Dirt (The Dirt Trilogy)

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Dirt (The Dirt Trilogy) Page 5

by K. F. Ridley


  “Runs on water,” he responds.

  “Oh.”

  “We’ve taken a few human machines and made them safe.”

  “Where are we going now?”

  “To put this thing away.” We drive a few minutes beyond the tree line. The engine is passive and makes little sound. The trees congregate, merging closer and closer together. We stop, as the trees close in around us and I sit motionless in the passenger seat feeling as if we’re about to be swallowed up by the forest. The door opens; Rowen offers his hand to help me out. His chivalry is satisfying and pulls me in even more. Walking away, I look behind me. The car is gone and a maze of green completely covers the area where the car had been. We walk out into the meadow, my hand in his. I’m certain of nothing, but trusting him with anything.

  I think we walk for hours. The trees are greener than green, the grass thicker than carpet. The verdure is pure. And I thought Montana was the most perfect place in the world. Above us, an eternal rainbow paints the sky with colors I never knew existed. I walk with him, wondering, while questions fill my brain. “Who’s after my father?” I finally ask.

  “To know that you are going to have to know who you are.” He pauses for a moment and seems scared to tell me more. “Your mother is from Durt.”

  “So are you. I get that already. But…” I say with a little agitation.

  With a blink of an eye, a dark cloud comes over us like a blanket of despair, erasing the color from every inch of sky. Any natural movement around us stops. The world is stone still. An enormous sense of gloom overcomes the air which is soured by a foul odor. Rowen clutches my arm. I’ve never seen him afraid until now. “Run!” he says as he drags me faster and faster along the path.

  “They’re here.” Rowen pushes me up against a huge oak and becomes a shield in front of me, again. Two men draped in black cloaks step out of the shadows.

  “Look what we have here,” one of them spews. “Rowen, the sentry, protecting it. The great secret.” They both laugh at us as if we’re pathetic.

  “Phagos. You know the code. You and Duir are not supposed to be here. You’ve crossed the line.” Rowen’s words are guarded.

  “Nor is the secret! There is no code now! Nowthat you’ve brought it here, there are no agreements. No codes!” Phagos shouts. His deep voice echoes as his face curls with anger. Their eyes glow bright green much like Professor Bran’s, but their faces are dark as if they have severe sun damage. I can tell they once owned beauty that faded away or was brutally taken from them. Their thin, light blond hair dances freely with each movement.

  “Leave at once. You are going too far, Phagos,” Rowen insists.

  “Looks like you are the one who has gone too far, Sentry Boy.” Phagos reveals his rotting jagged teeth as he bellows a deep disturbing cackle.

  Simultaneously, the two iniquitous men pull long silver swords from underneath their robes. Their polished blades shimmer. My heart hammers as fear grows inside me. Rowen’s hands are empty. I’m not any help. I’m the reason we’re in trouble. I know deep down he’ll do whatever is necessary to keep me from the blade.

  “Straif will be delighted to have the both of you. He’ll be so pleased. The secret. Here. Finally.”

  Phagos, being the apparent leader of the two, points the tip of his sword under Rowen’s chin, lifting his head up with the knife touching his throat ever so slightly. One small movement will puncture his neck. Rowen stands firm between me and Phagos. He has one hand in his back pocket and one hand on me. Phagos and Duir reach to apprehend. Their swords close in and I see my reflection in Duir’s blade. I get a whiff of his rank stench; the smell of rotting wood, mold and disgust. There’s nothing else we can do. I’ll go quietly.

  Rowen releases a handful of sand from his back pocket thrusting it into the air, causing an orange cloud to appear around us. I rub my eyes to clear the smoke. Coughing, I’m caught off guard by the scent of citrus. When the smoke clears, we’re at the foot of a mountain looking over the most beautiful valley I’ve ever seen. A meadow full of wildflowers and blooms satiate every inch of space. The perfume is sedating filling the air with the scent of bitterroot blossoms and chocolate. Phagos and Duir are nowhere to be seen.

  “Where are we?”

  “Millseu Feraib,” Rowen says brushing the sand off his bare arms.

