Welcome to the Quest… (Introduction)
“It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end… because how could the end be happy? How could the world go…
What is Excavatia? (The Concept)
I often get a puzzled look when I write down that word. You won’t find it in the dictionary, or some cryptic etymological or arcane terms that have long since gone out of the spoken vernacular of modern society. It is…
Everyone Is Not Your Friend (Leaving the Surface World)
I sometimes use the term “Friend” the way John Wayne used it famously in the opening scenes of the classic western “Big Jake”. Like most people, the word can mean something very important to those we have known for a ve…
EXCAVATIA
PART I – From Dust Arise
The Beachhead – Prologue
The old, dead woman watched as the foamy tides cast themselves relentlessly upon the wet sands of the beach, expending the last breaths of their moon-driven energy. Her body had once had a name, and an identity. She had been called Noadiah, but now that name was lost with the death of the personhood that had quitted the body when it fell into the great fjord and the wounded beast prowling those frigid waters took her under. Afterward, only the image of the old woman remained, and the thing that inhabited her form was nothing like the woman who once was lovingly known by that name.
Out of the Shallows – Chapter 1
The woods were dark and dead. No sunlight pierced its tangled, twisted veil or ever touched the stone cold ground, now gray with ash. Ancient fires once found fuel in this accursed forest. But for centuries beyond count, this place has lain in a perpetual night under its burial shroud. Only torches carried into its forbidding darkness ever illuminated its winding footpaths, but they were soon snuffed out by the beings still moving within it. I dare not say that these dark inhabitants were living, for though they all moved, spoke, and breathed, they continually abided in death.
Writing From Prisons – Chapter 2
Ancient Mesopotamia – 3,374 B.C. Adam stood at the water’s edge watching the waves lap quietly along the red sand of the shore. The clay of the land, from which he’d been created and had been given his name, was now cursed and was slowly being covered by the pale sun-bleached grains of sand pushed up from the dark bottom of the seafloor.
The Beasts Between Both Worlds – Chapter 3
[Contains Story #2: “The Torches in The Holy Wood”]
The field of tall, yellowed grass, rustled and sighed in dry protest at the rush of the early morning wind passing through it. Cross breezes rolled in lapping waves across the slopes in regular patterns making the land seem alive with rippled golden fur stretched over the ribs of a rapidly, panting dog. Early morning mists fled at the hush and push of the stirrings of the coming dawn. Concealed deep among its heaving golden pelt, a company of large, brutal men lay hidden and nestled within. Dark human fleas, sniffing for blood, sharpening their knives, waiting in a carefully planned ambush, conceived by their chieftain, Helmer, a Bergenian of the mountains.
The Unwelcome GuestS – Chapter 4
The Incident Behind the Inn – Chapter 5
At the back of the Inn, we gathered behind the two extruded rock backings, forming the exterior face of the fireplaces fireboxes, extending upward toward the gables and the chimney stacks. The ashpit underneath the firebox had a cast iron dump door that was released by a lever from inside the inn. When the dump door extended, the cooled ash could be scraped down the door chute into an ashes pale and carried out for other uses around the barn yard and garden. The ground just beneath when the ash chute extended was covered in a fine white powder where the spilled ash dust had poured around the ash bucket. The ground was marked by footprints where Begglar and his son had harvested the ash, so it was difficult to tell from the prints alone which sets might belong to them and which to the escaping troll. However, I knew something about troll sign that would prove distinctive among the others. I squatted down studying the patterns in the dust.
Begglar’s wife, Nell, was worried. It had been so many years since other Surface Worlders had been seen in the Mid-World lands and never before in such numbers as these. Begglar, her husband had been among the fourteen travelers from the mysterious Other Land, when she’d first met him.
BEGGLAR’S BURDEN – CHAPTER 7
It is early out, but the sun’s promise is lighting the distant peaks. The persistent fog that covered the grounds last night had fled at the rising of the sun. It is still a few hours before dawn. The night passed without further incident, though I was restless, reacting at every nocturnal sound. The hayloft was chilly, but finally settling and burrowing into the straw, I was warm enough. The fecund smell of earth, dead straw, just a hint of manure and general musty smells of the barn and its miserable four-legged occupants permeated the air and my traveling cloak and knapsack. Whoever walks next to me tomorrow, may want to do so upwind.
The Hill of Skulls – Chapter 8
The Buried Past – Chapter 9
[Contains The Prophecy of The Marker] Laura and Christie rode side by side over the hill and down into the valley beyond. Laura had been quiet for the first half-hour of the ride. “I guess you think I’m being a selfish coward about this,” she spoke low, looking at the road ahead, “Leaving you and all the others and abandoning whatever is going on here. Just a big baby, or something.”
The Storm Front – Chapter 11
“Hush up!” a breathless voice came out of the dark, “It’s just me. We have to keep quiet. I don’t know if they followed me or not, but we can’t stay here much longer.” Laura lowered the knife, as she realized it was Christie. “What? We can’t go out in that? What did you find in the cabin?” “You really don’t want to know.” “You’ve got to tell me.” Even now, back in the stable with Laura, she was still panting, her heart was racing as she had made to run and flee around the back of the hill that formed the back wall of the cabin.
Days of the Warrior Kings – Chapter 12
The rain had just begun to fall when the Xarmnian troop leader, called a “bruel,” kicked in the door to the Inn and the main dining hall. The door was unbolted, but the bruel didn’t care. He wanted a show of violence to punctuate his entry. An olive-skinned woman, matronly plump, yet by no means obese, came out of the kitchen area wiping her hands with a dish towel. “Now what is this?” she demanded, seeing the Xarmnian bruel standing like an imposing shadow in the door way of the Inn, rain hissing behind him on the threshold. The door swung against the inner wall, its hasp and catch splintered by the kick inward. A pool of water ran in rivulets into the room, blown through the rudely opened doorway. “Where is the keeper of this Inn?!” the bruel demanded.
The Namesake – Chapter 13
Disquiet lingered in the mind of the Xarmnian king. He had walked the parapet of the palace for half the night. The dew of the early morning had soaked his bed clothes and chilled his body, but he could not return to his bed chamber. To do so would bring the dreams again. And the memories.
