by S. L. Horne
SONDER
Rise of the Omni Series
Book 1
S. L. HORNE
SONDER
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Copyright © 2019 by S. L. Horne
All rights reserved.
Cover design by The Write Wrapping
Editing done by Killing It Write
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.
I dedicate this book to:
My Husband
For being my refuge
My Son
For being my reason to smile
My Parents
For being my rock
My Nana
For always believing in me
Chapter 1
An alarm blares throughout the room, startling Calista awake. Her heart races, pounding hard against her chest, her long wavy bronze hair spider webs across her face from a restless sleep. It takes her a second to recover from the surprise, and she presses the snooze button on her alarm clock. She needs to catch her breath before she starts her day. Laying still until the alarm sounds, beginning its song again. Pulling the covers off, she drags herself out of bed.
“Clothes,” she reflects to herself. “I need clothes.” The room feels so much colder without the sheets to hug her body. She checks the clock, plenty of time. She deserts her efforts to find something to wear and rummages through the cupboards. Her stomach tightens with the thought of food, but her brain scoffs at it. There’s no food in the house anyway, it will have to wait.
She sits where she stood. The cold linoleum shocks her rear, a painful reminder of the clothes she has yet to find, and still, she has no desire to move. She looks disapprovingly down on her bare body, speckled with freckles and skin so pale it appears bright.
The sun invades the apartment, letting her know the day has started without her. The walls seem the same; the same mess disturbs the kitchen, its counters cluttered with neglected dishes. The motivation to get anything done disappears with thoughts of the people in her life. She lays back, her spine shuttering, the cold almost stinging her skin.
A click and static fill the speakers, she chooses a record to play. Engelbert Humperdinck, her favorite singer. She finds comfort in the hypnotic rhythm of vinyl records. The sexy voice of a man with real talent, serenading her with the lyrics of a song. Somehow the music hits the spot and she doesn’t feel so alone.
She dances along with the words, swaying herself into the story, he lulls about. Romancing about a lover, about love itself. It reaches to her soul, providing a sense of peace. Dipping a brush in fresh paint, she slowly marks the blank canvas set before her. She controls the motions, stops when she pleases and pours her soul for the world to judge.
Calista chooses which parts to give, which parts to hide, and she does it gently, yet firmly. She gives her fear and pain to the brush and bears her soul to the canvas.
Looking at the stretched fabric, with only the first mark struck in its brilliant white, is overwhelming and exhilarating at the same time. Where to go next, what story to tell, what part of these emotions should she capture in this singular and still image?
The emptiness of a piece sometimes writes more than any book ever could. Calista does not create with her hands; she does not create at all. The stories are already there, she merely brings them to fruition. She searches the blank space for the depth underneath. Dipping the brush in green, she thrusts fast and thoughtless streaks of color onto an open ocean. Deep purples mimic the undertones of currents, bold smatterings of white hold the foam of waves in a timeless motion. Yellow jagged lines shock the sky out of its thunder, and a lone lighthouse stands in the distance, waiting patiently for its lost companion. The story tells itself as she paints it.
A tall, curly-haired boy stands poised in the tower, peering out at the relentless storm. He stands unaffected by the water smattering at his labors. His dark eyes and dirty blonde hair catch the light of the moon through the solitary window. Every night, and every day, the boy scans the open ocean for his long-lost twin, taken by the waves as both attempted a voyage to furthering lands in search of their parents.
Their mother and father had met at sea and fell into an unbidden love. Their mother became with child almost immediately. When the boys were born, she begged her husband to take the boys to land and raise them among other children. Their father could not change her mind and convince their mother to join them.
When the boys were striking their teen years, their father left on a journey to retrieve her, in hopes to convince her this time to make a home with him and their boys on land. But a huge storm overtook his boat and cast him into the deep. His fellow crew searched, unfounded, then returned to tell the tale of his loss.
The tower sits on a huge rock, hidden once more beneath the waves. On an endless loop, the boy recalls the day the sea took his brother as he stares out at the never-ending ocean.
“Secure the lines!” Caspian screamed at his brother, holding with his body smartly to the wheel, fighting against the constant and merciless waves threatening to take their ship. Rain abused his face, and the sky reached for the deck of the boat over and over. His brother also fought to accomplish his task while trying to stay aboard the forever tossing vessel. Water crashed from every angle, and Caspian’s voice died on the wind. Erasmus knew what to do, however, both having spent their childhood near the sea, often joining their father on the water.
A loud crack moaned through the ship and a heart-wrenching sound told the two their journey was nearing an end. The ship had struck land, chunks of the hull gushed water it was made to protect against.
