The Scoured Circle

Soft sunlight, seeping through the intricate lattice of leaves and branches overhead, dappled the earthen floor in a shifting mosaic of light and shadow. In the bright, descending rays, a silent whirlwind of dust motes danced, a spectacle visible only to those standing within a few feet of the performance. Into this tranquil wood, a new presence emerged—a small, luminous sphere of white light. It darted playfully through the sunbeams, moving with an apparent volition of its own, stirring the motes into frantic eddies and leaving a faint, iridescent shimmer in its wake. For a moment, it froze, its motion arrested in a sudden pause, before it drifted forward once more, hovering mere inches from the ground.

It was an unexpected stage for such a display, for there on the woodland floor, a human girl lay prone. She was cast in an agonizingly uncomfortable posture, her legs twisted awkwardly to one side while her back remained flat against the earth. More curious still was the ground immediately surrounding her; it formed a flawless, scoured circle, utterly bare and devoid of the vegetation that carpeted the rest of the forest.

The orb floated closer, its approach gentle and slow. As it neared, the girl’s shod foot, which was only a few inches from the radiant ball, twitched in a spasm of returning consciousness. Instantly, the orb recoiled, soaring away to conceal itself amongst the shadowy sanctuary of the thickets.

With a low moan, Jianna stirred, one hand rising to tentatively massage her sore scalp. A sharp, piercing agony radiated from her temple, a pain so intense it felt as though an ice pick had been driven into the very center of her brain. In those first moments of waking, she was oblivious to the hard, cool earth beneath her, or to the crisp, clean air she inhaled—an air purer than any she had ever experienced.

“Did somebody get the number of that bus…?” she mumbled, her fingers probing the aching knot on her temple. She remained still for a few moments, waiting to see if the headache would recede. The initial mental scream of pain had already begun to subside, dulling to a persistent, throbbing roar. When she felt she could manage it, she cautiously pushed herself into a sitting position, her hand never leaving her head. She opened her eyes, and her breath caught. She was in a place she had never seen before, a place she could not imagine ever visiting.

Towering trees, their trunks thick as ancient columns, rose all around her, their dense canopy screening out the majority of the sun and casting the forest floor into a state of perpetual twilight. The air vibrated with the steady hum of insects and the exotic songs of birds she could not name, punctuated by the rustle of unseen creatures moving through the branches high above.

As she forced herself onto unsteady feet, she noticed that the ground where she had been lying was not grass but bare, dusty soil. A wave of dizziness washed over her, making dazzling pinpoints of light flash before her eyes. Leaning against the rough bark of a nearby tree for support, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to summon the last thing she could recall before waking up in this strange, primeval forest.

The memory surfaced in disjointed fragments. She had been on the couch in her living room, the flickering light of the television washing over her. Then, a loud clatter from the backyard, followed by a sound like something metallic being dragged across stone. Her heart had leaped into her throat. Muting the television, she listened intently, her own blood roaring in her ears. Fear, cold and sharp, stabbed through her. Someone—or something—was in the yard.

Wielding the television remote like a pitiable weapon, she had crept to the back door. Stepping onto the patio, she saw the tin trash cans tipped onto their sides, their contents strewn about. For a fleeting second, she’d believed it was just a stray cat or some other mundane nuisance. She had just reached the source of the disturbance when a gray blur shot past her. A strange, acrid powder blasted into her face, and she began to cough, her eyes watering. The last thing she saw was a peculiar, stone-gray face staring down at her. A faint, bizarre thought had drifted through her mind before darkness consumed her: There's a pet gargoyle loose. They'd better catch it.

She dismissed the memory with a forceful shake of her head. No, she thought, that must have been a dream, some hallucination brought on by whatever knocked me out. Raking her hair from her eyes, Jianna chose a direction at random and began to walk. Surely, if she just kept moving, she would eventually encounter a road, a town—some sign of civilization where she could orient herself and find a way home. The 'whys' and 'hows' of her predicament could wait. For now, with the sun sinking so quickly, survival was the only thing that mattered.

She hadn’t gone far when a voice sliced through the forest’s ambient sounds. It was distinctly male, grating and raspy, like the crunch of gravel under a heavy boot. "Where do ye think ye're goin', girl? Keep walkin' that way an' ye'll be lost for good in the Murklands."

She whirled around, her eyes darting through the deepening shadows, trying to locate the speaker of the heavily accented words.

“Who’s there?” she called out, hearing the tremor of panic in her own voice. Suddenly, every horror story she had ever heard—of lone women in the woods and the strangers they meet—came flooding back to her. “Where are you?”

A dry, rattling sound that scraped at her ears was the voice’s only answer; it was a laugh devoid of all humor. "I'm righ' above ye, iffin ye’d just bother tae look."

Jianna’s head snapped up. The sight that greeted her was so shocking, so utterly impossible, that her feet slid out from under her on the slick carpet of dry leaves. She landed with a painful thump, her rump connecting hard with the unforgiving ground.

“Two-legs,” the speaker drawled, and Jianna saw its eyes roll in a gesture of weary exasperation. “So clumsy, all the time. Need a hand walkin', do ye, girl? That bump on yer head must have ye feelin' a bit foolish.”

Jianna remained silent, all words failing her. All she could do was stare at the hideous, impossible thing perched on the branch above her. It seemed male, though its features were so alien she couldn't be certain. A small, greenish-gray face with pronounced, sharp cheekbones stared down at her, dominated by large, crimson eyes that were tilted at severe, predatory angles. Two small, pointed ears sloped up from a forehead framed by a mess of unkempt, dark gray hair. Its body was alarmingly thin, its skin stretched so taut over its frame that she could count the individual ribs beneath. Long arms terminated in large, wide hands that held fast to the branch it sat upon. The creature’s powerful legs ended not in feet, but in two more hands that gripped a limb slightly below. From its sides grew a third set of appendages, a hybrid of arms and legs, which also held the same branch as its upper hands. A thick tail, as straight and rigid as a rod, protruded from behind it. The only thing it wore was a garment that vaguely resembled trousers, though it was so soiled and ragged she couldn't be sure. He looked famished, as though he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks.

“What—what are you?” Jianna finally managed to exclaim, her voice a choked whisper.

The creature scoffed. "Ye Outrealmers. Ye dinna have a clue abou' anythin', do ye?"

“Outrealmers?” Jianna echoed, the word foreign and bewildering. She was a little offended by his tone, but far too amazed by the creature itself to truly take offense.

"Aye. Ye're from the Out-Realm. This here is the In-Realm. This is Innerworld."

“Innerworld?” Jianna repeated, her mind reeling.

The creature nodded. "Aye, Innerworld. The world inside yer own. Or one of 'em, anyway. We dinna rightly know of any others, but it's always possible, isn't it?" With that, the creature executed a strange, fluid maneuver. Releasing the branch with its hands and middle limbs, it dropped to hang effortlessly by its tail and its taloned feet. In a motion that seemed bizarrely familiar, he extended one wide, three-fingered hand down to Jianna.

“Name’s Malakor. Of the former demon clan from the Northern Wilds.”