The Uncharted Series Omnibus

by Keely Brooke Keith

  Lydia tightened her light-blue shawl around her neck, and then hid her hands in leather gloves as she looked up at the dark clouds. They puffed in ominous billows from the south, promising cold autumn rain. A burst of wind plucked leaves from the deciduous shrubs along the road and whirled them in the air. Lydia watched the red and gold specks of foliage contrast against the dull overcast of the late-afternoon sky. She still had a mile to walk before she was home. She usually enjoyed walking and saved her hurrying for emergencies, but the more the wind howled, the more she rushed. She wanted to be home in the shelter and the warmth near her family. Being the middle of five children gave Lydia a lively upbringing, but once Adeline and Maggie had their own homes in another village, the Colburn house was quieter. Still, someone was always there. Bethany was full of life and often had a friend or two around, and Lydia usually found their conversations entertaining. She enjoyed her brother’s company too, but she believed the discord between Levi and her father was proof he needed his own house—and family.

  Lydia knew Connor would be there, but she probably would not get to speak with him much. He had gone with her father to the chapel to work every day for two and a half weeks. Her father said Connor was helping him with some of the repairs that were needed around the building. When Connor came home each evening, he sat silently at the dinner table and then retired to the guestroom for the night with the door closed. John had said Connor needed time to himself and they should leave him alone. Lydia assumed Connor was trying to avoid Levi’s glares, Bethany’s incessant chatter, and Isabella’s bizarre comments. Lydia could not blame Connor for avoiding everyone, but her curiosity was growing along with a desire to engage him in conversation. They had not spoken privately since the last morning he was in her cottage. Her imagination had carried her away many times since then. She wondered about his life and work and the world outside the Land. But no matter how frequently the mystery of Connor’s life played across her mind, Lydia had her own work to keep her busy—and for that she was grateful.

  As Lydia passed the Fosters’ property, a large dog with muddy brown fur scampered down the front steps of the farmhouse. It charged at Lydia and danced around her with its tail wagging and its tongue lapping at her boots. “Hello, Shep!” Lydia greeted the dog as she stopped to pet it. “Why, you are an absolute mess!” She wrinkled her nose at it.

  “Shep! Shep!” Mandy called as she walked out to the road. “Leave Lydia alone, you dirty old mutt!” Mandy wore a long green coat with black buttons down the front and carried a violin in a wooden case. “Hello, Lydia! Have you come to visit me?” She greeted Lydia with a hug.

  “Actually, I was just passing by.”

  “Excellent! I’m on my way into the village. I shall be your company.” Mandy wrapped her arm around Lydia’s. They walked arm-in-arm along the road just as they did when they were children. The dog followed for a short distance then turned around and lumbered back to its place on the front steps.

  Mandy flashed a smile. “Levi has been here most of the week building new cabinetry for Mother. It will be beautiful when it’s done, but for now the kitchen is an utter wreck. Mother says anything Levi builds is worth the process.”

  “I am sure she’s right.” The wind whipped a few strands of Lydia’s hair into her face. She immediately caught the hair and tucked it behind her ear.

  “Who is this traveler your father has taken in? I asked Levi about him and, of course, he won’t say a word. Mrs. Ashton told Mother she sees the traveler working at the chapel all the time—painting handrails and washing eaves.”

  “His name is Connor,” Lydia answered, purposefully omitting his surname. “He was injured and I helped him. Father asked him to stay as a guest.” Lydia tried to keep her tone nonchalant, but the desire to speak about the situation overwhelmed her.

  “Connor? That’s a masculine sort of a name. What do you think of him?” Mandy asked as she looked out across the pasture that was part of her family’s sheep farm.

  “I don’t know.” Lydia looked too, grateful for the distracting view. The pasture rolled on as far as the eye could see. The green winter grass was beginning to sprout through what remained of the summer blades. It was a brilliant contrast against the darkening sky.

  “What sort of man is he?” Mandy prodded.

