For everyone still following, thank you for making it this far and letting me get all this off my chest. My story is almost at the end. The next post will be the last, and then maybe I can try and put all these events on that mountain behind me. If you are joining late, start with Part 1
The freezing water sucked the heat from every cell in my body. I executed a few ungainly swimming strokes, my legs scissoring and my arms flailing. A terrible pain shot through my temples and my lungs screamed for air. My fingertips made a desperate search for clear air or rock or anything that might signal the end of the deep and dark pool.
I’m going to drown.
The realisation sent a wave of panic through my muscles and I kicked and thrashed. The last of my breath formed as a tiny bubble in front of my mouth. The panic gave way to a sense of calm, of resignation. This was my end. The water lifted my body upwards and I let my arms and legs go limp.
Then whispering. Something unintelligible. Broken syllables of nonsense created by a dying brain. The whispering grew louder and formed words.
You’re almost there. One more.
I touched my hands together above my head and swept them down to my sides with the last of my strength. My stomach burned.
Up you come.
I turned my body vertical and let its buoyancy carry me higher. I opened my eyes and a faint shaft of light pierced the inky black water. My legs kicked and my mouth opened, desperate for air. I took in a gulp of water. My head broke the surface and my hands grasped at a damp ledge of rock. A cough spluttered some of the water back out, but some stayed in my lungs. My chest expanded and contracted in quick time and I gasped like I did when waking from a nightmare. As air filled my lungs the rest of the water came in spluttered coughs. A full minute passed before I took something resembling a normal breath.
Propped on trembling arms I lifted myself out of the water and flopped on my back. The hard rock was cold and slimy, but welcome. I blinked up at the ceiling and found the source of the light, a crack in the rocks above. Maybe a way out.
I looked back at the pool of water and something, someone, floated down there. My heart jumped. It couldn’t be. Callum had followed me into the water?
My eyes adjusted to the light. It was not Callum. It was the woman in blue, her black hair and dress billowing in the water. She whispered to me without opening her mouth.
“Call the rain.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know how.”
“The Talisman. Take it to the peak. Call the rain.”
I held out my palms. She swept a hand over her bare neck. The necklace. The upside down triangle. Roger had taken it from me at the entrance to the cave. He tossed it into the forest. Then Callum had imprisoned Martina in the belly of the tree. Martina. I had to help her, somehow.
I mouthed, ‘I’ll try,’ to the woman in blue and turned up to the ceiling of the cave. Enough light filtered through from the top to illuminate the tiny space. A series of outcrops on the far side might be climbable. It was the only way. There was no going back the way I came, back into the waiting arms of Callum and then the same fate as the hiker Rebecca. Torn to pieces and discarded.
The jagged rocks were slippery and wet. I clambered up, relying on my arms and right leg. Despite the cold of the water, my left ankle still burned hot. Near the ceiling I came to a ledge. From my knees I reached up and pushed at the underside near the crack. A chunk of black earth spilled through, covering my face with dirt. I clawed at the opening and made it big enough to fit my head.
I squeezed up through the rock. A clump of ferns had filled a narrow opening to the cave system below. Thorns pricked at my skin as I pushed the vegetation aside. The voices of Callum and Roger carried up the slope, though I couldn’t see them. The sky overhead had turned grey, almost white. An electricity buzzed in the air. The sky flashed and thunder rolled down the mountain. The faint smell of smoke. Something was on fire.
I forced myself up onto solid ground. My clothes were soaked and I shivered despite the warmth of the air.
Another flash of lightning, closer this time. The brilliant bolt of yellow exploded in a shower of sparks down the slope. The top of the giant tree that held Martina captive erupted into flames, the fire consuming the leaves and branches reaching up above the canopy. Martina screamed.
I hobbled down the slope, keeping close to the ground. Roger kneeled before the body of his son, wrapped in stained white linen at the base of the tree. He held his terrible arms aloft and chanted. Another bolts of lightning struck the tree and sheared a thick branch clean off. The smouldering limb tumbled to the ground and crackled as fire consumed the leaves.
The tree turned into a giant chimney, smoke pouring into the sky. The trunk at the base was still untouched, but it was only a matter of time. Callum stalked behind Roger and kicked the fallen branch away.
Roger’s chanting switched to English. Hs voice rose in energy, as if giving an impassioned plea before the burning tree. “I call on you now, the light and the warmth, the destroyer and the purifier, the giver of life. Within this great shell we have placed a seed and from this seed we ask for the restoration of breath.” Roger swept his palms above the decaying body of his son. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled smoke.
