Scars of the Earth: The Ancients: Book One Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  SCARS OF THE EARTH

  Copyright © 2013 C.S. MOORE

  ISBN-13: 978-1977507198

  Cover Art Designed: Book cover for you by Sanja Gombar

  Thanks go to my husband who gave me so much support, and to my co-authors who were constantly at the computer with me—my kids. To my parents who were the first to read Scars of the Earth all the way through, thank you for the over-the-top praise. Thank you, Grammy, for the writer’s blood that pumps through my veins. Thank you to everyone else who encouraged me to write. Lastly, thanks go to my little sister, Amanda, for whom the main character is named and this book dedicated.

  A SMILE DANCED ACROSS Amanda’s innocent, round face as she bounded, her dark brown hair blowing in the breeze. She was playing hopscotch and singing a childish tune while both sweet and stern-faced nuns pecked around the play yard like the hens that they were.

  “Hop,” Amanda sang, putting too much emphasis on the letter P. She brought her boney elbows in and bounced off one foot.

  “Eee,” she said, swaying a little as she landed on two feet.

  “Scotch,” she said, bouncing off with all her might. Where she landed wasn’t on the playground at all, and no one noticed her leave. Instead of the number nine square she was aiming for, Amanda found herself falling through suffocating darkness.

  With a shrill chirp, the dreaded bell that ended recess sounded, and all came to their seats, save one. Sister Wesley was the first to notice her absence. Amanda wasn’t one of the children who was usually late. After ten minutes had passed, she stood from her desk and crossed the small classroom to the cool single paned windows. The playground was deserted, not one child had lingered behind to enjoy its merriment. The chains of the swings rattled a bit in the breeze, but Amanda wasn’t on any of them.

  A chill took Sister Wesley as she realized that one of her students was gone. The hallway of the old building turned into a snowstorm of white and black robes. Teachers flew up and down the halls calling for a search party.

  Two hours after beginning the search, Father Benton found the missing child in the woods just beyond the fence. When he came upon the girl, he immediately crossed himself and spoke a quick prayer.

  The small child was crouched down in a good-sized hole that she had apparently dug with nothing more than her bloodstained hands. She looked more like an animal than a girl, covered in a mixture of sweat and dirt and shouting hysterically as she clawed at the ground.

  He stood a moment, frozen in shocked horror before he rushed toward her. Father Benton lifted her up, gently pulling the tiny thing into his arms. She tried to fight him off, throwing her weight around and kicking her skinny legs.

  “Amanda, calm down. Everything is okay. You’re safe. I will help you,” he promised.

  She relaxed, but as he started to walk away with her still in his arms, she lashed out, slapping his face hard enough to sting. In his momentary surprise, she wriggled out of his grasp and ran back to the hole she’d been digging.

  “No, I can’t leave him. Not there, not there,” she screamed. He cried out as one of her little finger nails ripped away from its home and lodged itself into the dirt that she was trying desperately to move. She didn’t seem to notice his cry or the pain that she must have felt. I can’t imagine what has happened to her. She was always such an angel. He knelt beside her, moving slowly so he wouldn’t frighten the little girl.

  “Amanda, what are you doing? Tell me how to help you,” he said.

  She ignored him and persisted with the terrible scratching. He continued to talk to her, hoping something would snap her out of this mental fit. “Amanda? Did someone take you from the playground? Has someone hurt you?” he asked, fearing the worst.

  “No.” She answered quickly but didn’t look up. However abrupt her answer, he was happy to hear her voice.

  “Where have you been? Everybody’s been looking for you, all of the sisters and your friends,” he said.

  She stopped digging for a moment, breathing hard. Her face turned up toward him, but she said nothing. She seemed to be trying to decide how best to answer the question she was being asked.

  “I don’t know where I was. I was here, and then I was there. But I don’t know where there was,” she said.

  He looked down at her in confusion, but she seemed to be satisfied with her given answer. She looked up at him, her sad blue eyes pleading.

  “Please, Father, please. He is hurting so bad, and I’m the one who’s supposed to help him. I knew it the minute I saw him. I filled up with sunshine, and I just felt him ask for my help,” she said.

  Father Benton didn’t know how to console the poor child.

  He just kept her talking so that she wouldn’t be digging. “Who, Amanda?” he asked.

  She looked to the old priest like she would have cried had she not used up all of her tears already. “A boy, Justin was his name. He is stuck, and I could have helped him. But I got scared and woke up here and left him,” she whispered.

  She started screaming and clawing at the ground again. He jumped into the hole and held her firmly in his arms, making sure she was snug and couldn’t hurt herself. She screamed at the top of her lungs, trying desperately to free her arms, but he was stronger.

  “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Justin!” she cried.

  He rocked her gently while humming a church hymn on their way back to the towering Gothic structure that was the lonely child’s home.

  Eleven years later…

  AMANDA SAT STARING AT the age-darkened table, feeling on edge. It didn’t matter that she should feel comfortable after two years back. She didn’t. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the feeling of being watched was unbearable. You’d think people could understand why a thirteen-year-old felt the need to run away from a place like this, but of course, none of them did.

