Remnant

By Tessa Stockton

The misadventure happened while on a spelunking trip in southern Turkey. An invisible portal sent me to the center of the earth, a place known as the abyss. There, I discovered an unsustainable culture existing for centuries; a race starving underground. What unfolded next came out of the Book of Enoch.

I encountered a savage giant and learned the truth on the origin of evil. He kept me alive, and I gave him hope. I'm not sure, I may have loved him. Frightful. Still, this strange event ends in tragedy, and yet with courage.

My frail mind won't wrap around what took place. The incident, and later the outcome. I've asked myself these questions: Will we have peace when none exists? Can we find the mercy of God extended toward a group of grimy, deserted, battle-weary subterranean outcasts? A cursed remnant of giants hurled during the Great Flood to the burial grounds of The Fallen. Fallen angels who had rejected their divine stations to corrupt earth, now imprisoned under the darkest valley, awaiting their final judgment.

Between the boundary of death and life I faced them and their predecessors.

Wish I didn't, except it birthed a purpose.

Or, as my surface friend, Bart, might say in one of his pub chats. "Hey, this woman I know got rocketed through a shaft to middle earth, fought in the land of the fearful dead, met living titans scrapping for escape—using her to get there—and survived to tell about it." Popping a few peanuts, he'd continue, "What do you think about religion?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Creative Purpose Publications
• Release date: Apr 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386677123

Tessa Stockton

Tessa Stockton is a speculative fiction novelist, freelancer, and editor living in the United States. She is a former professional dancer.

Book preview

PART I

There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.

Genesis 6:4

1

The Pitch

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I PRETENDED to shift.

When I tried to move, a tiny transference occurred near my body’s extremities.

At least something joggled when I willed it.

More though, the sense of pressing through matter hampered. As if trying to walk across the flat bottom of a deep lake. With weights strapped to the feet, the water engulfed me. Only, I didn’t press or wade. I tried, yet stuck, I suspended in density. Besides, this was no lake. There was air. I could breathe. But the air was thin. I couldn’t breathe.

One minute, I hovered with a team of college students over there. Now I’m here. The students and my colleague are discernible, somewhat. They’re searching for me but I’m trapped. My mind has slowed.

I remember something.

I fell. Pitched forward into...

?

2

If I Could Take a Step Back

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CLARITY IS an elusive thing.

Still, the dull edges are getting sharper, the things defining me more accessible. Recent memories return. I remember...

I remember arguing with my colleague.

Bart! His name. Bart Ellis. And I’m... I’m Rachel. Rachel Friedman. Yes, that’s it. Confusing for a second because I seem to possess two names. That and... Okay, yes, I also have dual citizenship. My father is Israeli and my mother is Irish American. Both are strong figures and crash into my thoughts. They’re divorced. I think I’m divorced too, but that’s another story. Huh. I never took on my ex’s surname. Clever, I must have planned.

I own two passports. Right now, I am Rachel Hickey. This is significant. Surnames have a greater impact in parts of the world. I know this because... Because having grown up in Haifa half a life makes me identify with my Jewishness more. Yet I shed cultural ties when needed, to travel throughout limiting regions. Convenient, I suppose. Bart would say it’s smart and safe. I hate that about him, his logic and sensibility. I also love that about him because he has kept me out of more trouble than I care to admit. We’ve been friends a long time. We’re both archeologists. No! He’s an archeologist. I’m an... I’m a spelunker, adventuring rogue internationalist, and all-around instigator. Part unemployed, part guide-for-hire, Bart sometimes takes pity on me and pays me to speak to his university class on caving. He’s also a professor in south central Kentucky. Glad I’ve got that cleared up.

An implosion occurred contorting my body.

The surge brought a recollection to mind. The argument in the belly of an undisclosed cave.

Taurus Mountains. That’s where we are! We took an archeological trip semi-sanctioned by the government. Multiple governments. And I say semi-sanctioned, because where I am now—wherever here is—they wouldn’t have approved, recognized, or even predetermined. Every step, brush, breath, sneeze or burp, we had orders to record and report before moving an inch. The red tape grew a mile longer when we discovered, among ancient pictographs, a dried-up well in a hole within a hole, in a cavern within a cavern of folding rock.

I’m along for the ride, because I was dying to come. And because Bart, sensitive and accommodating, concedes easily. I took a risk. He hates that about me, my impetuous and stubborn nature. They are traits that have gotten me into trouble my entire life. He also loves that about me because I push forward when the rest of his world has to sit like a good little world and wait for stuff to budge.

Except for now, I’m caught in a snag.

Big, big snag.

