The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 10

Qulin came upon the long stretch of dirt road which lead to Potter's Bluff. Hobbled with stones and rocks and a carpet of dampened fallen leaves. The last cloud of a passing downpour fled over the horizon. He couldn't remember how long this pathway was, largely due to the amount of time that had transpired since his last visit here the night Cora was murdered. About halfway, his legs started to throb in the muddy gruel, not entirely convinced the earth wasn't simply swallowing him. For some time longer he struggled up the endless pathway, yanking each step out of the famished quicksand. The half-domed granite hill appeared just over the tree line. A strange sight, the bluff had always seemed misplaced. A random tumor protruding from mostly surrounding flatland. Perhaps that was its attraction, the chance to rise above the mundane and see the world differently. In its most useful purpose it had operated as a look out during World War 2, and long before that its thick and luscious shrubbery and forestry was a dedicated location for plant biologists. It was no Everest, but it was Derryton's premier hiking spot for a spat of time, or at least it used to be until the land was purchased and subsequently made private by the same telecom company that built the two metal phone towers which now stabbed the sky with dual flickering red lights.

A tall chain-link fence appeared and ran some one-hundred yards, disappearing into the thicket. Qulin stopped and read a graffitied NO TRESPASSING sign hanging from the locked gate. He couldn't help but detest the defilement. Kids, most likely; no respect, destroying things that weren't theirs. With all his uncertainty about returning here, to see a sign encouraging him to turn around felt more than appropriate. Maybe another sorcerer with half the amount of desperation would've taken the hint and turned around. But he had been called here.

The area beyond the fence was so foreign, yet so horribly familiar. Uncut bush grew wildly and swallowed the old path to the peak he had known. He followed the fence some distance, continuing to trudge through mud, looking for other trespassers. A section of the wired fence had been cut open. He ducked through the opening, letting the piece of fence snap back.

As he came to the base of hill, a heaviness saturated his legs. Tall, peeling trees, towered over him like sentries on post. The same birches, oaks and maples that used to greet him and Cora warmly, now leered down at him with accusatory bony fingers chastising him, recalling his sorrowful deed.

His waist shifted backwards as if lassoed. He closed his eyes, the darkness behind his lids failing to ameliorate the rising terror. Legs went from heavy to trembling. Cora's diary clutched in his cloak, he threw his body into the bushy row of craggy gatekeepers. The energy was immediately harsh, and stunk of pungent bitterness. Carefully, he moved through the muddy soil and started up the incline. The muscles in his thighs began screaming while every perilous step sent rivers of rocks and pebbles moaning back down the way he came. With his head down, afraid to take in too much of the surroundings, scared of what memories the scenery might thrust into his mind, he pressed on. Branches snapped under his feet reminiscent of licking fire. Where the natural scent of old earth should have cordially greeted him, mold and burned flesh prevailed in an endless flux. Every few steps, almost unconsciously, he'd glance backwards, as if something were chasing him.

Repeating Cora's name gave his pace the vitality it required till reaching the bending cusp of the bluff's peak. Breathless and stunned by the peak's strikingly unfamiliar appearance. The area had been excavated. Rows of hacked tree stumps glared back at him, like blank and splintered eyes. The vibrant purple lilac bushes Cora adored, were gone and replaced with untold amounts of trash. Low-hanging black power lines lurched from telephone poles and disappeared into the surrounding trees. The cellphone towers loomed overhead.

He observed, confused over his mixed feelings. The peak's gutted appearance both satisfied and bothered him. Before his eyes a corpse of things once cherished, and a corpse of things abhorred. To revel in the desecration of something once sacred was like burying the scythe used for murder that once procured the harvest Memories of boundless happiness, and of sickening shame. Sighing, he searched the peak, looking for the one familiar white birch with the low hanging branch. The birch closest to the edge, it was off to the northside. He started in that direction, remembering Cora in his arms until they would fall asleep under that birch, as if it was providing an unwavering protection, promising never to let any harm befall either. He arrived at a rotted stump. Groups of black mushrooms growing around its base like a dark colored skirt. He reached down and touched the cool, rough fibers, certain it was the one.