Klone's Stronghold

KLONE’S STRONGHOLD

by

Joyce Reynolds-Ward

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

Klone’s Stronghold  © 2018 by Joyce Reynolds-Ward.

Cover image by Roslyn McFarland

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Distribution is handled by the author, and all requests for redistribution should be directed to the author.

To Phyllis Irene Radford….mentor, dance teacher, and most importantly of all, inspiration and beloved friend.

THE HANGOUT

Gonna be a nice weekend for the Mudhole show! Trina said from the front passenger seat, half-turning her head so that I saw her in profile. Don’t you think so, Rocky?

Probably, Rocky said absently, focusing on the two-lane country road winding its way through grassy farmlands and occasional oak patches. Might get a little coastal fog in the morning, though. The Hangout’s close enough to the Coast Range for that. You did bring warm coverups, right, Reeni?

"You’re never going to let me forget that raft trip, are you? I bit back the sharp edge that threatened to creep into my voice. Rocky hadn’t known me before Karl, King of Glamping. I know the coastal climate. Trina and I used to camp at Cape Lookout all the time. I just didn’t know about desert climate then."

Before Karl. Before husbands. I studiously stared at the patch of bigleaf maple trees that sheltered a farmhouse as tension tightened my gut. It’s going to be all right, I told myself. You’re entitled to a life after Karl.

Trina slapped Rocky’s thigh. That spare tent and sleeping bag we brought for Reeni were originally hers, goofball. Just because Karl didn’t camp doesn’t mean that Reeni hasn’t.

Rocky laughed. Being chivalrous meant I froze my butt. Just making sure. Sorry, Reeni. He slowed the car. Crud. Protestors. Better get down, Reeni.

That tense sensation in my gut cinched down tighter. Another worry. The Mudhole band catered to halflings and supernaturals as much as they did full humans. It made for a fun show, but….

Not everyone was tolerant of tolerance.

Can you see who it is? I asked Trina.

She knew what I meant. Yeah. She leaned forward as Rocky slowed even more, following the line of cars turning onto the gravel drive leading to the Hangout. Might be all right. Looks like it might be just the usual land use protestors.

Now those were protestors I could handle. The Hangout wasn’t particularly popular with two of their conservative farm neighbors. As a result the number of shows like the Mudhole’s three-day festival were limited.

Whew. I settled back in my seat. Still, slender strands of tension threaded through my gut. I wasn’t going to dismiss that worry until we were complete inside the venue. Something’s wrong. I didn’t know what it was. Yet.

Don’t get too comfortable, Trina cautioned as we drew closer. There’s more than the usual protestors—oh crud.

Right then I almost threw up. What?

Anti-supernaturals. She peered closer. And they’re not all white—shit! Reeni, get down! Religious and I think I see your uncle!

Shit! I lay flat on my side in the back seat, pulling the just-in-case blanket over me. Anyone besides Jayanesh? I asked, once I was certain I was covered. Dread cinched tighter on me. This weekend was supposed to be fun. Not a family intervention.

Sheriff’s keeping them back, Trina said. But yeah. Pastor Ananda’s there.

My parents? I choked back the sick bitter taste in my mouth.

No—wait. Your father.

Great. My fists clenched tight as the car inched ahead, I heard the shouts as we drove by—not specific words but the smooth, silky tones of Pastor Ananda’s voice almost made me retch.

At least they apparently couldn’t see into the back seat. But I lay still and kept the blanket over me as the car inched ahead, voices fading and gravel crackling under the tires.

We’re out of their sight now, Reeni, Trina said. It’s safe.

Good. I heaved a relieved sigh and tossed off the blanket, sitting up and taking a swig off the blue and silver metal Mudhole water bottle that had come with the tickets.

Safe now.

But something still lingered, my body unwilling to believe I was completely free of worry after all. No safe place for Reeni-Not-Good-Enough, a part of me wailed.

