James A Lloyd

Wilful but naïve, Anja encounters, one by one, the Land’s Godlike servants. Will they help her, deceive her, or harm her? Humanity has dark memories of these Gods from ancient times, but why would Rob Hemmersley, a young human policeman, want to kill her? She struggles to understand what is happening as she is slowly enhanced by the Land. What does it want of her, what will she become? Anja is too young to understand the complexities of issues that threaten the balance of her own world; issues that worry the Land. The Gods broach these issues, but she only wants to survive and ensure that her brothers return safely home.

Read the opening pages of Book One:

Prologue

Tall cliffs hugged the parched Great Bay, reflecting the intense heat rising from the sun-baked seabed. Far in the distance, stretching from headland to headland, a long, high wall of hard sand denied entrance to the glittering ocean. Gull, soaring on the roasting thermals, skirted the huge, desolate sandcastle, its turrets challenging the dominance of the cliffs. Shortly after, he glided towards the half-buried wrecks of the little fleet, his keen eyes drawn to rags flapping weakly on a rack of bleached, short timber ribs. Impaled on one of the sharp spars was a rapidly desiccating child’s body, lifeless eyes staring from its sad, shrunken face, torn nightdress fluttering around its contorted torso. Dark tracks betrayed the passage of fluids down the cruel timber. Nearby, other small corpses hung: shrivelled, ghoulish puppets. Little heaps of bleached bones between the spars were all that remained of less recent victims. Gull’s undulating cry paid its respects as he wheeled away, knowing that with each small sacrifice, the wall pushed the ocean away and the demise of the nesting colonies continued.

Chapter One

Maia, a tiny, barely discernible figure sitting high in a large tree facing the threshold, took multiple universes for granted. Throughout her long life she had come to this spot in the Great Forest, at this exact time each year. She sat waiting, drawn by instinct. Her mother had kept the same vigil long before villages, towns and cities replaced the forests that once covered the other land she would see through the portal.

Just before midnight, it shimmered into life and the field appeared, as it had in one form or another each midsummer’s night over the hundreds of years she had briefly observed it. As she gazed at the familiar scene, remembering how it had slowly changed, a shadow flitted through the trees below her, swiftly passing into the other land and out of view. Although this disturbed her, her natural curiosity was suppressed by the compulsion to continue watching the field. A little later, she was disturbed again as the shadow crossed back, barely a blur, but with a natural ability to function at great speed she saw that it now carried something it hadn’t taken through. Filing this away to tell the Great One, she returned to her lonely vigil. The portal wouldn’t stay open long; it never did, little more than an hour, and she always stayed until the last glimmer of the other land faded…

*

Anja woke, rubbed her sore eyes and looked blearily around. She’d fallen asleep awkwardly, sprawled across the sofa. A slither of moonlight sliced her throat; another, wider, highlighted toys and cushions jumbled about the silent room. She was still wearing her thin summer dress. Beside her, Alfie was huddled on the floor near the empty fireplace, his face pressed into the thin pile of the carpet, soft features hardened in the grey light. Anxiety forced a sigh from her and she squeezed her eyes, trying to focus, remember what had happened. Immediately, this switched to concern for Toby; her younger brother, barely two. Before their parentshad gone out, he’d been changed into pyjamas. She should have put a night nappy on him long ago. He was mischievous and inquisitive. A glance around the room failed to detect him.

Her eyes and brain began to function. The clock on the mantelpiece told her it was just past midnight. When had she fallen asleep? She couldn’t remember what they’d been doing, only that it had been such fun, but that must have been hours ago. Her parents had reluctantly gone to the midsummer dance, giving her strict instructions. Easing her cramped body over to the open window, she could just hear dull music and laughter coming from the village hall down the lane. She still had time. As she shook her brother roughly with her foot, his unfocused eyes looked up at her for an age before he sat up and yawned.

‘Where’s Toby?’

Alfie shrugged.

They began to search. She desperately needed them all in bed before their parents returned. When the most obvious places had been checked, her heart began to flutter. After every room, cupboard and cranny had been searched, they stopped. Alfie, barely eight, showed concern on his serious little face. Anja, four years older, was frantic with worry. She couldn’t remember falling asleep, or exactly when she’d last seen Toby. The novelty of being left alone for the evening and the time passing so quickly had somehow made her forget the promises she had so solemnly given; the game had been such fun. Now, the enormity of her predicament was overwhelming.

Chewing her lip, she stared hopelessly out of the window. Her gaze sharpened and she gasped. In the strong moonlight, she could see that the gate was open; the garden gate that was never left open. Running into the hall, she knew even before she got there that the front door would also be open. How had they missed it?