The Shibboleth and The Sword – Chapter 14
In the inner storeroom, beneath the upper levels of the granary, Begglar and I continued our conversation in earnest. His face was grave and his countenance sober and disturbed. The dire implication of the moving Builder Stones was one I had not anticipated in coming back to The Mid-World. When the factions formed between the Mid-World kingdoms, tensions were exacerbated when their Builder Stones locked down…
The Monster and The Maelstrom – Chapter 15
As the storm surged overhead, Christie held tightly to the reins of her horse as they sheltered in the leeward shadow of a curved stone. The sky flashed with an electrified cavalcade of pyrotechnics spiderwebing the roiling clouds that strobed and pulsed. The pummelling winds had driven them off of the muddied roadside, and the sting of galeforce rains blurred the way ahead. Christie’s whole body ached from the tension of muscles flexed in flight. The wet chill of the wind poured ice into the very marrow of her bones and her head swam and throbbed with a piercing headache. She had almost blacked out from the fatigue and constant exertions, since her overland flight back from the seashore. Her horse was not fairing too well either….
Coming Through It – Chapter 16
Like a worm boring through the meat of an apple, the beast surged forward, breaking away the dirt and rock ahead of it, consuming the flesh of the under sediments of the escarpment, expelling the scree and pulverized powder through its pulsing gills. It rapidly approached what it perceived to be hollow, which was suddenly filled with a churning motion. As the beast squirmed forward, fissuring through the rock, a massive force slammed it back through the breech, trapping it in its own cut tunnel…
The roads and grasslands were wet and saturated from the passage of the recent storm. When Ryden and his mount topped the brow of the hill leading down to the location of the burning column of fire, the smoke had whitened into a general haze about the grounds. A large figure stood amidst the smoke appearing to sift through the ashes of what had been a two-storied structure with an accompanied stable yard, circular turnabout, and large barn with some small outbuildings and sheds. The charred, skeletal remains of a corner wall still stood precariously on one end of the burnt building, supported by an inner stair that appeared to have been the last to burn…
Twenty-three years ago, as accounted in Mid-World time, the forest-encompassed burg of Azragoth became a haunted ghost town. The words on the Ancient Marker foretold of such places. “…the palace has been abandoned, the populated city forsaken. Hill and watch-tower have become caves forever, A delight for wild donkeys, a pasture for flocks.” The town of Azragoth was once a thriving place of goodwill and commerce, and some fair degree of prosperity before the Xarmnians raided and pillaged it. Horrible deeds were done there…
Maeven motioned to all of us, “Go ahead. Dismount. This is where we go down.” Begglar ambled his horse around the perimeter of the clearing and glanced over the edge of the narrow gorge. There was no bridge that he could see across the deep channel, and no slope through the game trail ahead that appeared to descend. On the contrary, the game trail appeared to progress upward but it was too narrow to allow a full-sized horse to pass. The trunks thickened and tangles of vines woven a foliage curtain overhead that seem to hang lower and lower. He considered that a doe, fawn, raccoon, opossum or a rabbit might pass with no trouble, but a rutting stag would get its antlers caught up in that tangle.
Just below the stone wall, next to a now cold and dried firepit, Grum-Blud watched the guard standing post at the old shed, as he leaned against the cross-beamed corner of the structure, through a crenellated groove in the stone. He grinned as he watched the ‘guard’ turn his head this way and that, and then nod forward, jerking his head upright and blinking rapidly, realizing that the erstwhile sentry was growing weary in his present duty. If there was someone supposed to relieve the man, they were late in coming. This one would succumb soon, and Grum-Blud would be all too pleased to see that he never woke up again.
The pit near Azragoth’s outer wall, filled with sucking mud, as the stream’s embankment crumbled into the hollowing that followed the beast’s descent beneath the massive wall. The creature normally shunned water, but its objective lay deep within the underside of the walled acropolis. Its outer skin smoked from the wet contact, but its movement through the rock strata and sediments soon dried its plated joints with anhydrous grit and gravel that sloughed away, as it clawed deeper into Azragoth’s underbelly towards the honeycombed voids it sought…
Ezra led us up the stair to the terrace overlook where Nem, a man of brawn and strength, worked with attendants on a large miniature model of the city of Azragoth. Ezra broke from our group ascended a higher terrace stair and spoke privately to Nem, who cast glances back at us and then finally nodded. Ezra walked down from the overlook with Nem to meet us as we assembled along the outward balustrade of the lower terrace. As Nem stepped down onto the lower deck our eyes met, and I saw recognition in his face…
Bracing winds whistled along the sawtoothed spine of the overlook mountain’s arête ridges raking the gusts into shivering treble notes passing over the broken rocky jags. The wind notes flowed along invisible high borne staff lines jutting up against invisible scales winding a garbled melody into the shifting soundbard of a steely gray sky. Clouds and mists roiled and shredded by lower winds, attempted to obscure the deep wooded valleys and rocky crags below with their ragged, gauzy shrouds…
When Begglar and Corimanth left O’Brian to talk privately to Nell, they walked across a glistening courtyard of foot-polished cobbled stone to one of several firepit stations serving the steamy bone broth drink. Fire glow flickered over the sun-glazed stones giving them a coppery cast emerging from their dull grey base of grit and mortar. Flames crackled and spit sparks and embers into the darkened sky, rising like fairies only to be doused by the evening’s moistening breeze….
Aridam had thought his assignment would be easy. No horse-drawn wagon could outrun unencumbered men on horseback. It just stood to reason. When Hadeon had given him the order to pursue the wagon headed along the northwestern trail back toward the valley of the Xarmnian stables, he was sure that he and his men would come back soon carrying the severed heads of their quarry, or at least those in the pretentious, and odious weapons convoy who had thought to make fools of them, and steal their prize….
