Spriggan: Dark horror fantasy

by Julius Schenk

  Spriggan

  Bloody Harvest

  Chapter One.

  He felt like he had been sleeping for years, drifting on a dark restful wave. His mind was a deep dark sea of thoughts and dreams. Visions of another better time, in a colder, pristine land, somewhere far away in a much different time. A land of trees and animals, of fresh air and clean water, with no noise but that of life and nature. The sounds of animals hunting, wind rustling in the leaves, and trees growing in thick groves. He woke or rather was ripped from his long and peaceful sleep. Pain like nothing he had ever felt tore into him, and a high-pitched wailing filled the air.

  One of the stupid pink defilers was cutting a tree across a small clearing from him, slashing at its beautiful old body with a blade of hot steel. A feeling of shock and horror competed with the sensation of pain. He could feel the damage like it was his own. By what right did this low being raise a hand to such ancient life. They should know their place in the order of life. He looked with old eyes that hadn’t opened in years, making out the vision, through the agony. It was a young one and had a sword in its hand, but the sword blade spun around and cut the body of the tree with a screeching sound, a strange smell accompanied it and its sword smoked as it spun.

  The defiler held the spinning blade into the tree; his back was turned to him as he faced his victim. He didn’t have any time to think; he just reached out. He reached out with all his power, willing himself to grow, feeling his old body respond. He’d slept for years and had some power back, enough to kill this weak thing.

  He felt the branches of his arms reaching out from his home tree. Springing forth from the once bare trunk of the tree and reaching out toward the man. They shot across the meters and meters of clearing, growing in a second. The man dropped its weapon in shock but was too slow to escape its fate. He felt his vine like hand reach around the man’s warm neck, long wooden fingers wrapped around the soft flesh, and dug in, pulling it back and away from its crime.

  He pulled the man off the ground and freed his own head from the home tree. Bringing the man’s face close to his, he looked deep into its eyes. The man's eyes were wild with shock and horror, a deep brown color. He almost laughed. What a pathetic attempt to destroy one of his wards. His fingers rested on the delicate skin, and he let them grow sharp and pointed. His long fingers grew longer as they tore a bloody path deep into the man’s neck and throat. The rich red blood began to pour from the wounds in its neck, coming out in thick spurts.

  He felt the strength and life in the blood; it was a glorious thing. He lifted the man high and let his vines reach deep into its entire body, finding its heart, and crushing it with a single finger wrapped around it. The defiler screamed as it died, its life blood pouring around the roots of his tree and down his arms, in thick red rivers of power.

  He did laugh now, a whisper of hisses, a broken wood wind instrument.

  He felt healthy and vigorous. He tossed the broken and drained body to the side and placing his hand on either side of the tree pulled himself free. He hadn’t had a sacrifice in what seemed like years and was at least twenty in the way they counted time. He looked down and saw the spinning sword. It was big and filled him with anger; now they made weapons to destroy trees more quickly. He’d never seen its like. It had stopped spinning and screeching as it hit the ground, but he looked at in a kind of fear. It was a powerful weapon.

  He looked at the man and up in the distance. He knew one meant more, but he would defend his home tree and grove. He stood tall and stretched his body; he was tall and full of power. He let his mind go to his grove. He could feel it all now, the trees, flowers, the animals, he felt all those he had to protect. He felt the pain of the helpless tree being attacked and animals killed.

  He felt the others as well. He knew there was a group of them. They were in one of those homes of dead trees, many of them. Lucky for them, the tree we’re from another Grove and spoke not to him, though the thought angered him. He thought of his forest and knew would protect it, with their lives if he had to.

  He turned to the fallen body of the man and his weapon and taking it by its leg dragged it next to the weapon. He then reached out with his mind. There was a blackberry root near the body. He directed his power and thought grow. The vine sprung to life and rose from the ground, like a spiked snake. He directed it with his mind. Making it grow in a thick bush, hiding the fallen man and his weapon.

  Now the attack had stopped, so had the pain, but he looked at the ancient tree that had been defiled. It was old and powerful; it had been growing and thriving long before the defiler had crawled into the world. It had a long cut in its trunk, that scared its beauty, he knew rot would get into the wound, and it would die. But he had the power now. He placed his wooden fingers on the wound, and thought heal, it took a lot of the power he had just absorbed, but it was worth it. He watched as the splinters grew together and the bark grew over the wound.

  He turned to the direction the defiler had come. There were a lot of them, he could sense them all, and he needed to know why they were in his grove and why they were attacking his wards. They would need to be punished and stopped, and he’d be glad to do it.

  Chapter Two

  Forced labor is what it was, just one step above slavery and human trafficking. Here she was, a London city girl, and now she had to do three months ‘regional work’ to get her second-year visa. Vicky looked around at the people on the crowded coach and sighed. It was going to be a long bus ride to the Lynch family winery, and she didn’t think they would be stopping and giving her a chance to roll a smoke anytime soon.

