Travellers Mission

The heady scent of the forest made his nostrils flare with appreciation. A clearing covered in soft green grass stretched invitingly before him. They would camp here tonight.

Alden Blake drew a deep breath and allowed himself a moment of quiet pleasure. After three days of travelling through dense woodland, scrambling over rocky ridges, and following narrow trails that seemed determined to lead nowhere, the clearing was a welcome sight. Tall eucalyptus trees stood around its perimeter, their silver-grey trunks catching the last golden rays of the setting sun. Ferns grew thickly beneath them, and a small stream murmured somewhere beyond the trees.

He slipped the leather straps from his shoulders and lowered his pack onto the grass.

“Well, old girl,” he murmured to the horse standing behind him, “I think we’ve earned a little rest.”

The chestnut mare flicked her ears and snorted, apparently agreeing with him.

Alden smiled and stretched his aching back. He had travelled alone for nearly a fortnight, following a route that would eventually take him across the mountains and into the country beyond. His original plans had been simple enough: find the old trading settlement marked on his map, purchase supplies, and continue north before the winter weather closed the higher passes.

But the wilderness had a way of changing a man’s plans.

The trail he had been following had disappeared beneath a recent landslide, forcing him to take an unfamiliar route through the forest. His map offered little comfort, for the country had changed considerably since it was drawn. Streams had shifted, old tracks had vanished, and several landmarks appeared to have been recorded by someone who had never actually visited the region.

Still, Alden was not a man easily discouraged. He had learned long ago that patience and a little good fortune could carry a traveller through most difficulties.

He began gathering fallen branches for a fire.

It was then that he heard the sound of hooves.

Alden straightened, his hand instinctively moving towards the knife at his belt. The sound came from the eastern trail, faint at first, then steadily louder. Someone was approaching through the trees.

A moment later, a rider emerged into the clearing.

The stranger was a broad-shouldered man with a weather-beaten face, a thick beard, and a dark hat pulled low over his brow. His horse was a sturdy grey gelding, its coat damp with sweat from the journey. A long rifle rested in a leather scabbard beside the saddle, while a canvas bedroll and several bulging saddlebags suggested that the rider had been on the road for some time.

He reined in when he saw Alden.

“Evening to you,” the stranger called.

“And to you,” Alden replied. “There’s room enough here for another traveller, if you’re looking for a place to rest.”

The stranger studied him for a moment before his expression softened.

“I am indeed. Been looking for somewhere to make camp since midday. The country to the east is rough going, and my horse has about had his fill of it.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.”

The stranger dismounted with a grunt and loosened his gelding’s girth.

“Name’s Thomas Reed,” he said, extending a hand.

“Alden Blake.”

Their handshake was firm, and Alden found himself warming to the newcomer. Thomas had the look of a man who had seen his share of hardships without allowing them to sour his disposition.

Together, they led their horses towards the stream, where the animals drank eagerly. The water ran clear over smooth stones, and Alden noticed the fresh tracks of wallabies along its muddy bank.

“You travelling far, Mr Blake?” Thomas asked as they returned to the clearing.

“Far enough. I’m heading north, though the forest seems determined to keep me here.”

Thomas chuckled.

“That’s the way of it in this country. A fellow might start out with a clear destination in mind, only to find himself somewhere entirely different by nightfall.”

“Have you travelled these parts before?”

“Once, many years ago. I was younger then, and considerably more foolish.” Thomas glanced towards the darkening trees. “I remember a settlement somewhere beyond the mountains. A handful of families, a trading post, and an old mission station. The place may still be there, though I wouldn’t wager much on it.”

Alden paused.

“An old mission station?”

“That’s what I heard. Why?”

“I’ve come across a reference to one on an old map. I was hoping to find it.”

Thomas looked at him with renewed interest.

“Then perhaps we’re bound for the same destination after all.”

Before Alden could ask another question, a sharp crack echoed through the forest.

Both men turned.

For a moment, the woodland fell silent. Even the birds seemed to have stopped singing.

