The Chronicles of Trellah, Book One: The Perpetual Rain

by T. S. Graham

  “How did the Trellians get rid of them?” Sophina asked.

  “The Vikings were so blinded by drahtuah that they focused on nothing else. Families were splintered as each individual went off with their collection. Not a single child was born to them, and they eventually grew old and died, miserable and alone.”

  Sophina now understood how important it was that no one else from their world be allowed to learn of this place.

  “From that tragedy the idea for a Protector class was born,” Mrs. Tanner continued. “To keep history from repeating itself, it was decided that only a select few should know the truth about what happened. Generations passed through an education system that was designed to deny the holocaust, and before long the time of the Vikings faded into legend. Other ‘truths’ were created to keep the commoners from unearthing what remained of the drahtuah. For example, it’s widely believed that a demon dwells beneath this valley, and to disturb the soil more than what it takes to plant the crops will release it upon the offender’s family.”

  “All of that to keep our world a secret?” Sophina asked. She couldn’t recall the last time she had been this absorbed in a story.

  “Yes. And it worked—until two hundred years ago, when a rogue Protector named Hashak broke his oath and visited our world. He returned with a man named Mosi, a slave from the American South who had escaped to Maine via the Underground Railroad. Hashak wanted to use Mosi to destroy the Umbyans, and promised him all the drahtuah his heart could desire if he did as he was told. But, unlike the Vikings, Mosi had an exceptional tolerance to the radiation.”

  “Like you and me?” Sophina asked.

  “Perhaps even more so,” Mrs. Tanner resumed. “When Mosi arrived at the Ice City, he chose not to massacre the Umbyans as Hashak commanded. Instead, he stayed with the Umbyans, who welcomed him as a god who had been sent to them from the heavens. Mosi ruled the Ice City until his death last year, and during that time not one attack was carried out.”

  “Last year!” Sophina exclaimed. “But that means Mosi lived for over two hundred years. That’s not possible!”

  “Drahtuah can double the life span of someone from our world,” Mrs. Tanner explained, “but it can’t make us live forever. The Umbyans believed Mosi was immortal, and accused the Trellians of casting a spell over his body. Their rage has intensified since the snows stopped falling on the summit, causing the ice they depend on for shelter to soften and start to crumble. They’ve attacked every night for a week now, and they won’t stop unless the spell is rescinded.”

  “Why doesn’t someone tell the Umbyans the truth?” Sophina asked. “That Mosi wasn’t a god.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Mrs. Tanner told her. “The Umbyans have no knowledge of what drahtuah can do to our people—and it must stay that way. Mosi allowed them to think he was a god because he feared that the truth would spawn more violence, with both sides using drahtuah to gather armies of invincible warriors. Instead, he made a pact with the remaining Protectors to keep what had happened secret, as long as they promised to never open a portal again.”

  Sophina looked up to the spot where the deathly fireball had taken flight. She could just make out the distant towers and battlements of the Ice City.

  “What happened to the Protector who brought Mosi here?” she asked.

  “Hashak was imprisoned within the cathedral. He died alone and bitter, having not seen the sun for over fifty years.”

  Sophina again faced the red-hot orb that was lodged in the hillside. Beyond its glow, she saw something move among the behemoth trees. As her eyes adjusted to the murky backdrop, it became clear that what she was seeing was actually many things.

  “Are those . . . people in the trees?” she asked, not wanting to trust her eyes.

  “I wish they were,” Mrs. Tanner answered. “There was a time when they were like us, but that time has passed.”

  “They’re necrahs, aren’t they? Like the old man in the cavern.”

  Mrs. Tanner nodded. “Beyond the firelight walks an army of tortured souls,” she said. “The fabric that separates our world from that of the dead is difficult for them to materialize through. So they come here instead, to blindly search for what they couldn’t find in life. They resent the living, and will stop at nothing to snuff out their life force. . . . In our world they’re rarely seen, and never for more than a fleeting glimpse. We know them as phantoms, spirits, or ghosts. But here . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if terrified by the very thought of what she was about to say. “Here, they’re called monsters.”

