The Adventures of Tremain & Christopher BoxSet

by Terry Marchion

  They squelched through the muck on the embankment to their right. The water rushed around their shoes, cold and exhilarating. They moved back to drier land and followed the water along its path, Tremain looking for an easy spot to cross. They passed another copse of willows and he stopped cold. Christopher came up beside him and whistled.

  In front of them stood a bridge.

  A man-made bridge.

  One that had been deliberately placed there.

  Thick cut beams of wood spanned the tributary, topped with slats of shaved boards. Very effective and sturdy. Tremain scratched his temple as he stared at it.

  “What, uncle?” Christopher asked.

  “Well, if this were built by the colonists, I would think it would be a little . . . more sophisticated?” He said. “If not by the colonists, then who? I don’t remember hearing about any indigenous people in any history class.”

  At that, Christopher opened his backpack and pulled out his history text. He leafed through it a little, skimming the pages as he did so.

  “No, nothing in here either.” He put the book back into his pack. “It talks about some animals and things like that, but no people at all.”

  Tremain thought for a moment more, then, decision made, he stepped onto the bridge. It shifted a little under his weight, but didn’t seem as if it were in imminent danger of collapse.

  “Well, let’s go take a look at where that smoke is coming from.”

  They crossed the bridge and headed for the next grouping of trees.

  “We should stay in the trees as much as possible,” Tremain told Christopher, “Just in case we were wrong about natives. Wouldn’t do to surprise them at all.”

  Reaching the trees, they kept to the path as it seemed to be heading in the direction they wanted to go.

  The smell of a wood fire became more distinct as they walked. They could hear sounds of civilization; indistinct voices, the laughter of children, the clucking of chickens and crows of roosters. Soon the path widened and was lined with stones. Flowers had been planted alongside the stones. Tremain noted this and pointed them out to Christopher. Slowing, he turned to his nephew.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t just waltz into the middle of these people.” He whispered. “Just to be sure, I think we should see what we can see first.” Gesturing to their right, he made a show of walking quietly into the trees.

  They crept along, trying to catch a glimpse of the natives. Tremain finally stopped and crouched down. Christopher followed suit.

  Beyond the last few trees, they could see a building made of logs. They were roughly-hewn, crude windows cut out of them, a fabric covering the opening, hiding anything inside. The doorway was also covered by fabric. Beyond that, they saw the path as it made its way into what they assumed was a village. Not seeing anyone around, they moved cautiously towards the building. Once there, Tremain felt the wood, remarking on the building’s construction. Christopher didn’t see anything remarkable about it, it looked like a small log cabin. He could remember sleeping in one when he went camping with his family once. Tremain peeked around the corner and spotted some men coming down the path. Motioning Christopher to be quiet, he studied them as they approached.

  They were all tall, within an inch or two of each other in height, and were rail thin and wiry. Their clothes were woven, he could tell, but were all natural colored, no dyes or other pigments could he see. To a man, they all wore their hair long, some loose, some tied back with straps. They were also quite filthy, in varying degrees. Tremain noticed the spears they were carrying, stone tips sharpened to points. A hunting party, it seemed. Tremain whispered back to Christopher as they came closer.

  “They seem human, to be sure.” The men passed and Tremain inched out a little more, to look at them as they walked away. “Can’t tell for sure, but I’m thinking these aren’t the colonists. I don’t see any uniforms, their clothing is too primitive.”

  Christopher stared at the men as they followed the path away from the pair.

  “Who are they, then?”

  Tremain shook his head.

  “I don’t know. And that bothers me.” They left the relative safety of the log cabin and moved deeper into the settlement. Chickens were everywhere, their clucking becoming part of the background sounds. No other people were in sight, making Tremain curious. There were some other cabin-like structures ahead of them, which they used as cover.