  I drift toward the alluring field. It calls me, pulling me like a magnet, a force I cannot resist.

  “We’ve got to get out of here and we’re not going through there. Come on, Ashe.” He points up the mountain away from the intoxicating valley. He grabs my arm forcing me in the other direction, away from Millseu Feraib. Away from valley that summons me. I’ve never encountered a force so strong. It vacuums my desires. Why is he doing this? Why doesn’t he want to go with me?

  “We’ll never get out. It’s a trap!” he insists.

  I ignore him. He has to be wrong. How can something so beautiful be a trap? I’m going and he isn’t going to stop me. I pull away from him and head downhill in a trance. Drugged. Inebriated by the air around me.

  “Come on.” He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. I fight him with everything I’ve got, which isn’t much.

  “Put me down! Put me down!” My fists beat against his back without relent as he carries me up the mountain. By the time we reach the top of the peak, I’m exhausted. He isn’t fazed. Not the least bit short of breath. I’ve calmed down by this time and he sets me down. My mind is clearer now.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “I expected that to happen. Don’t worry about it,” he laughs his subtle mouth slightly curving at the edges. “You’ve got a nice right hook.”

  “I didn’t?” I could feel the color of red seeping from my olive complexion.

  “Right here.” He points to his left cheek, which is adorned with a crimson splotch. It’s almost as if he’s proud of it.

  “I don’t remember. I’m so sorry. What happened?” ask mortified.

  “It wasn’t you. Don’t blame yourself. It’s the valley. Once you enter, you don’t come out. It’s a trap put there by The Dark Thorn hundreds of years ago. No one can destroy it. To destroy Millseu Feraib would mean the destruction of all living things around it. Every plant, every bit of life within one thousand meters of it edge. All of it would die.”

  “How were you able to resist it?”

  “Years of training.”

  “How did we get there? The last things I really remember were those men attacking us.”

  “Orange sand. Pixie powder. It’ll take you to one of three points in Durt. All of which are dangerous and for different reasons. I chose Millseu Feraib because it’s the closest of the three to Ivy’s house, but we’ll have to walk a while longer.” I’m getting tired and the sun illuminating this world starts to set giving the sky a hue of deep orange and red. Small specks of cloud frolic around us as we trek upwards. Rowen reaches out for me “Can you walk a while longer?” As he touches my hand, he touches my soul. I wonder if he knows.

  “I’ll try.” He pulls me from the ground. “What do you mean you chose this Feraib place?”

  “When you use orange sand, and believe me it’s not easy to get, you have to focus on your destination.”

  “How do you know what your destinations are? Do the pixies tell you?”

  He smiles at me in a debonair sort of way. It’s obvious I amuse him.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You don’t talk to pixies. You can barely see them. Orange sand is only issued to a certain few, by authorities higher than me. It’s not something you use lightly.”

  I put my hands in my jean pockets and raised my shoulders up around my neck in a moment of total ignorance. “I guess there is so much I don’t know. I...”

  “Be still. Shhhh,” Rowen instructs, placing his finger over my lips stopping me midsentence. A nearby bush rustles. “Show yourself,” he insists.

  When the creature steps out of the foliage
, my heart skips a beat and my jaw meets the ground.

  9

  “ It’s only I, Master Rowen.” The creature appears to be halfhuman, half-rabbit and speaks in an accent that sounds awkwardly British. I know now to expect anything and from the look of things, anything is possible.

  “ Scout, how have you been?” Rowen grasps the creature around his left furry forearm with his right hand. Scout returns the gesture with his right hand at Rowen’s forearm and shakes it. We’re apparently in friendly company. Scout’s torso is human, but from the waist down, he appears to be rabbit, wearing only a khaki vest and brown fur covering his lower half. His face is human-like except for his massive floppy fur-covered ears and a humanish nose twitching spontaneously without purpose.

  “ What is your mission, Master Rowen?” He looks at me over his crooked round spectacles. “Is…is…this who I think it is? How could you bring this danger to us?” He takes a step back as if I have leprosy and his nose twitches with even more vigor.