“Erasmus!! Erasmus!” Out of breath and soaked through to the bone, Caspian lost his voice trying to instruct his brother. Helplessly, he watched as a snapped mast fell Erasmus and swept him off the deck into the choppy sea. Caspian scrambled to the dinghy and frantically tried to put it safely in the water. As he gripped the oar with both hands, the damage suffered by the ship finally gave way and sent Caspian and his small craft capsizing over the edge.
Cold water rushed into his lungs, darkness becoming upright, light below, eyes stinging and wood pieces from the now destroyed ship hurdled him deeper into the waves.
Weary from trying to return his head above water, it was all he could do to cast away the oar and upright himself. As his face broke the surface of the water, another wave shoved him below again. Delirious and desperate, as the waves once again pulled him down, Caspian’s head became filled with an overwhelming noise. It was clear and constant and as high pitched as the ringing of a finger on a wine glass. The sound filled his head and Caspian became overwhelmed with a fear that renewed his efforts to breathe once more.
As if a gift from the Gods, the dinghy riding the foam appeared overhead. With all his effort, he lurched from under the water and clung to the froth-covered side of the craft. Before he could taste the sweet air, Caspian heaved the salt water from his lungs, losing his grip and plunging below once more.
The sound returned to his ears, filling his head and heating his lungs as they cried out for air. His vision faltered and Caspian lost consciousness.
No seagulls called out as the nearest island was far away. The sun touched Caspian’s beaten face and the waves gently lapped at the expansive rock he laid upon.
Coughing, and unbelieving, he looked around and noticed the dinghy sitting precariously on a small bank of black sand. The storm had long
passed, and the boulder on which Caspian awoke lay upon a small and deserted piece of land. Nothing adorned its shores but deep black rock and a small beach.
Worn by the water which normally covered this island, he could see the history carved out in jutting, yet smoothed shapes. Polished to a shine, and soaking up the early morning rays, Caspian looked at the rock with a feeling of despair. What would he do now?
Setting aside any further questions, he searched for his brother. He held his hand up to fight the glare of the sun on the water and gazed out upon the sweeping view.
Slowly, he made his way to the dinghy and found, with a shock, the oar sitting innocently on the bottom! Caspian searched around again, not believing his good fortune. He climbed into the boat and continued his search among the ship’s wreckage.
Finding no sign of his brother, Caspian wrapped his hands firmly around the dinghy’s rim and cast out into the water, one foot on the sandbank his other leg shakily looped over the edge. His legs spread apart awkwardly, taking special care to glide the small craft into the sea without stepping into it himself. Memories of the eerie sound forced his heart to flop and made him avoid touching the water at all costs.
After some time of circling around the island in a spiral search pattern, Caspian became even more confused. Where had all the wreckage gone? Not a single piece of wood showed itself, not a scrap of sail drifted in the water. Growing more afraid for his brother, he scanned the horizon with desperation. Far off, he caught sun rays bouncing up in a pattern different from the rest of the horizon, like a heatwave skipping into the air. He thrust his oar into the water, ignoring the aches of his body and drove his small boat onward.
The sun rose and fell two times before Caspian could see the shore of a neighboring island. Just as he had made peace with the coming of the end of his days, the sun having turned his beige skin to a deep and painful red, his boat lurched to a halt.
The crunch of sand lifted his craft a few inches out of the water and the rocking subsided. Later he woke from his slumber to answered prayers. A lush green expanse greeted him only meters away from the sun-drenched beach where he had run aground.
He clambered from his boat, pulling it from the waters, and grasping with the little strength he had left he tripped in the sand toward the trees.
His eyes were wide, his jaw slacked open in shock as he spied fruit-bearing trees of coconuts and peaches, with vines of grapes wrapping their trunks. He could hear the rushing sound of a stream nearby and birds singing their songs.
He grabbed the nearest peach and took a bite. Juice ran down his jaw and onto his broad chest. By the Gods, he had made it!
After having taken food and rest, Caspian set off to explore the island, hoping Erasmus, too, had washed ashore on this beautiful land. However, just as quickly as he entered the trees, he exited again.
Turning around and around, the dinghy appeared on the beach once more. With a gasp, he rushed back into the forest behind him and plunged once again onto a beach. No matter from what direction he entered the forest, his boat greeted him on the other side, as if he had never left it.
Frustrated, Caspian vowed to return to the black rocked island in search of his brother. Knowing the distance and the hardship he fell upon on his last voyage, he prepared his boat. Fruit and fish for food, the skin of a passing deer used to hold fresh water, and wood in the form of fallen branches upon the uninhabited island for shelter.
He dropped his bundle into the boat and turned to gather more, but the expected sound of branches hitting wood didn’t come. Turning back, assuming the branches must have fallen from his grasp and into the sand instead, the beach welcomed him with an empty boat and deserted shore.