  It was something she had to, do, so she would and try not to complain too much, though whinging was the English national sport. Her boyfriend was an Aussie, and if she wanted another year with him, then she had no choice. She wasn’t the type to rush into a hasty fake wedding, she was only twenty-eight, but still, he was worth it. It might be fun, she tried to convince herself, and it was a good chance to get out of an office and taking phone calls for eight hours a day. Though her pale white English skin was going to need some hardcore protection from these Australian rays.

  They had a hole in the ozone layer right above the country. The sun like everything else here wanted to hurt people. Australia had more poisonous snakes, spiders, jelly fish, scorpions, and other weird shit than anywhere else. At least they gave their creepy crawlies names you could easily understand. Like the Redback spider, it has a red back. White tail spider? You got it white tail.

  Her boyfriend and her English mates, updated via Facebook, thought it was funny that she was going to do farm work. She was a lot more comfortable sitting around in a pub having a few pints and listening to some bands than getting all covered in cow shit. She hated the countryside; it was pretty for about five days then it was just annoying.

  The bus had left Cairns in the morning, and her destination was at least four hours away. She had no idea where it was but that it somewhere in Queensland. She usually lived in Melbourne and had to get a plane this far, but there was little work anywhere else. The countryside was lovely though, Queensland was more like a jungle than Victoria or England, and it was hot and humid all the time. It was like Jurassic park, complete with huge bugs straight out of prehistoric times.

  The place she was going to was some winery which sounded pretty good. Much better than getting up at five am to milk cows.

  The bus finally came to a stop at a ‘station,' that was just a crossing at some dusty roads, a small tin shed to stop the rain if it started. That was all that marked the transfer hub. She grabbed her leather jacket from the seat next to her and stood up. Strolling down the middle of the bus, she realized she was almost alone now; ever
yone else had gotten off much earlier. She stepped out past the bus driver. He got out behind her. The man was a classic bus driver; he even had pulled up socks and high shorts.

  ‘I’ll help you with your bag love’ he said walking down the metals stairs behind her.

  Vicky smiled at him ‘Thanks for that.'

  The man walked to the side of the bus and opened the luggage doors. Reaching in, he pulled out her big backpack and set it down next to her.

  ‘Someone picking you up?’ he asked

  She looked at her watch; she was early

  ‘Yeah, I told them four, I’ll just text them.'

  The man laughed ‘good luck, receptions useless out here, even Telstra’ whatever that meant.

  The man walked off with a wave and got back into the bus. Within moments she was standing next to the little tin shack, all alone. It was starting to get hot, and her usual choice of black jeans and a black top didn't seem that practical. But she had long blonde hair, and if she dressed in anything too colorful, she looked like a complete wanker. Vicky reached into the pockets of her jeans and pulled out a packet of tobacco, papers, and filters. She’d brought a lot of extra supplies; she knew the nearest shop would be miles away and a weekend only mission.

  She expertly rolled a neat little cigarette and licked the paper. She’d just lit it when dust started to rise from the road in the direction the bus had gone.

  ‘Damn it’ she said taking two quick drags of the smoke before the car pulled up.

  The car was a lot nicer than she was expecting. It was sleek, black, and clean. It was a Mercedes of some kind and two doors. Real penis on wheels. A young guy got out and smiled at her.

  ‘You must be Victoria’ he walked over and shook her hand, hard.

  He wasn’t what she’d expected either; he looked like an investment banker. Slick clothes, casual shirt, kachkie pants and expensive brown loafers with no socks. Gym fit guy, who probably looked at himself in the mirror as he worked his biceps.

  ‘I’m Gareth, my older brother Roger asked me to get you, he’s all busy and stressed. The young guy reached out and took her bag, a big old backpack that could hold three weeks of clothes and a lot of Bushman ‘bug off’.

  ‘Feel free to finish your smoke; I’m happy to wait for you.’ He said.

  ‘Thanks, Gareth’ she put her initial shock aside and remembered she needed these people to like her.

  ‘Not to sound funny, but you don’t look like what I expected’ she said, taking a drag of her smoke

  He laughed, pulling out a cigarette of his own and lighting it

  ‘Our family has done very well in the winery business, and farming and well in a lot of things, my brother Roger handles the practical side and I deal with the business side, it’s not all dust and dirt and picking grapes. Running a winery is a lot of marketing and supply contracts. Anyway, you're one to talk, you don’t look like the average farm hand.'

  She smiled ‘Don’t I know it. Still, I can be tough when I need to be’ she flicked her smoke to the side of the road and crushed it out with her boot. He did the same.

  ‘let’s get going?’ he said

  Australians had a funny way of speaking, they raised the end of every sentence and made everything a question. Her boyfriend was always saying thing like ‘I’m going to the shops,’ But it sounded like ‘I’m going to the shops?’ on QI, the tv show, they had said it was called the Australian question intonation. Confusing.

  ‘Sure thing’ she said

  She walked to the car and opened the door. A rush of cold air hit her as she slid gently into the leather seat. Gareth sat next to her, made sure she was buckled in and spun the car around in one smooth movement. They drove to his brother's farm with her keeping him interested talking about the complex world of running a successful winery.

  They drove for at least another hour. Outside of the windows, they had already passed two properties that Gareth said were theirs as well. They were what she thought a winery should be. Rows and rows of beautifully maintained vines in a field of green grass. She saw the workers in baggy clothes, pruning and cutting away dead branches, that would be her soon enough.