  “ I had no other choice,” Rowen responds. I’m starting to think I’m a contagious plague. Realizing his subconscious display of rudeness Scout takes a step toward me.

  “ Hello there.” The creature bends toward me slightly at the waist and I reciprocate the motion.

  “Hi,” I return apprehensively.

  “Dusk is upon us. Come, you both appear tired. You can rest tonight in Skewantee, but only for one night. I do not want Straif to find it here.” His speech is very formal and proper. He apparently knows I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Skewantee would be like…uh… your Switzerland. We have no enemies and I aim to keep it that way.” He tilts his head forward in an apparent need of bifocals.

  We follow the creature into the forest as he hobbles ahead of us; his gait is much like a disabled kangaroo. On occasion, I think maybe I’m dreaming. This reality is beyond real and more than my consciousness can deny.

  As we enter the Skewantee Village, more of Scout’s kind emerge from behind every tree, every bush, and every cane hut, entire families, children, lots and lots of children. They’re sort of like human children in very realistic bunny suits with detachable rabbit ears, some floppy, some stand straight up. Their eyes are solely on me. Whispers and chatter rumble among the masses. Scout leads us through the crowd into a small, woodsy hut with a roof of cane and thatch.

  “Remember. Only for one night. I have a village to protect,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “I appreciate your kindness, Scout. I have my own responsibilities, as well,” Rowen says.

  “Sleep well my friend.” And the creature waddles from the hut.

  A warming fire flickers in the center of the room in a ceramic bowl and woven mats lie on the ground. I sit down on one of the makeshift beds and try to get a grip on the last twenty-four hours. Rowen plops down on the mat across from me, the warming fire between us. An awkward silence fills the room. As I lie down, my eyes focus on the ceiling. Finally, we’re alone with no distractions and I want answers.

  I make a move to find some reality. “You said this was the home of my mother and my grandfather is, well, the king...so...what does that mean exactly?”

  “Your mother was like me. A faery.”

  That’s apparent. I want more. He’s still holding back. So, I ask again looking over at him with insistence.“And what does THAT mean exactly?”

  “It means a lot. First of all... you are half-faery, half-human.”

  “Rowen, what’s going on? Please tell me. Everything I’ve ever known and everything I am has been a lie. I’ve been a lie. I need to know the entire truth. Everything about my mother has been a secret. Please don’t do to me what has been done to me my entire life. I have to know the truth,” I demand.

  Rowen turns away. Maybe, if he does not look at me the truth will be easier. “It’s forbidden for humans and faeries to marry. Your existence threatens the entire human race, the entire world of Durt,” he says.

  I sit straight up, confused. Do I really want to know the rest? Maybe, I’d be happier living in ignorance, living in denial, living without knowing.

  My voice grows louder. “I’ve done nothing. I don’t have the power to destroy anyone, nor do I want to, so what the hell are you talking about.”

  “If they get a hold of you, it will be hell.” His face glows from the warming embers.“None of this is your fault, Ashe. You’re a victim of your own existence.” His eyes walk upon me slowly.

  I drop my face into my hands placing frustration in my palms. “I’m so confused.”

  My protector leaves his place in front of the fire to sit beside me. Putting his arm around me, he pulls me close to his warmth as small tears seep from my eyes. There’s more than comfort here. I can feel his passion wanting more, but holding back. I try to get control of myself and my emotions which are verging on the edge of a cliff with no end. He pulls me even closer, consoling, but desire is building between us. His body is warm against mine, giving my tears an excuse to subside. For a moment, an energy of security surrounds me.

  He slowly removes his arm and places his hands on my shoulders, gently pushing me away as if he has been caught in an inappropriate situation. He looks me in the eye. The passion still there, but laced with an air of seriousness. “I want to tell you a story.” I listen trying not to be distracted by wanting him, trying to hear his words, trying to keep my emotions from influencing the moment. His eyes could drown me with the glistening of ocean waves, but I have to be strong. I have to focus.

  He sits back and removes his hands from me. “Centuries ago, after our kind left the human world, a boy was born. His father, a faery, went to the human world through the Portal of Feda. He committed the unforgiveable. He fell in love with a human. This woman had a child, a bithling, half-human, half-faery. His name was Luis.” He pauses for a moment looking away.“The boy was put to death at the age of eighteen.” His masculine voice cracks.