The Dragon in the Darkness – Chapter 26
I heard the sounds of running water as it sang in whispers and trilled over stones on either side of me. I could feel the steam off of the water in calcifying and bubbling pools to my left and a warbling chill from a shallow brook to my right. The blade of the honor sword glimmered from a circulating light emanating and throbbing from within, igniting the fiery runes engraved and etched into its blade, making them seem to move up and down the shaft like the burn of a crackling fuse. The honor sword, to the eyes of an ancient man, would appear to be a blade on fire. Yet the power did not come from the blade itself, but through it, and through me. I could even feel the pulsing of it coming through the bloodline tether bound to my arm, as if it had transformed into a conduit network of throbbing veins and arteries supplying blood and oxygen to my extremities and the blade itself, readying them both for battle…
The Return of The Eagle – Chapter 27
Twilight settled over the ancient woods of Kilrane, and a hush fell as if even the wind dared not disturb the secrets hidden in the tangled undergrowth. Deep within the vast forest, at the foot of a moss-choked hill, the mouth of a yawning cave gaped—black as midnight–exhaling a chill that hinted at more than mere shadows. Around the cave, a ring of scouts made their silent encampment. Armor muted beneath layers of forest green; they moved with the careful discipline of those who knew that vigilance was not just a virtue, but a necessity. Their task was clear: no living thing must emerge from the labyrinthine tunnels beneath their watch, for below them lurked a creature whose hunger could engulf the land.
“Mattox!” I yelled, and reached for my honor sword, bearing it out with a metallic ring. The sword did not ignite as it had before, but I took no notice of this as I swung the blade upward in a defense position, a precursory move easily shifted into an assault posture. “This man is a traitor! I do not know what he has told you to bewitch you all, but he is a liar and an agent of the Xarmnian Protectorate…
Take the Mountain – Chapter 29
Mattox and I walked side by side once all of our traveling party were down into the tunnel and our supplies were loaded onto a wagon that had been stationed under the loading shaft beneath the foundation of The Keep. He directed us through each passage and juncture as we made our way towards the ground opening hidden within the mountainside forests surrounding Azragoth above. Since the mountainside sloped getting to the cave opening did not require climbing back up or finding a steadily rising grade towards the surface as would have been necessary if the caverns were beneath a plain or level ground. In the course of underground travel, in a seemingly awkward fashion, I finally broached the subject that had held my burning curiosity since discovering that the Eagle was a former nemesis.
THE IMMINENT SIEGE OF AZRAGOTH – CHAPTER 30
Taking the Mountain turned out to be more of a challenge than I realized. It was not so much a literal direction as it was a state of mind. A commitment to face the obstacles before you and surmount them. Like Caleb, of old, there were giant Anakim living in the mountains that were given to him as his possession. He was then an 85 year-old-man, four score and five, as he says. The term “score” is equivalent to twenty years, so four score would be 4 times 20, which would be 80, plus five additional years would bring the total to 85. Yes, you had to be good at math to speak back then.
The Ring of Fire – Chapter 31
We saw the fire….and so did everyone else in the valley below and surrounding villages. The account I have of it was pieced together and reconstructed here to the best I could gather from eye-witnesses and the principal parties involved. Mattox had ridden back into the tunnels upon leaving us and was joined by his attendant soldiers that had guarded our flank from a distance as we made our way out of the city. Four other Azragothians, two from the east and two from just to the west of us, both hidden from our view during our departure, joined them after following us about a league by different hidden paths down the switchback trails until we had reached the dry riverbed. By Mid-World and Surface World measure, a league was about the distance a healthy person could walk in an hour’s time.
Epilogue (Book 1): The Half-Men
The Forest of Kilrane was inhabited. Not just by mankind, but by others of a sort that fit neither fully into the races of men, nor in that of the animal kingdom. The eyes of these inhabitants watched the progress of unwary travelers moving up and down the winding turns of the forest road from the darkness of the deep woods. These beings were not born of any natural order but existed under a curse that they themselves had brought upon their variant kinds by invading the Mid-World, in an ancient act of defiance. These were the Half-Men.
EXCAVATIA
Part II – A Swirl of Embers
The Basin at Trathorn Falls – Chapter 32
Nothing could have prepared us for the spectacle of the fire on the mountain. Nor could we dismiss the savage and agonized roars from seemingly all sides of the forests and hills, striking terror into our company. From the open field, we could see tongues of streaking fire, moving out and away from the now illuminated walls of Azragoth, flashing through the slight breaks in the tree cover, igniting some of the dried brush. Conflagrations erupted with a crackling and popping noise as dried pines caught fire, sounding like the whoosh of a rapidly approaching rain. The ground and brush shook as large animal creatures moved swiftly, scalded by the bath of the liquid oil fire, licking them all over in agonizing blue and orange flame. They would be upon us within minutes, we realized, so we all rushed to our horses, spinning up and over into the saddles, gripping pommel and reigns tightly, giving our horses their heads. The animals were wide-eyed and terrified as well, stamping nervously and desperate to be given the slightest nudge to run. And run they did.
The Manticore and the Moon Sprites – Chapter 33
Despite the serenity of the scene, we noticed something moving along the edge of the large pool, just below the surface. A whitish form, roughly oblong in shape, created a pale, cloudy, luminescence below the green surface. Its sinuous undulating motions created a rippling wake, though no part of it appeared to break the crest of the water. Other than that, its form was elusive. More fish-like in motion than animal, yet in the Mid-Worlds, no possibility could be completely ruled out. If we were to learn any more, we would have to get closer. And the way ahead must certainly require we pass within a neared proximity, whether we wished to or not. Additional movement caught our eye, as something large and moving fast came into sight at the far left end of the pool, moving fast down the tree-shrouded slope, noisily crashing through the underbrush, huffing and rumbling as it slid and skidded downward towards the water’s edge.
The Silvering Surface – Chapter 34
The pearl rolled from my hand, bouncing along the rough patches of grass and stone until it reached the water’s edge. At the moment the smooth surface of the pearl made contact with the basin water, sudden tendrils shot out from it extending into the water, fanning outward and hardening until it trapped the Manticore and the Moon sprites in mid-swim pincering them in…ice. The Dust Dragon’s pearl caused the surface of the Trathorn Basin to flash freeze in a matter of seconds. The shock of the frost took the air out of the Manticore’s lungs so that we heard only a growling gasp, whereas the Moon Sprites with their myriad tentacles mouths wailed in deafening, high-pitched, pulsing, shrieks.
The Purling – Chapter 35
Maeven’s cry was only a muted, “Umph!” More like a cough of pain than a shriek. A spritz of blood spattered the ice surface around the puncture point where the Manticore’s barbed telson broke through. The hard carapace vesicle and sting bard stabbed upward entering the back side of Maeven’s thigh, just above the bend in the knee. Blood gushed from the wound but was being sucked up by the stinging barb’s hollow tube.