Then came the unmistakable sound of a horse struggling through undergrowth.

Thomas reached for his rifle, while Alden moved towards the edge of the clearing.

“Someone else on the trail,” Alden murmured.

“Or something that doesn’t want to be found,” Thomas replied.

The words had barely left his mouth when a small bay horse burst through the trees, carrying a rider who seemed barely able to remain in the saddle.

The rider was a woman.

Her dark hair had escaped its braid, and her travelling coat was torn at one sleeve. She was pale beneath the dust covering her face, and her horse’s flanks heaved with exhaustion. She pulled the animal to a halt in the middle of the clearing and looked from Alden to Thomas with wide, frightened eyes.

“Please,” she gasped. “You must help me.”

Alden hurried forward and caught the bridle as the horse stumbled.

“Easy now. You’re safe here. What happened?”

The woman struggled to dismount, and Alden helped her down. Her legs nearly gave way beneath her.

Thomas lowered his rifle.

“Sit by the fire, miss. You look as though you’ve ridden through the gates of hell.”

She managed a weak, humourless smile.

“Perhaps I have.”

Alden guided her towards a fallen log while Thomas brought a cup of water from his pack. The woman drank slowly, her hands trembling around the tin vessel.

“My name is Eleanor Finch,” she said when she had recovered enough to speak. “I’ve been travelling from the settlement at Wattle Creek. I was told there was a track through these woods that would bring me to the northern road.”

“There is,” Arthur replied. “Or there was, until the landslide.”

Eleanor stared at him.

“Then you know the way?”

“I know something of it. Why were you travelling alone?”

Her gaze shifted towards the trees.

“Because I had no choice.”

The answer was spoken so quietly that Alden almost missed it.

Thomas crouched beside the fire and began arranging the branches Alden had gathered.

“Whatever troubles you’ve encountered, you can tell us when you’re ready. For now, your horse needs water, and you need food.”

Eleanor nodded gratefully.

As the fire caught and the first flames rose into the evening air, the clearing began to feel less forbidding. Thomas produced a small parcel of dried meat, Alden fetched water from the stream, and Eleanor sat wrapped in a blanket, watching the flames as though they held some secret she could not quite bring herself to reveal.

For a time, they spoke of ordinary things. The condition of the tracks, the coming winter, the best places to find fresh water, and the increasing scarcity of supplies in the settlements beyond the mountains.

Yet Alden noticed that Eleanor continually glanced towards the eastern edge of the clearing.

Something was troubling her.

He was about to ask what it was when a new sound rose from the forest.

A low whistle.

It came from somewhere beyond the trees, followed by a second whistle from farther away.

Thomas stopped stirring the fire.

Eleanor went rigid.

Alden looked at her.

“You recognise that signal?”

She nodded, and the colour drained from her face.

“They’ve found me.”

“Who has?”

Before she could answer, the branches at the far side of the clearing parted, and another traveller stepped into view.

He was a tall, lean man dressed in a dark coat, with a narrow face and eyes that seemed to miss very little. A walking staff rested in one hand, and a weathered leather satchel hung across his chest. Unlike the others, he carried no horse.

He regarded the campfire with an expression of mild surprise.

“Well,” he said, “this is fortunate. I had begun to think I might spend the night alone in the wilderness.”

Thomas rose slowly.

“Who might you be?”

The stranger removed his hat.

“Samuel Ward. Scholar, collector of antiquities, and, at present, a thoroughly lost man.”

Alden glanced at the satchel.

“What sort of antiquities?”

Samuel smiled faintly.

“The sort that have a habit of attracting trouble.”

Eleanor stood abruptly.

“You’re the man from the mission station.”

Samuel’s smile vanished.

“And you are the woman who took something that did not belong to her.”

Thomas’s hand moved towards his rifle once more.

Alden stepped between them.

“Perhaps,” he said evenly, “we should all sit down and explain ourselves before anyone reaches for a weapon.”

For several seconds, no one moved.

Then Samuel gave a short laugh.

