The Machine (preview)

Happy 4th! The following is a snippet from my upcoming novella, The Machine. The featured artwork was also created specifically for this story (something I’ve been working on since almost a full year ago, but had to set aside for the trading card game project.)

Feedback of any kind on this story (and the artwork) are welcome.

Preview of “The Machine”:

Milly braced her head and her whole body tensed, knowing full well the impact was going to hurt like nothing else. Her body burst through the tree canopy and snapped through several limbs. Or had they snapped through hers’? One foot caught and she tumbled head over heels the rest of the way.

Stunned to be alive, Milly lay amidst falling leaves. An unfamiliar world spun as her left ankle throbbed. But nothing seemed broken or impaled. She should’ve died; Maybe she had.

And she couldn’t shake the feeling that if someone would’ve just taken her hand, she’d have been okay.

Milly found herself in a tuft of purple grass. Above her was the most colorful tree canopy she’d ever seen – like Autumn in the Spring, only twice as vibrant.

Ornamental grass had to come from somewhere, she supposed. But where was here? She sat, shaking the debris from her peach summer dress… which gave her pause. She hadn’t worn this dress in years. Then her hair tumbled into view, long and wavy. With wonder, she raised a pair of soft, delicate hands to her face. Her age had somehow at least been halved.

Impossible, of course. But the pain argued this was no dream. It must be the afterlife, she concluded. I shan’t expect it to be what I was… expecting. Indeed, there were no golden gates or white clouds or fire and brimstone, though the fact she’d fallen here–and could still feel pain–did not bode well. She’d been a good girl in her short life. Well, reasonably good. Though, truth be told, sometimes her parents didn’t know what to do with her.

“So why not dump me in the middle of nowhere, then?” her voice echoed. No answer.

A sense of loneliness crept in. The forest was ancient, overwhelming. A place left undisturbed. The sylvan surroundings bore an eerie solitude, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. Did her parents have any idea where she was? Weren’t they worried sick about her?

Milly put weight on her sprained ankle and winced. When she stood, the forest plants shimmered like some gaudy mall Easter display, only far more elaborate. Far more. She was beginning to understand how Alice must’ve felt after falling down the rabbit hole.

Something dashed by. She could’ve sworn it had a shadow-black body, but its head blazed blue. And she was fairly certain it had no face. Why, it couldn’t have been much taller than a toddler.

“Wait, wait,” she called, but her injury proved too much. Stumbling, she’d lost track as quickly as it appeared.

Then she laughed. What was she thinking, trying to trail after some unknown creature as if it were the white rabbit himself?

At any rate, that settled it. She was indeed somewhere else. And the first point of order was to scout for a makeshift crutch. With luck on her side, she’d find a clearing and flag down a low-flying plane. Perhaps create a smoke signal. With luck, this whole ordeal would be over and done with before nightfall.

Then again, if this were the afterlife, would it be wise to attract more attention?

She paused at the thought, only to be interrupted by a noise in the distance–a twig snapping, leaves rustling. Operating on pure instinct, she ducked into the underbrush, still as a cat, and watched.

If she were in Wonderland, what emerged must’ve been her Jabberwock, a towering, fearsome creature whose head of green, unkempt, gnarly hair went raking against the high canopy. Its humanoid, milk-white body was encased in a smooth, shiny carapace black as a widow’s mourning dress. It had two impossibly long feminine arms ending in cruel, claw-like fingernails, while eight slender legs extended from its hips and oversized abdomen: long, spindly, and spider-like, stabbing with surgical precision at the ground below.

The nightmarish creature snuffled the breeze and paused, stalking with shiny red eyes. And when it inspected where Milly had landed moments before, she couldn’t help but gasp.

The creature snapped its gaze and prepared to lunge.

Milly stumbled back, heart hammering against her ribs like a caged animal. She turned to flee, crawling on injured leg through a maze of moss-covered roots and dense, tangled undergrowth.

She made a good deal of headway until a sticky substance snagged her arm, halting her in her tracks. No, it can’t be. But she knew by the way the strand glistened in the stray beams of sunlight and how insistently it clung to her skin. She screamed and tried to jerk her arm free, but the silken web only stretched and clung with more fervor.

A tingling sensation traveled up her arm and reached her shoulder. She tugged again at the web, harder this time, but it further tightened its grip.

The creature closed in to loom over its prize, webs dangling like gossamer curtains from its thin, black, human lips.

Milly clawed around the underbrush to find something. Anything. She wheeled around with a sturdy stick, but the armor-like chitin deflected the blow like nothing.

With a bemused smile it snatched the makeshift weapon and tossed it aside like yesterday’s refuse before spitting more webbing on her, pinning her every limb to the ground.

