The Legend of Colby Avenue

By Hannah Giesick

The Old Civilizations—The Fallen Ones—destroyed the earth with industry, technology, and innovation. When they kept on, even as the world around them deteriorated, they were taken out by Terra Firmans and Aquailans, land- and water-beings with the desire to live simple, healthy lives. But what Terra Firmans and Aquailans did not expe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doldrums' Remedial Fable Publishers
• Release date: Jun 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781947064027

Book preview

Prologue

The Fallen Ones have a well recorded history; one that can be traced back thousands of years. It is a history that followed the societal, intellectual, and technological progression of their kind, which called themselves Homo sapiens sapiens. They prided themselves as being the peak of the intellectual pyramid; a pyramid that they underestimated the size of, and their place on it….

Two other human groups broke off at the beginning of time, at the end of the sixth day, even before God took His rest. The three groups were human, but through time would be known as Aquailans, Terra Firmans, and The Fallen Ones. Aquailans and Terra Firmans lived unassuming and out of sight of The Fallen for many generations. The Fallen dominated the land, spreading out and creating things, further taking up space. For a long time, a dynamic went on: The Fallen lived out in the open, pushing the limits of their intellect and know-how, while Aquailans and Terra Firmans lived in waters and on lands considered godforsaken by the first group. But then The Fallen pushed the boundaries of their innovation and exploitation of the world too far, leading the Aquailan and Terra Firman people to have to make the boldest, most unfortunate decision in the history of their respective existences.

It’s been over four hundred years since the annihilation of The Fallen’s civilization, but the truth about what really caused their near extinction has been a long held, widely unknown secret. But truth has a way of getting out and letting itself be known, especially when it is written in ink.

1

A Legend

The man sat at a heavy wooden desk, laden with books, notes and hand-drawn maps. He had been over every piece of information in front of him numerous times and, although he knew it all by heart, he liked to keep it close at hand. The papers dissected the same Union from every possible angle: every island, every road, right down to the various houses. The topography was exact, as if inside information was given. Every tree house and pumpkin house was in order and the buildings were correct. He felt like he could navigate blindly through the researched land though he had never even been there.

The thing he wanted most in the world was there. It had to be. All given information pointed in that direction. Though he knew he was following a legend, Bilious Balfour knew there was truth somewhere in the speculation, and if the fruit of the long-worn story was anywhere, it had to be somewhere in the eight-island Union. So far, it only made sense to be there.

But here Balfour sat, far from the studied land, waiting patiently in the cool dimness of his chamber. He looked tired but undeterred as he stared across the room at the door ahead. The three fireplaces around the room were dead; however, a candle-chandelier flickered livingly, causing the mural overhead to move eerily, as if silently reanimating the story. The mural depicted an intricately detailed battlefield of The Fallen, showing much more of the gruesome side of war than comfort would suggest. War violence was only one of many of Balfour’s Fallen obsessions.

As the chandelier cast a death-glow on the war-torn walls, Balfour allowed his eyes, for the first time in more than an hour, to drift around the room: To the ceiling where the mural lives—high and domed, except the middle, which is open to the sky; the walls—the mural from the ceiling had seeped down, as if even in art war cannot be contained; the floor—marbled and polished to reflect all, so nothing is hidden; and the furniture—fashioned after one of The Fallen’s skeletal-looking eras, oh, so long ago. The room is, quite simply, fit for a king.

But the man seated at the desk deserves no less. After all, this is his island that contains his well-crafted, well-hidden domain, with his subordinates. He is the king, the undisputed ruler, the master of them all. His very presence demands admiration, respect, and obedience or…death to you.

Now, his patience was being pushed as he sat lording over his desk, his broad shoulders curled over, awaiting word from his most effectual servant.

Balfour returned his gaze to the door and rested his head against his clasped hands. His demeanor was mostly calm, but for the slight sense of disappointment and agitation coming from him.

The expected knock came to the door.

Balfour barely parted his lips. Enter.

The door opened silently. In stepped a short, red haired man. He was top-heavy, with most of his muscle mass resting around his shoulders. His eyes locked with Balfour’s behind the desk, and if Balfour looked tired, this man looked dead on his feet. His face read as that of a man in his advanced years, despite only being in his late thirties; the bags under his eyes fit to burst. And he shuffled his feet, rather than walk steadily, as he made his way to one of the two chairs in front of the desk.

Where is it, Forcraft? Have you brought me a present? Balfour leaned back in his chair as he gazed upon Forcraft with expectation.

Forcraft bowed his head and shook it. No, Sire, —Forcraft almost choked on the words— it has not been located.

