Tarja Titan: The Terrian Chronicles, #1

By TC Marti

Abused and neglected for nearly a decade, Tarja Titan always longed for a home…

 

…But she didn't anticipate the reception she'd receive upon her return to a world she thought only existed in fiction

 

For starters, everyone in Elemental Society knows her name. Even if she has no recollection as to why. For another, she's going to a university to hone a rare supernatural ability, or abilities, she's never heard of.

 

Everywhere Tarja goes and everyone she speaks to, new secrets emerge. Like the fact she was murdered as a child and somehow here she is, as alive and well as her new classmates.

 

And this school has more secrets than Tarja could imagine. It has hidden rooms, corridors, and yeah, resident spirits love hanging out here. And they're not shy about sharing a few stories. Even if her newly-discovered godbrother is.

 

Calling all fans of E.E. Holmes' World of the Gateway and Carissa Andrews' The Windhaven Witches. If you like strong heroines, elemental magic, complex plots involving an alternate timeline where conspiracies to bring about global crises exist, and young adult fiction, or better yet YA+, given the more mature subject matter, you will fall in love with Tarja Titan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TC Marti
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201937393

TC Marti

TC Marti is an author, book reviewer, and freelance writer. When he's not writing, you can often find him in a gym lifting weights, or running miles on a trail.  He's also a huge fan of Arizona sports teams, an unapologetic Blink, and like most authors, an avid reader. 

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

TARJA TITAN

First edition. February 28, 2022.

Copyright © 2022 TC Marti.

ISBN: 979-8201937393

Written by TC Marti.

Also by TC Marti

Chronicles of Rondure

Civil War

BattleFront

Cymraeg Tales

Spirit and Fire

Elementals of Nordica

Wind Wielder

Wind Keeper

Wind Master

Wind Ruler

Sentrys of Terrene

The Last Sentrys (Coming Soon)

The Rebellion Awakens

The Terrian Chronicles

Liza Fury: The Discovery

Tarja Titan

Tarja Titan: Sophomore Year

Liza Fury - Catch 22

Watch for more at TC Marti’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By TC Marti

Chapter One | Punished

Chapter Two | Braden Hawk

Chapter Three | Spirit Elemental

Chapter Four | The Machis

Chapter Five | Eidolon Outlets

Chapter Six | Roommates

Chapter Seven | Kira

Chapter Eight | Orientation

Chapter Nine | Haunting History

Chapter Ten | Professor Saturn

Chapter Eleven | Threats

Chapter Twelve | Trouble

Chapter Thirteen | Pushing and Blocking

Chapter Fourteen | Revelations

Chapter Fifteen | Hazing

Chapter Sixteen | The Summoner

Chapter Seventeen | Warned

Chapter Eighteen | Thrashball

Chapter Nineteen | Fires at Midnight

Chapter Twenty | Accused

Chapter Twenty-One | The Intrepid

Chapter Twenty-Two | Electives

Chapter Twenty-Three | Combat Training

Chapter Twenty-Four | Flashbacks

Chapter Twenty-Five | The Walkers

Chapter Twenty-Six | Back to the Forest

Chapter Twenty-Seven | The Meeting

Chapter Twenty-Eight | Prisoner

Chapter Twenty-Nine | Rundown

Chapter Thirty | Machi’s Servant

Chapter Thirty-One | More Revelations

Chapter Thirty-Two | The Other Servant

Author’s Note

Further Reading: Liza Fury - Catch 22

Also By TC Marti

About the Author

Chapter One

Punished

Tarja Fury was not a normal girl. Since she was ten, she saw things other kids could not. A sixth sense that in time, dissipated given the mind-numbing meds her latest psychiatrist prescribed after they diagnosed her with schizophrenia.

The meds helped get rid of the spirits, or hallucinations, and disembodied voices as the doctors claimed. Sure, she still caught the occasional spirit, many of which were the subject of paranormal legends Jefferson County, Ohio, was notorious for.

The Mangler spirit over on JFK Highway that resided in a lair dubbed Bobcat Hollow stalked her one evening. Its white, owl-like face and long, winged body became the subject of countless nightmares until Dr. Reynolds prescribed this drug called clozapine.

Before he upped her meds, the faceless Route Seven Ghost also approached her in recurring vivid nightmares.

So many legends resided in these washed-up mill towns dotting the Ohio River. So much history, haunted history, lurked among the hills and backwoods. Despite her uptick in meds, a hallucination visited Tarja last night. A faceless creature, but not the Route Seven Ghost or even a female. At least she didn’t think they were female.