  Gooseflesh crept across Sophina’s skin as she watched the dead skulk through the trees. A glimpse of an arm, a flash of a drawn, leathery face—that was all she could pull out of the shadows. “That’s why these fires can’t burn out,” she realized. “If they do, those things will attack all these people.”

  “In Trellian culture, suicide is honorable only if done to save the life of another,” Mrs. Tanner explained. “Allowing the city to go dark would be mass suicide without that purpose.”

  The most disturbing thought yet stirred within Sophina, one so upsetting that she could hardly speak. “This whole thing is pointless, isn’t it?” she mumbled. “How can Eliot be alive when those things are out there?”

  “The dead of our world never stray far from their body’s resting place,” said Mrs. Tanner, trying to sound upbeat. “They remain in the valley, where the lands of our worlds intersect. Only one type of necrah will venture beyond what is familiar to it, and they are extremely rare.”

  Rare, maybe, but Sophina knew what Mrs. Tanner was referring to.

  “You’re talking about a watcher, aren’t you?”

  The answer showed in Mrs. Tanner’s eyes. “Watchers are different from other necrahs,” she explained. “They focus all of their hatred onto one person, and come to this world only if that person does. Your watcher always knows where you are, and will try to follow you wherever you go. Eliot will be quite safe where he is . . . as long as you’re not near him when the sun sets.”

  “But what if he has his own watcher?”

  “That’s not likely. Watchers are said to be fiercely territorial and would never allow another in their midst. . . . This one claims you stole his daughter, but clearly he’s confused. My guess is that he was a former resident of your house who died long before you were born, and far away from Thomasville. His spirit may have wandered for years—perhaps even decades—before returning to the house. Instead of finding his family, he found yours and, most importantly, you instead of his daughter. Perhaps he even blames you for her absence.”

  Sophina flinched as Mrs. Tanner touched her shoulder. The air she breathed was warm and humid, but her fingers and toes were ice-cold. The old sailor’s spirit had been following her for some time, perhaps throughout her life, and knowing this nearly caused her blood to stop flowing.

  “Sophina, I tell you this because I want you to have no illusions about what you’ll face if you don’t change your mind. The Elders gave you permission to join us, but that doesn’t mean you should. You’ll be no less of a sister to Eliot if you let me bring him home.”

  The word terror didn’t begin to describe what Sophina felt. Still, she knew that a mountain loomed before her, both literal and figurative, and she had to climb it no matter what.

  “Perhaps we should get some rest,” suggested Mrs. Tanner, sensing that her attempt to sway Sophina had failed. “Tomorrow will be difficult, regardless of your choice.”

  “Rest? But what if there’s another attack?”

  “It takes the Umbyans hours to load their catapult,” Mrs. Tanner assured. “We’re safe for now.”

  Sophina followed Mrs. Tanner across the turret to the bed of pelts, where Talfore and Jantu were eating magenta fruit speckled with green seeds. The smell of the fruit was sweet, yet cloying and decidedly unpleasant.

  As they sat opposite their hosts, Tahra leapt from Jantu’s lap and landed upon Sophina’s shoulder
. He investigated her neck with his nose as Mrs. Tanner unzipped a canvas suitcase and pulled out a vacuum-sealed smoked chicken.

  “I keep a stockpile of supplies here,” explained Mrs. Tanner as she peeled back the wrapper. “There’s plenty of food and water here for both of us.”

  The sight of the chicken made Sophina’s mouth water, and its hickory-smoked aroma made her stomach rumble with hunger.

  “I eat nothing from this place,” Mrs. Tanner elaborated as she handed Sophina a drumstick. “It takes time to adjust to the proteins and fibers that have evolved here. I’ve been told that the process is quite painful.”

  Sophina was sure that no food had ever tasted so good, and it didn’t take long for her to strip all the meat from the bone. Only then did she realize that Talfore and Jantu were watching her with great interest.

  “What is this animal you eat?” Jantu asked with wonder. “I have not been allowed to watch Kate eat before now.”

