by Ross Turner
The Redwoods
Rise and Fall
Book Two
By Ross Turner
©Ross Turner
It seems that things are not what they once were,
Always,
Ross.
For Keely,
Because although we may be worlds apart,
You always put a smile on my face,
I miss you dearly,
Ross.
1
In the rich dark of the night, the blanket above dotted with a millions tiny suns, the endless Redwood Forest came alive with the sounds of life from every branch and treetop, every shrub and hollow, and every nook and cranny. The woodlands teemed and buzzed and chirped as a chill breeze swept through their branches and leaves, shaking and ruffling the canopies into a vast rumbling ocean of deep, lustrous red breaks and swells.
The ground rustled underfoot with thousands of fallen leaves as a small herd of deer picked their way cautiously through the trees, their slumber that night having been disturbed by two shadows stalking through the thick trunks.
The shadows stood upon two feet, and moved most definitely as though they didn’t belong amidst the trees. And indeed, nothing had changed. None other than those of Featherstone origin were welcomed amongst the Redwoods, and so these two strangers moved as warily as possible in the darkness, all too aware that they should not have been there.
It was however, their profession, and they made similar guarded journeys such as this almost every night. They were poachers, and they were among the very few remaining still in the occupation, and they had certainly not retained their position by being reckless.
Between them they carried as much equipment as they could manage, but at the same time, only the bare essentials. It was a fine line to walk to make their illegal journeys worthwhile and profitable, but as the same time be light enough to make a hasty escape, should the need ever arise.
They each shifted the weight of two large, spring loaded bear traps, with huge, gaping, metal jaws and razor sharp teeth. Food and water of course they needed too, for they were often out all night and into the early hours of the morning. And, finally, several rolls of snare wire they each also had stuffed into their pockets.
Years of poaching had taught them to move almost silently through the woodlands without sacrificing speed. Of course, compared to the animals who made their homes here, they would never be a match, but as far as humans went, they were among the best.
Stopping suddenly between two thick tree trunks and crouching down low, one of the men made several signals and signs with his hands to the other, barely even distinguishable in the dark of the night. The second man nodded and crouched down also, kneeling beside his partner, silently sliding one of the heavy bear traps from his shoulder as he did so.
It took them barely three minutes to lay the trap, set it, and cover it with a thin layer of soil and dirt to disguise its presence. Their practiced hands moved precisely and without hesitation, regardless of the fact that they were passing repeatedly through such a dangerous mechanism: not dangerous to them though, only to whatever poor creature came along and stepped on it.
Ever since Vivian Featherstone had returned, many things had changed. Poaching in any form had swiftly been made illegal, with Vivian seeking out many of the poachers herself. But in Astley and Zander’s eyes, these two particularly proficient poachers, that simply meant that their prizes fetched higher prices, once they had found the right buyer of course.
Vivian’s sudden and overwhelming presence in Virtus had scared many of their customers into hiding, and it was only the gutsiest and greediest amongst them who still bought from the two criminals.
Yes, Vivian had changed many things indeed.
“Done.” Astley whispered to his partner, though in the darkness the sound still carried away between the trees.
“Keep your voice down you idiot!” Zander breathed in reply, though his voice was still clearly harsh and worn.
“There’s no one here.” Astley mumbled submissively, though indeed his response was barely even a breath. “Are we going to lay all four?” He asked, shifting the weight of the remaining bear trap slung over his shoulder and eyeing the two his partner was still carrying.
“Of course we are!” Zander snapped back at him, his eyes flitting over with annoyance to Astley in the darkness. “Now shut up and come on!”
Astley didn’t reply, simply following Zander off into the dark of the woods once more, leaving their set trap behind them, and only making a mental note of its location so they could check it again later.
Just as he stepped off to leave however, seeing Zander’s silhouette barely visible ahead of him, he stopped and turned for a moment, casting a glance all around. There was a rustling in the bushes off to his left, and a cool breeze whipped past him to the right. The hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms stood on end, and the horrible feeling of being watched formed a pit in his stomach.
Finally he pushed the feeling aside and hurried silently after his overbearing partner, knowing that if he delayed any longer he would surely once again suffer the wrath of Zander’s sharp tongue.
The two of them were out of sight within seconds, and then out of earshot within minutes, and so neither of them saw or heard what happened next.
The great metal jaws, hidden beneath the light dusting of earth and the fallen leaves, began to creak and shudder and groan. The small square pressure plate, protruding up only slightly higher than the rest of the contraption, was only just visible, whilst the rest of the device, including the hulking teeth and spring mechanism, were all concealed beneath.
Suddenly the trap triggered, and the monstrous manmade teeth ripped from below the soil with blinding speed, clamping together with awful force and a terrifying crack. Animals and birds screamed and screeched into flight, fleeing instinctively in every direction away from the murdering monstrosity.