Balfour quickly leaned forward, his intimidating upper body curling further in discontented intrigue. His voice was low and calm, but a steady rage emanated from his being. He pronounced each word deliberately. All I have asked is that you have it found. It really shouldn’t be that difficult a task.

Sire, —Forcraft’s breaths ran quick and his voice shook with both fright and exhaustion— they’re working as quickly as discretion will allow. There aren’t enough of them to work as efficiently as we would like.

Wrenching his gaze from Forcraft, Balfour stood and began to pace, working off the anxiety caused by his ruminating fury. What is the problem? You’ve penetrated the castle, have you not?

Yes, with your help, of course, but Sire, Forcraft said, carefully watching his master, it is not that simple. The place has been searched several times over, it isn’t in the castle. There is no trace of it, not even a whisper of recognition when brought up to the townsfolk in casual conversation!

It’s there, I know it. Balfour stopped pacing and leaned over his desk, his fists balled. "It may be hidden, it may be disguised, but it’s there and it’s your job to have it found!"

The anger in his voice rising, Balfour caught himself—he couldn’t afford to lose another servant, especially his most reliable one. This, his temper, was the very reason he couldn’t be there himself, searching for his heart’s desire. With what was at stake, he had to master his temper. He unclenched his fists and sat back down, starting again more calmly. "I’ve made this my life’s mission, Forcraft, and you know this. It’s been a long time coming for me. All the pieces are in place, all meticulously, purposefully placed. It’s there for the taking, and finally, finally, we are perfectly placed to seize it. We can’t mess this up!" Balfour’s eyes blazed with a passionate, maniacal lust.

Yes, Sire.

Forcraft knew the look in his master’s eyes; the one Balfour got right before he became reckless, the look that made him a danger to the world.

"Just find it."

Yes, Sire, it will be located.

There was a pause.

Now, GO! Balfour barked.

Forcraft jumped out of his seat, bowed deeply and flew for the door, all fatigue forgotten. As he reached for the knob, Balfour gave him parting words.

If it’s not found soon you’ll have to go there and locate it yourself. And if the situation becomes my responsibility, Forcraft, I won’t be able to forgive this incompetence on your part.

Yes, Sire. Forcraft bowed once more.

As Forcraft closed the door gently behind him, and was sure he was alone in the hall, he exhaled. He knew he had just escaped death.

2

In God We Trust

It was the beginning of June and an ideal seasonal day in the Union of Quayley: the sun was shining its approval on the land, the flowers were in full bloom and letting off their springtime aromas, the air was warm, and insects were flying about vibrantly; ships were rhythmically docking and undocking, loading and unloading cargo in Temple Bay to or from the main island of Westra; water glistened and tides crashed enchantingly as rowboats taxied residents from island to island; and the faint sound of voices could be heard wafting and waning through the streets as pumpkin and treehouses alike had open windows to welcome in outside breezes. The Union seemed quiet, peaceful, content.

But in one building on Westra Island there was at least one person who couldn’t care less about the sunshiny day. Oliver Jestcap was sitting uncomfortably in a pew. Up at the lectern, Father Dorning was droning on in his homily, something about leaving all your worries to God. Oliver heard Peter 5:6-8 recited somewhere in there, but for the most part he wasn’t listening. He was too busy worrying about his mother, who was at home, unwell.

As a Terra Firman, Oliver could smell the flowers on the air coming into the church from the door that had been left open a crack inadvertently; he could hear the buzzing of insects as they shot past that opening; and he could feel the slight and constant shifting of the almost-still air as he himself shifted in his seat. His mind was on his ill mother as he sat fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, gazing toward the head of the church, waiting for when the time was appropriate to race out the door.

Father Dorning continued in his sermon, and Oliver only got more impatient the longer Mass wore on. When the service hit the Concluding Rites, he was more than ready to leave. The second of the dismissal, Oliver very rudely hopped out of his seat and raced out the door.

The church was on a hill and as soon as Oliver pushed open the doors the distant waters of Temple Bay and its revolving ships dominated the sight to his left. From his vantage point, facing west, he could see most of the other islands of the union: Glassglow Gathering, the island next to Westra; Myrcionus and Manigna Gatherings hovering just beyond Glassglow; and he could just barely see Dewit Dwelling, another, smaller island in the union, all of these islands to the south; Galena Gathering was to the northwest of his location. But in order to see the remaining islands of the eight-island union (Applegreen Gathering and Topper Peak) he would have to round the church building and look east.