Taking the Fifth – Chapter 36
I watched as Mason made his way carefully across the ice, scanning its surface for weak spots. A brisk wind swept across the lake surface, which would normally have cause rippling and eddying, but now only caused a haze of stinging ice crystals to swirl and gust and bounce along the frozen top. Mason’s clothes flapped with what I knew would be a painfully cold chill, since he’d gotten wet as well. I saw him stagger for a moment until the strength of the wind abated, and then lean forward into it and trudge on. Such a determined young man. In a few moments, I saw Matt get up and join him and together they began pulling the large log back toward us over the ice. This had better work, I thought. These last few moments alone had told me all I needed to know about Matthew, Mason and James regarding our shared quest. They were men of character that could be counted on when things went south. Just the sort we needed if we were to survive this together.
“How is she?” James asked, upon arriving where Christie knelt by Maeven. Christie leaned back, rubbing her hands on her thighs trying to get the numbness out and the blood flowing. “Well,” she sighed, “The bleeding’s stopped thanks to the tourniquet. Her wound is packed temporarily. The ice has reduced the swelling around the wound and the blood vessels have shrunk impeding the flow from the gash. I need to take that tourniquet off, but every time I try it, the blood starts flowing again. Something’s preventing her blood from clotting. Something was injected into her. An anticoagulant. She’s lost a lot of blood, and I can’t risk her bleeding out any more. She’s too anemic. I need to get her off the ice, but right now it is the only things, besides the tourniquet keeping her from exsanguination. Her options don’t look good. She is warmly clothed, but it’s wet and prolonged exposure to the ice may cause her to go into shock or be damaged by frostbite or hypothermia.”
Blind Sighted – Chapter 38
The sinister silhouette tumbled, writhed and slithered toward us. A Lovecraftian nightmare, all too real and all too dangerous for us to ignore. We slowed our pace realizing that these things would be upon us in seconds and our weapons were woefully inadequate to defend us from the threat. We had to get out of the fog. We couldn’t fight what we could not see. The young Moon Sprites were angry and hungry. By whatever means of sensory function they had, we knew they would find us and savage us. Equipped with hard black beaks, clacking and snapping wildly, each creature could bite and torque, twisting off gobbets of flesh. These creatures worked in a frenzy, often causing victims to die from blood loss or shock, rather than from deeply wounded trauma. Their white and silver bodies made wet slapping noises as they surged through the fog, and we backed away, struggling not to lose balance, but they were coming upon us very fast.
The Teeth of the Falls – Chapter 39
Consciousness returned. At first, Will could not remember ever feeling so cold. And then the “other time” slammed into his memory with a shockwave transporting him back. Images flashed mercilessly behind his tightly clenched eyes. A moment of terror in a snowy wood. Blood everywhere. His father ravaged by wolves below. His raw, frostbitten knuckles and fingers clawing frantically into rough, icy bark. His knees and legs soaked by the snow, numbed by the pressure of the cold branch under his seat, and the cold black trunk he’d wrapped them around. His head entwined in a frosted woolen scarf. The sheepskin jacket, slightly too big for him, keeping his central core warm, yet he shivered with a coldness that had nothing to do with the temperature. He’d ducked his head to escape the terrible sights below but could not miss the sight of the bloodied snapping teeth of the wolves as they leapt up to reach him and catch a dangling leg or ankle and pull him down to share the fate of his father. Will gasped, opened his eyes momentarily and then clamped them eyes shut again, trying to bury those terrible memories back into the past, into the blackness once more, yet failing.
Dead Reckoning – Chapter 40
“Maybe this was not the best idea. The fog seems to be growing thicker. How much further do you think it is?” one of the unnamed younger men, asked. James and Matthew pulled the sled bearing Maeven as its blades grinded along. Christie followed behind, close to the sled to watch for any signs of worsening of Maeven’s condition. Nell and Begglar and Dominic took the lead, each advancing ahead until one of the other could barely be seen, then pausing to wait, until the others joined them. Begglar called it getting a bearing. They rotated positions in succession, aiming diagonally across the lake toward the falls using the last known land bearing they had before leaving the shore. The young lady, my advocate, walked to the right side of Maeven’s litter, and one of the other young men walked to her left, flanking Maeven as she was born forward. Two others, another woman and a man, brought up the rear of the procession, keeping a close watch on their back. From the line of the sled’s ski, just off the curved point, Begglar aligned Nell and Dominic in the fog, speaking lower but loud enough so that they could find each other in turn. Moonlight shone overhead, just enough so that Begglar could guide their progress with some degree of dead reckoning, and some measure of shadow casting.
The Ghost Pools – Chapter 41
The encounter was surreal. This was the second time I had seen this man, and I had only now begun to recover from the shock of meeting him the first time. Begglar and I both met him before. He was something of a legend in the Mid-World and something of a recluse. One of its earliest inhabitants. He was a strikingly powerful man, but one of the most mysterious things about him was that he was over six thousand years old and his body showed no signs of his advanced aged. It is not every day you actually meet someone from the pages of Surface World history, much less named specifically within the scrolls of the Ancient Text.
[Contains Story #8: “The Sleeping Baby”]
Standing at the frozen base of the Trathorn Falls, we all gathered around the sled bearing Maeven. She was so pale that I feared it was already too late for her, yet her mouth seemed to move forming silent words that lacked sound. She breathed so shallow, that there was barely enough breath behind her moving lips to give tone or timber to what she struggled to say, but I leaned down close, taking her hand, trying to reassure her that we had brought her where she desired to go. The cold and ice bruised her lips into a gray blue, yet I rubbed her hands trying to get the circulation flowing again as much as I could. Her eyes flickered unfocused and then focused on me for the briefest of seconds, and though it must have cost her a great deal of pain, she fumbled with my fingers and hissed what little words she could, “Did,” she swallowed with difficulty, “they bring the branch?”