  ‘Now I have to warn you’ he said ‘The winery you’re going to is in pretty bad condition. It’s in need of some serious love and that why we have you guys. There will be nine others, and by the end of the month, it’ll be looking good.’

  ‘One month? Not three?’ she said

  ‘Oh, didn’t Roger tell you, look it’s going to be fairly rough, so I’ll make him sign you all off for three months, but you only have to work for one, just work hard.’ He said.

  She was thrilled; this was such good news, she could deal with some shit for one month. The road they were on had turned from paved to compacted dirt, and his car turned off to a smaller side road. She saw fields on the left all filled with dead and dying grape vines; it looked awful. There was a vast area of bushland to her right; it didn’t look very ‘outback’ it was almost jungle. It was full of tall trees and overgrown. A large metal gate stood open, and within minutes they were pulling up in front of a house. It was a large farm house, with a large newish caravan parked off to the side. The house itself was in terrible condition. In need of some serious paint and looked much too spidery for her to sleep well. The house looked broken and defeated, sagged in on itself as if it had just given up on life.

  She stepped out of the car once it had stopped and walked across the dead grass. Gareth pulled her bag out of the car and brought it next to her, shaking her hand again.

  ‘Well Vicky, it was fun chatting with you. I’ll see you on the weekend’ he said and started to walk away

  ‘You don’t live here? ‘she said

  He laughed ‘oh no, I’m not much for the manual labor, leave that to Roger, but I’ll see you on the weekend and ferry some of you into town. Try to enjoy it, at least you’ll get a tan and Rogers pretty relaxed about letting you all try the product if you get my drift.’

  He walked away, got in his car, and sped off. Vicky stood looking at the door of the large farm house. Inside was filled with the sounds of life and people. Nine others, she wasn’t looking forward to having to hang out with nine other travelers for a month. She could just imagine them. English and Irish lads on tour types, hopefully, there would be a few Swedes she always loved Swedish girls they were fun.

  Reaching into her jeans pockets, she pulled out her pouch of tobacco and started to roll a cigarette; she heard the door behind her a farmer walked out. He looked the part and must be Roger. Faded denim jeans, a t-shirt, bit of a gut and grayish white hair. He looked fit enough though, he must have been around fifty. He smiled at her and shook his head slowly.

  ‘Be careful now; there's a full fire ban, so you be careful with that butt’ he said then walked over and shook her hand ‘You Vicky?’

  She put the tobacco back ‘That’s me, you Roger? Lovely winery’ she said, looking at the terrible state of it.

  He laughed ‘Oh don’t worry, once you kids work your magic it’ll be back to the way it was, always goes in cycles, you have to give the earth time to rest before you plant again.'

  ‘Feel free to smoke inside, I sleep in the caravan and really couldn’t give a shit, but be careful some of those girls seem really bitchy, no sense of humor; you’d think they were doing me a favor, getting free food and board for three months.’ he said

  ‘You mean one month’ she said

  ‘One month? Oh, Gareth must have liked you, you didn’t give him a blowjob did you’ and started laughing. He hit her shoulder with a big hand ‘Relax girl; you’ll realize I joke a lot, don’t be like those other stuck up bitches. Now I’m going to my caravan be ready to work at seven tomorrow’ he walked off toward his trailer with a bottle of wine in his fist and a slight stagger.

  Great, she had to deal with this guy now.

  Chapter Three

  Finding the defilers house was easy. He could sense the general area of them, they were still animals,
if foolish and aggressive animals, and he knew all the animals in his grove, but a thin line of smoke filled the air. They were burning trees for warmth, even though it was warm enough, and it led him straight to them. It was still daytime, so he had to be careful, he didn’t want anyone to see him, not that their eyes were even open. They could often look right at him and see nothing but his surroundings.

  Things had changed, once he had been revered, give sacrifices and treated with respect. Now they didn’t believe in the power of nature. They casually destroyed everything he was meant to protect. He’d been in this land for near 200 of their years and seen it change so much, every time he woke it was worse than before, trees getting cut down and replaced by nothing but grass and dead wooden houses. Still, now he had been awoken, he would make them pay for their many sins.

  He looked at the house and seeing a line of trees nearby, crept towards them. He would wait until darkness. If he was to punish them, he had to be smart; it would be almost fun. He’d watch them, and if they followed the rules, they would be safe. If they sinned against his grove, they would be far from safe. Already he could see they would fail.

  He let the roots of his feet sink into the rich red soil and felt the connection. Their house of cut trees was like a void of death. A whole area of cut trees and nothing around it. He could sense them breathing inside and could tell there was a lot of them, ten at least; ten was a good number for him. He would bleed their life blood onto the ground and make it healthy again.

  As he watched one of their metal boxes on wheels came up. They all had them. They were loud, dead things, It was loud and smelled terrible, he could see the invisible poison it spewed out from behind it. Still better than the wooden ones. Carriages, he’d heard them called in their strange language. The machine stopped fast in the dirt, and two people got out. The man, he knew. He was born near here, tallish and brisk with the way he moved.