  “It’s called chicken. It’s a type of bird.”

  “Birrrd?” he tried to repeat.

  “That’s right.” She giggled at his interesting pronunciation. “They have wings like your Sorian gliders, but they’re a lot smaller.”

  “Ah, so you shoot them down from the sky.”

  Sophina couldn’t help but smile again. “Chickens can’t really fly. Most of the time they just walk around on the ground.”

  Now Talfore looked perplexed. “The gods must want this shicken to be food for many things,” he observed, “if they gave it wings that do not work.”

  This time, Sophina stifled her laugh. To explain that chickens didn’t fly because people bred them to be that way would be challenging at best, so she decided not to try. Still, it was nice to have her mind occupied with something frivolous for a change.

  “What’s that called?” she asked them, nodding at the smelly fruit.

  “It is called kutah,” answered Talfore with a flash of magenta-stained teeth. “It has fed my people since time began.”

  “It smells lovely,” said Sophina, with no attempt to veil her sarcasm. “Too bad I can’t try it. I’m sure it tastes like chicken, anyway.”

  Jantu leaned forward and sniffed the air.

  “But your shicken is not like kutah,” he said with a puzzled look. “Why would it taste the same?”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t,” said Sophina. “Where I come from, you try to get people to eat things they don’t want by telling them that it tastes like chicken. It’s sort of a joke.”

  “Joke?” repeated Jantu, looking more puzzled than ever. “I do not understand.”

  “A joke is something you say to be funny,” Sophina tried to explain. “You know, to make someone laugh, like, ha ha ha.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Jantu. “I understand now.”

  “You speak English so well,” Sophina pointed out. “I just figured that you knew these things.”

  “Protectors learn what is needed to communicate,” Jantu explained. “There are many words of your English we do not know, or understand.”

  Another shell blast sounded across the city, but it lacked the urgency of the others. Sophina returned to the railing to find that the crowd was dispersing. Vendors hauled away their carts of exotic items while impatient parents waited in doorways for their children to return home.

  “The rules of Trellian religion require everyone to retire for the night at the same time,” explained Mrs. Tanner. “It would be rude of us not to do the same.”

  Ten minutes ago, the thought of sleep would’ve been unimaginable to Sophina. But after hours of adrenaline surging through her veins, fatigue had finally set in. Still, she couldn’t help but ask one last question.

  “Why doesn’t drahtuah make them stronger?” She looked at Talfore and Jantu, who were kneeling in silent prayer. Jantu’s intense, angry expression was in sharp contrast to Talfore’s relaxed one. It was obvious that their prayers were quite different in focus.

  “My guess is that it’s determined by when one is first exposed,” Mrs. Tanner offered. “If drahtuah is present at conception, at the very beginning of life, then that person develops full immunity to its powers. It’s when drahtuah is introduced later in life that we’re vulnerable to its effects, both good and bad.”

  Mrs. Tanner lifted a leather-strap necklace from around her neck. Tied to it was a vial of drahtuah powder. “Sleep with this around your neck,” she said, placing it over Sophina’s head. “By the time you wake up, you’ll hardly notice it’s there.”

  Sophina rolled the vial across her palm and studied the substance within. As Mrs. Tanner predicted, her attraction to it had subsided considerably since her arrival.

  “Keep it with you as we travel,” Mrs. Tanner said. “If something happens to me, take it to the river and use it to go back home.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We should get to our beds,” Mrs. Tanner advised. “Prayers will be over soon, and there should be no talking when they’re done.”

  Talfore and Jantu continued to pray as Sophina and Mrs. Tanner returned to the pelts. Sophina rested her head upon the soft fur and shut her eyes, hoping that the murmur of their voices would distract her from her worries. Firelight flickered through her eyelids as her mind wandered. She thought about her mom, and how frantic she must be now that she had no doubt discovered both her children were missing. Her reflections then turned to the old sailor. What circumstances in his life could have caused him to become what he was now in death? She didn’t know the answer, but was sure it had to be something horrific.