The Wake – Chapter 43
She didn’t see the dead elk lying in the narrow two-lane road until it was too late. She’d rounded the curve on Colorado Highway 12 under the shadow of Boyd Mountain, West Spanish Peak’s snowy top jutting upward to the east above the tree line. Everything happened within seconds that seemed to stretch out into eternities in slow motion. A flurry and storm of black feathers, the thud, pop and crackle of an impact, screeching metal, the sound of tin thudding against roof slats in a strong wind, a vision of her childhood home in Kansas as nor’easters pelleted the glass with hailstones, a half-filled thermos cup of coffee floating end over end through the air, brown hot liquid stinging her arms, flashes of light as the illumined screen of a silver-white laptop tumbled end over end, flashing a white ghost of the Apple Logo winking like some photonegative sinister pupil under a silvered brow, as the screen flexed and splintered glass erupted and spidered outward from its LED portal. An arm, tanned and well-toned, strong and yet gentle flailed at the air through a haze of long dark ribbons of hair, as bright stars sparkled and burst into the cabin in a nova of light.
The Sky is Falling – Chapter 44
The Mid-World was once called the land of Nod. In the Ancient tongue, the word Nod merely meant Wandering. So, in essence, this place and these lands were essentially the Land of Wanderers. The portals or doorways to this land were not always closed to mortal man in the waking state. They were held open pathways of light that bridged the entire vastness of the created universe, which tangentially touched the earth at eclipse points, where the morning and evening path of the Sun’s light kissed the horizon of the earth in those briefest of seconds before the circle of the planetary plane, seemed to lose or gain the solar light of Sol, our Surface World Sun. It was only in recent times when those Surface Worlders who have, by measure of faith, come to traverse these portals and experience the Mid-World lands within their dreams.
The Way In is Not The Way Out – Chapter 45
As far as we were concerned, all hell had just broken loose. The walls, the ground, the ceiling shook and fissured, tumbled and tore loose, as great pillars of rock and calcite cracked and twisted, and the ceiling lurched above us, causing stone knives to rain down and stab at the floor behind us. Water spewed down from jagged breaks in the rock, spraying us with cold and wet, threatening to douse our torches and swallow us in darkness. We ran…as fast and as quickly as our weary legs could carry us. Bounding off of granite walls, dodging the rocks that fell before us, threatening to obstruct our path. While being pelted by tiny bits of stone and silt and sand swirling into our nostrils threatening to choke us of the very labored breaths we still had, we stumbled, crawled and scrambled through the dark musty caves twisting and bending in the deepening darkness ahead of us. I heard shouts within the cacophony that I could not make out as being either human or animal, as those ahead of me careened off of the narrowing walls.
The Broken Sky – Chapter 46
Someone was locked in the trunk. Mewling and pleading, gagging and weeping noises came from within. The small muted voice, though unintelligible, judging by tone and timber alone was female. When the old blue vehicle lurched with Maeven’s sudden movement, she’d thought that all was lost. It had hung precariously upon the collection of rubbish in the junk pile, but though comprised of a collection of vehicle parts, tires, oil drums, construction materials, broken cinder blocks, beat-up appliances twisted and torqued beyond salvage or use, parts of the pile and stacks still bobbed and floated upon the interior pool below. If that had happened, both she and the person in the trunk would most likely drown.
Double Sight – Chapter 47
[Contains Story #9: “State of Panek”]
Christie and James looked down at Maeven, and she looked up at their surprised and relieved faces, looking down on her inverted. They had heard the noises in the vehicle and had climbed up carefully onto the floating junk pile unsure of what or who they might find. Begglar, Nell and I were the last to ascend the pile, and the climb over tangled cables, around sharp unstable pieces of rusted metal and battered car parts that could just as easily slice and cut through flesh if we made a misstep in our ascent. The junk pile was not accessible from where we entered the cavern without attempting a swim through the water, but we were hesitant to do so. As serene as it might seem, the clear bluish water was too perfect. This was not a Caribbean isle, with pristine ocean blue waters and white sands, typical of a Sandals Resort commercial, but a underground cave with seepage from a junk pile. No telling what chemical mix might be within those waters. What acidic component might cause burning the moment we entered the waters. James had found a floating piece of an aluminum wing, bumping gently along the shoreline, and with some effort we were able to draw it towards the rocky shore and utilize it as a makeshift raft.
Climbing Into The Light – Chapter 48
A hard, crackling and ripping sound rumbled ominously from the rocky aperture where the glowing beam of light pierced the cave. The sensory power of the terrible disjointed story left us breathing heavily, almost gasping. Adrenaline pulsing in our ears. This story, Laura’s connection to it, and its ominous tones of threat and dehumanization left me sick to my stomach. Tears welled in my eyes and I could barely hold them back. I glanced sideways at Nell and saw her pained, stricken look as if she had just been told again of the deaths of her parents. The raw feeling and burden caused by her Seer’s gift weighed heavily upon her, and I saw her lean against Begglar to mask the weakness she felt from it and to steady the trembling in her body as the experience of the shockwave took its toll on her. A rotting, black-skinned, swollen carcass, about the size of a small dog, lay tucked into a corner of the trunk, its legs splayed outward, small hooves on the end of each short stumpy leg. The smell was overpowering, and we covered our noses and mouths, our eyes watered with the pungent assault. Death’s distortions had made it unrecognizable, at first, but it was clear that the animal was or had once been a small pig.
The Sky Lines – Chapter 49
The light that had shone from above into the darkness, was now accompanied by pealing thunder. A tympanic thrum and rumble, striating the bruised purple sky with white etchings of silver light, as if the Moon Sprites had been gathered together, had ascended en masse above the roiling clouds and flashed angrily from their prisons beyond. The dawn had come, but its early light had receded before this darkening bank of storm clouds. Somewhere, high above the towering thunderhead, the sun’s rays may have warmed and bathed the high ceiling in golden brilliance, but below the darkness prevailed, extending the night. Mason stood back from the group, watching the dark wall of clouds flash angrily, as Will spat angrily at Matthew, his hostility seeming far too excessive to be warranted. O’Brian had not coerced anyone to follow him, nor did he designate anyone to follow him out onto the lake when they’d confronted both the Moon Sprites and the Manticore. That had been Maeven’s doing more so than anyone’s, but even she had not compelled them to follow.
