Planet Urth: Remains of Urth
(Book 7)
A novel
By Jennifer and Christopher Martucci
PLANET URTH: REMAINS OF URTH (BOOK 7)
Published by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci
Copyright © 2016
All rights reserved.
First edition: February 2016
Second Edition: November 2017
Cover design by Lou Harper
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Pulse hammering against my temples, every muscle in my body aches and trembles. Sweat stipples my brow and coats my skin, trailing between my shoulder blades to the small of my back. It tickles as it streams. I want to shift, to scratch the itch somehow, yet I don’t budge. The risk outweighs the possible reward. It’s not easy, though, and the sensation intensifies the more I concentrate on it. I try to focus my attention elsewhere but the best I can do is think of what’s causing it: sweltering heat. Intense heat. In fact, from where I sit, perched on a tree limb high off the ground, I feel as if I’m hovering dangerously close to the surface of the sun.
Unfiltered by clouds, the sun is a golden blaze beaming shafts of blistering heat even though it’s dipping low in the sky. Sun. Heat. Sweat. Itch. It all comes back to that need to squirm, to, at the very least, scrape my back against the bark behind me, but I remain as I am, unmoving and waiting. I clutch my spear in one hand and hold tight to the branch beneath me with the other. I have to remain exactly as I am, poised to strike when the moment presents itself. Eating ranks above an itch. Any second now, the sounds of a beast could echo. Welcome sounds. Sounds that mean my family and I will eat tonight.
My belly rumbles as if on cue. It yearns for a successful day of hunting that means my parents, siblings and I won’t go hungry. Maybe even for more than one day. Killing an animal large enough to sustain us for more than a meal is a hope I’m afraid to entertain. Though beasts are numerous, they’re never guaranteed to cross my path and their sizes vary greatly. Still, I hunt here each day along with family members. This particular location has proven better than others as it is rich with purple-tipped flowers surrounded by tall grasses, which animals come to graze on or to dig at the dark soil beneath and root out bugs. My brothers and sister and I scour this area daily. It’s our job. Some days we go home empty handed. Those are days when we go to bed with full heads and empty stomachs. The two are never a good combination. Together they make for a long night of little sleep. I shake my head as if doing so will ward off the pang of hunger that gnaws at my belly, a pang that overrides any itch.
Refocused, my gaze skims the meadow. I search for my brother, Kohl. An expert at concealing himself, I think I spot a tuft of his light brown hair, but I can’t be sure. It’s a wonder to me how he manages to move through the forest, unheard, through thickets and brush, how he manages to move silently and stealthily in spite of his height and heft.
Nearly a full head taller than me and thick through his arms and chest, my older brother, Kohl, has the gift of both strength and dexterity. He’s down below, hunting carefully with eyes that match mine in shade and are the color turquoise. Pike, my younger brother, is perched high in a treetop, too. Though we are both bigger than most young men our age, Pike is slightly smaller than I am, and he plods gracelessly, lumbering much like the beasts we hunt. Fortunately, what he lacks in grace, he makes up for with acute senses, a sharp eye and a deadly hand. He’s much better off where he is, waiting as I am, ready to slay any animal that crosses his path. My sister, Ara, waits as well. Pike’s twin sister, she is a wisp compared to Kohl, Pike and I, and she hunts with a bow and arrow. After constructing a small lookout platform in a treetop not far from mine, we all decided that would be her post. And since then, she’s proven that she deserves it. With the highest amount of smaller woodland creatures killed, she returns with something to eat with far more regularity than all of us combined, no matter how undersized her contributions may be.
Some days we hunt with our cousins, Maxx and Cian. Today is one of them. Their help is desperately needed as food has been scarce the last two days due to the heat. They scour the ground as well, each in their own section, and I watch from above.