‘No, no, he’s gone out,’ she shouted, and went running up the path with Alfie close behind her. She knew instinctively where Toby would have gone, they both knew; to the field beside the wood, their favourite place to play. He’d gone there with them only that morning, running on ahead in his funny toddler gait, sure of the way. Turning left through the open gate, they ran on up the stony lane. In her panic, she didn’t notice that the distant music had stopped. Just a few faint voices exchanging goodbyes reached the house staring mutely after them, its door gaping wide.

They raced past a small row of cottages on their right, disturbing young Constable Hemmersley reading late in his room with the slip, slap of their bare feet on the narrow pavement, loud in the still, warm night. Reaching the vicarage, the old church clock sped them on as it struck the first half-hour of morning. They turned left around the graveyard wall, crossed the ditch and continued up the footpath between the cemetery and the fallow field.

Hardly pausing for breath, they reached the corner of the small ancient wood that nestled against the back of the churchyard. Here, the path angled right, weaving briefly between the gnarled trunks of the old trees before emerging into the grassy, flowered pasture where they idled their summer days away. They expected to find him there, highlighted in the short shadows of the moon, crouched over an interesting stone or twig, absorbed in some unfathomable game, to run up, hug and kiss him, hear his little voice and happy laughter.

As they emerged, there was nothing; not a blade of grass stirred, not a breath of air broke the silence. Calling out, their small voices were swallowed by the little wood at the edge of the field. He wasn’t there. Anja flapped her arms; she’d been so sure he would be that her mind reeled with shock. Grabbing Alfie’s hand, she turned back. He was still in the house. She couldn’t remember shutting the door. Was there somewhere obvious they hadn’t looked? This was beyond anything she had ever experienced, and her ability to cope shattered. Her parents must have returned by now. She was in so much trouble; they had to go back.

Nearby, the church clock struck the last quarter of the first hour, urging them back to the narrow path through the wood. Above, the moon shimmered and paled as the first wisps of cloud passed over it. As the moonlight faded, the trees closed their leafy canopy over the woodland floor and the path became indistinct. Sharp brambles that shouldn’t have been there tore at the children’s legs, and hard tree roots tripped them up.

Dragging Alfie with her, Anja blundered on, knowing they must be heading in the right direction, that the wood was small and they’d soon be through it. On they went, tripping and falling in the tangled undergrowth. They began to push through bushy thickets, retracing their steps when they could go no further. At last, in the sanctuary of a small clearing, Anja stopped. Alfie peered up at her through the gloom. ‘Are we lost, Anja?’ She nodded, tears trickling down her cheeks.

The little oak wood was just not this big; they’d often explored its entire area. It was old and wild, but they couldn’t get lost in it, even in the dark. She realised how long they’d been running through it and that they should have heard the church clock strike again; the clock that always called them home. Trying not to show him she was crying, wracked with anguish deeper than she’d ever known in her short life, she choked back a sob and sank down to the soft, leafy ground. Alfie put his arms around her neck to console her. The enormity of her predicament was too great for him to understand, but she was the centre of his life and he loved her so much. The Land, the sentient entity into which they had blundered, felt their presence, examined Anja’s mind and intervened. Consciousness faded.

Long before the brown-clad monks and their grim lords had arrived and built a small church nearby, the beautiful little oak grove on the outskirts of the wild forest had been venerated. They hadn’t questioned, in their arrogant piety, the knowing smiles on the faces of the peaceful, compliant peasants they’d inherited. Nor did they wonder why they couldn’t bring themselves to cut down the ancient trees. Generations worshipped in the small church, and although the rest of the forest shrank, no one laid an axe to the little wood. There was always a reason to leave it undisturbed. Locked within was the small portal, the gateway to the Land’s Great Forest.

The Great Forest encompassed innumerable hills and valleys, ran with the melodies of myriad rivers and streams that fed spectacular waterfalls and boomed in hidden galleries beneath deep, gnarled roots. It soared to towering heights where the sun warmed its topmost leaves and plunged to gloomy depths where stars were but a pale rumour, sagely passed from elder to kit. Anything unusual disturbing the forest’s harmony spread ripples of tension, at first locally, then wider depending on the strength of the disturbance.

From Anja and Alfie there radiated such a strangeness and vulnerability that this vast forest held its breath. Napes bristled, ears sharpened, and eyes narrowed. Slumbering forms became restless and whined, trembling and wary as the Land responded to their arrival, disturbing the dreams of its servant, the Great One; Lord of the Forest. Instantly, his eyes snapped open and he was aware, extracting from the warm night the whole wordless story. Something had strayed into his realm, something he must protect. He rose and sprang away towards the children. The Great Forest relaxed and sighed, continuing its eternal life.