  As they moved carefully around the buildings, they began to hear the sound of many voices speaking all at once. Tremain peeked around one last cabin. A crowd of people, all tall, thin and dressed similarly to the hunting party were gathered around the embers of a brick encircled fire pit. That was the source of the smoke, Tremain realized. He motioned Christopher forward and whispered,

  “Looks like they’re not happy about something. I wonder what it could be?” he paused, looking at the buildings and the construction. “I’m not seeing any of the pre-fabricated housing that the colonists would have had, let alone any technology at all . . . Ow! Why are you poking me?”

  He turned to look into the eyes of a native. Christopher was being held by another, his mouth covered by a dirty hand. Tremain paused just a moment before brightening. He stood and held out his hand.

  “Why hello!” He said. The other man stared at him, not moving. Tremain pulled his hand back, slowly. “I’m Tremain, and this is Christopher.” Despite his restraints, Christopher waved a hand. Tremain cleared his throat a little. “Do you speak English?” He ventured. No answer. “Ah . . . hmm, I don’t know any other language you might speak.” He scratched his temple. “Um . . . Take us to your leader?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tremain and Christopher were hustled into the center of the crowd. What children there were stared at them, wide-eyed. Women gave them disapproving looks and whispered to each other. The men holding them weren’t rough but were none too gentle either.

  They were brought before an old man on a raised chair, obviously, the leader. He was very old, Tremain could see, his hair and beard were very, very white. He was as thin as the others, but coupled with his apparent age, he looked frail. His eyes were bright blue and piercing. Intelligent eyes. Tremain could see that this man, while elderly, still retained all his mental faculties. He spoke, his voice thin and reedy, as if it took effort to speak.

  “These are the strangers, Dorin spoke of?”

  The man holding Tremain nodded.

  “They were found on the outskirts of the village, Ka-tahn.” He said. Tremain took note of the title, saying it silently to himself. Christopher stood next to him, a little intimidated. His backpack lay in the dirt at his feet. The Ka-tahn examined them for a moment.

  “You look very different from us, yet you look the same.” He paused a long while. The silence became uncomfortable, which, Tremain surmised, was the point. “Why did you cause the ground to shake? Why did you cause the darkness?”

  Tremain, surprised by the question, opened his mouth, but didn’t speak. The man directly behind him gave him a shove.

  “The Ka-tahn waits for your answer.” He growled. The old man . . . the Ka-tahn, Tremain reminded himself, raised a hand.

  “Calm yourself, Jamis,” he began, “these may be the first strangers to have ever been seen, but we can still be courteous.”

  Jamis took a step back. The Ka-tahn looked back to Tremain and Christopher. “My question remains.”

  Tremain cleared his throat.

  “Ah . . . sorry, but, um . . . we don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  The crowd grumbled, until the Ka-tahn raised his hand again.

  “Two strangers appear out of nowhere and the ground trembles. Two things that have never happened in our long history. Do you mean to tell me that the events are unrelated?”

  Tremain thought quickly. The pulse from the transmitter could have caused some sort of effect, but an earthquake? Darkness? He didn’t think so.

  “I believe I can truthfully say we did not cause t
hose things to happen.”

  The Ka-tahn looked at him with his steely blue eyes.

  “Are you sent from the Gods? From beyond the Godswall?”

  The crowd noise grew in intensity at the question. Tremain glanced around, noting the instant change.

  “Ah,” he stammered, “Godswall?”

  The crowd grew louder, moving in closer. The old man raised his staff and they quieted down. He shook his head, confusion in his eyes.

  “I know not how to proceed. There has never been something like this.”

  Tremain stepped forward a little.

  “If I may, ah, Ka-tahn,” he began, before being pulled back by Jamis. The Ka-tahn motioned him to continue. “We’ve only just arrived here. We’re looking for others like us. Dressed like us. Have you seen anyone?”

  As he asked the question, the Ka-tahn’s words finally registered in his mind. Never in history had they seen strangers. The old man simply stared back at him. “No, of course not.” He ran his hand through his hair. The Ka-tahn raised his hand, regally.

  “Take them to a holding hut. I will converse with the Mehdi shortly to decide how to proceed.” He stood. The people seemed to take that as a sign to disperse.