“Very sensible, Mr Blake. I see that my evening has become considerably more interesting than I anticipated.”

He approached the fire and settled onto a log opposite Eleanor. His gaze travelled from her to Thomas, then finally to Alden.

“You should know that the four of us have more in common than you might imagine.”

“Four?” Thomas asked.

Samuel looked towards the trees behind him.

“Five, actually. If our last companion has managed to keep up.”

As though summoned by his words, the distant sound of a bell drifted through the forest.

Once.

Twice.

Then a third time.

Samuel’s face grew solemn.

“Ah,” he whispered. “That is not good.”

Alden listened. The sound was faint, but it carried an unmistakable urgency, ringing through the gathering darkness like a warning from another age.

“What is it?” he asked.

Samuel closed his satchel and rested both hands upon it.

“A signal from the old mission station. It means someone has opened the sealed chamber beneath the building.”

Eleanor rose to her feet.

“No. That cannot be.”

“Unfortunately, it can.”

“But the chamber was sealed more than a hundred years ago!”

“Yes,” Samuel replied. “And it was sealed for a very good reason.”

A gust of wind swept through the clearing, stirring the flames and sending sparks spiralling into the night. Somewhere high above them, a branch creaked ominously.

Alden felt a sudden chill despite the warmth of the fire.

“What was kept in that chamber?” he asked.

Samuel looked directly at him.

“That, Mr Blake, is precisely what I have spent the last ten years trying to discover.”

A new sound interrupted him.

Footsteps.

Heavy, uneven footsteps, approaching through the undergrowth.

The fifth traveller appeared at the edge of the clearing, a stocky man with a grey beard and a broad leather hat. He carried a battered lantern in one hand and leaned heavily upon a walking stick. Mud covered his boots, and a long scratch ran across his cheek.

He stopped when he saw the others.

“Thank heaven,” he muttered. “I’ve been following your tracks for the better part of two hours.”

Samuel rose.

“Doctor Morgan. You’re late.”

“Yes, well, I had the misfortune of meeting something unpleasant on the trail.”

Thomas frowned.

“What sort of something?”

The doctor lifted his lantern.

For a moment, its light fell upon his face, revealing an expression of genuine fear.

“Something that should not have been alive.”

No one spoke.

The forest seemed to draw closer around the clearing, its dark trunks forming a silent wall beyond the reach of the firelight.

Doctor Morgan lowered himself onto a log and wiped his brow.

“I don’t know what you have all heard,” he said, “but I can tell you this. Whatever was buried beneath that mission station is no longer buried.”

Samuel shut his eyes briefly.

“Then our worst fears are confirmed.”

Alden looked from one face to another. A woman fleeing an unknown pursuer. A scholar searching for ancient secrets. A doctor who had encountered something beyond explanation. And Thomas Reed, a man who had travelled these mountains years before and might know more than he had admitted.

They had arrived at the clearing by different roads, each carrying a private burden.

Yet fate, it seemed, had brought them together.

Alden glanced towards the narrow trail leading north. Beyond the trees lay the mountains, the forgotten settlement, and the old mission station where something ancient had awakened.

He had intended to spend a quiet night beneath the stars and continue his journey at dawn.

Now he understood that his journey had changed.

“Very well,” he said, reaching for another branch to feed the fire. “It appears we’re going to need a larger campfire and a great deal of explanation.”

Thomas gave a low chuckle, though his eyes remained watchful.

“That we are.”

Eleanor drew her blanket more tightly around her shoulders. Samuel opened his satchel and removed a small object wrapped in faded cloth. Doctor Morgan leaned forward, his face illuminated by the dancing flames.

Beyond the clearing, the three distant bells rang once more.

And somewhere deep beneath the mountains, something answered.

The travellers turned towards the sound.

None of them spoke, but each understood that the meeting in the forest was no accident.

Their paths had crossed for a reason.

And before the night was over, they would discover that the secret binding them together was far older, and far more dangerous, than any of them had imagined.