  Lydia did not know how to respond. She had more questions than answers when it came to Connor. How could she tell Mandy that the man is from another land, flies machines in the air and speaks of things she has never imagined? “He is… different.”

  Mandy’s eyes sparkled as a smile spread across her face. She looked at Lydia but did not turn her head. “I see,” she said with her tongue in her cheek. “Is he likable?”

  “I’m not sure. I suppose he’s cordial.”

  “Cordial?” Mandy snorted. “I heard he is an inch taller than Levi and has deep brown eyes, full of mystery and passion.”

  “Indeed? You heard that from Mrs. Ashton?” Lydia scoffed, unable to imagine the elderly woman relating those details.

  “No, from Bethany. Is it true?” Mandy batted her eyelashes playfully.

  Lydia laughed. “I can confirm his height and the color of his eyes. The mystery and passion are Bethany’s assessment, I suppose, though she said nothing of the sort to me.”

  “Well, you rarely speak of romantic notions. You cannot blame the girl for saving her observations for a more willing listener.”

  “I have no need for romantic intrigue. I’m perfectly content with—”

  “Your work,” Mandy interjected and smiled. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to be intrigued from time to time.”

  “Ha! My life is filled with bloody bandages and midnight calls for help. I would not make a normal wife.” Lydia fidgeted with her gloves. “Still, that doesn’t mean I have nothing to say on the subject. Bethany would do well to hear my opinion also.”

  Mandy chuckled. “Indeed she would. In fact, I would enjoy your opinion on the matter myself, beginning with the mysterious traveler.”

  “Why? Are you intrigued by him?” Lydia asked.

  “Not for myself.”

  “Not for me either, I hope.” Lydia turned her head in the opposite direction. Her cheeks felt warm like she was blushing, but she could not imagine why. She turned her face into the cold wind, hoping to relieve the color before it was noticed. “I am concerned for him,” she admitted. “Deeply concerned.”

  Lydia did not have to look at Mandy to know she understood her seriousness and was ready to listen. “He is in great difficulty,” Lydia explained. “I don’t know all of the complications, but I know they are tremendous. I want to help him, but his problem is one that I cannot solve. When I think of his situation, I’m instantly caught between wanting to know more and wishing he had never come.”

  Mandy’s smile had faded. “So this is not a matter of romantic intrigue then?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “I must admit I’m rather disappointed.”

  Lydia looked at Mandy expecting an explanation. “Why?”

  “Oh, I’m not disappointed in you, but for you.”

  Lydia returned her face to the wind. The road sloped down as they approached the village. The rooftops of her cottage and the family home were barely visible through the trees in the distance. She would beat the rainstorm home, but the wind brought a cold mist that gave her a chill.

  * * *

  In the dark of night Connor hurried out of the gray leaf forest and to the side of the Colburns’ barn. He took shelter beneath its overhanging roof. The light rain had not hindered his covert exploration of the land around Good Springs, but it was coming down hard now and he was officially soaked. He wondered if the rain would let up soon so he could continue exploring, or if he should give up and sneak back through the window of the Colburns’ guestroom. He decided even the rain was challenging him and—even though he shivered in the cold wind—surrender was not yet an option.

  Connor leaned against the side o
f the barn and pulled a sprig of leaves out of his jacket pocket while he waited on the rain. He rubbed the leaves between his fingers and smelled the oil the leaves left behind. The mysterious gray leaf tree—it provided potent medicine, incomparably efficient fuel, and lumber stronger than metal. He could not compare its smell to anything else on earth. Strong—like the tea Lydia made from it—but pleasant.

  As he wondered what other capabilities the tree might possess, Connor was struck by his captivation by this place they called the Land. Every night under the cover of darkness, he had climbed out the guestroom window and explored down the coast and into the forest. He hoped to find answers to his questions. He needed to know the Land’s geographic location, how could he alert the Unified States military, and how could he leave.