I seldom move and my knees protest holding the same position for so long. I almost envy that Maxx, Cian and Kohl are able to stretch their legs. I’ve been told that centuries ago, food was readily available to humans, skinned, deboned and cooked in some instances. It’s a bit of history that’s so foreign to me I can hardly conceive of it. Back then, humans weren’t an endangered species, another piece of the past that’s alien to me. We weren’t hunted as we are now. We weren’t forced to live deep in the woods, limited to dwell only in daylight hours because we can’t survive in the open once the sun goes down. I imagine what that would be like, what it would be like to exist in a world where the creatures that lurk in the forest in the dark and devour any living creature that isn’t hidden at night—including us—don’t exist. A world without Night Lurkers is unthinkable.
Unfortunately, Night Lurkers aren’t the only creatures that hunt us, and they aren’t the reason we’re endangered. They are undoubtedly a big obstacle in our struggle for survival. But they are not the primary one. Not by a long shot. The world no longer belongs to human beings as I was told it once did.
Absorbing the shiver that besets my body despite the oppressive heat, I cast my eyes skyward and note the angle of the sun. It sits low in the sky, so low we only have maybe an hour, two hours at best, of daylight left. We can’t take any chances past two hours. We need to return well before nightfall and with plenty of time to spare or we risk an encounter with a Night Lurker.
Despite the risk of venturing out at night, the forest is still the safest place for us. At least here we’re safe by day. The world beyond the forest belongs to another species.
My thoughts are yanked from my worries of Night Lurkers when the snapping of twigs directs my attention to the forest below. Dried leaves swish and the crack of fallen branches echoes over the caw of birds and the buzz of insects. The sound grows louder and draws nearer. At first, my hopes soar and I ready myself with a spear to launch at a beast that will be dinner. But the closer I listen, the more convinced I become that the sound is the footfalls of a two-legged creature, more specifically a human. But no one I know would ever make that much noise, especially when hunting.
Warning whispers go up my spine and goosebumps dot my flesh. I release the hold I have on the branch beneath me and balance myself, testing every muscle I have. I clutch my spear close to my chest and grip it so tightly my biceps bulge. I still myself, holding my breath and staring hard in the direction of the sound.
I don’t see anything or anyone approaching, not right away at least, not until I glimpse a shape in my periphery. Turning, I see my younger cousin, Cian, who has picked up on it and is moving toward the sound, his spear held high and stepping unheard upon the forest floor the way a hunter should move. He’s about fifty yards away. Trained as we are to be alert to both potential predators and prey, we seldom miss anything. But immediately my gaze darts from him to a new sound. In the distance, I hear voices accompanying the footfalls. Warning that once whispered screams through my body. It can’t be! I think. No one in our camp would be coming from that direction. The voices and footsteps echo from the opposite side. We hunt in our own designated areas and no one would be foolish enough to walk so loudly, so carelessly, carrying on a conversation and scaring off potential game.
We’ve been taught since we were young to never draw attention to ourselves, to become one with the forest.
Barely breathing, my eyes are ripped from Cian to where the bushes part and the approaching shapes come out of concealment. For a moment, my brain refuses to accept what my eyes see. My heart freezes mid beat.
Harsh, unforgiving sunlight blanches skin that is nearly transparent and does little to cover the expansive, vivid entanglement of veins that web the malformed heads of the beings below. Lidless eyes shrouded in a thick, milky film dart wildly, bloodthirsty eyes that know no mercy. Noses are absent, but two asymmetrical holes that appear to serve the purpose of nasal openings sit where a nose should. Devoid of lips, an angry slash gives the impression that mouths may reside beyond it. They are monstrous, my worst fear realized. After all these years, they’ve found us. They are in our forest, dangerously close to all of us. Especially Cian.
Urthmen.
The beings we hide from.
They’re here.
