. Turning left, I straddled the tracks of the six wheeled utility vehicle, slowly following them for almost ten minutes before pulling up next to the green ATV. I left my pickup running as I transferred my backpack and other gear to the truck bed, and then I hopped back in and shifted to the right side of the road, following it for another five minutes before stopping.

  The woods on the west side of the road were a mixture of brambles, second growth pine, oak, and aspen, but the east side towards the ridge was still virgin old growth forest. Tall oaks dominated the hillside, spaced in between with green ash, American elm, and large clumps of quaking aspen. A slight breeze, still unseasonably warm, drifted against my face as I got out of the truck. Max’s tail was thumping hard, alternating between the dashboard and Michelle’s upraised forearms as she tried to defend herself from the hairy drumbeat. He knew where we were.

  “OK-OK-OK, call your stinky lycanthrope already,” she squealed.

  “C’mere Max.” At my words he shot off the seat and past the steering wheel, landing with a series of bounds before finally standing on his back legs with his paws on my shoulders. I grabbed the thick black fur at the side of his muscular neck and butted my cheek against his.

  “Yes Max . . . you know where we are, don’t you?”

  He immediately took off and crashed through a series of tight circles, running full out with excitement. Several acrobatic leaps and dodges were included in his routine, and he reminded me of a puppy that had just discovered the outdoors for the first time. A huge, black, 110 pound puppy.

  Michelle appeared next to me, and we watched the spectacle for another minute as Max looped us several more times before bounding into the forest up the ridge.

  I offered my hand again to Michelle. “Let’s go.”

  She paused, glancing at the pickup for a moment, “What about the firewood?”

  “I’ll come back for it.”

  She stepped forward and took my hand, “So where are you taking me?”

  I lifted her hand until it was midway between our bodies at chest level. My eyes anchored to hers, and I said, “I’m going to give you a ring.” Her stunned look was left unanswered as I moved up the hill, guiding her by the hand behind me.

  I followed an old game trail that edged toward the rocky outcroppings at the ridge top. It only ran for about seventy yards before the trail fizzled out against partially exposed, lichen covered boulders. A series of low but sheer mossy surfaces stretched to the left and right. I watched Michelle stare at the emerald barrier in front of her. She reached out a hand and stroked the delicate clumps of green that cushioned the impenetrable rock behind it.

  “It’s beautiful . . . like a castle wall in a fairy tale.”

  My eyes were sparkling as I watched her . . . Michelle’s red hair clashing with the verdant barrier magnified the effects of both in my mind, and she looked at me and smiled. “What?”

  “Aren’t you curious?” I asked.

  Her smile brightened and her eyes lit up. “What?” She repeated.

  “Aren’t you curious where Max is?”

  Her head swiveled to the left and right, searching the wooded hillside before focusing again on me. “Where did he go?”

  This time I didn’t offer. I just reached out and took her willing hand. “Stay close, I wouldn’t want the dragon to get you.”

  “Dragon, huh?”

  “What else would you expect in a world of fairy tales and castle walls?” I pulled her along the lush rock face for another sixty feet, watching her eyes take in the almost magical qualities that seemed to permeate the very air. When I stopped, she was still lost in amazement at the beauty of the rock wall. I let her gaze for another minute, trying to contain my own giddiness at what was yet to come.

  Her hand brushed the moss gently again, “I’m just at a loss for words, Eric. It’s stunning . . . primal . . . like I’ve stepped back through time.” The faint trickle of water draining through several cracks in the wall added a delicate symphony to the cool, earthy smell that surrounded us. Michelle turned to face me, “How come you’ve never brought me here before?”

  I looked down briefly before meeting her eyes. “I’ve never brought anyone here.”

  “No one?”

  I shook my head.

  “Not even your uncle?”

  “I found this place when I was fourteen years old. At the time, I was reading the Lord of the Rings series. The first time I saw this, I half expected elves to jump out from behind the rocks.”

  “Elves, not trolls?”

  I shook my head again, “No . . . feel the air here . . . this is as close to holy ground as nature can make. This is a good place.” My emphasis on the word good caught her in mid nod as she silently agreed with me. “Anyhow, I told my uncle what I’d found, and he said something to me like, ‘every man needs a private place that no one else knows about.’ . . . or something like that.”

  “I think I could fall asleep forever right here, just listening to the sound of the water.”

  “We’re not staying here.”

  “Why not? Isn’t this . . .?”

  I cut her off with a slight tilt of my neck towards the wall. “You walked right past it. Take another look.” She turned to look where I had indicated—a cleft in the granite barrier that was overhung with tendrils of dripping moss and the remains of summer growth vines. Still gripping my hand, she stepped towards it, ducking down slightly to peer into the shadowy recess.