  Jamis led Tremain and Christopher to one of the cabins near them and pushed them inside. The fabric door was pulled closed and a man stood watch outside.

  Inside the cabin, the furnishings were sparse, but comfortable. There was a small table, made of a single cross section of a tree, planed smooth, sitting on a stump of tree, two chairs of the same construction and two cots, made of animal skins strung in a frame, both of which had woven blankets and pillows stuffed with feathers. The windows in each bare wall had their fabric curtain pulled aside, sunlight streaming into the room. Tremain immediately lay down on one of the cots, his pack tossed next to him, rubbing his temples.

  “No, no, no, no, no! This is all wrong!”

  Christopher sat on the opposite cot, laying his backpack next to him.

  “What’s wrong?” He asked. He was feeling overwhelmed and not a little scared at this turn of events, not to mention, he felt a little idiotic asking what seemed like silly questions. Tremain continued rubbing his head.

  “These people, this place!” He stopped working his temples and just stared at the ceiling. “There’s something huge I’m missing. I can feel it. Who are these people, Christopher? Are they the colonists? If they are, where’s the technology? Where are the computers? Where are the signs of a relatively modern society?” He sat up.

  “So we’re not on New Earth?” Christopher ventured.

  “I don’t know.” Tremain answered, bothered by what the Ka-tahn said. “They have never seen a stranger. Never had an earthquake before. That seems peculiar, to say the least, doesn’t it?”

  “And what about the darkness they talked about?” Christopher ventured.

  Tremain waved a hand as if brushing away a fly.

  “Oh, that’s probably some superstitious nonsense. Can’t see how the sun would have gone dark unless there was an eclipse or something.” He scratched his head. “I just can’t place my finger on why that is bothering me so much. And then there’s this Godswall thing.”

  There was a knock on the door frame. The fabric opened to reveal a girl carrying a wooden tray with wooden bowls on it. She was dressed similarly to the men, a woven fabric wrapped around her thin frame. This seemed to be a common thing with these people, Tremain guessed, all of them were thin. Not a pot belly in sight. Her long, chestnut hair was neatly brushed and tied back with a leather strap. She came in and placed the tray on the small table. Enticing aromas filled the room from the bowls.

  “The Ka-tahn asks that you take refreshment. He will come to you after his visit with the Mehdi.” She gave a short curtsy and left, closing the door behind her. Tremain sniffed at the tray.

  “Smells quite good, doesn’t it?” He rubbed his belly. “And I’m famished. Haven’t eaten all day.” He grabbed one of the bowls. It was filled with a meaty broth, with chunks of vegetables in it. He took a sip. “Oh, very good indeed.” Draining it, he reached for another. Christopher sat back and sipped at his bowl. He wasn’t feeling very hungry after all that had happened. It tasted good, however, and it was satisfying.

  “Their names are weird, aren’t they?” Christopher finally asked. “Ka-tahn . . . and what’s a Mehdi? They don’t sound familiar to me.”

  Tremain nodded, chewing.

  “I caught that too. Don’t know. I’ll have to ask when we see him later.”

  They sat in silence for a little, lost in their individual thoughts. Finally, Christopher broke the silence.

  “Uncle . . . what if we’re . . . lost?”

  Tremain looked hard at his nephew.

  “I don’t want to think along those lines, Christopher, I really don’t.” He stood and paced back and forth along the length of the cabin. “I tend to look at it this way: We created a paradox.”

  Christopher sat up a little.

  “A paradox?”

  Tremain stopped pacing.

  “Exactly. Think about it. we caused a situation where our past was erased, meaning we don’t exist. At all. If we didn’t exist in the first place . . . “

  Christopher brightened.

  “Then how could we have erased the past!”

  Tremain snapped his fingers and pointed at his nephew.

  “Exactly. Excellent deduction!” He sat back on the cot. “So I can only hope that the universe,” he spread his hands to indicate the world around them, “really, really hates a paradox and we have the opportunity to set things right. Otherwise . . .”

  “We’re finished.”

