Initiation

  INITIATION

  L. A. Limpkin

  Copyright © 2019 L.A. Limpkin

  All rights reserved.

  For Andreea

  Thank you for asking me to write.

  Contents

  INITIATION

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all my family and friends, especially my mother, for putting up with all the times I focused so much on writing that I paid no attention to them.

  A big thank you to my friend, Willa Q Sprinkle. Your advice has been priceless on polishing my manuscript.

  Thank you for all agents who rejected my queries, thus forcing me to up my game.

  Above all, I thank God, without whom nothing is possible.

  Prologue

  This world is not alone. Others exist, but only a few privileged humans have seen any throughout history. Countless worlds demand exploration—some are far, out of the reach of humans, while others are very close, only one breath away.

  The realm closest to our own often reached out, from the farthest of times, leaking into those willing to pay attention, and pulling them inside with its awesome invisible claws. It is a world of magic and beings with powers far beyond what humans have known possible. Ever and again, people found themselves in this realm, clueless how they got there, how they came back, or even where there was.

  They told conflicting stories that led most people to believe this mighty forest existed only in their vivid, drunken imagination. Some said they heard children laughing, others that they were chased by unknown creatures. A few claimed that shadowy figures hunted them. Some people said they were all alone in a forest so dense they could barely walk or see the sky. Yet, others declared they arrived in a place full of life by the river.

  With so many contradictions, one constant remained. Every visitor of the forest was on the lonesome road connecting Mauneme Point to Downhill, two small towns at the edge of the country, the place where the night and the day collapsed into each other and time stood at a standstill.

  Many a person visited these towns from all over the country, in times long forgotten. They traveled the Downhill road hoping to find forests, phantasms, or creatures from another world, but they returned home burdened by the disappointment and the certainty the story wasn’t real. Disheartened by their failures, they convinced the people living in the nearby towns the forest didn’t exist. Their doubt spread like wildfire, and those who did, by chance, discover it, were deemed mentally unstable if they dared to speak of it.

  The beauty of the mighty forest dissolved into a myth spoken in hushed tones by the elders to scare the children into obedience. It was forbidden to wander off alone. Their fear-mongering had an undesirable effect—instead of protecting their children from flights of fancy, the stories enticed youngsters of all ages to slip away, at the first opportunity to explore Downhill road. Little did the adults know, but the children who discovered the truth had a hushed language of their own.

  Time passed. The children of the forest grew up; the same who used to run around the giant trees and tell the stories to whomever would listen. As young adults thrust into an unforgiving society, they dared not speak of such things in public. And yet, memories of the forest were forceful, unrelenting. They refused to stay silent. The survivors of the forest met in private, behind closed doors and recounted their shared memories, fear forcing them to whisper.

  CHAPTER 1

  Alone

  Hannah Link was a no-nonsense young woman, plagued by real-world problems. Her attention centered on finding her parents and, with them, a sense of identity and purpose. She had no time for lingering memories of the forest. On the occasion that she reminisced her childhood, visions of running through the layer of rusted leaves tugged at her, but the abiding flashes of the forest rarely came into focus. She dismissed them without giving them much attention, but she failed to set them aside during slumber. The dreams about the forest repeated. In them, she walked a well-worn trail, enveloped in a thick fog. And she was positive someone was waiting for her at the river.

  This particular night wasn’t any different from the other times she raced in the forest. The clear sky exposed the harsh surroundings, which were shining ghostly under the moon’s pale light, while the soft breeze stirred up the trees in a silent uproar. The humid air split her long hair into one thousand strands, glued to her damp skin, as she was racing to the river. But none of that mattered.

  While fear pulled her forward, she struggled with each step. Anxiety iced every forceful breath, and blood pumped in her ears. Her loud, painful gasps dampened the sounds of the forest, but it was impossible to ignore the noise of branches snapping, digging painfully into her bare feet.

  She was hunted, and this detail overshadowed her eagerness to reach the river, which was summoning her. Shadows pulled aside from the trees as she raced past them. They stalked her without pause, forcing her to take paths that led her farther away from safety. The forest started to bleed together, to blend. Each new path mirrored the one before, and she feared she'd been running in the wrong direction.

  The more she strained to see and hear any clues as to her location, the smaller the clearing appeared to be, as if the giants were squeezing the surrounding air until the pressure became unbearable. She inhaled deeply and prepared to scream, but the dense air entered her lungs, suffocating her. She fled to break free.

  Hannah possessed a dream-like knowledge of her surroundings. Her only guide was her instinct, that craving inside of her that urged her to move. She pushed herself to the limit and fought against the soreness, terrified to slow. She knew that if she stopped in her weakened state, she would be easy prey. Even though she ran as if her entire life depended on it, she felt them getting closer. They were almost upon her.