The world in which we live, the one where once upon a time human beings existed harmoniously and at the top of the hierarchy of life with animals, is primarily populated by a species known as Urthmen. I have never seen one before until this moment. My family and I have been hidden deep in the woods for all of my seventeen years. They are what human beings evolved into after the War, and they hate those of us who remain unchanged. The Urthmen live in the cities that used to be inhabited by humans, before our kind fell at their hands. They rarely enter the woods by day, and have never ventured into the Great Forest. Until now. They avoid all forests at night. Going in at nighttime would mean certain death. Even Urthmen fear the forest at night. They have no reason to enter the forest anyway. The only reason they would ever leave the comfort of their communities would be to hunt humans. Out of the forest and out in the open, human beings are slaughtered on sight. We are the most hated species on Urth. No longer even considered part of any hierarchy.
Gaze vacillating between Cian and what I’m sure are Urthmen, my heart thunders and threatens to beat out of my ribcage. My cousin continues to advance, crouched beneath the bush line and unaware of what is just twenty yards away. One Urthman leads the way while two others follow grumbling to one another. With each step they take, my heart drills harder and faster until they are directly below me and a cold sensation diffuses through my chest, making me feel lightheaded and breathless at once. Panic sets in, washing over me in lacy waves of chilly numbness. I want to scream out for Cian to run, to alert him to their presence, but my voice is silenced, firmly lodged beneath the lump of terror clogging my throat.
Trapped above them and paralyzed by fear, I watch in horror as Cian, just ten yards away, is closing in fast, prepared to lunge at and attack what he surely believes is a heavy-footed animal.
Breaths coming in short, shallow pants, I force a sound from deep in my lungs. “Cian, run!” I scream, my voice filling the forest.
As soon as the words leave my lips, my muscles twitch to life. Three chins notch and eyes as black as the darkest night are trained on me. I feel the press of them but force myself into action, moving toward them when every instinct demands I do the opposite. I begin scampering down the tree, navigating branches and leaves and moving as quickly as my trembling limbs will allow. I glance over my shoulder once, and when I do, I see Cian standing up, his upper body visible over the brush. The Urthmen turn, their sights set on him, all of it happening in the space of a breath.
“Humans!” the lead Urthman shouts to the two who accompany him. Unfamiliar to my ears and unlike anything I’ve ever heard, the sound of his voice claws at my eardrums and scuttles across my skin like insect feelers. “You get him,” he orders the two behind him and points toward Cian, who turns and dashes off into the forest. “And I will take care of him,” he says and points toward me.
My blood chills in my veins and the gravity of the situation takes hold. Abandoning the branch my feet touch, I jump.
The ground hurtles toward me. All breath leaves my body and needle-sharp stabs of pain claw my legs as branches lash my thighs. Bruises and cuts will result, but I don’t care. All I can think of is protecting my cousin, protecting my brothers and sister. I land on my feet lightly and immediately drop my spear. I reach over my shoulder for my sword, sheathed in the scabbard on my back. Fear seeps from me, replaced instead with the inherent need to survive, and protect my kin. I’ve never fought in a real fight where my life was at stake. But I’ve practiced everyday with my brothers and sister and was instructed from a young age by my father, who is a great swordsman, how to wield my weapon with deadly might. I was also trained by a woman I met a few years ago who was making her way through our forest. Avery was her name. She was a great warrior and once led a human army and had many encounters with Urthmen. She taught me a lot in her short time here. The lessons she and my father have taught me have been branded on my heart and in my mind.
I only hope my lessons will prove useful when the remaining Urthman appears before me.
More hideous up close than from afar, murky black eyes the color of sludge lock on mine, yet for reasons I can’t explain, I do not move a muscle. I cannot move a muscle. My mind screams for me to swing my sword, to run even, to do something, anything. But my limbs are suddenly made of stone. The forest has gone still. I do not hear a thing, not the crackle of dry leaves, the buzz of insects or the chirp of chipmunks. Even the birds are silent. All I hear is the rush of blood behind my ears, and the frantic beat of my heart.
The Urthman opens his mouth, an oily pit of blackness, and a dark, vile tongue slithers out. It slinks over his pointed teeth and I feel as if I might puke. I force my eyes from his rotten mouth to the hand that clutches a spiked club, just in time to see his arm tense. In the space of a breath, he swings his weapon and I move mine. I raise it and block his blow just before it connects with my skull. The impact is powerful. It knocks me back a few steps.
