Terra's Call (TetraSphere Book 1)

by P. T. L. Perrin

  TERRA'S CALL

  TetraSphere

  Book One

  P.T.L. Perrin

  Copyright © 2016 by Patricia T.L. Perrin

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Apart from well-known locales that figure into the narrative, all names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2016

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902808

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, SC

  ISBN-10: 1530024196

  ISBN-13: 978-1530024193

  123 Mesa Street

  Scottsdale, AZ 00000

  www.FallingAnvilBooks.com

  Edited by J.K. Edits

  Cover Design by Ewald Sutter, Azar, Trostberg, Germany

  Photographs licensed from Shutterstock.

  For Bill, my love, my long-suffering husband and chief encourager,

  and for my Creator, whose work I am, and whose work this is.

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  TERRA'S CALL

  “Do you realize where you are? You’re in a cosmos, star-flung with constellations by God. A world God wakes up each morning and puts to bed each night. God dips water from the ocean and gives the land a drink. God, God-revealed does all this. And he can destroy it as easily as make it. He can turn this vast wonder into total waste.” Amos 5: 7-9 (The Message)

  ONE

  JEWEL AMARYLLIS ADAMS

  Crash! The empty mug slips from my hand, shattering on the floor. Seconds later, the pantry wall slams shut, leaving me with nothing but questions.

  I had come to the kitchen to get some hot tea and a cookie. The anticipation of starting school tomorrow had my stomach tied in knots, and I couldn’t relax enough to sleep.

  I set the kettle on the stove, switching on the burner to heat the water. I grabbed a cookie from where Mom keeps them, in a UFO shaped cookie jar that Dad made her when they were dating. They met at a UFO conference, of all places.

  I was reaching for a mug in the cupboard, when I overheard Wolf talking to my father in the basement office. The secret stairs leading to the office are hidden behind a wall in the pantry, but they apparently forgot to close it, as well as the office door, because some of what they were saying could be heard very clearly.

  I heard Wolf say, “The watchers told Sequoia it’s nearly time. Things have been escalating these last eighteen years. Will Jewel be ready?”

  “How? How do we get her ready for this? We have no idea what she and the others are supposed to do,” Dad answered.

  Wolf must have walked to the other end of the office because his voice faded and all I heard was “... the fate of the world rests on them...”

  That was when I no longer felt the mug; only remembering it as it shattered on the tile floor.

  I clean up the broken shards as quickly as I can, turn the burner off, and head to my room without the tea. One question reverberates in my brain and promises to keep me awake all night. What do I need to be ready for?

