Carpathian 23 - Dark Storm

met with a clean stroke
     of his giant black blade as he removed obstacles from their path. She felt the separation
     of the long vines, so real she could almost feel the air rush past as each separate
     piece fell to the forest floor. The foliage tried to retreat from the blade, subtle
     vibrations warning plants ahead of them.
    She began to whisper softly under her breath, asking forgiveness for cutting a trail.
     They had to rush. There was no time for avoidance, or even the rain forest itself
     might be lost. Open the trail to them, let them through.
    Riley drew in a swift breath. How many times had she heard her mother whispering in
     a soft, singsong voice as they backpacked through heavy jungle? With every step connecting
     her to the earth, she felt more connected to her mother, closer to her, more aware
     of memories.
    She touched the end of a severed branch in a kind of reverence. Already there was
     a light-colored liquid oozing out to meet her fingertips. The plant’s lifeblood was
     cool and sticky, and a calm descended into her mind, helping her to focus on what
     she needed to do. She placed one foot in front of the next, allowing her hand to linger,
     keeping contact with the plants until the last possible moment. She felt the shift
     inside of her, her tight lungs easing, drawing a full breath of fresh air, letting
     the plants take much of the burden of her sorrow and fear of what was to come.
    The tremors continued, giving her a feeling of extreme urgency, a need to hurry faster,
     and with that came an awareness of the growing fear in their guide. Miguel knew what
     those tremors meant—an impending eruption. He was responsible for the travelers and
     he already felt as if he’d failed Annabel. Little by little he was changing the direction,
     a subtle shift so that it was barely noticeable, but Riley’s sense of their objective
     was acute now, as was the map in her head, leading her to the precise location she
     needed to be.
    She didn’t blame Miguel. How could she? He felt weighed down with responsibility and
     guilt. A memory surfaced of Riley as a child, during one of their trips, a storm raging,
     pounding the shelter the guide had hastily set up for them. She’d been wrapped in
     the strength of her mother’s embrace as her mother sang softly to take away her tears.
    The long-forgotten memory sparked the knowledge of what she had to do. The song came
     out soft and low, barely a whisper, but she remembered the words and melody from that
     long-forgotten trip. Her mother had sung the song while they hurried along muddy trails
     with the rain pouring down. The words formed in her mind and grew in strength.
    It wasn’t long before the others began to slow their pace, to be closer, to hear more.
     Riley picked up the pace, moving past Jubal, touching him on the shoulder. Her nodded
     to her, obviously aware of the soothing quality to her voice and approving of what
     she was doing.
    She continued to walk forward, quickening her pace, softly singing, passing each traveler,
     touching them gently as she did so, easing their burdens and growing in confidence
     and power with every step. She reached Miguel. It was clear how far his efforts had
     taken them off course. The guilt was tangible, but she felt only sadness for him.
     She understood his need to protect them all, and he’d braved her anger to try to get
     them away a safe distance from the volcano.
    She moved in front of him even as her song drifted to a low hum. Her hands came up
     and she wove a pattern as she sang to the jungle. The path opened, leaves and branches
     pulling back to let them move through quickly. Beneath her feet, the ground urged
     her to hurry. The sense of need grew and spread until it was all-consuming. She became
     aware of the silence, as if the insects held their breath waiting for her arrival.
     She felt pressure building beneath her feet.
    As if the others all caught that sense of urgency she was feeling, they double-timed
     it, their feet pounding out the rhythm of her song. The ground shook harder, longer,
     throwing them all to the forest floor just as they reached the base of the mountain.
     Riley dug her hands into the soil and felt the enormous force and the tremendous heat
     in the ground. Instantly she was aware of the triumph of malicious evil rising like
     the tide, rising with the gases.
    She looked up at Jubal with stricken eyes. “I’m too late. It’s too late.”

6
    T he ground wept