  I wish they’d stop staring at me. It must get tiring to glare at someone for two straight years.

  “Don’t look so tortured, Amanda,” Cole joked as he set a bowl down in front of her.

  She looked up at him, the unease draining as he sat next to her. He had laughter dancing in his brown eyes. It was so easy to forget her unwanted audience when he was with her.

  “Am I expected to be anything but in the presence of such terrible company?” she asked him with a smile.

  “Terrible company?” he said, feigning hurt. “You know I could get offended by that if I wanted to.”

  “You’re always excluded from my rants, you know that.”

  “I know I just like hearing you say it,” he said around a mouthful.

  He’d already started digging into his soup, and it did smell uncharacteristically good today, so she followed suit. Her spoon fished around in the creamy stew until she found a chunk of potato. It was still steaming as she brought it to her lips, but the metal spoon fell to the ground with a loud clatter. As the familiar choking darkness formed around her, she was amazed by the freak show that was her life, knowing none of her many observers were surprised a teenage girl had just disappeared.

  It’s never been this strong. Amanda thought as she fell through space, and the growing feeling of dread ripped
at her chest. This wasn’t how a Scar should feel. She wasn’t in danger.

  This was a memory. Whatever danger she witnessed had already happened. She repeated the mantra over and over that she’d been taught, but still the fear pricked at her heart. Like a well-worn textbook, she flipped through the pages of her mind. Had she learned anything at all about how to stop the leap?

  Of course, it’s not in the curriculum. I’m probably the only Healer in the history of the world to ever think about stopping mid-leap. Even though she wasn’t yet on the other side, she knew, somehow, that she wasn’t strong enough to deal with this Scar. Whatever trauma this poor soul had gone through was too much for her to bear. How was she supposed to set them free if she was hyperventilating before she’d even seen anything? As much as she hated the feeling of blindness that came before she entered a Scar, she knew that the blackness was preferable to what you see when the memory unfolds before you.

  Why did Madgie have such confidence in her? She’d failed every single test. She shouldn’t be allowed to heal. Of course, if the world wasn’t so messed up, she wouldn’t be healing at all.

  She could feel the horrible scene materializing around her.

  Her body began to crumble; the weight of this memory too much for one set of novice shoulders. The fear, the hate, the burning evil desire.

  I’m not a Healer. I’m not strong enough; I never have been.

  Her vision began to blur around the edges. Just when she was about to succumb to the darkness, she found herself standing in a dimly lit hallway. The first thing she noticed was the awful stench. Hot, wet, rot. Amanda quickly covered her face to breathe through her sleeve.

  Tiptoeing down the sticky hallway, she started to memorize her surroundings. The webbing cracks in the plaster, the dark mold that clung to the walls, stretching upward from behind decaying baseboards.

  Who lives here?

  Amanda was used to landing in front of the spirit in need of help, not an empty hallway. She held her breath as she began her silent search, hoping that would keep the smell at bay. It did little. Even without breathing, the stench seemed to creep inside her every pore, contaminating her blood. All of the curriculum she’d had drilled into her brain wouldn’t help her here. This wasn’t a normal Scar. She realized who lived here was the wrong question, what lived here would be a better one. The unbearable fear and the living stink could only mean one thing.

  A demon is here, a strong one. Her legs froze in place as she realized the enormity of the situation.

  A leach-demon was there, living off this Scar, sucking the fear and life out of this trapped soul. Though it was an extremely rare occurrence, she’d been taught what to do if you sensed a demon in a Scar — leave. She couldn’t, not while knowing the demon would stay here, feasting on this spirit’s nightmares, until either someone made it leave or the spirit faded into nonexistence.

  A loud crash rang out in the unseen room to her right. She leapt back and quickly clasped a sweaty palm over her shrieking mouth. Nothing can hurt you, calm down! she chastised herself.

  Turning toward the noise, she cloaked herself with a quick spell. Closing her eyes tightly, she pressed her body into the nearest wall, attempting to be one with it. Her heart and mind still rattled with fear, so it took longer than it should have, but she managed to slip through.

  Calm down, I’m a Healer. I repair the world. I free spirits. I… pass out on a regular basis. I need a new mantra. The old ones aren’t helping at all.

  Surfacing on the other side of the wall, she put on the usual cloak, but both people in the room were looking right at her. She guessed the scream hadn’t helped her in the subtlety department.

  One of the two people was an overweight man in his forties. It was difficult to pinpoint an exact age due to the dark rings of drug use apparent beneath his black eyes. They both shook their heads and looked away from her. He stood at the end of the bed with one leg in a pair of worn-out sweat pants. He stumbled clumsily as he attempted to get its twin into the other hole.

  Amanda looked away quickly, tears stinging her eyes. She’d witnessed scenes like this before and didn’t need to take in all of the terrible details. The man managed to get his pants back on and started across the room.