  “Is this a cave?” The wonderment in her voice reminded me of the first time that I had stepped through the mossy gap.

  “It’s more of a . . . doorway.”

  Without waiting for any additional explanation, Michelle pushed aside the strands of brown and green, and then stepped through the concealed gateway into my secret place. Still connected to her hand, I followed.

  The channel through the moss covered cleft veered to the right for about eight feet before narrowing and reversing course to the left. I let go of Michelle’s hand so she could scoot through the last little bottleneck and out into the brilliant sunlight at the end of the passage. Knowing what she’d find, I waited for a solid twenty seconds before I moved out. I wanted it to have the same effect on her as it had on me so many years ago. With a final deep breath I climbed out to join her.

  She was standing in front of me, speechlessly staring at the panorama that lay beyond. A spoon shaped depression was sunk into the very top of the ridgeline here. The granite walls surrounding it formed an irregular oval ring about 140 feet long and 80 feet wide at the far end. That width gradually tapered as it climbed out of the “spoon” and crept upwards towards the long “handle” near where we had entered. Midway down the handle was a long chunk of exposed granite, flanked on either side by a pair of jagged boulders, each of them about the size of a car. The combination of the three gave a rather impressive caricature, at least to a fourteen year old, of the head of a dragon. The bottom of the spoon was bursting with an ocean of vibrant azure—an almost wall to wall carpet of blue prairie violets.

  I edged up next to Michelle, studying her face. She seemed awestruck with wonder at the beauty of her
surroundings, and I almost had to tug her hand to get her to follow me down the narrow trail. I stopped her at the dragon rocks, and spun her around slowly. To the south and west, all you could see was the upper reaches of tall trees gracefully arching above the granite wall. Looking north . . . down the spoon and over the far thrusting bedrock that enclosed the ridge top glade, you could see the sways and switchbacks of the low hills as they meandered toward Canada. From ground level by the dragon rock, looking east all you could see was blue sky and the wall of exposed stone, also heavily covered with moss, lichens, and occasional clumps of ferns. I pulled at her hand again as I whispered, “There’s more . . . come with me.”

  I led her down to the bottom into the sea of wildflowers. Up ahead and to the right, a huge section of the wall had fallen out years, or maybe eons ago. It left behind a rocky shelf about twenty feet wide and maybe half that deep. That was my destination, and I could see Max sitting there waiting for us.

  “Close your eyes.”

  She looked at me . . . then around me . . . still trying to embrace the ancient, almost ethereal magnetism and charm of the grove.

  “Close your eyes,” I repeated softly.

  I watched as she deliberately closed them a millimeter at a time—her face beaming even brighter and her nostrils flaring as she took in the delicate smell of the violets that glided towards us on the breeze. I squeezed her hand and pulled her after me, guiding her around the occasional foot catch until we stepped out onto the rock shelf.

  “Wait for it,” my voice came out whisper quiet as I moved behind her, letting my hands slide up until they rested on her shoulders. “OK, open your eyes.”

  She did, and immediately gasped. From the rock shelf, the ridge sloped rapidly downward, a not so gradual drop in altitude of almost 700 feet over the distance of maybe half a mile until it ended at the wide expanse of Ghost Echo Lake. Its iron gray, green, and blue waters filled the horizon and painted a sometimes somber, but usually vivid counter to the summer green or winter browned treetops below. I sat down cross-legged on the rock next to Max and stared out at the vast breadth of creation that filled my eyes. It never failed to amaze me, and I had always made it a point to visit this place at least once every year. I sensed, rather than saw, Michelle sliding down next to me. She didn’t say a word; she just wrapped her arm around my waist and stared. We stayed like that—silent and unmoving—each of us lost in our own thoughts until dusk began to approach. My arm had somehow found Michelle’s waist. I gave her a gentle squeeze.

  “I’ve got to get the firewood and packs.”

  She shook her head slowly, almost like she was fighting to recover from a daze. “This is unbelievable.”

  “Stay here and enjoy it for awhile, I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “Actually, you can if you want, but from inside.”

  I stood, and she followed as I walked back through the flowers. “Look over there,” I pointed toward the wall on the eastern side of the dragon rock, “that’s the only modification I’ve made to this place.”

  An area roughly fifteen feet square had been leveled off in the gradual slope of the dirt. Numerous squat rock piles were stacked on the downhill slope of the flat area to help prevent erosion. Judging from their barely visible state beneath the regrowth of low plants, they were accomplishing their task with efficiency. A small stone campfire circle sprouted up near the massive granite wall. I guided her over to the west side of the dragon rock. “It’s a lot easier for me to carry the wood up the trail and throw it over the ‘castle walls,’ as you say, than to try and worm it through the narrow entrance. It saves a lot of wear and tear on the moss in the doorway as well. The food, and maybe our backpacks, will still have to come through that way, though.”