  I crawl into bed and fight the sheet and blanket in my effort to get comfortable. Sleep eludes me. What are the watchers Wolf mentioned? And who are the others? What are we supposed to do? I wish I hadn’t gone to the kitchen. I wish I hadn’t heard any of it.

  ~~~~~

  Dad was in his lab this morning—it’s where he hides when he wants to avoid questions. Mom fussed over me, all the while pretending she couldn’t hear anything I asked. I’m no closer to any answers about what I overheard last night. On top of that, I still can’t believe my parents enrolled me in school. I don’t understand Mom’s and Dad’s reasoning for no longer homeschooling me, but it’s done and they aren’t budging. It’s my first day at Blue Mountain Mission School, and I’m already tired. Who can sleep with the world’s fate hanging over them?

  I can get through this. I repeat the words like a mantra in my head. The truth is, I don’t want this. None of it. I want to go back to homeschooling. I’ll try one more time to convince Mom to let me finish high school at home; as if that’ll do any good.

  The lunchroom is crowded with kids I don’t know and probably don’t want to know. I can’t be sure, of course, because I can’t see them clearly. I’m wearing one of Dad’s inventions: a pair of glasses that dampen colors by limiting the wavelengths my eyes can pick up.

  “Don’t take them off, even for glances, Jewel,” he’d said when he gave them to me. “It’s important that you don’t see everyone’s auras and equally important that no one see your eyes.”

  He’d wrapped another of his inventions on my wrist and told me that it won’t come off without a special code. I don’t mind. The stylish wristband looks like a fitness monitor and I can use it as one. A smooth, hard face displays the time and date or, with a touch, can show the number of steps I’ve taken or how many calories I’ve burned. It’s waterproof, weatherproof, and loose enough to wash under it in the shower. It’s also so comfortable I can wear it to sleep. Dad designed this one to open a direct mental link to my parents. “Remember your Morse code, and contact Mom or me at any time. We’re here for you, sweetheart.”

  Sure you are, Dad. Then why aren’t you answering my questions – like why we moved from Asheville to the Cherokee reservation? Why isn’t Mom homeschooling me anymore? What were you and Wolf discussing last night?

  I can do this. I can survive lunch. I can make it through today.

  A couple of kids vacate a table near a window that overlooks the courtyard. I take it and set my tray next to the window. The salad is better than I expected, with a variety of fresh, crunchy veggies. People leave me alone, which suits me just fine. No one is looking, so I tap out dash-dot-dot, or “D” in Morse code, on my wristband.

  How’s it going, sweetheart? His voice is clear in my mind. Are the glasses working well?

  They’re working, Dad. I don’t see anyone’s energy fields. In fact, everything looks quite dull. Is this how you and Mom see the world?

  Not quite as dull, I’m sure, he replies. However, we’ll never be able to see the colors you do.

  I jump when a tray clatters to the floor behind me.

  A girl’s
voice shouts, “Oh, Bullhorn! Paxton, come help me pick this up!”

  Talk to you later, Dad, I say and quickly press the face on the wristband to end the conversation.

  A tall boy sets his tray on a nearby table and turns to help a short fireball of a girl with long hair so bright that my glasses barely mute the red. He bends down and picks up the scattered dishes with no sign of annoyance. I would be annoyed. He wipes a strand of unruly hair out of his face. A cafeteria aide hurries to help with a broom and dustpan.

  When the three of them clear everything up, the girl marches to the lunch line where some kids move aside to allow her to replace her spilled lunch. They’re smiling, so she must be popular. Before I can look away, the girl turns and looks directly at me.

  She has remarkable eyes. I can see them glow even through the glasses. I squirm, turn back to the window, and wonder who she is. The sound of a chair scraping the floor startles me.

  “Hi,” the redhead cheerfully greets me as she sits, uninvited, across the table. “I’m Sky, and I’m new here. One of the kids told me you’re new, too. So what’s your name?”

  I shrink away from her and look down at my lap. It’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to someone my age. Fourteen years, to be exact; ever since that incident in the park when I was three. Mom and Dad kept me away from other people after that, and I’m not sure how to act around other kids.

  The girl hesitates and tilts her head at my reaction, then sits back, smiles and says, “Oh, I see.”

  What is she talking about? What does she see? Is she reading my mind? Peace washes over me. I can’t explain it, but I feel as if my secrets would be safe with this stranger. I badly want to take my glasses off and really see her, but Dad’s warning flashes like a neon sign in my head. Don’t take them off.

  “I’m Jewel,” I tell her. Her smiling eyes are large and almond-shaped, like mine. I can see that they’re blue, but what shade? My glasses prove to be effective color dampers. Mine are turquoise with flecks of gold. And yes, eyes can smile with or without the assistance of the mouth.

  The boy (her boyfriend?) is alone at a table next to another window. He reminds me of a misplaced surfer, with tan skin in striking contrast to his blond hair. He openly stares at me, but for some reason I don’t feel uncomfortable.

  “Um, Sky, is that boy with you?” I ask my uninvited table companion.

  She turns to look, waves at him, and then turns back to me. “That’s my brother, Pax. My twin; my very tall twin.”

  “Why is he staring at me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re a girl and I’m talking to you?” she mumbles through a mouthful of sandwich. I feel more at ease with her and sneak another look at her brother.

  Boys grouped at a corner table joke and posture loudly. Attention hounds. Of course, everyone notices them. Only one girl sits with them, next to a guy who seems to be egging the others on. She’s not playing along, but she is staring at me. What’s with all the interest in me?

  Oh, great. She’s up and heading this way. She walks, hips swaying, past tables and pushed-back chairs. Her gait is sinuous and draws the eyes of many of the boys in the room. I look down and hope that she’ll glide right past us, but she stops next to my chair.

  “Hi, Jewel,” she says. “I’m Marla Snow and I’ve been assigned to show you around this afternoon. We share the next class together. Are you about ready?” There’s a tiny sibilance in the way she says some words that disturbs me.