  John had been forthcoming with what he knew: over the past seven generations the people of the Land had spread out in villages along the four hundred miles of coastline and some sixty miles inland, where a mountain range stood impassable. John had said there was no sign of human life ever having lived in the Land before the founders arrived, and to his knowledge no one there had ever encountered a person from another land—at least until Connor’s arrival.

  After two weeks of spending his days questioning John and his nights exploring, only two of Connor’s original questions had been answered. With no communications equipment available, the only possible way for Connor to contact the military was with the locator beacon—that was assuming it made it to shore with him and assuming the thief who had stolen his boots also had the beacon. He learned the ocean current around the Land churned with such fierce riptides the people dared not to go near the breakers. Boats were only used on the streams and rivers inland. The only way to leave the Land would be by aircraft.

  Connor’s last remaining question involved the location of the Land, and to answer that he needed the clouds to dissipate. Though he left the guestroom each night with the intention of charting the stars, he usually got sidetracked exploring the forest, the bluffs, and the shore. The more he had explored the Land, the less motivated he was to return to battle. His fascination with the Land soon quelled his feelings of disloyalty. As Connor breathed in the scent of the wet gray leaf trees, he acknowledged there was simply no way for him to leave the Land. He glanced down at the soft wings woven into the material of his jacket. That symbol once meant everything to him—and it still should—but without a way to return to duty, he had to distance his mind from his first love: flying.

  Connor heard someone inside the barn, so he walked beneath the eave and around to the door. He stepped inside and saw lantern light illuminating one of the horse stalls. “Hello?”

  “In here.” John’s voice called from the back of the barn.

  Connor walked through the outbuilding, which was ripe with the mixture of hay and manure. He found John in an empty stall seated on an overturned bucket, prying rivets off a saddle strap. Connor propped an elbow on the open stall’s gate.

  John glanced up briefly then continued working. “Did the rain hinder your efforts this evening?”

  “For now.” Connor mindlessly swirled the gray leaf twig between his fingers. John pointed to a tool on a shelf beside Connor. Connor handed the tool to John and wondered why he was in the barn in the middle of a rainy night mending a saddle. Connor noticed the next stall over was empty also. “Where are the horses?”

  “Lydia’s horse threw a shoe yesterday and she left him with the farrier. She took my horse tonight.”

  “Lydia is riding a horse in the rain in the middle of the night—right now?”

  “Someone needed medical attention.”

  “It seems dangerous for her.” Connor was surprised by John’s lack of concern. “Does it bother you?”

  “Lydia is one of the strongest riders I know.” John held the tool closer to the light and scratched something off its surface. “When she is called upon to treat the injured or ill, she can ride her horse through a foot of mud on the forest path at night so fast she always beats the messenger back. She is careful and independent and dedicated to her work. She left to apprentice with Doctor Ashton when she was sixteen, and I learned then the surest way to rile Lydia is to stand in the way of her work.” John blew out a breath and looked at Connor. “And yes, it bothers me. But every village needs a good physician. It just happens that in our village the person called to that position is my daughter.”

  Connor shifted his weight and leaned his shoulder against the rough stable wall. Though he had quickly sized up everyone in the family when he first entered the Colburn household, Connor assumed he would not be around long enough to get involved personally. But like the Land, he found the Colburn family too fascinating to disregard. He thought the multi-generational mix of personalities fit together in a way that felt both seamless and polarized. There was the blind great-aunt who remained disconnected, yet forcibly involved; the adult son desperate to protect the home he was trying to leave; the baby of the family, awkward in her newly adult body but too energized to sit still long enough to know it; and the smart, independent physician who had been emancipated only to her father’s back yard. They all had a place in the family, but Connor recognized their collective significance was empowered by John’s leadership.

  Connor looked at John and considered the man who was the family’s patriarch. He was also the village’s overseer—not simply by right of birth but by natural inclination. He exuded a fatherly presence that Connor—having never known his father—craved. Connor found himself absorbing John’s wisdom and strength, and he also desired the overseer’s approval.

  “The rain will not end tonight.” John stood from the overturned bucket and snapped the mended saddle strap a few times between his hands, testing the strength of his work. “It will continue at least another day.”