  She considered my words for a brief second before replying, “Why don’t we both carry all of the supplies from the truck up to the castle. After we do that, you can throw the wood over and I’ll carry it to the fire ring. Then we can both work together to move our other supplies through the tunnel—less chance of scraping up the moss that way.”

  “That works for me.”

  Just after dark, we moved the last of the supplies through the gateway and over to the campsite. I had grabbed enough firewood to last for either several nights’ worth of small blazes, or one night kept at redneck bonfire level. Because the fire ring was set against the granite walls—at least fifteen feet tall by the campsite—any flames, even redneck sized, would be invisible to spectators unless they were flying overhead. I stuck my flashlight in a small crevice to hold it steady and we set up the tent. Twenty minutes later, the tent was up and the fire was beginning to throw off its first coals. I radioed Walter and let him know that we’d be back tomorrow sometime, and then turned to Michelle. “Are you hungry yet?”

  “Famished.”

  “How’s a giant portion of beef stew sound to you?” I asked.

  “Canned or homemade?

  “Would your answer be any different?”

  Michelle laughed, “No, right now I’m hungry enough to eat just about anything.”

  “Well,” I said as I reached into the food sack I had loaded up from the cabin’s kitchen, “it’s canned, and it’s one of those off brands that my uncle got from some buyers club down in Bismarck, but I’ve had it before. It’s pretty good. Plus, I brought two industrial sized cans of it.”

  “That actually sounds pretty good, but I feel I wouldn’t be doing myself justice if I didn’t ask about the other options. What else ya’ got in the sack?”

  I stuffed my face in the opening of the cotton duffel, “I’ve got peanut butter, jelly, almost a whole loaf of rye bread—mostly squished from its encounter with two large cans of beef stew, though. There’s also a frozen carton of those fake eggs, although they won’t be of any use until they thaw . . . hopefully by tomorrow morning. The last thing I’ve got is a bottle of squeeze honey, and a zip lock bag filled with pancake and biscuit mix. I’m sure the honey came from one of Uncle Andy’s beehives. Oh yeah, there’s also about three pounds of dry dog food.”

  “I’m so hungry it all sounds good, even the dog food, but let’s go with the beef stew.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “And I’m,” she looked at me with an amused, mischievous grin, “going to be in the tent for a minute.”

  Her silhouette dipped through the opening, briefly casting an erotic, shadow puppet peep show on the tent walls. The show ended in darkness when she turned her flashlight off. I heard several fumbling noises; most of them being associated with what I guessed were the zippers on her backpack. After a few minutes she came out . . . the only obvious differences that I noticed were the dark blue pullover sweatshirt she wore in place of, or maybe over top of the long sleeve flannel she’d had on earlier . . . and her hair—ponytailed on the way up—was now loose and hanging in gentle curls.

  My largest pot was only big enough to handle one of the cans at a time, so I set it up and got the beef stew warming. “Let me show you something.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Well, you’ve had the main tour already, so this is just the sprinkles on the cupcake.”

  We got up and I walked her down to the western edge of the spoon. A tiny spring—a seep, really—filtered its way from a patch of meadowsweet toward the stone barrier. Before it drained through the granite and moss, it pooled in a shallow, rocky basin surrounded by thick layers of lichens. It was no wider than an average bathroom sink, and only about three inches deep, but it was clean and I had drunk out of it many times. I used the smaller of my nesting pots to fill both of our canteens and my backpack’s water bladder to capacity, and then we headed back to the fire. My canteen was used to refill the small pot.

  “I’m assuming you’re still a fan of my hot chocolate?”

  “As long as you’re still doubling the recipe I am.”

  Four packs were emptied into the water, stirred, and set on a flat rock at the edge of the fire. />
  “Tell me something . . .” Michelle started as she blew on her steaming cup of hot chocolate a few minutes later.

  “What do you want to know?”

  She cut loose with a bemused snort; her head still shaking in disbelief for several seconds afterwards. “What do I want to know?” she echoed. “I don’t even know where to begin with that one.”

  The firelight cast flickering shadows against the mossy wall as I leaned forward and stirred the pot of stew. A dozen circular swirls followed by several figure-eights evened out the heat distribution in the slightly bubbling, chunky mixture, and then I crunched back down next to her.

  She didn’t skip a beat. “Let’s start with that.”

  “With what?”

  “With why you’re being so quiet. Normally you don’t shut up, Eric. I mean, I know that we’ve had a lot to deal with in the past few days, but seriously, where’s the chatterbox I grew up with?”