  Sky gives me a blank look. Why is Marla ignoring her?

  “Thanks, Marla, but I’ll leave when Sky is finished with her lunch. I’ll meet you in class,” I retort.

  Marla shrugs and walks away. As soon as she’s out of earshot Sky whispers to me, “There’s something off about that one. I can’t feel her.”

  What a strange thing to say. I don’t pursue it because Sky is frowning, and for some reason so am I. She turns to look at her brother, who grabs his tray and comes to sit with her. She visibly relaxes, and the tension I feel is draining away. Odd.

  Pax is as striking as his sister. His large eyes are ringed by thick, dark lashes, the same shade as his eyebrows. I can’t tell what color his eyes are, only that they’re lighter than Sky’s. I like the way his long bangs fall over his left eye, and I like the way he’s looking at me. I want to see his colors.

  “I’m Pax,” he says. “Your name is…?” I nearly miss the sniff because it’s so subtle, but I can tell he’s smelling me. Ewww. I’m not wearing any perfume, but at least I did shower this morning. He doesn’t look disgusted.

  “J-Jewel. Jewel Adams,” I stammer a bit. I haven’t spoken to a boy in fourteen years, either.

  Before we can talk about anything, the bell rings. It’s time to discard our lunch debris and head to the next class.

  The hallway is crowded with noisy kids banging locker doors and rushing to class. A boy as tall as Pax strides with confidence toward us. Pax greets him, and the two turn and head down the hall. Am I crazy, or did he have the same size and shape of eyes as Pax and Sky? And me? I notice his short, dark hair and the way it curls along his neck and around his ears. I think I’m experiencing sensory overload.

  Sky walks with me to my next class, Advanced Biology, and I’m happy to see we’re in it together. Biology has always been one of my favorite courses, and I wonder if being a science geek is hereditary. My mom has a Ph.D. in genetics. Dad is an astrophysicist and an inventor. I can’t tell which he loves more.

  We find two desks next to each other and take them. I spot Marla sitting across the room. The teacher, Mr. Abrams, explains our course of study, and I soon realize that I already know all of the material. It was the same in my first two classes, Physics and Human Geology. One of the benefits of homeschooling is that I have always been able to set my own pace, and for the last two years, I’ve been taking college courses along with advanced high school classes.

  My hands are in my lap, and I tap the bracelet, dash-dash for “M.”

  Hi, honey. Mom’s voice in my head sounds like she’s standing behind me.

  Mom, I’m so far ahead of everyone. I won’t learn anything I don’t already know, and I’m already bored out of my mind! Please, please get me out of here!”

  There are many more things that you will learn in school than you can at home. Important things. Stay alert and observe. Interact with others. I guarantee you will not be bored for long. I can hear the sympathy in Mom’s words, but I’m not comforted.

  TWO

  It feels good to be outside on a Saturday morning without the glasses that my father designed for me. I take a deep breath of the humid air and can’t get enough of the vibrant summer colors. Hints of the coming autumn peek through the leafy shades of green in touches of reds and yellows. How do people live in the shadows all the time? How will I survive an entire year in school wearing glasses that turn everything nearly monochrome? One week down, many long months to go.

  The swing on the porch looks inviting, and I sink into the plush cushions, pushing myself back and forth with a toe. I’m frustrated that my parents are avoiding my questions. If I approach them with anything, Dad disappears into his lab or spends more time at the observatory, and Mom always finds a way to change the subject.

  Looking off the porch, the meadow grass is thick and rich in the lingering summer heat, alive with the life-forces of small animals. A squirrel stills, sits up, and sniffs the air before it resumes its search for buried treasure. A mouse scurries into a hole, while a red-tailed hawk circles above and screeches. Their bodies glow like overgrown fireflies. I breathe in the peace of the moment.

  A wall of trees surrounds our property, cut by a path that leads through the woods to the twins’ house. Sky is in most of my classes and we meet for lunch every day. It’s only been a week, but I like her company. She and Pax don’t look much like twins, the only resemblance between petite Sky with her long red hair, and tall, blond Pax being the shape of their eyes – huge and slightly tilted,
like cat eyes. I see the same shape on myself when I look in the mirror.

  High above the meadow the silver disk of my lonely Sentinel glows in the sunlight. Mom and Dad don’t see it. Dad says it’s cloaked, which makes it invisible to most people. The hawk flies below it, scanning the meadow for food.

  I catch the glint of an aircraft over the trees to my right and look for it. The local Cherokee have a regional airport in that direction and often fly their small airplanes near here. However, this one isn’t making any noise. Where’s the sound of the engine?

  I watch it clear the treetops and my jaw drops. I can’t believe it. A second silver disk rises to the level of my Sentinel and floats next to it. Where did it come from? Why is it here?

  A movement in the woods catches my eye. There! On the path. Is that a ball of fire?

  Fire in the woods? Oh, God! My parents! My toe catches on the deck the wrong way as I lunge out of the swing and end up on my hands and knees. The door is only a few feet away. As soon as I get my clumsy feet under me and reach for the handle, I hear Sky’s voice shout from the fireball, “Hey, Jewel!”

  I turn to look at her, and she is aflame. Yellow and orange streaks shoot up through the glowing red nimbus of hair streaking behind her in the wind. She slides her bicycle to a stop in front of the porch steps.

  “It’s a beautiful day, want to ride with me?”

  I have never seen an aura like hers. It ebbs and flows around her body in shades of indigo, purple, gold, and yellow. Her head glows like a bonfire, made more vivid by the brilliant red hair. Rainbows play over her hands like miniature ribbons of an Aurora Borealis. Does everyone at school glow like this? I wouldn’t know since I never take Dad’s glasses off until I’m at home. I’ll remember to thank him for the monotone refuge they give me around people.

  “Do you mind if we just sit quietly for a while?” I ask. My hands and knees are still stinging from the fall. Did she see that? I’m such a klutz.