Martina shrieked and the leaves high above crackled. The cacophony masked the rustling of my footsteps, stalking from one tree to the next. Callum joined Roger in kneeling before the white linen cocoon at the base of the tree.
My eyes searched the forest floor for the talisman, the triangle attached to the necklace, entrusted to me by the woman in blue. I flicked away fallen leaves and stray ferns, keeping half an eye on the backs of Roger and Callum. The heat from the tree radiated with unusual strength, my skin turning red and raw.
I spotted something, a metal point poking up between the green of the bracken. I leaned down and grasped the talisman, glowing hot in the heat. I shoved it into my pocket and turned to tiptoe away. Get to the peak, she had said. The closest was the end of the ridge where Martina’s lookout stood.
As I hobbled away I ventured one final look at Roger and Callum and the tree. The ground at their knees vibrated and a cloud of orange spilled out of the earth and coalesced in a cylinder around the tree.
“He is here,” Callum said.
They bowed their heads.
The orange cloud grew thicker and took a vague human form. Arms mingling with the branches at the top of the tree and a great head pushing above the canopy. An offshoot of gas funnelled at the base and enveloped the corpse of Roger’s son. Slowly, the white cloth lifted and then peeled back until it exposed the corpse. What was left of Miles was something like one of the mummies put on display in a natural history museum. A leathery layer of skin over bone and sinew. This one stained black by the fire that caused its demise.
Martina fell silent. The fire pushed downwards, close now to the opening where they dropped her in. She didn’t have much time. I had to get to the top of the peak.
I hobbled away, conscious of the sound of my footfalls until I judged I was far enough that the sound would not carry to Roger and Callum. I pushed with my good leg and used the bad as a prop and fought my way up the slope. Sweat mingled with the damp from the underground pool.
I didn’t look back, only ahead. The trees were thicker here than at my lookout. It made the going tough, constantly needing to sidestep to find a path higher. My left ankle was nothing more than an explosion of pain. I sucked in huge gulps of air. The muscles in my legs turned to jelly. If this were gym class at school I would have dropped to the grass and let them point their fingers. But not this time. Something terrible was about to happen and I had to keep on.
The trees began to thin and the roof of Martina’s lookout poked up above the crest of the ridge. Almost there. I pulled the talisman from my pocket and turned it in my hand. How the hell was I supposed to use it? She told me to call the rain, but how? Roger had called for the lightning and the fire. But he had translated the text. It read as gibberish to me. I found a book of the script in my lookout. I found loose sheets of it in Callum’s. Maybe there would be something in Martina’s lookout, something I could understand.
I felt a burning in the middle of my back followed by an overwhelming sensation of being watched. I stopped and turned and the great glowing orange head poking above the canopy had turned and fiery red eyes looked right at me. My thumb slid back and forth over the talisman. The orange head distorted and lengthened, a gaping black hole forming at the mouth. A low rumble like thunder shook its way up the mountain on the back of a burst of hot of air. A great arm rose above the trees and pointed to where I stood. It saw me. Callum would be on his way. I had to hurry.
I crested the peak and climbed the single flight of wooden stairs up to Martina’s lookout. When they took her she was outside and heading back in. I hoped this meant the door would be open. I grabbed the handle of the glass framed door and pushed. It gave. I tumbled inside and closed the door behind and locked it. A pair of binoculars stood on a small table and I glassed the valley below. Smoke poured into the sky from the tree. Smaller spot fires sprung up to the west, spreading with the wind. No sign yet of Callum.
I pawed through Martina’s belongings, looking for some clue as to how the talisman worked. I figured there was some sort of spell, like the one Roger had chanted at the base of the tree. A set of ancient words used to bring the rain that would quench the fire spreading in the valley.
Paperback romance novels filled the shelves. I tossed them to the floor and rifled through the drawers. I found her visitor log, and below it a notebook bound with a thin metal spiral. Inside hand written text like that of the black book in my lookout. I flicked through the pages, searching for anything that made sense.
Somewhere in the corner of the room a radio crackled to life. It was the Ranger Station, asking for Martina. Asking for anyone. I pushed aside a small wooden chair and dropped to my hands and knees and grabbed the radio.
“This is Tom. Send everyone. There is a fire.”
“Where is Martina?” The voice of Hitch.