Nothing had stepped on the plate however, and the great jaws had caught only air. They hovered there for a few more moments, sealed tightly shut, rattling and vibrating from the force of their own strength. But then, the strange pressure that had forced the trap to trigger in the first place intensified once more. It bore down upon the strong arms like a heavy burden, unrelenting, and the creaking and groaning grew ever louder.
Eventually it all became too much, and with a horrible grinding and crunching sound, the awful trap buckled and collapsed in on itself, mashed and crushed into a wrecked ball, now nothing but a useless hunk of metal.
With a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes, yet another shadowy human figure darted away through the trees, only this one was welcome amongst the woodlands, instead of being feared by them.
The figure slipped between the trees as if it belonged there, unseen and unheard.
“Did you hear that?” Astley whispered to his partner, breaking the automatic silence they had adopted since leaving their last laid trap. He stopped and cocked his ear to the wind, certain he had heard a crack on the breeze.
“Hear what?” Zander snapped back, irritated that his fool of a partner was speaking once again.
“That noise. Like a crack.” Astley mumbled, still straining his ears.
“There was no noise you fool. You probably stood on a branch, you moron.” Zander replied with an exasperated sigh, apparently mortally wounded by his partner’s total incompetence.
Astley ignored his brute of a partner’s last comment.
“I don’t like it tonight.” He commented then, more to himself than to Zander. “It doesn’t feel right. Something’s definitely wrong.”
Zander didn’t reply to that final comment, not even with a sigh. He muttered something inaudible under
his breath about Astley being a superstitious moron, before continuing on, quickening his pace.
He grunted in frustration as he broke three twigs with his next five steps, distracted by his own cynicism.
Their carelessness however, though it might have been brief, cost them their stealth dearly, and a barely visible shape shifted scarcely an inch or so amongst the shadow of the trees, unseen as ever in the night of the Redwoods.
As Astley and Zander turned their backs, hurrying on with the rest of their night’s work, the silhouette turned silently to follow, moving just enough to reveal a set of shining blue eyes, trained maliciously on the two poachers.
Their energetic light had been dimmed drastically by time, and by sombre obligation, and the harsh stare that they now cast was full of anger and hate and lust and vengeance.
2
“Miss Featherstone. I’m sorry but this issue really must be addressed…” Archer repeated in something of exasperation, his voice worn down by time and by his profession, and his patience too worn thin by Vivian’s tremendous task.
He had for as long as he could remember been an advisor to the Featherstone family. When he’d lived under Miranda and Dorian’s roof at Featherstone Keep, he’d always travelled with them to counsel, and he had known Vivian since the day she was born.
The assassination attempt had very nearly claimed his life, but having lived in the Keep for so long, he had memorised all of the best escape routes. He was no fool, and he had always known the Greystones would be trouble, though he could never have imagined quite how much trouble.
The years he had spent under their rule in the city, now known to all as Virtus, had not been good years, for he had practically had to go into hiding. Those of Featherstone allegiance had all been put to execution, including those loyal to them in the House. It was not a very productive way to spend one’s time, but it had certainly served the Greystone’s purpose, and their reign had been absolute.
That was, at least, until young Vivian had showed up and usurped them. Of course, the second Archer had learned of this, he had sought out young Vivian and immediately come to her aid. He wanted to help restore Virtus to its original splendour.
He had felt for some reason almost obliged to do so, having served the Featherstones for so long. There had been absolutely no way he could sit back and do nothing.
He was still tall and slender and, he liked to think, even more intelligent, for admittedly, his mind was sharp as ever, though his slicked back black hair was now more than a little tinged with grey.
“Archer…” Vivian began, her patience too a little taxed. “I’ve already asked you, I don’t know how many times, please don’t call me that. It was always Vivian. I would like it to always be Vivian.”
Young Vivian Featherstone, the last remaining survivor of their legendary bloodline, daughter to the murdered Dorian and Miranda Featherstone, and to the great red mother bear, Clover, and friend to her dearest murdered Red, was a very different young woman to the one who had returned to Virtus, over five years ago.
Now in her early twenties, Vivian’s mind and body had developed both, and she had blossomed into a gorgeous and intelligent young woman. Her hair was still the same shade of brown, streaked with lighter, glimmering shades, but whilst time had on one hand developed her, it had also worn her down. Her once bright blue eyes had been dimmed and pained by the slow, painful passage of time, and by the enormity and scale of her task, and everything that came with it.
Considering the difficulty and complexity of her task, she had been eternally grateful when Archer had appeared and offered her his experience in the field of management.
“I’m sorry Vivian…” He hastily apologised. “Forgive me, but we really must address these matters.”
“I know, Archer, I know. I’m sorry…” Vivian apologised in turn, and tried her best to focus her weary mind.
“The economy is still rising.” He continued, deciding to switch subjects quickly to try to capture her attention.