Frantic now, he ran to collect more branches then tossed them into the craft. Caspian watched the branches fall into the hull and sighed in relief as he saw them lying successfully in the bottom of the craft.
Placing the food and water into the vessel, he turned to collect more supplies. Proud of his resourcefulness, Caspian searched for a more permanent fixture for the encampment he planned to build and found beautifully sized stones on the outskirts of the forest. Returning to stack the stones for his mission, he jumped back at the sight of a nearly empty dinghy! Only his food, water and oar remained.
Unconvinced, Caspian looked under and around the boat, even lifting the oar to find any trace of the missing supplies.
Not giving up, he ran to gather more stones. Surely, the stones would be heavy enough not to blow away, as he assumed was what happened with his branches.
However, just as he tossed in a rock and turned to lift another, the previous stone disappeared! Caspian noticed though, as long as he did not take his eyes off the boat, his supplies remained.
Determined, and with no other choice, he gathered more stones. Surrounding his boat with them, he unblinkingly filled the dinghy. Just as the boat was as full as it could be as to still float on the water, he climbed aboard. He took extra care to not break the surface of the water with his feet. Grabbing his oar, he dug it into the sand and shoved the boat off into the open sea once more.
The sun rose and fell two times before he reached the shore of the black sands. Having exhausted his fruit and fish, not willing to sleep for fear of his supplies disappearing again, Caspian finally came ashore. With no more energy to spare, he clambered out, not even bothering to look about. Tired from the journey, he pulled the craft the rest of the way onto the beach and laid his head down to rest on the sand.
Leaves rustled in the distance as his eyes opened, crusted from the deep sleep of the previous day. Birds cried and sung their songs, and waves lapped sweetly around him. Shade had fallen on his face, and he realized where he was. Sitting up with a start, Caspian wondered if he had not imagined his journey back to the desolate rock, and was perhaps still on the neighboring island. Looking down and around, he gasped at the black sand still clinging to his body! Had he arrived at the wrong island? Jumping up to inspect things further, he noticed a large stack of stone. His stones! Those were the ones he had placed in the dinghy, only to have lost sight, not knowing where they could have gone. He turned around to look at his boat, which now lay empty once more.
Caspian understood what had happened. Something or someone had transported the branches he had originally loaded his craft with to this rock. Being of organic material, the branches grew fast and steadily into the trees they originated from. Upright and tall in their glory, were trees bearing beautiful and succulent fruits, and coconuts littered the ground below them. Vines had wound their way up the trunks, and he could see the black rock ground had split to reveal soil for the trees to root in.
The stones he had laboriously gathered, stacked neatly in an open field of grass, waited for him to work them. Struck by awe and amazement, he took quickly to work at making a proper shelter and building himself a fire. Days went on in this manner; building a proper camp and shelter. Whenever he took a stone from the pile, another returned in its place.
The fortunes were on his side, yet Caspian still longed to find his brother. Because Erasmus and Caspian were born twins, he could sense that Erasmus lived. Not able to find where his brother was, but knowing Erasmus was still alive and likely searching for Caspian, too, he decided on a plan. If he could not find his brother, he would build a lighthouse and guide his brother to him.
Long weeks and months dragged on. Caspian built his watchtower, stone by stone, making the mortar from sand and earth. With no tools to use, his hands became blistered and calloused from the labor. The cracks which had sprung in the black rock when the branches took root, also opened a freshwater stream for him to drink and bath in. However, Caspian still never touched the sea water again for fear of drowning to the sweet song he recalled often in his dreams.
With time he finished his tower and perched himself in the window where he would sit day after day. He knew his brother was near, he could feel it with all his being.
Erasmus was close by and remained so.
Just below the surface of the salt water, he watched with longing, accompanied by a beautiful siren and a man who once was a sailor.
All three looked up at Caspian with love and a great desire to be among him again, for the siren was Erasmus and Caspian’s own mother, and the sailor of old their father. They waited for an opportunity to sing Caspian the song again and welcome him into their arms.
But only with the kiss of a siren, accepted willingly and consciously, can someone take the water into their lungs as if it is air and live underneath the surface.
When Erasmus was first knocked off the brothers’ ship, their mother located him easily. At first sight, fear filled him, but the knowing presence and the smile of their father calmed him. Erasmus stopped struggling, allowing his mother to place a kiss on his forehead and hold her son in her arms once more. Together, they tried to retrieve Caspian, singing the song and trying to get close enough for him to see their faces. But debris from the ship tossed Caspian out of reach and their song only renewed his effort to break the surface of the sea once more.