In the bite of the morning, as the sun rose slowly through the forest, mist carpeted the glade. Although it lay gently around and over the children, its warm, damp breath was not what woke Anja; a light quilt of dry leaves and moss covered them as they snuggled together. What woke her was the music; liquid notes to soothe fretful dreams, softly rousing her reluctant mind. She tried to remember, but the music wove patterns that drew apart the strands of her memory and compelled her to move. Desire overwhelming her, she crawled free of the warm blanket, rising through the thin mist to answer the beguiling call, leaves and tendrils of moss still clinging to her hair. She began a slow, graceful dance. Smiling, radiant and beautiful, she lost herself to the forest rhapsody.

Alfie stirred. The sun had risen sufficiently to evaporate the last wisps of mist. He screwed his eyes against the light that speared through the tracery of a leaf. A piece of moss tickled his nose; he snorted and heard the music. Struggling to sit up, he rubbed his eyes and saw his sister. He felt no desire to copy her example, and watched. He’d never seen her so graceful, but then she’d never danced like this before. He loved her. She was his big sister, his constant friend and mentor. Where she led, he followed. She bossed him around and he mostly accepted it with explicit trust. Now he was confused and, remembering what had happened, wondered why Anja was behaving so strangely. It unsettled and upset him.

He gasped with astonishment as his attention was caught by a movement at the edge of his vision. He had found the source of the music: a large creature sitting on a rock nestling amongst a few low bushes. Alfie instantly felt afraid and hostile, not sensing malice but because it was causing his sister’s strange behaviour. He studied it, his brows beetled, small mouth set with resentment.

It was larger than a man, even his father, who was tall and strong, and in part resembled one, with deep, golden brown skin glistening with a faint oily sheen. Its body swayed imperceptibly to the rhythm of the music; naked, broad-shouldered torso ripping with muscle. Alfie’s keen sight examined every detail of its face: a small wispy beard, broad turned-up nose and arching eyebrows that gave it a sardonic expression. However, the similarity ended abruptly when he saw the two small twisting horns growing from the tight, curly hairline each side of its forehead. The difference became even more marked where, from the creature’s hips and groin, a thick pelt of russet fur grew down massive thighs to reveal slender goat-like legs and neat pointed hooves, softly ringing out the beat of the music against the rock. Alfie’s eyes were drawn back to the face, to full lips darting across a row of small bound pipes, scarcely drawing breath. His resentment turned to blazing anger when he saw its eyes; pupils dancing with the music, mirroring every ecstatic movement his sister made.

He stood up, crossed the glade to where it sat, and stood in front of it, glaring indignantly. The creature ignored him. Clenching his small fists, he drew in a deep breath and shouted, ‘Stop doing that!’ The creature stopped playing and looked down. Anja panted up and stood beside him, her eyes unfocused. Fear, anger, confusion were overshadowed by awe of the impossible creature staring down at them, exuding power and intelligence.

*

Chapter Two

Maia’s ears sharpened; voices, children’s voices. A girl and a younger boy came into view and began running around the field, shouting urgently. She watched with unemotional detachment as they became more upset and was mildly astonished when they ran into the portal, passing below her into the Land. Unmoved, she kept her watch, ignoring their agitated voices as they blundered deeper into the Great Forest. She sighed; soon the portal would close, and she would resume her role in the Land until drawn back to relive her brief vigil next year, but it was another incident to tell the Great One.

Just as the children’s voices faded, she heard another that made her senses sharpen with an intensity that she’d never experienced before. Another human, a young man, entered the field. She rose from the branch, her translucent wings carrying her gently to the ground, and began to walk towards the portal, unaware of her actions. A small, latent part of her essence had awakened and she was intuitively following its direction.

The young man came closer. ‘Anja! Alfie! It’s Constable Hemmersley. I know you’re here somewhere. You’re not in any trouble, but it’s a bit late for playing.’

As Maia crossed the threshold of the portal and began to grow, the flimsy scrap of material she was wearing tore and dropped away as she slowly drifted towards the man, her feet skimming the cool grass. He watched her, unable to tear his eyes from the beautiful, small figure gliding towards him. She stopped just a few feet away, her face level with his chest. He stuttered something about her lack of clothing, but Maia was incapable of coherent thought, let alone speech. Drawing in a long, deep breath, after a pause, she opened her mouth. A thick, milky film stretched across her lips. She released the breath and the film bulged, expanding into a large shimmering bubble that detached with a slight wobble. She gently blew it towards him. He watched, mesmerised, as it approached, and involuntarily drew in a sharp breath as it reached his lips and burst…