  A surge of razor sharp cold runs through my body. “What on earth did he do? What was his crime?”

  Rowen drops his head as if in shame.“He was born,” he says plainly and without inflection. His face still turned away from mine.

  “W...W...What?” I stutter as I start to put things together. I’m a bithling. My father and my mother...things are looking bad. I won’t let myself think of the possibilities.

  “The Elders of the time handed down the sentence with great sorrow. Their hearts were broken by the decision they had to make. To take the life of anything or anyone is against our belief. Durt is a place of peace and life. At least this is what we strive for.”

  He leans toward me and attempts to look at me again, as he continues to explain. His gaze calms the fears boiling up in me. “Ashe, there are forces in our world evil beyond anything the human world has ever seen, beyond any vile depravity you can imagine. You met two of these forces in the forest before we went to Millseu Feraib.”

  “Phagos and Duir?”

  “Yes, and they are the least threatening of the evil ones known as The Dark Thorn.”

  “What do they want with a bithling? With me? What can I do to them? I’m no threat.”

  “When a bithling reaches eighteen years of age their blood becomes priceless and powerful. It holds the key to control all of mankind, human and nonhuman. Straif, the leader of The Dark Thorn, has been waiting for you to reach the age of maturity. The age that could annihilate us all. If a faery eats the flesh or drinks the blood of a bithling, they become immortal in our world as well as your world. They develop powers surpassing anything manmade, anything and everything. The power faeries hold are mild compared to what could happen if The Dark Thorn were to get ...” He stops midsentence. He can’t finish his thought in words.

  I sit frozen.“They’re going to ….kill….?” The incomplete question is forced. Saying the words makes me sick to my stomach. In ten days, I’ll be eighteen. In ten days, it will all be over for me.

  The woven flaps that make for doors of the tent fly open. �
�Something to eat?” I jump on hearing the words. A Skewantee female comes in and with her slightly hairy human-like hands places a wooden bowl of fruit and vegetables beside me along with a gourd of water. The moment is silent. I’m thinking the unthinkable.

  “Thank you, Lilly,” Rowen answers. Her inelegant large paws move out of the tent stepping backwards out of the door trying to be as quiet as possible.

  “You are quite welcome, Master Rowen. Both of you rest well.” And she’s gone.

  “That’s Scout’s wife. She’s very mothering. It comes naturally; she has about fifteen children.”

  I’m not thinking about food at this point. The sickening feeling intruding my gut is overwhelming. My life was so simple in Montana. So predictable. So safe. Now, nothing is predictable. “Luis’s story is going to be my story. My tragedy. My death.”

  Sensing my turmoil, Rowen brushes his hands softly against my cheek.“Your death is what I am here to prevent. I am your sentry, your protector. Your safety and survival are my sole purpose in life.” His complexion glows from the fire light. He’s seemingly confident of his ability to keep me from the fate he’s revealed.

  “What will happen to me? Will the Elders have me killed?” I ask wanting more certainty. I want an answer that will assure my safety. My life.

  “Your mother, Nuin, was the daughter of Arcos. You are the next in line for the throne of Durt. Nuin went against her father’s wishes and broke the law by marrying Henry, but Arcos loved Nuin so much. So, you are why I was chosen. He’ll protect you at all cost. There’s never been a bithling other than Luis. He didn’t survive to see eighteen. You are the only bithling who has lived to this point. So, what your life will be like is a mystery, but I do know Arcos loves you and will do anything to protect you. You need to trust me, Ashe. On my life, Straif will never harm you.”

  His face is full of passion and his eyes draw me in. He moves closer, his face a fragment of air away from mine. “You are why I was born. Why I even exist. I was chosen at a very young age out of many to be your protector. An honor I don’t take lightly.” His lips are a breath away. I want to know how his mouth feels pressing against mine. Each curve. Each crease. The moment stands still. I’ve never known the tenderness of another’s lips. His right hand moves down my shoulder rubbing my upper right arm. I linger.

 

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