They kept a hood hidden over their head as they reached out to her with a formless hand. Instinct, perhaps, told Tarja not to reach back. That same, strong instinct, one she couldn’t explain, kept her from connecting with this formless soul more than once. Yes, she had this same dream dozens of times, and not a single med warded it off.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Tarja! Get up!" Bang! "Now!"

Tarja groaned and rested her head against the pillow. She closed her eyes, drew a breath, and pulled herself into a seated position.

She shivered as her bare feet touched the concrete of her unfinished basement bedroom. Tarja pulled on her robe, a raggedy hand-me-down from her older sister Stef, who grew out of it a few years back, and trudged up the rickety stairs.

Tarja’s mother, technically stepmother, Janet, shoved a piece of legal pad paper into her hand. Your worklist for the day. Stef, Liza, and I are going out, and I expect everything to be completed when we get back. Your father’s working a double. He’ll be home by noon and he expects his dinner to be ready.

Yes, Mom. May I eat something first?

Janet pointed to the steel toaster and a bag of white bread. You’re allowed two slices. That jam in the fridge is about to expire, so take what’s left and toss it.

Janet turned on her heel and swept into the small bathroom, obviously to get ready for a day at the Panhandle Trail; one of a few available places to venture in the Ohio Valley since Ohio, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania remained under strict lockdowns.

Tarja walked across the kitchen floor. At least it was warmer up here than in the basement, where the temperature dropped regardless of the time of year. She popped two prescription pills into her mouth, washed them down with a small glass of water, and prepared her meager breakfast.

The stove’s digital clock stated it was seven in the morning on this Friday in April. Stef and Liza, her older and younger sisters, wouldn’t wake up for at least another hour, or when Janet decided they needed to get ready for their jaunt onto the trail.

As she took her plate of toast and what remained of the already-expired jam, contrary to what Janet claimed, Tarja scanned her worklist.

Prepare Dad’s dinner, cut the grass, weed trim, water flowers around the flagpole and around the house, spray into the gutters; we don’t need yellow jackets building in there again this year, paint the front of the shed, get into the garage and spread two bags of river rock around the bushes out front and MAKE SURE THEY BLEND IN WITH THE OLDER ROCKS.

She was supposed to get all of this done before Janet returned how? The grass alone would take two hours and Tarja couldn’t start on it until the moisture dried after at least another four hours. She may as well begin with the shed and go from there. But even painting a layer on it would take an hour.

At least Janet’s having her spray before the jackets build. Last year, Tarja sprayed a gutter full of yellow jackets and they stung her twenty times. She went into shock that day and spent the night in the hospital.

And with so much paranormal activity in hospitals, even the strongest meds did not keep the spirits away. Hospitals were full of trapped souls and at least half of the local legends Janet and Jay resented stemmed from Trinity West, East, and Weirton Med.

Janet and Jay hated anything that had to do with the paranormal, which grew worse when Tarja first claimed to see and interact with spirits. Since then, doctors diagnosed her with schizophrenia and put her on quite the pill regimen for a then-ten-year-old girl.

One to keep the so-called hallucinations and voices at bay, and at least three others to ward off unwanted side effects like fogginess, dizziness, and to keep her blood pressure under control.

Tarja finished her toast, returned downstairs to change into a pair of Stef’s old leggings and a tee before setting off toward the shed, whose white paint peeled in several locations. Sweat rolled down Tarja’s face the second she dipped her roller into the pan it was so hot and humid, as are half the springtimes down here in Pottery Addition, Ohio.

Facing the shed, she caught the two-mile bar called Browns Island out of the corner of her eye, Griffen Island to its southwest tip, and above it, Marland Heights, West Virginia. The island was yet another place where spirits emerged. Since it acted as both a Native American burial ground and was the site of a coke plant explosion decades ago, Tarja’s body chilled from the sight of it.

She felt a pair of eyes on her back. Living eyes, stating Stef and Liza were awake. Probably spending the morning watching her suffer through her laundry list of work until they gained bathroom access.

Tarja ignored her older and younger sisters. At least until they muttered and snickered behind her back. She closed her eyes and counted to five, repeating the process Dr. Reynolds talked her through whenever her blood pressure rose.

Hey, genius, how’re you supposed to get the mower out of the shed? Stef’s mocking tone rang out.

Tarja twisted her lips and whipped around, ready to ask Stef how she knew of her next chore.

Her sister sneered and held up the legal pad paper. "I’m pretty sure Mom wrote for you to paint the shed after you cut the grass. Higher priorities sit at the top of the list, you know?"