  This thought fueled her. She stumbled often but didn’t allow the fallen branches to hold her on the ground. She raced until pain fell her, a pain so strong that it permeated the bone. A razor-sharp rock had cut the soft skin of her foot as a knife cuts through butter.

  A loud scream demanded to be set free. Hannah stifled it and squeezed her eyes to the point of pain. Her training at the Mauneme Point Children’s Asylum kicked in, and she imagined the pain as a lava sphere that she had to lock inside a slowly forming box. The process was jarring because she was sluggish, but once the sphere was inside the box, she pushed it away. It narrowed to a pin-sized dot and disappeared, taking the pain with it.

  She unclenched her jaw, releasing a pent up breath. The human mind is amazing; she thought and wiped the sweat from her forehead. As she took a steadying breath, an overwhelming roar sounded from the river’s direction. As frightening as it was, it sent her into motion. The calling ended too fast, and she did not know from which direction it came.

  Hannah hefted herself and crashed back to the ground with her first ineffectual step. Her feet could not carry h
er alone. She scanned her surroundings for a stick, anything to help her walk. The forest had nothing to give her, though. She could barely see the ghostly trees as they were losing their shine along with the setting moon. An ethereal fog blanketed the ground, rising in glowing wisps as the morning dawned.

  The shadows grew and shifted, unnerving her. Even though she sensed danger lurking, she could not see it, nor did she know how close it was. She sought protection from the nearest thick tree, crawled to it, and pasted her back against its lumpy trunk.

  It wasn’t her back that should’ve worried her. Something cold and wet grabbed her leg. She surged away from her attacker, falling prone into a rug of leaves, unable to break free. She took the earthy smell deep inside her mouth and lungs and forced herself to look back.

  The hand that held on tightly to her leg was almost invisible against the mud. She couldn’t see if it was attached to anything. It grabbed her from beneath the surface of the forest.

  Hannah could not hold back the terror as she thrashed against its grip. All efforts to release her leg were useless. Her heart was thumping against her ribs as if it needed to break free. She let loose her fear and screamed.

  She tried to hold on to anything in range, but the forest itself fought against her. The plants reacted to her touch and retracted into the ground. The rocks slipped away upon her touch.

  She realized, too late, that the fog was fume-filled. The musk was increasingly difficult to breathe in, and she swayed with each ragged beat of her heart. Her vision blurred, and she feared she was on the verge of collapse.

  Salvation came through that unearthly roar. As it blasted through the forest, she and the hand reacted identically. They shrunk in on themselves. The hand released her, and she curled up, pressing her wrists to her ears to block the noise.

  The sound helped her, but it also hurt her. Nothing made sense here—she’d left reason behind when she entered the forest. She closed her eyes and squeezed herself, like a larva, with her knees stuck to her chest and shook her head. She stilled, trying to regain her composure and slow her rapidly beating heart.

  Once again, the roaring stopped. She opened her eyes in relief, only for a brief moment. It was still dark. The day delayed, and the trees glowed in the moonlight.

  As she listened for movement signs coming from where the hand used to be, she sensed a shift in the forest. Her breathing recovered, though her heart still hiccupped at every sound she heard.

  The telltale roar of a river flowing nearby wrenched her eyes open. To get there, she had to follow the sound, but the shadows were still there, watching her and creeping closer.

  “Hannah!”

  The voice sounded familiar. It was clear, but distant, coming from beyond the forest, and it drove her to the familiar reality. It called to her from safety. I have to get out of here! She recognized this to be true, but a part of her wanted to stay. She believed her desire to reach the river was unattainable, given her wounded foot and her pursuers. Still, the choice wasn’t as easy as hoped. She was split with indecision as if two opposite parties pulled her apart. The pain grew strong, and the light blinded her. She squeezed her eyes to make it disappear.

  “Hannah! Are you there?”

  Before she opened her eyes, Hannah knew she’d returned home. The air was cleaner. The table she’d plastered her face against refreshed her familiarly. She had to pry her fingers from it, and, as she did, she felt gouges that hadn’t been there before. She massaged her tingling hands softly and stared at the marks. It was a dream.

  She looked around her room, fixating briefly on the light of the old lamp that stood proudly in the corner. She tore her gaze away as the feeling in her hands came back.

  It was a dream.

  “Hannah!”

  This time, the shout sounded lauder, revealing panic. The door was locked—its usual condition—and, knowing Amy, she wouldn’t quit until Hannah opened it.

  “Yes, Amy, I am here.” The effort to stand was intolerable. A wave of pain pierced her foot. “Ouch!”

  She grasped the corner of her desk to keep herself from plummeting on the hardwood floor. The muscles in her hand reacted to all the abuse they’d taken during her slumber and sent a shock-wave through her nervous system.

  “Hannah! What’s going on?”

