A sneak peak of something different

THE CURIOUS JOURNEY OF ELENA FAITH

BY S.G. MULHOLLAND

Everything was dark, her senses were dulled and black, she could feel the tips of her fingers in something cold and wet, there was salt in the air that soaked right through into her skin. She peeled her eyes open and looked up at the grey sky, half a dozen black carrion birds circled above, cawing loudly and swooping ever more closely with each breath. Tilting her head to the left, she watched as the waves lapped inward across the shore, gently brushing her hand affectionately with a loving foamy kiss.

She lifted herself into a sitting position and stared out to the oceans horizon; the black clouds of the storm were receding now, the ash grey sand stuck to her torn white dress like a million dirty stars. The wind had died down as she gathered her bearings; it was no longer fierce and cruel but cold and tickling. Looking to the far end of the beach, she saw what had brought her to this far distant shore.

A coffin, soaked in sea water and dripping with weeds, a long sturdy rope wrapped around it for some purpose unknown to all but her.

“Still here” she said to herself as she stood and brushed herself down. Her bare feet made footprints in the sand as she walked to the coffin and checked that the lid was still secure. The black cliffs of the shoreline cast a daunting and ominous shadow as a westerly wind picked up, whipping and tearing at her skin, pinching it pink. She felt eyes watching her, haunting her as she circled the large box, checking its edges for signs of damage.

Finding it intact she leaned against the damp wood, drumming her fingers on the side panel as she stared at the white pebble path that led to the top of the cliffs. Her fingers felt the grooves of the symbol carved into the coffin lid, she knew it intimately, from the circle to the X that crossed through the centre to the snowflakes that topped every line, she knew the meaning of each part and hated it all.

Picking up the heavy rope, now sunk deep into the sand, she wrapped it around her wrist and began dragging the coffin toward the path. The weight of the box was incredible, her heels dug deep into the sand with every step she took, the rope cut into her hands as she pulled, welting the skin and bruising the palms.

A light rain began to drift downwards from the pale grey sky, dampening her already wet hair as she pulled the coffin up the path, unaware of the dark figure looking down at her from the cliff top, grinning as he watched her struggle.

* * *

It was hours before she was able to drag the coffin up the Stoney path, the rain had rendered the pebbles slick and greasy, making it harder to pull. She struggled and strained with each heave, her arms aching from the foot of the black cliffs all the way to the summit. She took a moment to catch her breath and looked out at the sea again, the clouds and the lightning had not dissipated but neither had they moved closer to shore, they simply hovered there, hanging, waiting, watching. Looking inland she noted there was nothing for miles, dark plains of almost black grass stretching out into the horizon with no land marks or signs of life, even the carrion birds had not dared to follow her away from the shore.

A single pale path ran into the distance, a lone trail in an endlessly expanding world of black and grey.

The strange half-light of the eclipsed sun did not move as she pulled along the trail, she must have been at it for at least half a day yet there was no indication that time had moved in any direction. The only change was that the rain had stopped and that the path had now changed from a pale white, stony, trail into a muddy road. Losing her grip on the rope momentarily, she slipped on a thick patch of mud underfoot and fell to her hands and knees. Normally she would feel angry at being so clumsy but the wet black earth sunk into her dry hands, temporarily soothing her burning skin and easing her pain a little.

Looking up through her mud and sand stained hair she saw something she had not seen earlier and was confused as to how she could have possibly missed it.

A four way sign post, stuck in the middle of a dirt crossroad.

Hauling the coffin behind her, she dragged her way to the centre of the crossroads and looked up to get her bearings. She growled with frustration as she saw scrawled across the black wood with paint stained by moss, the words: NORTH, SOUTH, EAST and WEST.

“Fuck!” she snarled, slamming her fist against the coffin in frustration. Her voice echoed across the wilderness like the solitary cry of a wild animal. Her skin was covered with sweat and dirt, her hands were sore and she was exhausted, so tired from the road that all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep but those eyes she had felt had not left her, they had stayed with her all the way down the path, right to where she stood.

Pulling her dirty hair out of her face she looked at each route for any sign of life. There was none, just an endless horizon in each direction with no indication of anyone or anything being out there.

And then she felt it.

At first she thought it was just the wet mud under her feet making her skin slick and damp, causing her to lose some of her balance, then it came. The earth under her moving and twisting, mounds of black sludge swirling around her like predatory dirt sharks circling their prey; she was scared even as she moved a shaky foot to escape the danger but was stopped by a decaying, grey skinned hand, its nails jagged and moulded as it clawed at her, forcing her back into the centre.

The mounds stopped momentarily, silence hanging in the air like the feet of a hanged man from a tree before four pairs of hands, simultaneously, reached out and grabbed her; tearing at her skin, clothes and hair, the stench of dead flesh forcing itself into her nose, making her choke on the aroma of death. Desperately, she reached out for the cold earth, frantically searching for something, anything to grab a firm grip on pull herself away from the creatures still pulling at her, dragging her into the black quicksand, soaking her legs knee deep with colourless mud.

She was powerless to move as she sank deeper into the filth, the hands pulling her every which way, when suddenly a burning green fire seared and scorched the hands, their flesh peeling and bubbling away like melting plastic before fading away into ash. Although she could feel the intensity of the flames she remained untouched and unharmed as it whipped around her then retreated backwards like a jade green snake.

“Fucking Mud Wraiths!” a voice said as she crawled out of the crossroads pit, mud smeared from her waist all the way to her feet. She lay on the dirt as she caught her breath, her heart was racing and barely felt a thing below her waist she was so cold.

“Are you alright?” the voice asked. She turned onto her back and looked up at the face staring down at her. The woman standing over her was incredibly beautiful, pale lime skin with a head of forest green hair that looked bushy and brittle, not unlike fresh moss. Her dress was composed of a hundred different leaves of a dozen different shades. Emerald colours of summer started at the corset, just below her breasts but as the leaves stretched down the length of her beautiful body they changed, gradually, to reds and browns of autumn. She was also barefoot but seemed comfortable with the earth between her toes. The green lady looked over shoulder and gestured to someone.

“Garrett, get over here, they didn’t get her!” the green lady turned back and looked down at her quizzically, “you’re not an elf and you’re not a Yakshas, they don’t get caught by Mud Wraiths and you’re definitely not a Dryad, I’d recognise one if I saw one. Who are you?”

“Elena” she said quietly, “My name’s Elena Faith.”

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