Sixteen-year-old Liza craned her neck to gaze at Tarja’s worklist. "Says here you were supposed to cut the grass and trim the weeds first. Virtually anything to do with getting things out of the shed should’ve been the top priority."

Tarja strode toward her sisters and tried to snatch the list away, but Stef, two years older, stronger, faster, taller, and far more athletic, held the paper to where she could not reach it. Give it here.

"Or what?" Stef said. "Going to call on your little ghost friends to steal it from me?"

Tarja’s hands balled into fists. If she implied a spirit existed, Stef and Liza would run to Janet. Even if Stef provoked her into it, Tarja would end up spending time confined to a psychiatric unit because it would show her psychiatrist yet another medication regimen failed.

"What’s going on out here?"

Tarja turned, where Janet padded onto the tiny back porch in a bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head. Stef stole my worklist.

Tarja thought she’d paint the shed first, Liza said. Stef was correcting her.

Stef nodded and smoothed the worklist. "I was trying to get through her thick head that you put cut the grass before painting the shed for a reason."

Janet crossed her arms. Of course, I’d put it there. I wanted it done after she prepared your father’s dinner. She glowered at Tarja. "I wondered why the mower wasn’t running. But then I remembered you stupidly flooded it more than a few times and thought it was the case again. You painted the shed first?"

Tarja drew a breath. "Yes, Mom."

"Don’t use that tone with me."

Yes, Mom, I painted the shed first because there was still dew on the ground. The last time I cut the grass when it was wet, you locked me in my room for a week. Even worse, she didn’t even let Tarja out to use the bathroom on the main floor, relegating her to the downstairs showerhead and toilet that barely worked in the basement. Her meals? Bologna sandwiches and water, served twice a day.

If this pandemic didn’t shut everything down, she’d be in school right now instead of facing Janet. School was the closest thing that came to a solace. Not that she had friends. Stef made sure of that before graduating two years ago.

But although Tarja would be finishing her high school career remotely, going to school would’ve gotten her out of the house often at least until June. And when she wasn’t too strung out because of the meds, she was an A-plus student.

But of course, the other kids were terrified of Ghost Girl, as they called her, thanks to Stef, who let them all in as to why Tarja had to take a daily regimen of strong meds.

And in today’s world, any loner in high school suffering so-called hallucinations on a plethora of medications were budding spree killers in everyone’s eyes. Even if Tarja refused to even step on a spider.

Janet crossed her arms. "Well, that was a dumb mistake, wasn’t it? You know, Tarja, I thought this little worklist could at least get you outside for a few hours while we were hiking."

Tarja turned toward the shed. Okay, well I don’t mind getting paint on my hands.

"Well, I mind you smearing paint on my mower, railings, and porch. No, you’re going to wait until your father gets home. He’ll deal with you."

Tarja flinched. Jay Fury was not the kind of guy to deal with. Especially if the chores aren’t done after his sixteen-hour workday. It may be 2020, but Jay was old school. Unafraid to beat Tarja raw with a frying pan. Of course, he never touched Stef or Liza. Janet would kill him. But as usual, Tarja remained expendable, and she’d been on the receiving end countless times.

Freshman year, Jay beat her so badly she missed three days of school, and he threatened to lock her in the shed if she told anyone what happened. A few teachers asked, and she claimed she missed a step halfway to the basement and fell. For good measure, she sprained her ankle on purpose.

Janet noticed Tarja’s flinch and flashed a wicked grin. She grabbed her by the shirt collar and dragged her inside as Stef and Liza followed.

Let go of me. Let go of me, Tarja thought, before she realized she shouted it, causing Janet to stop and backhand her across the face.

"Talk to me like that again and you’ll wish you never crossed me, girl."

With her face swelling and neck vibrating, tears invaded Tarja’s eyes as she continued to struggle against Janet’s grasp before—

Whack!

The woman landed another haymaker on Tarja’s opposite jaw and flung open the basement’s oak door.

Whoosh!

Stef and Liza gasped. Janet even shivered as the room temperature dropped.

Clang!

Something shattered. A lightbulb by the sound of it. No, several lightbulbs.

Janet threw a concerned glance around the room before shaking Tarja. "What’re you doing?"

"What?"

"What-are-you-doing?" she said through gritted teeth.

"Nothing."

Another crack to the jaw, this one causing Tarja to black out for a second. If Janet’s other fist wasn’t enclosed over Tarja’s shirt collar, she’d have collapsed to the blinding pain. 

As the room temperature continued to drop, goosebumps emerged on Tarja’s fair skin.

Pop!

Janet’s gaze darted toward the bathroom, where a pipe burst given the now-freezing temps in the house.

Crash!