The arid well, we learned, wasn’t dried-up, only a part. Water existed, but far, far down the hole. I’d dropped a stone before Bart protested. Minutes passed before we heard a distinct kerplunk. Next thing, I loaded on equipment and rappelled into a most likely collapsible shaft. Gingerly mind you, the shaft was narrow.

Don’t touch a thing! Bart admonished. My only job, report details as I see them and snap pictures. He opted to lower me so I could sit still and dangle. I’m not great sitting still or giving up control. I’m not in the right line of reasoning for accompanying Bart. Not as detail-oriented (obsessed). Big surprise. But Bart doesn’t care for heights or depths. Dreads them. I’m his go-to girl for such things. Besides, I was itching for another trip.

I suspect that deep behind the mask of his Grizzly Adams features, Bart hopes I would touch things, give the surroundings a stir. Otherwise, I’d not have received an invitation on this, our eighth excursion together.

A century passed before I reached the surface of the water. Mucky stuff from the looks of it, illuminated by the bulb attached to my hard hat—the only lamp I had. I created a dusting from spanking the cylindrical wall, of which upset Bart. It hurt I’d increased my girth by double by strapping on an air breathing kit among other choice tools. Nobody would expect Rachel Friedman and/or Hickey to descend without glimpsing what lingered beneath the rank water. I had taken part in a few mine diving events. The reason the students selected me to investigate this spot spur-of-the-moment. Fissures of flooded twisting rock didn’t scare me.

The first thing I noticed in the deep is no longer hearing Bart, not even an echo. Neck craned, I glanced up to distinguish the spotlight above. Nothing glared back at me, no light. Everything at the start of the shaft went black. Dark, dark, dark. That gave my heart an unexpected kick.

The cable warbled. I found that unsettling, too, along with puffs of air escaping. Losing control in this position and listening to my struggling expletives unnerved me. I tried the cave radio. As expected, it didn’t work. It never did on these mindlessly mindful expeditions.

The more the cable extended, the less I controlled. I hated this.

At last, I touched water. Cool, it gave me a jolt. Wished I dressed for the occasion. I slid on my dive mask and tested my regulator.

Good to go.

Three feet beneath the surface of the water mud stopped my trotters. Ugh! I wanted to keep moving. I was a ball, happy to bounce, roll, or chuck along, as long as I forged ahead. Perched motionless, unused, went against my nature. The cable remained taut. We’d run out of line. This is as far as I go. I spit the silicone out of my mouth.

I lifted each foot from the soggy ground responding as quicksand. After a stationary second, I noticed a slight pull in one direction. Then a current drew my body against the wall. How can that be? I bent to get a closer look. My headlamp flickered. Of course it would. I muttered a complaint while tapping on the bulb. The luminosity steadied.

Holy Moses, a door!

Covered by water to a degree, I distinguished the top of the frame at eye level.

My breathing labored as I tried to steady my nerves. I stared at the relic.

With elaborate designs etched around the casing, and what appeared as bronze antiqued with patina, a modern version of this corroded piece could sell for a high price at any of the fine shops in, say, la plaza de Santa Fe. I had to remind myself that I stood in a deep, deep well, far in the bowels of a cave in southern Taurus Mountains. This bronze shouldn’t have received the elemental exposure that caused a normal oxidation.

I glanced up top again. No movement or sign of life. My heart struck an erratic rhythm, favoring the unruly cadence like nobody’s business. Pressing my hand to the jamb, I practiced breathing.

The walls changed halfway down looking more like saprolite. My professionalism emerging, I resisted the urge to touch and probe everything.

I removed my hand from the partition releasing a crumbling five inches. Into the water a segment of ancient barrier slipped. Bart would kill me. My verbal irritation magnified into a grunt when my back bucked, arms jutting out at unnatural angles. At least someone was still alive up there and cave creatures hadn’t gobbled them all up. I’m sure Bart’s sixth sense had revved into high gear.

Oh but, no-no-no, I was not ready to leave. I fought the leveraging of the lift.

Bart must have ordered the students to raise me up from the prospective dead. The cable ascended fast.

I shouted but my voice ricocheted into a series of mad raps.

Another grunt, I did what Bart said under any circumstance not to do.

I unclipped.

Hit the water, rear sinking into the muck, head submerged.

I found my feet, springing upward before I sucked grime into my lungs, gasping as I broke over the surface.

The very hefty carabiner biffed me upside the skull. I squinted up, glaring. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Bart did it on purpose.

After a weightless yank, then pause, the cord lowered, seeking. The lifeline danced around me, dipping in and out of fetid water.

I sneezed, wiping my dripping nose with my wet hand. No way could I retreat now. Had to manage a step back though, as the current continued to pull me, along with shifting sediment beneath my feet, toward the door. Did that mean space waited behind the access or an underground stream with a strengthening flow?