Stop it, I told myself firmly, like I would say to one of my former students locked in an emotional loop. Think about the show ahead and the fun. Three whole nights of Mudhole Mania!

It was going to be a welcome break from the mess of the past few years.

Trina must have sensed my tension. She undid her seatbelt—something that made me briefly uneasy even though we were only going five miles an hour—and turned to face me.

"I’m so glad you could finally make it to a Mudhole show! You’ll love the Hangout. Their best performances are here."

That would support the argument that Sharli’s a woods elemental. I waved my hand at the trees around us.

No, she’s not! Trina bristled, thumping the back of her seat. She doesn’t act like one!

I bit back a grin. Easy to get Trina going on this subject. We had an ongoing argument about whether all the Mudhole performers were strictly human or if a couple of their players were elemental or supernatural beings, with all the drama that non-human status implied.

I don’t know, I said. Some of those notes she hits are…they’re pushing the limits of the human voice. Not to speak of the sounds she could coax out of her violin.

She’s too nice—she can’t be a woods elemental!

"Elementals can be good and bad, I said firmly. While not every elemental or supernatural was human-friendly, as I’d learned over the years, I wouldn’t class Sharli as one of the nasties. If you listen close to Sharli’s violin solos, you’ll hear that she’s not just an elemental, she’s one of the kindly ones. Most woods elementals are that way."

Kind of funny to hear you defending elementals after what your folks and Karl put you through, Trina grumbled.

I won’t turn into my parents. And if Karl’s an elemental…. My voice trailed off. What if my stalker ex-husband was an elemental? What kind would he be?

No matter. Human or elemental, he still was a jerk. All the same, if ever there were someone who could be a hidden and anti-human Red elemental, it would be him. He’d denied any supernatural origin and I’d never had the courage to seek out the practitioners who could confirm my suspicions. Based on the BS I’d learned in Pastor Ananda’s church as a kid, though, I suspected that if Karl was an elemental, he would have to be one of the worst sorts. I’d just as soon not know that.

Trina frowned. Then she perked up again. If we can get into upper parking soon enough to pitch our tents on the edge of the lot, we won’t even have to go to the main meadow to hear the music. You can listen in camp if you don’t want to be part of the crowd or if you’re worried about running into Karl.

Why would I worry about Karl? This isn’t his favorite music. I stuck my head out the window to look ahead in hopes that I’d finally spot the entry gate. No such luck. An unending line of cars extended ahead of us until the road rounded a corner. I sank back in my seat.

Hopefully this music festival was everything Trina and Rocky said it was. I needed a break. An even better break would be if I could join Trina and Rocky on their three-week vacation following the band’s late summer tour. But between the divorce, Karl’s constant stalking despite restraining orders, and my lack of a job with school starting up in two weeks, I couldn’t afford to follow the Mudhole tour. The only reason I was here now was Trina’s giving me a supposed extra ticket. I suspected she’d bought it for me.

We suddenly lurched ahead all of one hundred feet.

A green-shirted woman with CREW printed on it above the Mudhole logo held up her hand to stop us. She didn’t hide the tendrils of vines woven around her head that marked her as a woods elemental.

We’re almost to the gate staging, Trina said. So you’re not worried about Karl?

I shrugged. "His Royal Highness, Karl the King of Clean, isn’t gonna be here. It’s outdoors, it’s camping. There’s heat, bright sun, and dust. He’s not a jam band fan, either. I think I can count on his not being here."

I hoped. Despite my fervent denials, there was the tiniest tendril of doubt coiled within me. Karl’s behavior had been surprisingly unpredictable since our divorce. Whenever I saw him, he acted more and more like what the scare tales from church described as a blood elemental.

You said that about the last Stompers show, Trina said.

I hated it when she was right. I’m thinking that the combination of outdoors plus the whole camping thing will keep him away.

Well, if you see him and we aren’t with you, don’t hesitate to call Security.