  Water rhythmically pelted the roof of the barn. Though Connor thrived with a challenge, even he knew when to resign. “Yeah, I guess I’ll go back to the house.” He stepped away from the stall and tapped his knuckles on the splintered gate. “Good night, John.”

  * * *

  Lieutenant Justin Mercer leaned his back against a frigid, steel wall. He had already waited an hour in the dark corridor below the flight deck of the aircraft carrier. His legs begged him to sit on the cold floor, but he was determined to show his superiors he was physically recovered from the crash and fit for duty. He stood at attention when the conference room door opened. The rear admiral and other officers walked out and passed without acknowledging him.

  “Lieutenant Mercer,” a man called from inside the room as an ensign held the door open. Mercer gave a nod of recognition to the ensign and walked to a laminate conference table. Commander Jenkins and a civilian psychiatrist sat at the table.

  Mercer’s commanding officer looked at him. “Lieutenant Mercer, this is Deborah Davis. She is a civilian psychiatrist from Washington who is aboard for research purposes, but she has offered to help you through this situation,” Jenkins explained.

  The woman motioned to the chair across from her. “Have a seat, Justin.” She wore wire-rimmed glasses and had her hair pulled tightly in a low bun. “I have gone over your medical files and I’m familiar with the crash.” She peered over her glasses at him and then swiped her finger across a tablet’s touchscreen. “This says you were stranded at sea for thirty-six hours before the rescue. Those are the hours we are going to focus on together.”

  Mercer was not going to let them do this to him again. He ignored the psychiatrist and glared at his superior officer. “Commander, we have been over this several times. I know what I saw. There was land. I was completely alert during the descent. I know Lieutenant Bradshaw is there on that land. I saw him drift toward it.”

  “Lieutenant Mercer, we have searched extensively for Lieutenant Bradshaw and for the land you reported seeing. There is nothing out there but ocean for hundreds of miles.”

  “But Commander, we know the South Atlantic Anomaly disrupted the aircraft’s readin
gs and may have caused the malfunction that engaged the ejection system. Maybe the radiation could also be interfering with the readings from the platform. There is land out there. I just know it.”

  Jenkins sighed and leaned back in his seat. “Lieutenant, I understand the trauma you suffered from the crash. I expected you to be confused and frustrated after such an experience, but we are too strapped for resources to placate one grieving officer any further. We have recovered most of the aircraft and even parts of the ejection equipment. There is no way Lieutenant Bradshaw survived. He has been declared dead.” Jenkins paused when Mercer dropped his head into his hands. Jenkins lowered his voice. “We left a monitoring unit at the rescue site. We have four stations globally that will continue surveillance in the area via satellite for any atmospheric irregularities. Believe me, the Unified States government wants to find the land you reported. But unless Lieutenant Bradshaw’s personal locator beacon is activated in the next few hours, we have to move on. You have to move on.” Jenkins stood and motioned to the psychiatrist. “Ms. Davis is here to help you. We need you back in the cockpit, Lieutenant.”

  Mercer did not stand when his commanding officer left the room. The psychiatrist began asking questions about his feelings and his memories after the crash. His thoughts drowned out her voice in his head. All he could think of was the green of the trees and the clear, blue waterways of the land he saw from above. During the two-mile descent under the parachute, Mercer had focused on that land. What he saw was real. Bradshaw was there. He had to do something to get back to that land. He would go to the admiral himself if he had to. He would make sure they found Bradshaw and that beautiful land.

  * * *

  Lydia inhaled the cool air and delighted in the dry atmosphere cleansed by two days of rain. She loved the way the street’s cobblestones gleamed as she walked from her family’s home at the edge of the village to the library. The chromatic drama of the changing landscape caught her eye as she shifted a stack of books held in the crook of her arm. The reds and oranges of the changing leaves seemed to wave to the unflinching evergreens. The gray leaf trees stood thick and silvery, fully equipped to keep their foliage through the coming winter.