Why did this narrow shaft have a freaking door? Either my imagination grew stronger, or the flow did. I may have caused an upset.

I frowned. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Ignoring the bullying cable, I scrutinized the degenerating markings surrounding the door.

The inscriptions were strange, like nothing I’d seen. Proto-writing symbols, scrolling, pointed, and wicked.

I deliberated for a second before I screwed protocol. Near jobless anyway, I unfastened the nifty jimmy from my harness. Archeologists, be damned! Gifted with the chutzpah to descend first, I wanted a foretaste before somebody took over in the name of Research and Discovery.

With tentative motions, I pried at the shaft’s bronzy door. Part of the problem proved the sludge building up along the lower half, piling fast around my legs. I needed freedom to move.

A hard blow to clear the regulator, I then reinserted my mouthpiece and readjusted the diving mask onto my face.

Beneath the surface I could hear a pulsing, the vibration of water churning somewhere close. I dug with my hands, the crowbar, and my shuffling feet. Turned into a regular maniac, bound and determined to crack open the door. The deepening sound of suction, muted under the muck but distinguishable, escalated.

A jolt of pressure thrust me against the wall. The silicone popped out. I fumbled to bring it back to my mouth. I bit harder, grasping it in place, so much so my jaw ached.

The door cracked. Another whoosh and I sailed through the opening, deeper into the exterior. Pulled, I kicked to regain the surface, desperate for a glimpse of my latest surroundings. The churning water settled into a gentle swirl around me. Streaks of headlamp light sheered vertical rock walls that widened near the top. I trod in the middle of a pool amid a room. More symbols.

I whirled, dizzy, snatching as much visual as possible.

Pictographs on the walls showed people squatting, covering their heads. My breath grew uneven by the depictions of spears and oversized weapons. I glanced upward. Etchings of gigantic beings overshadowed the submissive people. I circled, gasping. I’d once explored various parts of the Kingdom of Commagene. Those enormous stone heads and bodies of ancient acclaimed gods, such as Zeus and Apollo, and Antiochus I Theos, otherwise referred to as the God King. Carved images dating back as far as 62 BC. Except what appeared before me now proved most unusual. Maybe unknown to modern man but for me. For one thing, I advanced deep underground. For another, an unexplainable presence lingered here.

Pictures depicting domination and violence surrounded the entire chamber resembling an inverted ziggurat.

Man, if Bart could see this place!

Something snapped, blocking the inquisitive dopamine pathway to my brain. I had to have a way out.

A glance back at the door, I noted how much water still poured in. Wondered how easy I could volte-face. Then I realized, my mind didn’t tell me to turn around. The feeling in my gut did. Screamed, Get out of here, now!

A sound of suction erupted under me; the pool now a defined eddy. I had to move—had to get out. The floor sucked me down. I boxed the water to retreat to that darned door! My swimming skills faded.

I went on a spiraling express track, held in a rip current. I knew I was in trouble. What if this raging river trapped me deeper into the bowels of the mountains, or released me from a creek somewhere above ground? Bart might never find me.

I slammed into a hard surface. The impact stunned me, knocking the air from my lungs. I cuffed another edge of rock, losing against the momentum of the current. Silicone ripped from my mouth. I’d lost my tank. No more oxygen. Diver’s mask next, headlamp gone too. The space vacuuming me grew narrower. Walls closed in, smothering. A loud retch and the chute vomited me from its confines.

Free-falling, water fell away from me first in sloshes then in beads. Hurtling through a massive black expanse, I did somersaults until my gut rebelled, but I kept flying. I struggled to conceptualize gravity. Wondered, had I stopped, suspended, or still dropped? The sense of perimeters evaporated in absolute darkness. That’s when I saw Bart and the panicking students through a veil. Right there. I reached out expecting to touch a net but found no fabric, nothing.

My body, stuck in an embryonic position, floated or soared. A sensation formed in the pit of my stomach telling me I shouldn’t be here wherever here was.

Another implosion. I skittered, feeling as if captured in one of those simulator rides while the mountains collapsed.

My mind tweaked, every tissue in my body corresponding to tugging, while my skin expanded and contracted. My insides clenched and unclenched. Each contraction worked tighter and faster. Pulled upward and downward, I was coming apart. Unable to control a thing, I writhed under the discomfort growing more painful. My stomach churned, nauseous.

I moved again, propelled against a substance that didn’t want to receive me. That substance, a graying curtain absorbed by a sick, wavering light, an unnatural luminosity, scoped me as if it were alive. An all-seeing eye that discarded me, spit me out. No. It wrenched me through to the other side. Now I’m where I do not belong and don’t know how to get back.

3

There Is a First for Everything

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TODAY I THOUGHT I’d