His tactic had worked - he did indeed capture Vivian’s attention, but unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons.
“Yes, Archer, I know.” Vivian replied immediately, her voice edgy and her eyes flinty. “And a lot of that’s due to poaching. There are still some I haven’t had the time to find. The ones who don’t seem to care that it’s now illegal.”
“If I may Vivian…” Archer continued, his voice wavering and faltering slightly, though he chased his point nonetheless. “Perhaps you should leave them be?”
“What?” She asked slowly, her eyes darkening and her tone growing dangerous.
“They’re helping Virtus continue to grow and flourish.” He quickly attempted to justify. “Surely a few can’t hurt?”
But as soon as those final words had left his lips, Archer realised he had erred, and the withering look that Vivian gave him then chilled him to the very core, for her will was something to be both feared and respected, and he daren’t cross her. Though, of course, she had never wronged him: it just wasn’t in her nature to do so. But still, why would any man go out of his way to upset the most powerful woman in the world?
It simply wasn’t worth it.
“No.” Was all she said at first, uttering the word slowly and carefully and coldly, ensuring that Archer was in absolutely no doubt that he was testing her patience quite severely.
“I…I thought that…I, maybe it might help with the problem the farmers on the outskirts are having? To the south, something’s killing their cattle…I thought they might be able to catch the beast, whatever it is.” He attempted.
“No. Poaching.” Vivian repeated then, emphasising her words very slowly and very clearly, her voice heavy with the weight of absolute finality, and Archer knew much better than to argue.
“Vivian…I…apologise…”
“Don’t apologise Archer.” She replied sternly, cutting him off. “But never suggest anything like that, ever again. Understand?”
“Yes.” He agreed immediately. “Of course.”
“Good.” She accepted, though her words were still sharp. “Anything else?”
“I…I don’t think…” He stammered, losing track of the long list he’d had stored in his mind.
“Good. That will be all then. Goodnight Archer.”
Apparently having run aground, the quick witted man knew an easy exit when he saw one, and knew after the err he had made he would make no further progress today.
He inclined his head respectfully and started for the front door to Vivian’s house.
“Goodnight Vivian.” That was all he said as he left, closing the chipped and scratched white wooden door behind him and descending the few steps that made up Vivian’s porch.
She watched him head immediately right and hurry down the street back to his own home, barely a mile or so off to the west. Vivian sighed heavily and collapsed wearily into a wooden armchair, padded with but a few meagre cushions.
For the most powerful woman in the world, young Vivian did not live as many might have expected. She lived pretty much directly in the centre of Virtus, which in of itself was not unusual in the slightest, since she was unofficially tasked with the running of the city. But she did not live in a castle, nor a mansion, or anything of the sort in fact.
She lived in a small, one bedroom house, painted entirely white and squeezed, just as all the other houses on that road were, between two other equally squashed houses on either side.
The wooden planks and timbers that kept it together were rotten in places, and creaked and groaned with even the faintest breeze. But none of that mattered. She didn’t need a great, hulking mansion of a house. She was barely ever there anyway.
Her main concern was not the quality of her own life, but instead the quality of the lives’ of the people of Virtus, and of the inhabitants of the Redwood Forest. They had become her only focus. Vivian had lost everything that meant anything to her already anyway, so she had dedicated herself wholly to this task,
and would not rest until she knew it no longer required her attention.
Darkness crept slowly over the mixture of wooden and slate and stone rooftops, some with chimneys that spewed smoke into the dimming night sky, and others that simply provided protection from the elements.
The virtus of the people: ‘The People’s Power’. That was all Vivian had known of this place for so long. All those years she had spent hiding from mankind, from the Greystones. She had never once during that time imagined that one day the people of this city would refer to her as ‘The People’s Power’.
It was apt, she supposed, and reasonably accurate.
But she wasn’t the true virtus of the people, as, in time, she would come to realise.
That was something else entirely.
At first she had made all of the decisions herself, not wanting to trust anyone with anything important, wishing to ensure that everything she did was fair and just and perfect. It didn’t take long however for her to realise that this approach simply wasn’t feasible for her to maintain, and so with time she adapted and altered her approach to ‘ruling’.
Never had she considered herself a queen or a ruler, or anything of the sort. The thought of it made her sick to the stomach. She wanted her people to be free to live their own lives. They were only her people just as much as they were indeed each other’s. They simply looked to her for guidance.
Some of the Lords and Ladies of the old House had survived the Greystone rule, but, admittedly, not many, and only those who had been faithfully loyal to the Grey.
Those that had been still loyal to the Featherstones, and in turn had tried to organise a search party for young Vivian, had swiftly been executed under the Grey’s order.
Therefore, Vivian had decided that half of the problem was that when people with power were given more power, and more authority, it often went to their heads. And so, she had made the decision to form an altogether new House. But, as of yet, she had absolutely no idea where to start.