The woman waved us on. We inched to a fork in the dusty road. A short, thick-bearded man with gray strewn throughout his long hair and beard flagged us to yet another stop. His ORIGINAL CREW shirt was magenta—not dangerous blood-red—and rainbow suspenders held up his dusty, ragged knee-length cutoffs. A brightly psychedelically painted water truck chugged up the hill, spraying water. The truck jockeyed back and forth to saturate the intersection, turned around, then headed down the other road. Then the thick-bearded man ambled over to the car.

Overnight or day? he asked. A strong, musky aroma wafted from him as he leaned into the open window and looked around the car. Any alcohol or other contraband? His eyes met mine and I flushed, warmth flooding through me in a way it hadn’t since before Karl came into my life. Silly Reeni, I chided myself. He’s just doing his job. The last thing you need is another involvement.

Overnight, tent campers. Rocky fanned out the gorgeously embossed 3 x 7 tickets for the three of us. No booze or any other contraband.

Okay. He surveyed the interior one more time. I folded the blanket so he could see we weren’t hiding anything. Looks good. Remember, no fireworks or outside alcohol. Smoking or vaping pot and/or tobacco allowed in designated areas or your tents. You’ll hang a right turn and folks will direct you from there. Bracelets at the front gate. Gather on! His eyes met mine and once again I felt the glow of an enormous blush welling up.

A special wish for healing for you, lady, I almost thought I heard him say. I raised my brows at him, and he smiled. Elemental? No, he didn’t have the feel about him that I associated with elementals. But he spoke inside my head, just like Karl had. What did it make this guy? An elemental after all? Most elementals didn’t have the power to speak without words, at least the non-Reds, and this guy didn’t have the feel of a Red. He lacked that ambiguous frisson of danger Karl projected. Or had the stress of losing my job on the heels of the divorce finally pushed me over the edge into craziness?

No imagination, I thought I heard again. The man winked at me and stepped back, waving us on before turning his attention to the next car. I shivered again.

He could be something else. There were other supernaturals besides elementals.

Rocky turned right. A green shirted woman pointed us toward a four-row line.

Trina wrinkled her nose. Phew! That guy’s sure got a strong scent.

Rocky shrugged. He’s been out in the sun and even though it’s mid-morning it’s hot. What do you expect?

Yeah, but he needs to change his deodorant, Trina countered. And what’s with all the hair?

Geez, woman! Did you see his logo and those rainbow suspenders? He’s Original Mudhole Crew, from the old days. It’s a point of pride for them to grow their hair that long.

Original Crew or not, he needs a bath, she countered. And he looks like a gorilla with all that hair on his arms and legs!

I tuned out their eternal bickering. Unlike Karl and I, Rocky and Trina’s squabbles seemed to be a part of their normal daily functioning. Besides, I certainly hadn’t had a problem with that gentleman’s aroma. If anything, I found it attractive—especially after Karl, who scrubbed himself until he exuded no scent at all. Nor was the amount of hair on Staff Guy’s arms and face unattractive. Karl obsessively shaved and trimmed stray hairs on his fish-belly pale face and lacked hair on his chest and his arms.

The voice in my head spooked me, though. Karl had talked to me that way, sniping and critiquing my smallest move. Even now I could remember Karl’s running commentaries in my head, uttering condemnations of anything I found pleasant.

But what I had just heard wasn’t Karl’s voice; it carried the same Southern Celtic drawl as Hairy Original Crew Guy possessed when speaking out loud.

Get over it, Reeni, I thought. What kind of weird person are you that you’re fantasizing about someone you just met?

Because it was fantasy. Because it was the idle daydream of a divorced woman who wanted something better for herself. Karl had been the first voice that I heard in my head, and now it appeared he wasn’t the last. That is, if I wasn’t crazy lonely and making things up to avoid the solitude. Getting involved with elementals or other supernaturals was not a safe thing to do.