  “I don’t want to hear a word, not a word,” the man said. He didn’t need to add an ‘or else’, not anymore.

  If he were more than a mere memory, I would kill him slowly. Tear off all his favorite parts and then leave him for the rats. Amanda uncloaked herself and made her way to the bed and the little girl lying upon it, bruised and silently crying.

  She couldn’t be more than seven, Amanda thought studying the child. The little girl was dirty and covered in rags. Her face was buried in an old pillow, making her light brown curls, which had tangled themselves into a messy halo around her head, the only thing Amanda could see.

  “What’s your name?” she asked softly.

  The girl kept her face in the safety of the pillow and shook her frail head back and forth.

  “Don’t worry, he can’t hear me,” she reassured.

  The girl’s delicate shoulders straightened, and Amanda had to strain her ears to listen to the tiny voice, which sounded like it hadn’t been used for a long time.

  “Why can’t he hear you?” she asked. Before Amanda could answer the girl’s blank face turned up in recognition. “Wait! Are you my guardian angel?”

  Amanda was taken by surprise. Usually the souls trapped in Scars had gone through so much they no longer believed in anything, let alone angels.

  “In a way, I am. How did you know?” Amanda asked.

  The girl’s trembling hands lowered to her lap and took the filthy pillow along with them. She looked up and squinted as though the light hurt her haunting light blue eyes. They were unfocused and although the child was face to face with her, she seemed to be gazing off into an unseen world.

  Her eyes are too light. She’s blind.

  “You walked through the wall. I heard you on the other side of it then you were right there,” she said, pointing a tiny finger at the exact spot Amanda had entered. “And there’s no opening, so you must be magic.” Anticipation blossomed across her face as she continued. “I’ve heard about magic. It can save you from bad people or sometimes grant wishes. I’ve tried to use it before, on my door, to keep out people who want to hurt me. Mine never worked, but yours does. So you must be an angel,” the child concluded.

  Amanda thought of the little blind girl standing in the doorway, waving her thin arms and chanting an incantation, a spell of protection. She wished the spells had worked, but she knew better.

  I wouldn’t be here if her spells had protected her from evil.

  This young girl had been hurt so badly her soul had been torn away from its rightful place inside her body. She was trapped in her past, trapped by the man who had corrupted her soul, and maybe she’d died here. Perhaps he’d murdered her in the end. But she wasn’t here in this Scar because of her death. She was here because of her life.

  Flipping back to her first lesson at the Hovel, she recanted, “Scars are left when a spirit cannot move on from a singular event.”

  This curly haired girl may have lived to seventy or she could still be alive today, just a shell of a human being walking and talking. But her spirit had never left this moment, this room, this place.

  Amanda pushed away the painful thoughts before they overcame her. “Well, I wouldn’t call myself an angel, but I do know magic and I am here to help you.” She gently placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder, making the child flinch away reflexively. “Your name, do you remember your name?” she asked.

  “Kaedin, my name is Kaedin,” she whispered.

  “Wow, that’s a beautiful name. Did you know that your name means spirit?”

  Kaedin shook her head.

  “Must mean you have a lot in you. My name is Amanda.” She held out her hand in a greeting before dropping it quickly, the girl couldn’t see it and therefore co
uldn’t shake it. Amanda looked around the room. It was easier to counsel when you knew the year. She couldn’t tell much by the furniture or the rags thrown on Kaedin but noticed a paper lying on the table. It was dated ten years ago. Kaedin would be about her age, if she was still alive.

  Taking a deep breath, she cleared her mind and went through her usual checklist, although she knew this would be anything but routine. Counseling was sure to be different with the leach demon clinging to the Scar so strongly, but she couldn’t guess how as all she was taught about her current situation was to not be in it. Amanda didn’t know if it could hurt them, but then she thought of what would happen to this sweet spirit if she did nothing. That’s what Kaedin would be, nothing. The demon couldn’t possibly do more harm than that. So she decided to follow normal procedure.

  “So, Kaedin, tell me how to help you.”

  The child’s face once, devoid of color, brightened a little.

  “Can you really save me? Are you even real, or did I make you up? No one never ever helped me.” Tears pooled up and began to fall freely from her sightless eyes. “No one ever helped me, because no one ever loved me.” Her little hands brought the pillow back up to her face to absorb the salty tears.

  Amanda choked back tears of her own, wanting to be strong for the weakening spirit. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve gone through. You should never think that. You are pretty easy to love, you know,” Amanda said soothingly as she gently took the pillow away and lifted up the broken girl’s chin.

  “Look, Kaedin, I can do anything you ask me to do,” she said. Amanda held out her hand and closed her eyes, calling on light. When she opened them, a bright ball of light danced in her hand, bursting with color and bringing life to the dingy room. Lightning and rainbows, bright and flickering, every form of light now warmed her hand. She gently placed the ball into the girl’s small palm, letting her soak up its unique warmth. “I’ll be here with you. No one can hurt you as long as I’m here,” she assured her.