Free Dirt (The Dirt Trilogy) by K. F. Ridley

towering over me. Fear seeps from my pores as sweat
runs down my neck. The disgusting scent of evil poisons the air. He
revels in his ability to terrorize me, looking me over as if I’m about
to be run through an auction, circling me.
“In a few days, you’ll change history my dear, Ashe. The
world, your world will never be the same. We’ll finally have our
place.” He takes his pale finger, with his long crusty yellow
fingernail, and brushes it along my cheek. He leans forward, his dry
red lips to my ear and whispers with a long sinister breath making
sure I hear him.“Nothing will ever be the same.”
Sickened, I remain motionless, too scared to move. He smells
of sour, dirty water. The unwashed. The unclean. The stench makes
me hold my breath. After he fills me with unrest, he walks away.
Bran follows
as the leader leaves
the room,
his black cloak
sweeping through the air. The professor gives me one quick glance,
his assignment fulfilled as if to say, “I win.”
The goons who presented me to Straif take me by the arms,
twisting and pushing me toward the door. I move like a rag doll.
Putting up a fight is futile. Beyond the tall wooden doors, I follow
the steps in which I am forced.
We walk by a huge room filled with small creatures running
about, working, moving huge pieces of antiquated ornate furniture,
laying out rugs, causing dust to fly through the air, clouding the
space. As we pass by the open doorway of the room, they freeze in
their tracks catching a glimpse of me. The apparent reason for their
duties is preparation for the big day, the day of sacrifice. Their
yellow eyes gleam as if they have seen a celebrity. Some perch
themselves on tabletops like buzzards in order to get a better look.
Their crooked smiles reveal their needle sharp teeth and they appear
to want more than an autograph. My eyes capture their every move
frame-by-frame, second-by-second.
“Move it,”
the
bulky
blond
growls
jolting
me from the
moment. “Those imps would have you for lunch if we turn them on
you and we have to keep you in one piece. At least for now.”
The guard closest to the open door sticks his huge square
shaped head into the room and yells, “Get to work, Mongrels!”
With that, the hideous wrinkled beasts begin working sporadically.
I stand out here in this world of blond beings. It’s strange, in Darby,
I felt invisible.
As I walk, the tiredness in my legs oozes through and I feel
stranger by the minute. There’s tingling throughout my entire body,
how my leg gets when it falls asleep except this strangeness covers
my entire body. I’m feverish. Maybe, I’m getting sick because I
haven’t had yellow muck in days. Straif may not have me alive
after all.
My escorts lead me down the dark corridors with only shades
of light offered by randomly lit torches. We descend to lower levels
of the caverns. My legs are heavier with each step. I don’t know
what’s happening to me, but I do know I’ve got to find a way out of
here.
I worry something dire has happened to Rowen. Will I see him
again? I knowhe won’t forget me. Something happened that night
in the hut. Something neither of us will forget.
Works of art from every period imaginable line the walls of the
huge hallways, from artists I know from my world. Michelangelo,
Picasso, Monet. Baroque, Surrealism, Renaissance. I wonder how
they acquired them. Some of the pieces cover entire walls, while
others are a few inches in diameter.
As we walk down more and more flights of stairs, we make our
way through another corridor. Then I notice two paintings, in oils.
They’re mine. The assignments from Professor Bran. “The Family
Portrait” and “My Home.” What are they doing hanging on these
walls? As we walk slowly past them, I pause briefly gazing intently
at my homework. Memories of my once beautiful home, with the
shrubs surrounding and protecting it bring a sense of peace, but as I
stare, the colors begin to move, merging together, morphing