Furthermore, I was in no financial or emotional shape to even think about a new involvement. I hadn’t gotten many job interviews locally, and it was getting down to the wire if I was going to have a job offer for this next school year. I’d applied for a license over the border in California and Washington, in case none of the Oregon schools would hire me.

Not that I needed to worry about getting involved. Hairy Staff Guy was probably very busy this weekend.

All the same, I couldn’t help but keep thinking about him. He intrigued me. Maybe I just needed to relax, cut loose, and have a fling with no future commitments.

No. Best for all concerned right now that I didn’t even dream about getting involved with someone new. Not until I could figure out what to do about Karl’s continual obsession with getting me back.

~0~

One thing about the Mudhole Crew, they certainly knew how to cram as many people as possible into a camping venue. Rocky and Trina chose our tent site on the edge of one of the grassy parking areas, angled on a steep slope above a tree-covered dropoff. At first I didn’t understand why they made this choice. I would have drug our stuff up the hillside to a more picturesque location. But from the disappointed expressions and comments we got from others as we set up, and the speed with which others pitched their tents in the little strip next to us, I quickly realized that this was a prime location. And once the sound checks started, I was amazed by the quality of the sound. We just couldn’t see the stage due to the trees.

Plus the little camp gathering was a pleasant place to be. We were part of a row of ten tents, with bigleaf maples and alders shading us from the summer sun. We crammed our two tents pole to pole and the others followed suit, using every square inch of space available. Three more people strung up camping hammocks between the trees. Trina and Rocky appeared to know everyone else in the row, except for the occupant of the one faded blue tent that had been there when we set up. I almost retreated into my tent because I felt left out. They knew everyone and I didn’t.

Hey. Reeni. Trina intercepted me just before the loneliness drove me into the tent. Let’s go explore. You need to meet people and see the layout. Come on!

So we joined the crowds wandering the Hangout. People were still setting up campsites, some elaborate with beautiful batik hangings providing shade and privacy screens, rugs over the dirt, solar-powered decorative lights, and couches that they pulled out of cargo vans. The transparent shimmer around some sites let us know that elementals were here, too. Other sites had basic tents and lawn chairs. The Hangout itself was gorgeous, the camping grounds filled with tall bigleaf maples, alders, and Douglas firs. Portable solar panels powered strings of lights along footpaths and the main roads that wound through the ravine that opened into the Hangout’s natural bigleaf maple-shaded amphitheater.

Do those solar lights really work? I asked Trina.

Better than you’d think, she said. You’ll only need a flashlight off the main path. She stopped. Oh. The Chapel looks gorgeous this year. Come on, Reeni. It’s okay now in the daylight but just wait until after dark!

I followed her onto a trail at the head of the ravine, plunging down next to a creek. It led to a wide opening next to the brook, shaded by tall mossy-barked bigleaf maple trees. A smaller stage backed into the hillside, big enough for two or three acoustic musicians. The edge of the concert area was marked by pillars with solar lights mounted into them and covered by decorative moss, flower, and glow light arrangements. The trail continued a few hundred feet further, then opened into an even smaller opening next to a shaded four-foot waterfall and into a little pond before trickling away.

The Chapel, Trina said, her voice hushed and soft. Elaborate stained glass lanterns and complex floral arrangements surrounded the five small wooden benches in the Chapel. The sweet scent of floral incense joined with the gurgling water to evoke a sense of quietness and peace. Power resided here, a projection of strength that soothed rather than frightened. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, wanting to stay longer.

I’m going to get coffee at the Chapel Stage. Want to come? Trina asked.

I shook my head. I’ll hang out here. Can you bring me back a cup?

Trina chuckled. I thought you’d like it. No problem. People either love or hate this space. Enjoy.

I sat on one of the benches and worked on breath control. Be in the moment. Quiet descended upon me. By the time Trina returned with coffee, I was ready to continue exploring. The nagging sense of dread had faded.

We went back toward the main stage. At the edge of the large