However, only one island mattered to Oliver, and it was the one he was so anxious to get to: Myrcionus Gathering. Myrcionus Gathering was the island that he and his mother, Cecilia Jestcap, lived on, in a pumpkin house, with his mother’s sister, Drucilla Keenholts. He and his mother have lived with Oliver’s Aunt Dru for as long as Oliver can remember, and it was there his sick mother was now.

Oliver charged down the path from the church and down the dirt stairs carved into the side of the hill. A breeze, helped along by his brisk pace, ruffled his black hair. As the sun soaked into his brown skin, Oliver slowed, looking up into the sky.

He had just started walking away from the hill and down the street when the sun reflected off something in the grass, the dull glint catching his eye. He peered over. There were two pieces of metal on the ground. One was a round, oblong piece of metal, the other a small round piece of metal, flat, with the head of a man on it. Oliver bent down and picked both up. He began walking again, while examining his new finds. He searched the metals intently, his pace slower, trying to figure their origin. The piece of metal that was oblong was less exciting; one side rounded, the other flat. It had what appeared to be a lead point, while the body looked to be made of copper. The other piece was more interesting: The front of the flat, round metal had the head of a man with the words Liberty above him, In God We Trust beside him, and the numbers 1-9-9-2 below him. When he flipped it over, the back was too worn to discern, if anything was ever there at all.

Oliver!

The shout scared him and he quickly shoved the pieces into his pocket. Still walking, Oliver looked back into the crowd of dispersing church-goers for the owner of the very familiar voice.

Jestcap! Over here!

He looked over his left shoulder and spotted two of his best friends, Jason Westra and Karol Voyt. In the distance, the difference between the two was remarkable. Jason stood much shorter than Karol, with blond hair and blue eyes, white skin, just starting to tan with the season, and a muscular build. Karol, much like Oliver, stood tall, with black hair and brown eyes, brown skin and a slight, but well-toned build.

Oliver stopped in his tracks, turned and waited for them to catch up.

Where are you going, buddy? Jason asked.

I’m going home to check on my mother, see if she needs anything before I go to the farm. I told Mr. Spokes I’d take care of his plants while he’s away, Oliver answered, shielding his eyes from the sun. Oliver worked at the farm on Applegreen Gathering, a job he’d had for years, so doing a favor for the farmer Jeremy Spokes (taking care of Jeremy’s personal plants) was no problem.

We’ll go with you, Jason said, looking over at Karol for agreement.

Sorry guys, Karol apologized, I can’t go with you. I have to get to work.

Too bad, Jason sighed.

Yeah, well… Karol began. I can walk with you to the docks, though.

The three turned and began walking down Rainier Street, away from the church hill, toward the main street. It was a flawless day. The sun was shining, the breeze was warm, and Oliver’s adolescence would soon be at an end, and he could feel it. He was coming of age, and quickly. By the end of the month he was expected (by Terra Firman standards) to have a place of his own. In a society where people get a job at ten-years-old, a house at fifteen, and spend the next five-to-eight years preparing for a spouse and family, Oliver was soon approaching the second stage.

They came to a cross in the road and turned left down Hawthorne. As they were passing the Ivecene Theater, Jason spoke. I think we should do more things this summer.

What do you mean? Oliver asked, trying to see inside the open door of Clutterbuck’s Tavern, a frequent hangout of his Aunt Dru’s.

"You’ll be out of your mother’s house soon and others of us will follow not long after, so in a way it is our first free summer. We should find new things to do, go on new adventures; you know…leave Quayley." He accentuated the last two words like it should have been obvious to his friends that no more time should be wasted in the union; the world was waiting.

They turned left on Evergreen Way and the western docks came into view. As they approached, there was a poorly formed line of churchgoers intermingled with residents waiting for a boat to take them to their respective Gatherings. They slowed to a stop and hung back, away from the others.

I’m going to wait for a boat, stated Oliver, who felt claustrophobic just looking at the queue of people.

Me too, agreed Jason, who turned to face Oliver and Karol. Anyway, what do you think, the best summer ever this year? he asked eagerly.

Sounds like a plan, said Karol, with not much enthusiasm. Well, I have to get going. I’ll see you guys later. He saluted them goodbye.

A fun-filled summer, Oliver said as he watched Karol join the crowd for a boat, I’m looking forward to it. He absentmindedly shoved his hand into his pocket and felt the two pieces of metal. Hey! he shouted, as he remembered what he had found. Look at this… He extracted the flat, round one from his pocket and showed it to Jason. Do you know what this is?

Jason peered at it, puzzled, and shook his head. Where did you get it?

Found it on the ground just now. It looks familiar, but… Oliver thought he had seen one of these before, but he couldn’t put a name to it, as if he’d seen it in a book but didn’t bother to inquire about its employment.