Stef shrieked as one of the end tables collapsed onto its side. The metal lamp, a copy of the Holy Bible, and a column of coasters fell along with it.

Tarja flew through the air. Janet tossed her with so much force she landed after a ten-foot fall onto the concrete. Somehow, she missed hitting any of the fifteen steps that led from the main floor to the basement. Being five feet, one inch tall, and ninety pounds had its perks.

Thanking fate that she fell onto her back, she stumbled and collapsed onto her bed. Her face battered as blood seeped from her nose. But Tarja couldn’t care less as darkness overtook her.

Chapter Two

Braden Hawk

Sure, every undercover Machi still wants me dead after I thwarted my dear cousin’s plans that landed her a life sentence in Tuhutraz Prison. But that’s for another tale. Let’s focus on the present.

Anyway, since those Machis want me dead and I have no idea where they’re lurking, I’m forced to travel like a freaking Benight. Dear Lady Trinity and Lord Stoicheia, I always feel so freaking primitive when I drive a car around as not just an Elemental, but a Level One Hundred Wind Master.

No, I have nothing against the Benights. But when given the choice, I’d rather windsurf. You know, the art of leaping into the air and soaring through the skies as though you’re riding an invisible surfboard.

But if that macho man covered in Pittsburgh Steelers tattoos walking down the street saw me in the middle of a windsurf, odds are, I wouldn’t make it out of this godforsaken Ohio Valley town that resembles something out of a Bruce Springsteen song. One of the Machis’ undercovers, what’s left of them, somewhere, would get the memo and come after me.

An old Ford Ranger pulls into the driveway of a one-story, pale yellow house, and I speed my black Dodge Challenger until I park in front of the driveway, boxing the Ranger in. I can’t freaking believe she somehow ended up with that scumbag father of mine.

There are over three-hundred-million people living in America. You’d think she’d end up somewhere else other than with the man who abandoned me and my mother when I was thirteen. The man who verbally and physically abused us both because we were abnormal in his eyes.

For Tarja to spend the last eight years of her life here?

Part of me wishes the Machis’ leader, Lord Machi XVI, succeeded in getting rid of her like they did to my mother and stepfather. Both of them died protecting her. Because I can tell you from experience that living with this piece of trash human being is a hundred times worse than death.

I kick open the door and hop out of the car. The man’s cold, gray, narrowing eyes catch mine and his sunken face morphs from anger to shock. Goodness, even outdoors and fifteen feet away he still reeks of cigarette smoke.

"Hello, Father." I step forward, hand on my golden-hilted Sword of Wind. Long time, no see. Did you miss me?

"You?" he whispers. Haven’t you done enough damage?

Damage as in clearing my name and revealing your older sister’s daughter was a whacked out, raging psychopath?

Dad pulls out his mobile phone and I know what card he’s playing before he even informs me of his intention to phone the local police.

I flash the false FBI badge my Benight friend James’ dad gifted me after I helped him apprehend Maddie all those years ago. It’s useful for undercover missions like these. "Empty threat. And I would not reach for that pistol you keep on your little end table just inside the door."

His eyes widen.

Yeah, we’ve been watching the house and they’ve told me all about how you’ve abused my little godsister. And they also informed me that I have two half-sisters, Stef and Liza. You know, had you reached out and invited me over to meet them, we could’ve avoided this little gathering we’re all about to have.

Dad chews his lip. For all he knows, I’m a cop that infiltrated Benight society thanks to my ties with a high-ranking member of the United States Air Force. Odds are, he thinks I have the legal authority to use my Sword of Wind and send a tornado through his broken-down home if he refuses my hand.

His scampering inside and holding the door open for me confirms that thought.

It’s a blessing. The ultimate blessing. Even if Lenny and Fitz stated she would not remember me given her little incident all those years ago.

The house looks as if a poltergeist had taken residence. Chairs upturned, room freezing even with my leather cloak, glass shattered everywhere, and as I walk into the tiny living room, I count at least a dozen holes in the wall.

I prod him with my sword hilt. "Care to tell me what happened here?"

Given Dad’s expression, he’s lost for words.

"Jay? Is that you?" a woman, Janet per my Sentinel spies, says.

I-it’s me. W-why don’t y-you come i-i-into the l-living room?

Don’t you want to know what your daughter did? When Janet’s bleached blonde mane swings into view with her bright blue eyes and fake-tanned skin, she freezes, fumbling the plate carrying what looks like roast and potatoes, and sending the food splattering all over the already-destroyed living room.

Hello, Janet. I extend a hand. "I’m Braden Hawk. Dad ever inform