The Gathering in The Woods – Chapter 50
Find the road. Find the trail. These were the two objectives that the young woman, her two unnamed compatriots and Matthew, and Will were turning to pursue when Dominic, Miray, and Mason halted them. The three were focused on the canyon rim and the area near the spillway of the falls when they spotted the figures silhouetted on the edge of the cliff, under the strobe flash of the pealing lightning. They waited for the next flash of light to be certain they weren’t just seeing things, but the time between the rumblings and the light display was lengthening. The strange storm had pushed back the approach of the dawn, sliding a sheath of high atmospheric clouds over the bright eye of the rising sun, like a grey, swollen eyelid. But the dawn was peeking through again, revealing the land below once more, shredding and stretching the clouds with its golden rays. The figures they had seen might be who they hoped they were, but they could also be spies or agents of the Protectorate Overwatch and they were worried. As O’Brian had admonished them, be wary of strangers. Everyone is not your friend. Now that they were unarmed and isolated, that admonishment seemed more pertinent now than ever.
Scorched Ground – Chapter 51
Satyrs are vile nasty creatures. Do not believe what you may have read in Greek mythology about them. They are not the little half-goat pipers that have short clipped beards, small knobby horns, an impish grin and a propensity to trot and skip around a campfire prancing about like a little ninny. There are similar elements of these traits that are true, but the parallel similarities fork drastically on some points. Satyrs are vicious, conniving little snots that, as a rite of passage, file their teeth to jagged needle points so that they can bite and tear flesh easier, making that “impish grin” all the more creepier. They are hairy, unwashed and stink as if they have soiled themselves and allowed the result to collect in the shaggy mess all down their backsides. Their beards are wooly and unkempt, lice-ridden, not at all trimmed and combed. They are drawn to fire and do frequent campfires, snatching coals and charred branches, with which they mark themselves so that the upper half of their bodies are coated in ash and soot. They are wild and savage and vulgar creatures, given to debauchery, and fermented drink, if they can steal it. They are six-fingered thieves, for their hands almost always have that number of digits, unless they have met with misfortune or severe punishment. And they have a great fondness for dogs. Not keeping them or playing with them…Eating them.
The Haunted Forest – Chapter 52
When Mattox had approached the archer on the wall, he never had expected what he saw when the man turned to face him. Nor had he or anyone in his company expected the man to shoot him. Four other faces along the southern wall turned and faced Mattox and the company. Four who all shared the same face. That of a person they had sent out from Azragoth before the siege had begun. The face of one who had openly and publicly accused The Eagle of being a traitor to Azragoth and had raised his sword threatening him before the eyes of the soldiers and citizens who placed implicit trust in The Eagle to lead their warriors and armies against Xarmnian oppression. A man whom those in his company called Mr. O’Brian.
The Faeries – Chapter 53
Grum-blud had tied Will to the Onocentaur called Bunt, while he rode upon the other whose name was Dob. He had no particular preference or fondness for either, but since Bunt was the whinier of the two, he opted to straddle Dob, to be further away from the latter’s annoying protestations. Despite their complaints to the contrary, the donkey-half of these two still maintained the trait of their Surface World counterparts of being sure-footed and slow-plodding creatures when moving over rough terrain bearing a burden. This characteristic of donkeys and mules was desirable in the Surface World for slow excursions involving mountain and canyon travel, which was precisely why these animals were employed to safely convey visitors up and down the narrow trails along the canyon’s edge. Dob and Bunt were resentful and relatively sullen, as Grum-blud urged them on through the forest trails at a pace they were not accustomed to. After all, they were part human.
Out of the Fire into The Pan – Chapter 54
“Close the Keep!” The clarion call rang out from the stone courtyard, through the streets of Azragoth, past the bastilles and was conveyed from mouth to mouth, following The Eagle’s orders. A detachment of soldiers responded to the news quickly, moving in ranks to the court of the northwestern sector of the city, under the shadow of the tall stone edifice. The doorway to the climbing circular stair hung ajar. Its door panel wavering upon it hinges under the slight wind stirring within the walls. The soldiers approached it and fanned outward, blades and points aimed and ready. A brace had been removed from the fortified door and tossed aside from where it once had run through brass bands to hold it from without. The standing order of the General had always been to close the gates behind them upon entering or exiting The Keep. No doubt the guards charged with that responsibility would be questioned if they were not already dead inside. As the soldiers approached cautiously, they saw the dramatic answer to the questions circulating in their minds—A dark pool of blood and an arm with an open hand extended out from the interior of the tower doorway.
The Stand-Off at The Slough – Chapter 55
Smoke curled and twisted through the forest stinging and singeing, my eyes and nostrils so that I had to partially cover my face with the end of my cloak as I squinted through the gossamer veil moving under the shadow of The Pan. I knew he was at some disadvantage. The burning of the smoke would dull his senses as well and he would not pick up my scent as easily as he would without the intervening proximity of the forest fires. The same would be true for the satyrs. Though swift and of a nasty and vicious disposition, they relied upon their animal instincts far more than that of their human ones. The Pan was ancient. Time had ravaged him. He relied on his attendant retinue far more than he had in the past, though he would never let on.
Enemies Above and Below – Chapter 56
The face of a crone, sharp and aquiline, black and golden eyes, with a white nimbus of wild grey hair peered down into the bower where the young man was held, wrapped in vines. A young woman with piercing emerald eyes, pawed at the young man, stroking his face and brow, arms and chest, whispering to him words that could not be overheard, but seemed to have an effect on him so that he blushed, and his eyes widened at what she was saying. A net of woven branches and vines formed a mesh beneath them, yet the leafy canopy from the top was partially open to the treetops and the sky beyond. “What you got in there, twigsy?!”