“Disgusting human!” he spits in a grating voice and swings again, only this time, I sidestep him and the spikes of his weapon sink deep into the tree behind me with a loud thwack. He yanks and tries desperately to pull it free, but it resists. While he frantically busies himself doing that, I seize the opportunity. Without hesitation, I squeeze the hilt of my sword so tightly my palms ache and I swing my sword in a wide arc, carving the air and slicing his throat open. Crimson leaks from the gash and burbles from his mouth while his eyes widen in disbelief. He tries to speak but his words are garbled. Within seconds his head droops, falling to his chest, and he collapses to the ground.
Chest heaving and mind reeling, the moment is surreal. It’s what I’ve been readied for my whole life, but nothing could’ve prepared me for what just happened. The heft of my sword. The feel of its razor-sharp blade dragging across flesh and muscle. The sight of life escaping him. Nothing could have prepared me for it. Nothing.
While a part of me feels rooted to the ground below and can’t seem to look away, on a cellular level, I’m well aware that I don’t have a minute to spare. Two more Urthmen are in the forest and are pursuing my fifteen-year-old cousin. I sprint in the direction they took off.
Warm air whooshes in my face and low growing brush scrapes at my legs as I race headlong toward my cousin. “Kohl!” I shout for my older brother. My voice is hoarse, roughened by panic. “Kohl! Help!”
Testing every adrenaline saturated muscle in my body, I cover more ground and move faster than I ever thought possible. I see Cian and the Urthmen in the distance. One Urthman is running and the other kneels with a bow, arrow loaded and pulled taut, ready to launch.
“Cian, look out!” I yell. But in the seconds it takes for the words to leave my lips, the arrow is released. I hear the shrill whistle. And I watch as the pointed tip lodges firmly in Cian’s back, propelling him forward until he loses his footing and falls face-first to the ground.
“Nooooo!” The word echoes from a place inside me, deep and primal. A place that flares to life with pain. Despite
the ache of shock and loss, I do not dare slow my pace. I race full speed and watch in horror as the Urthman closest to Cian reaches him. Cian squirms and rolls over, turning just in time to see the Urthman descend upon him. “No, please!” he cries, but his cries fall on cruel ears.
The Urthman hefts his club high overhead and brings it crashing down against my cousin’s skull. “Filthy human!” he snarls and spittle sprays from his mouth. He’s feral, delivering blow after blow. Each lands with a sickening thud. Each time the club is raised again, the crimson stain upon it grows larger.
Anguish grips me and is followed by nausea. My stomach roils and I feel as though I’ve been thrust into a nightmare.
“You fool!” the Urthman with the bow and arrow shouts as he approaches.
The Urthman stops swinging and his head whips toward the other Urthmen.
“We need to question him!” the one with the bow and arrows says exasperatedly.
Lowering his club, the Urthman looks down at Cian with disgust. He shrugs. “We can question the other one.” He snorts and then spits on Cian before he begins turning toward the Urthman who felled Cian with his arrow. As he does, his murderous, black eyes land on me and go wide, for I am upon them, shaking with rage and anger I’ve never felt before. “The one from the tree—”
He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence. A war cry springs from me and my world explodes into wrath and hate. Cian, a boy of only fifteen, lies haloed in a pool of his own blood, eyes closed, brow low, and mouth open on a silent scream. And the creature responsible is before me.
“Are you ready to die like him?” The Urthman clutching his club clips his misshapen head toward Cian. But any and all confidence drains from his tone as his gaze drifts. He looks behind me, and what can only be described as fear transforms his face. I don’t need to look to know Kohl has arrived. At nineteen, he is by far the largest, most physically intimidating human in our camp. He is not only a full head taller than me but broad in his shoulders and chest. I glance over my shoulder and see my younger brother and sister are right behind him. In my periphery to my left, my older cousin Maxx, Cian’s brother comes from the right. The Urthmen are surrounded.
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