  She feared the intensity of Amy’s raised voice would alert the neighbors. With effort, she relaxed her face and hoped she appeared carefree, and that her voice would reflect that.

  “I’m okay, Amy. It’s just my leg. I’ve hurt my leg.”

  “Open the door, then!”

  “I’m coming!” Hannah clenched her teeth and assessed her feet before she moved further. Her left foot had minimal damage, but the right one worried her. She took one step towards the door, leaving behind a bloody footprint. The cut was deeper than she first thought.

  She wasn’t ready to answer the questions Amy would, no doubt, ask. That was what bothered her the most. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as the constant tending to her foster mother forced upon her. Why couldn’t she understand that Hannah needed to be alone? She wasn’t a child in need of extra care, nor did she require assistance with her social life.

  This interruption and the constant badgering from the hallway took her mind off the pain. Ice formed in her veins, and every step towards the door fueled her rage. This was familiar territory.

  Her reaction was no different today than it would’ve been before the forest. She unlocked the door and turned the knob in anger. For good measure, she slammed the door open, hoping these simple gestures would make Amy understand she didn’t need her. However, once again, Amy showed that Hannah’s attempts to dissuade her were futile when she rushed in and wedged herself under Hannah’s arm to help support her weight.

  “Oh, Hannah! What did you do?”

  “What did I do?!”

  The answer eluded her.

  A glance under the table confirmed her suspicions—nothing was there that could’ve caused her foot injury. Impossible as it was, she’d been in the forest. She couldn’t ignore the truth, yet she couldn’t make sense of it either. She had to concentrate on recovering the memory, but that proved impossible with Amy hovering over her.

  It wasn’t a dream.

  She held onto this thought for dear life.

  It wasn’t a dream.

  The realization both terrified and pleased her, but this conflict wasn’t new. She'd felt this way her entire life—split. That one word that summed up her entire existence. As words go, this was the worst. She was often divided as if two or more independent entities were vying for control over her life. This moment was a perfect example. Part of her was excited about the new realm. She had new things to explore. But the other feared the malice she'd encountered, and she suspected she hadn’t seen it all.

  She also had mixed feelings about Amy, who had fostered Hannah from the age of thirteen. The woman had taken care of her, had led her into adulthood, and somehow got her a job, which connected her to the patients at the Children’s Asylum—her only friends. Society would expect gratefulness from her side, but a significant part of her didn’t trust her and didn’t let her respond with grace.

  She had learned, early in childhood, that people who are too nice hide their true intentions and expect payment under their own terms and at a time of their own choosing, regardless of the trouble they may cause. She frowned as she remembered Daisy. Once her best friend, her protector, the girl she’d met at the orphanage turned on her and convinced her to give her the drugs that were an important part of her recovery. Hannah lost faith in the good deeds of humankind. Nice people were to be feared, and Amy was the nicest of them all. Pure sugar and candy. And even though years had passed since she'd moved into Amy’s apartment, she was still unaware of what her benefactor wanted in return.

  With Amy’s help, she made it to the bed. She sat, her foot hanging off the bed so she wouldn’t stain the green sheets.

  “Don’t worry about the mess,” s
aid Amy, “I’ll clean it up. You stay here while I get the first-aid kit.”

  “There’s no need. I can patch myself up.”

  “Don’t be silly, dear!” Amy rushed out the door, careful to avoid the trail of blood, and vanished out of sight.

  Hannah fell back on the bed, enjoying the comfort of the fluffy blanket and the solitude. She let her mind wander with no restrictions. It’s real. The forest is real! Same memories of her early childhood, when she’d been running around the forest, came into focus. The forest had been less menacing then. Now that the images of her past were free, she couldn’t stop them. Unhappy thoughts flooded her. She recalled telling the doctors at the Children’s Asylum that the forest was real. They hadn’t believed her, nobody had. She trusted them, and they convinced her she’d been dreaming, that it was all in her imagination.

  She scoffed at yet another example of how trusting anyone was a bad idea.

  It was real.

  The experience had been frightening, but she wanted to go back. Shadows aside, it was home, more so than anywhere else. And, no matter how much distance she put between herself and the forest, she would always need to find the river and that someone who hadn’t stopped calling her. She would go at once. But how? She had no clue where the forest was. This was the biggest question in her life, and her heart demanded an answer.

  And same did Amy. Her inquisitive tone broke through Hannah’s reverie.

  “… hurt you? I see nothing here.”

  Hannah took her eyes off the ceiling and watched Amy try to find a culprit for her injury. She wished she would leave.

  “I thought you wanted to patch me up,” she reminded her, hoping to speed up the process and send her on her way.

  Amy hurried to the bed and placed the first-aid kit on the carpet, taking Hannah’s foot into her hand. “Does it hurt?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you should be more careful. This is the worst moment to hurt yourself, with your birthday coming up in less than a week!”