Deadfall – Chapter 57
Tiernan had been given one of the cardinals. Of the four cardinal points of the compass, he’d been charged with watching for enemies coming from their northern flank. Since the group was moving south down the forest road, Tiernan was given the unenviable charge to watch the backwoods from behind. This meant he had to either walk backward or constantly turn or look over his shoulder—a bit disorienting if trying to keep up. At best, all he could do would be to provide a warning as the others with weapons responded to it. O’Brian had said this was important. He wasn’t sure how much he trusted O’Brian, but he’d sounded convincing. “The things that hunt us will most likely come at us from behind,” O’Brian had said. “Tiernan, since you seem to be a bit taller than the others, I’m giving you the north flank to watch. Close your eyes, adjust for the lack of light. Then look and listen. The satyrs are fast and cunning. Dangerous. You won’t hear their footfalls, only the swishes of parting brush as they move through it. They move like deer. Weaving and darting through the narrow gaps, faster than you can imagine. It is pointless to try and outrun them, so we will have to stand them off. The fires are behind us, so that may deter them from coming straight down on us, but they will angle around if they can. They are attracted to the fires, but they will not go far into them. Hair burns easily, and these are shaggy and unkempt. Enough of them have caught fire cavorting about to learn caution and the smoke disorients them. They snuffle and grunt when they run, so if they are close you’ll hear it.”
Conflagration – Chapter 58
The canopy shook with conflict. Dozens of harpies, like black-feathered missiles, launched out from under the treetops in a burst of scattered leaves and broken branches amid a barrage of shrieks and harsh laughter. Large spider-like creatures, each with thorax and abdomen bearing a human-like form exploded from beneath the canopy, hissing and leaping angrily after them, tearing much larger holes in the turbulent sea of leaves. The treetops trembled and shook from the embroiled battle above and below. The feathered missiles opened their large wings, pumping them up and sweeping behind as they gained altitude, twisting in aerial arcs, moving higher beyond the grasping, leaping limbs of the dryads trying to tear them out of the sky.
The Faerie Fade – Chapter 59
“You lied to us!” A partially scorched, dryad came raging out of the wood, bounding over the mired bog of murky water. Her body unraveled into large twisted limbs, blackened and smoldering in places, yet dark green and wood-grained in others. “You gave us this forest when the Xarmnians quitted it. Now you send harpies in to drive us out!” The cataracted eyes of the Pan blinked and narrow, as a low growl rumbled from within and without. “I permitted your occupation of it. I did not give it away. The land is mine, the woods are mine. A king does not parcel out his kingdom. You would do well to mark this and consider to whom it is you speak and accuse.”
The Covering – Chapter 60
Sometimes in leadership, one is called to go forth alone and meet the wolf. Others witnessing this might not understand what the lead is doing. They will most certainly question it and ascribe motives for it, and even accuse them of cowardice. One cannot reveal every private plan because not everything is subject to committee review. When one is called to a mission, and he hears and seeks guidance from the One who calls him, sometimes that communication is held in the strictest confidence. The charge I felt, moving down the road with the company of companions who were becoming more of a family to me is the sense that I must seek to follow what even may seem foolish to others if the One bids me to do it.
The Fire Lights – Chapter 61
Glowing embers swirled through crawling blankets of smoke as the flames of Kilrane crackled and popped and roared with flares bursts as underbrush and dried limbs caught fire. The ground was a sea of red and yellow flame. Dark feathered demons swooped and dove in gliding waves dipped down and then arising like fiery phoenixes, cackling and laughing cruelly as they charmed the fire’s progress onward. So blind was their hatred and so intent on destruction that they failed to see the high borne witnesses to their savage delight, clinging and climbing above into the canopy. Dryads, the former and recent occupants of the forest of Kilrane, were aghast and incensed at the destruction, yet fled for their lives, unable to stop the roaring tide below. The harpies, bearing the firebrands, crisscrossed below them, their frenzied fire dance crawling higher and higher up the trees, so that all the dryads could do was flee as fast they possibly could towards the edge of the forest, crying, “Treachery!” Some fell screaming as the fires spreading across the canopy above joined with the fires below, engulfing them in flames causing their branches and limbs to erupt in bright flares, as they tumbled downward disappearing into the smoky and haloed glowing sea. The shouts and screams in the back forest and the insane laughter of the fiery harpies wove together into a nightmarish symphony of terror that rolled forward in crescendo toward the dead slough where The Pan held court with his savage satyr-courtiers, and the shrieking harpies and the gathering number of displaced and scorched dryads.
The Path of Fire – Chapter 62
Flames scoured the land, roared through the treetops and blackened the ground with char and silvered it with settling ash. From behind the waves of fire, a cloaked and wrapped horseman rode quickly down the break ridge switchback road, his horse’s iron-shod hooves pounding the ash covered roadway. The rider’s fist tightly gripped the reins of his mount, as the beast’s body churned underneath him. The old road had become overgrown and choked with forest scrub and ferns and cast leaves, but now it shone like a silver pathway among the blackened poles still standing as the skeletal reminder of a forest gutted by fire. The man wore a sash about his face, and a moistened gauze, now drying, covered his brow and thick hair. Both the rider and the horse deftly chose patches of ground where the foliage had burned down and cooled or was laid bare to rock or gravel, alternating between the roadway and the nearby dry river bed where the path followed along its border. The smoke was being pushed ahead by a slight wind falling down through the breaks beyond the city of Azragoth. The rider had taken advantage of the shift in the wind and had lit out to follow his general’s command, perhaps earlier than was prudent.
The Cordis Stone – Chapter 63
I slid down and pressed my back against the trunk of the tree. I could not see the harpy, so I figured to stay as close to the branch and trunk as possible. If I could strap myself to the trunk so much the better, and then I would have my arms free to draw the honor sword when she came back. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe. Smoke burned my eyes. With the rise and descent of the smoke, the harpy had found a perch somewhere and had broken off her attack. I was disoriented and confused and not certain that I could get the footwear on without losing my balance. Her passes had ceased, but I knew she was still out there. Waiting for me to succumb to the rising smoke and fall. I had to get my head clear. To think this one out. But like the wall of building smoke, all I had coming to mind was this cloud of self-recrimination engulfing me. And then I remembered the purpose of my calling. To redeem the stories and connect them to those who owned them. To lead them forth to the Kingdom Gate of Excavatia.