  Tremain didn’t say anything, just nodded.

  “H-how long do you think we have?” Christopher really didn’t want to hear the answer, but he felt he needed to ask all the same. Tremain raised his eyebrows.

  “How long?” He thought for a moment. “There’s no way to know. Theoretically, we should have blinked out along with everything else. But we didn’t. Which reinforces my theory about paradoxes.” He nodded emphatically. “Yes. I believe we’ve been given a chance to fix things.” He indicated the cabin and by proxy everything beyond. “But we have to figure out what all this is here, first.”

  Christopher lay back into the cot. He stared out the small window at the trees swaying. A bird flitted onto a branch and looked at him, then flitted off.

  “Do you think my mom felt it when . . .”

  Tremain’s eyes were full of sorrow.

  “I don’t think anyone felt a thing.” He said softly. “You can’t feel pain if you never existed in the first place.”

  They fell silent.

  “Have you thought about what happens if we’re stuck here?” Christopher eventually asked. Tremain didn’t answer at first. The silence grew uncomfortable. Christopher propped himself up on his elbows. “Did you hear me, Uncle? What if we’re stuck here?”

  Tremain shifted a little.

  “Yes, I’ve thought about that as a possibility, but I don’t think it’s a valid one.”

  “Why not?” Christopher challenged. “We’re still here, we haven’t faded away or blinked out, like you put it. Why couldn’t we just live here? That is, if we can.”

  Tremain shook his head.

  “I don’t think it works that way, Christopher.” He stretched a little, working the tension out of his shoulders. “I truly believe if we don’t find what we need to fix, we won’t last long at all.”

  There was a knock at the door, causing both of them to jump. The Ka-tahn walked in, leaning on a staff. The old man motioned for a chair, which Tremain pulled out.

  “My years are heavy on my shoulders today.” He said after sitting. He noticed the empty bowls. “You found our food to your liking?” He nodded. “That is good. Marta will be pleased.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “She takes much pride in her cooking.” Clearing his throat, he became all business. “I have had words with the Mehdi. S
he sees nothing but bad omens in your appearance.”

  Tremain started to say something but the old man held up his hand to stop him.

  “She sees bad omens in almost everything. If she sees the same in you then all is right with the world.” He smiled. “You have nothing to fear from me or the Ossr.”

  Tremain, relieved, had so many questions he didn’t know where to start.

  “Excuse me,” Christopher held up a hand. “What is . . . are the Ossr?”

  Tremain nodded, wanting to ask the same question.

  “Ka-tahn, your culture, your titles . . . They’re so strange, yet your people are so much like mine.”

  The Ka-tahn smiled.

  “I am puzzled by this too, but who are we to question the Gods?” He looked to Christopher. “Ossr is the name of my people. We are one tribe with three groups: Ossr, Mehdi and Ahnj.” He bowed his head, a realization coming to him. “You do not know us. You are from beyond the Godswall.” This was a statement, not a question.

  “Godswall?” Tremain asked, confused. “You said the same thing before, what is that?”

  This shocked the Ka-tahn.

  “You do not know the Godswall?” He looked thoughtful. “Even stranger. All know the wall. No matter which direction we travel, eventually, the wall appears. The Gods want us to go no further. This is our home.” The old man tamped his staff on the floor for emphasis. Tremain leaned forward.

  “What do you call this place, your home?” Tremain asked.

  “This is our home. It is the Land.” Tremain’s expression didn’t change, but Christopher could tell he found this funny.

  “The Land? How very original.” Then he winced as Christopher almost threw a cup at him. The Ka-tahn chuckled. It was a thin, reedy sound, much like his voice.

  “You are such strange people. But I find no malice in you. Tell me about your life beyond the wall.” He waited. Tremain looked uncomfortable.

  “It’s . . . ah . . . not much different than yours, really . . . but I’d much rather hear more about your people.”

  The Ka-tahn, not missing the deflection, took a breath or two before answering.

  “Ossr, Mehdi and Anhj all work together for the good of the tribe.”