  Despite these surreal thoughts, Sophina soon drifted off to sleep. Her dreams transported her home, where she stepped into Eliot’s sun-drenched bedroom and woke him for school. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. They went downstairs and ate breakfast with their parents like they had done so many times before. Mom grinned as Dad flipped bacon onto their plates straight from the griddle. Sophina’s flopped onto the floor, sparking bouts of laughter that they couldn’t control. Nobody spoke, because each one knew what the others were feeling; they were just happy to be together.

  * * *

  Hours later, Sophina awoke to the distant roar of an unearthly beast. She clung to the blissful images of her dream, but they soon faded from her mind’s eye. Her tear-filled gaze found Mrs. Tanner’s suitcase, which lay unzipped beside the pelts. She couldn’t see the vials of powder hidden within it, but she knew they were there. She crawled to the suitcase, reached inside, and fumbled around until she made contact.

  Sophina withdrew to the pelts, slipping the stolen vial into her cloak pocket as she went. She fell onto her side, heart thumping in her chest, sure that Mrs. Tanner’s voice would call out at any moment, and that she’d receive the scolding she so deserved.

  But the reprimand never came. Sophina closed her eyes and wondered why she didn’t feel more guilt over what she had done. She had never stolen anything before, but her gut told her that she would need this second vial, as well as the one that was already around her neck. She couldn’t risk being denied if she were to ask for it properly.

  Perhaps it was the effects of the extra drahtuah she now held close, but it didn’t take long for Sophina to discard these troublesome thoughts and slip back into unconsciousness.

  Sadly, the dream she had hoped would return eluded her.

  * * *

  Sophina woke to find the Keeper standing over her, gawking with stark disapproval at the rain boots she had placed beside the pelts.

  “These won’t do at all,” the Keeper grumbled. “You’ll die on the mountain with those things on your feet. You’ll slip and break your precious neck.”

  The Keeper hurried off into the spiral corridor as Sophina sat up to find Talfore and Jantu nibbling on more kutah fruit. Mrs. Tanner stood at the railing, gazing out at the myriad stars that still filled the sky.

  “What time is it?” Sophina asked.

  “Just after four,” Mrs. Tanner replied. “We have to leave at first light.” Sh
e stepped to her suitcase and retrieved a miniature box of Cheerios. “I hope you like dry cereal. Harbor Grocery doesn’t stock vacuum-sealed bacon and eggs.”

  Sophina was happy to accept the cereal, even if it didn’t smell as enticing as smoked chicken. She ate fast, chasing each mouthful with a sip of the bottled water that Mrs. Tanner had set at her side.

  The Keeper soon returned with a pelt of gray fur in one hand and a bowl of what looked to be the tubular monster’s tongue secretions in the other. She set the bowl down and sliced into the pelt with a stone cutting tool, using Sophina’s boots as templates.

  “Trust me, you’ll love the boots she’s making for you,” assured Mrs. Tanner, offering a boot forged from the same material to Sophina. “Here, run your fingers over the sole.”

  Sophina tried, but her fingers got stuck where they landed. She was sure they were bonded in place by some sort of glue until she lifted them straight off the material with no effort at all.

  “This leather provides more traction than any material I know of,” Mrs. Tanner explained. “With these on our feet we can climb terrain that’s much steeper than we could otherwise.”

  The Keeper cut several more pieces from the pelt with the precision of a master craftsman. She then used a stick to spread the gelatinous material around the edge of each piece and fitted them together to form two seamless boots.

  “Gather what you need,” the Keeper growled as she pushed the finished product into Sophina’s hands. “The sun will soon chase the necrahs back into the mires where they belong.”

  Sophina slipped the boots over her feet and found them to be the most comfortable things she had ever worn. The fur that lined the insides made it feel as though she was standing on air.

  Mrs. Tanner handed Sophina a fresh bottle of water and two protein bars. She then took a small mirror from her suitcase and held it up to Sophina’s face.

  The eyes that peered back at Sophina glowed just as vividly as Mrs. Tanner’s, but her brain still wanted to see them as they were before. The effect made her dizzy.