“Meddling Outworlders! I am going to tear your eyes out!” Dellitch screamed as she swooped in out of the smoke, claws flared dangerously. Jeremiah raised a gloved arm and the harpy brutally raked her claws across it almost wrenching him out of the climbing harness. With the gaffs set in the trunk of the tree, and my body pivoted out in the slip-belt, I reached for the hilt of the honor sword but felt it impeded by the strap and the scabbard, bound by my body weight. I twisted to my right to unimpede the blade, and a gaff spike pulled loose of the trunk beneath my left foot, causing me to smash my face against the tree was abraded by the rough bark. My nose sprouted blood as I hooked the trunk with a flailing arm, wheezed in a shaky breath and slammed my dangling foot and the metal barb back into the trunk. My face throbbed and stung and I knew there would be bruising if we survived this fight. I took a fast, deep breath and angled forward, catching a small tap branch jutting from the trunk and pulled my weight forward, allowing my crossed arm to tug at the sword hilt again, knowing that I would not get another chance before the harpy returned.
Vessels of Stone and Flesh – Chapter 65
Out of Azragoth, there had been four golems in pursuit of the soldier. Two of these had fallen. One was taken. And now, there was only one. But hundreds more still waited in the darkness below the old city. Waited…to rise to take faces. The fourth of the ash-covered creatures watched the men from the dark road below. A false twilight had begun to dim the horizon as ash ascended and filled the forest with dense smoke. When the golems had heard the young man shouting, it had separated from the troop and was circling around behind the soldier on the road when it saw what had become of its three companions. It followed the soldier when he rode up to the tree to free the young man. It had stood quietly in the shadows watching as the two men descended from the tree, below the lowering ceiling of ash. It passed grimy hands over its face, brushing the coating ash from its cheeks and brow and scooping it out of its eyes. The revealed face beneath scowled in anger. It blinked away the dust that had coated its golem’s eyes leaving only a cataract film.
Down The Dark Road – Chapter 66
Like ghosts arising from a graveyard mist, shadowy forms appeared from either side of the road and a large dark figure loomed in the smoky woods behind them. The girl stood in our path holding up and fingering what appeared to be a small bejeweled purse in the shape of a heart. A strange red light emanated and pulsed between the joined jewel casing. The casing could not fully contain the light throbbing from within. “Hello, Mr. O’Brian,” she said simply, though her voice was accompanied by an odd jaw popping noise. “I promised you I would find you again and that you would pay for the body you took from me with your own. While I was given your image by my recent Lord, I require your death to retain it. And I have come here to collect my due.”
Blood and Fire – Chapter 67
Sight to The Blind – Chapter 68
“Hand me the bow,” Maeven said quietly, just loud enough for those beneath the canopy to hear. Mason reached down and picked up the weapon that had been leaning against the post of the structure and brought it over to Maeven. “We’re exposed up here on this hill. What’er you gonna do?” Miray came over following Mason and scrunched her eyes looking out into the rising smoke of the woods. “There’s another one of those little men out there,” she pointed, “I can see him hiding.” A gruff grunt came from the brush and Grum-Blud emerged from his erstwhile hiding place. “And I see you too, little red-headed piglet,” he sneered wickedly. “Spied me out, did you?!” he lunged forward in a kind of frog-hop at her, making her squeal and run back behind the legs of the others. He grunted again, chortling in a nasty sort of way, rubbing his chubby hands furiously as if warming them. “What do we have here?” he strutted mockingly before them, still keeping his distance, “Birds in a nest or rats in a briar?”
Miray’s Memories – Chapter 69
Her memories came forward, like ancient ships emerging from a sea-borne fog. Miray could see again, in the way she had been able to before finding herself upon a beach in this strange and lonely place. She had gone to sleep, surrounded by her mother and father, and the nice nurses and Dr. Benton. She had tried her best to make sense out of what they were saying, but she only caught bits and parts of the conversation. The small tubes taped to her hand and the pinching stick, the curly-hair girl with the pretty eyes poked her with, made her arm feel so cold. The liquid moving through the pipe, from the water balloon hanging on the beeping robot pole, made her so sleepy. “She is such an extraordinary little girl. A statistical phenomenon. If it weren’t for this tumor…” “Please, doctor.” “Yes, of course. She is such a brave little girl and she is strong. We’ll keep her constantly monitored. There has to be some reason that sedation is affecting…” Her father pursed his lips and the doctor went silent again. It was very hard for him. Miray could sense his struggle, trying to remain dispassionate and retreat into the science, but it was hard shutting down the capacity to feel both fear and anger. When others viewed Dr. Benton as cold and judged him to be unfeeling, they just did not understand the man. Being a pediatric brain surgeon, a good one, required the ability to separate the complexity of the condition from the fact that this aggressive threat was coming against a young and defenseless child. He hated sounding removed from the parent’s pain, but he had to remain calm and methodically confront the terror of untenable outcomes.
The Bloodline – Chapter 70
The Pan rose to its full height and roared, “Very well, If you will not come out of there or send the young girl out, I will kill these men before your very eyes!” The threat horrified them into terrified silence, as the massive beast-man turned to see both Jeremiah and I standing and his guard satyrs lying dead at our feet. Enraged he began to lunge forward, then stopped short, seeing the large and imposing mountain of a man standing just behind us. The creature roared in frustration, its veins standing out upon its brow, its arms flexed and powerfully throbbing with its pulse-pounding rage. “Uncle! Why are you here?!”
Epilogue (Book 2): The Fade
The woods were engulfed in the rage and roar of the fires burning and erupting from all around fastly encroaching upon the site of The Faerie Fade. Two men were left standing in swirling hot wind amid thick clouds of smoke. Jeremiah knelt down weeping over the body of Captain Lorgray, another dear friend lost to him all in pursuit of the dream of Excavatia. “What do we do now?” Jeremiah asked Hanokh. […] “How do I get back to Azragoth to retrieve the Cordis Stone? How do we take him back to his people?” “Just wait and watch there,” Hanokh raised his massive arm, pointing to the fiery orbs hovering over the four posts of the now-empty Faerie Fade enclosure.
EXCAVATIA
Part III – Walls of Stone
Upcoming Chapter(s):
On a Hill, Far Away – Chapter 71
Our eyes were opened. We had transversed an oculus portal and were drawn from out of the burning forest, underneath a mysterious woodland canopy into a place far up into the mountains upon a peak that overlooked the hills and other mountains beyond it. The being that brought us here was terrible to look upon, for in so doing, we all had the sense that we were being seen for who we really are, without the pretense of what we wished to be or wished others thought of us. It was an envoy of the angelic host that the Ancient Text referred to as a Cherubim.
Excavatia 