“Send everyone. Fire.”
“What is the position Tom?”
My hand froze. Callum came out of the trees, lumbering up the slope towards the lookout. I dropped the radio and went back to the notebook. Hitch kept on but I ignored him. The window of opportunity was fast diminishing, the time left measured in seconds.
I flicked to the back pages and found words I could read. I lay the notebook down, on one page the stilted gibberish text, and on the other the neat print of what must be a translation. ‘Fire Ritual’ headed the page. That I didn’t need. I flicked over the page. ‘Fertility Ritual’. I thought of Martina.
A tapping at the glass broke my thoughts. The hideous spectre of Callum stood at the door, a long, grey finger tapping on the glass. He bore a grotesque smile.
I backed up to the glass on the far side, the notebook scrunched into a cylinder in my right hand. The water talisman in my left. Like my lookout, Martina’s was a square box with windows for walls. There was nowhere to hide.
Callum strode slowly along the timber deck encircling the lookout. The clicking of his hard heels on the timber sending bolts of fear up my spine. I was frozen in place, the only motion coming from my lungs and the thundering of my heart.
Callum stopped at the glass pane I leaned against. I took a hasty step away. Callum again tapped on the glass with his index finger. His eyes burned red and he took his hand away and balled it into a fist and pounded against the glass. The entire wall shook. He punched a second time and a spider web of cracks opened up in the glass. Callum pushed at the compromised window and a terrible high pitched squeal of glass scraping on glass sent a shiver up my spine.
I backpedalled towards the door. Callum leaned back and then snapped his arms forwards and the window pane shattered, shards of glass skipping over the hardwood floor. The last thing I saw before I turned my back was Callum’s gleaming red eyes as he stepped inside the lookout.
I yanked at the handle and threw open the door. Using my good right leg, I pulled myself up onto the rail and scrambled onto the corrugated iron roof of the lookout. I crawled to the centre of the roof and slammed the notebook down. Heat and light reflected up from the silver surface. I squinted and searched the pages frantically. Then I found it. ‘Water Ritual’.
Holding the talisman aloft with one hand, I spoke the words, my voice timid and shaking.
“I call on you now, the calm and the cold, the ocean the river and the rain, that which nourishes life. Fill this great cup.”
A metallic thud from behind snapped my head around. Callum stood on the roof, three paces from where I knelt. I scrambled away. He smiled, relishing my retreat. He took a slow step and then another. If he still had a tongue he would have licked his lips.
I stood and held the talisman aloft. I repeated the words, stronger and louder than before. I shouted them in defiance at the advancing beast. If this were my last stand I would go down with my chest out and shoulders back.
A cool breeze prickled the hair on the back of my neck. Callum turned his gaze to the sky. Above us dark purple clouds coalesced, staining the brilliant white of the sky. The first drop of rain hammered onto the roof sheeting like a meteor. An opening salvo of what was to come. A fat drop of rain smashed into my temple and the water rolled into my dry eyes. Rain was never so welcome.
In a flash the rain was falling in sheets, drumming on the roof. Callum screeched and thrust up his hands to cover his head. He turned and bowed and skittered down off the roof. I rushed to the roof edge. Callum scampered back inside the lookout, the only place safe from the rain. I balled my fist around the talisman and punched the air.
I clambered down from the roof and limped for the stairs. Soaking wet I looked back inside the lookout. Callum cowered in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on the roof and the deafening drumming of the rain. Our eyes met and I flashed him a smile and climbed back down the stairs.
Down in the valley the great tree billowed smoke into the sky. The spreading fire around the tree gave a final kick before the rain snuffed it out. Was Martina alright? Had the rain come in time? And what of Roger? I had to find out and started down the slope.
As I began the descent a powerful gust of ice-cold wind pushed at my back and sent me to my knees. A huge roar sounded from behind and I turned back up to the lookout. The structure swayed and shook, the roof sheeting bulging up at the centre. The ping of rivets loosening rattled like machine gun fire. The front corner of sheeting peeled back and then lifted and vaulted into the sky.
From within Callum screamed. A cloud of water vapour rose up between the thick rain. Callum tumbled out of the lookout, hands clawing at his face. My heart skipped a beat at the thought that he would come in my direction. But instead Callum fell into a shallow pool of water beside the lookout. He writhed and wailed and then fell still and silent. His ashen grey body seemed to melt back into the earth.
I stood and scraped the mud from my knees and continued down the mountain.