She struggled beneath an unsympathetic pair of ruby eyes as a solitary claw-like fingernail extended toward her arm. Milly turned and closed her eyes hoping she’d wake from this terrible dream, but a painful prick met the surface of her skin. A cold numbness spread and she felt herself being pulled into the creature’s grasp.

All she could do was whimper as it rotated her wriggling body with expert precision, wrapping her from head-to-toe in layer upon layer of webbing.

But before the creature could envelop her in total darkness, there was a screech as if it were in sudden pain. It dropped Milly and she hit the ground with a grunt.

She thrashed and rolled until dizzy, putting distance between herself and the creature, but a pair of long nimble arms recovered her near effortlessly, stowing her on its back like a precious parcel.

There was a sudden upward force when it lunged into the nearest tree. Whatever had attacked must have spooked it because it was now on the move, gliding from treetop to treetop.

The scent of smoke caught Milly’s nose. Her eyes traced a wisp to a bleeding, smoldering wound in the creature’s carapace. Another fire arrow sailed overhead and she felt a swell of hope, redoubling efforts to get free.

The creature hissed and increased its pace, and young voices could be heard in the near distance.

“It’s got one of ours,” said a boy. “We can’t let it get away.”

“I know, Owen,” said a girl, “But this darkling’s fast. Maybe too fast.”

So, this thing’s a darkling, is it? Milly cried for help and strained to see who had spoken. Whoever it was had British accents, just like hers’. Perhaps they knew the way home.

“We hear you,” cried a third voice, a different girl. “Hold on!”

The voices faded as the darkling quickened its pace through the treetops, moving like a skilled dancer. The passing branches whipped and tore and beat at the cocoon, peeling loose some of the silken thread.

Milly managed to wriggle an arm free to grasp at the foliage, hoping she could slow the creature down. The branches tore from her grip and bloodied her hand, but she didn’t let it deter her. A second attempt fared no better. But the third time, she caught a branch with dense growth and squeezed with all her might. The flesh tore and burned with white hot pain as her hand slid to the end, but her efforts were just enough to throw the beast off-balance.

The darkling lost its footing, barely recovering within the limbs of the next tree. It hissed in anger and reached for her when a burning arrow found its mark in the darkling’s exposed skin, separating the two of them midair.

“Smashing shot, Jen!”

The creature crashed through the branches, plummeting to the forest floor like a rock. Milly fell away from its grip and went into a helpless freefall for the second time that day. With a lurch and sudden jerk, the cocoon spun and unraveled. She bounced hard with a grunt and rolled, but there was enough silk left to cushion her fall. The darkling… wasn’t so lucky.

Milly found herself face-to-face with two girls and a boy who looked her age. Well, half her age, anyway. Weapons aside, they wore typical European street clothes, but their faces each bore three strange markings. “W-where–?”

The blade in the boy’s hand seemed to wink out of existence.

“Are you okay?” the shorter girl asked. A flame disappeared from her hand and she rushed forward.  

“I think so,” Milly replied, still in a daze. But her hand was wet with blood and pain throbbed from within her grip.

“We’re too close to the Nightlands,” said the boy who must’ve been Owen. He looked around warily. “We should go.”

“Well,” said the shorter girl, “Pick her up. What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing,” said Owen with a shrug. He started toward her.

“Look out!” said the taller girl, drawing her bow.

In a flash of blue energy, Owen’s sword returned to his hand and the shorter girl tugged at her arm. But it was too late.

Milly felt herself lift from the ground and her stomach dropped. Another darkling had snuck up from behind, this time a male. With her in its grasp, it retreated from the hunters through the thick foliage.

This darkling was less graceful than the female, plowing its way through dense vegetation with a gigantic stumbling stride, snapping twigs and rustling leaves as detritus crunched underfoot, causing Milly’s already battered and bruised body to take more punishment. She tried to wiggle free from the creature’s grip, but it proved far more unyielding than the last.

And then they were out of the forest, in pastoral grass. The full light of the noonday sun caused Milly to squint, then she could see they were headed toward a wide channel of rushing water.

It leapt over without hesitation and they landed on the far bank as an arrow narrowly missed its mark.

But the sky had gone from midday to midnight in a blink–It wasn’t her imagination. The sunlit land behind her faded from view. There was no color to this new landscape. It was a gray, rocky wasteland which reminded her of death. This had to be the Nightlands.

She saw the trio of hunters reach the embankment. Owen jumped into the river, but the girls yelled and screamed, beckoning him back. The taller girl continued her volley of arrows, but something was wrong. Were they giving up?

“Sorry, miss. We’re so sorry!” cried the shorter girl, falling to her knees in defeat.

A lump formed in Milly’s throat. This wasn’t like the storybooks at all.