I don’t know what it could be. Jason leaned forward for a better look. It was just laying on the ground?

Before Oliver could answer, someone cast a shadow over the both of them and Oliver snapped his fist shut.

What are you two doing? asked a voice both Oliver and Jason knew very well.

They both looked up. It was Jason’s twin sister, along with their friend Deborah Night. Joline looked eerily similar to Jason; however, her blonde hair was long and her eyes green. Deborah was black with dark brown eyes that quickly studied the situation.

What are you two doing? Deborah asked the question again. What’s in your hand, Oliver? And why do you two look so suspicious?

Come look at this, Jason said, taking the metal out of Oliver’s hand and showing it to Joline and Deborah. Do either of you know what this is?

It’s Fallen money, isn’t it? said Deborah, recognizing it immediately.

Wow, Debbie, Joline said, I think you’re right! It looks like those pictures Mrs. Orr showed us a while ago. What’s it called again…a coin?

A coin, Oliver echoed. He glanced around and noticed that there was no one on the dock, having just been cleared of a small girl and her mother. The others noticed the departing boat and made their way onto the dock and into two waiting rowboats.

You all together? asked one of the boatmen. They all nodded. Where to?

Myrcionus Gathering.

And they were off to Oliver’s house.

***

For the most part Oliver was a fairly quiet person, but the coin (if that’s what it really was) intrigued him. He wasn’t ready to buy the Fallen money explanation because he simply had a hard time believing The Fallen would be willing to accept such a worthless metal for goods. But the possibility at such an early origin kept him asking questions to anyone he spent more than thirty seconds with: What was it, if not a coin? Where could it have come from? How could it have found its way to Quayley? Could it be real? But regardless of Oliver’s fascination, those around him weren’t as interested.

You’ve had that thing for days, isn’t it starting to bore you? Deborah asked.

It was Friday, after work, and all five of them, Oliver, Jason, Joline, Deborah, and Karol, were sitting in a field next to the elevated graveyard, Stony Brooke Cemetery, on Westra Island. Ahead of them was Westra’s main street, Evergreen Way, and, a ways in front of them, the shadowy buildings of Vildenog’s Bakeshop, Renevera’s Café and the local grocery store; the docks hovered in the distance.

Jason, Joline, Deborah and Karol were all sitting in the fading sunlight, facing each other in a semi-circle, bored out of their minds. Oliver, on the other hand, lay on his back, one hand behind his head, as the other held up the coin; he couldn’t stop contemplating it.

Nope, I’m not. I’m pretty sure it’s a forgery, though. But who would want to forge such worthless currency? At this point the others stopped listening and he blabbed on. Maybe I should look into it?

There’s nothing to do, groaned Jason, as he sat rubbing the blaring sun out of his eyes. I think I’m about to die of boredom. He yawned.

Oliver tuned them out as he stared at his coin.

We could always go to the library, Karol suggested. With the others scowling at him and Oliver hearing but not really listening, he quickly quashed his suggestion. Or we could do something else.

In the distance, next to the docks, two figures climbed out of a rowboat. Oliver tore his eyes away from his hand and watched as they made their way toward the sitting group. The strangers, silhouetted against the dying sun, marched across the grass and were immediately recognized as fellow classmates, and known troublemakers, Russell Goldthorpe and Rello Wolfley.

Hello, little kitties, Rello sneered. "Playing duck, duck, goose?"

Just be on your way, Rello, Jason said, shielding his eyes from the sun to get a better look at him.

What’s got you all in such a sour mood? Russell asked, reading their faces.

We’re bored, but seeing your faces seems to make things worse, so scram, shot Deborah, who clearly needed to get out of the sun.

We were just on our way to break onto castle grounds. You’re all welcome to join us, Rello offered, ignoring Deborah’s jab.

Castle grounds were the grounds of the Governor’s Mansion, but as the governor’s residence was more accurately a castle, it was usually referred to as such, although sometimes it was called by the names Governor’s Mansion or Westra Castle.

Russell quickly shot Rello a murderous look and backhanded him in the gut. Not in front of those two, he whispered loud enough for all to hear, gesturing toward Joline and Jason. He was referring to the fact that Joline and Jason were the governor’s niece and nephew.

Karol frowned. You guys can’t break onto castle grounds. You’ll get into big trouble!

They can try, Jason said, shaking his head doubtfully, but they won’t make it.

Not making it would be a possibility if we hadn’t done it already, but given that we have and know where we’re going and what we’re doing, the chances of us being caught are slim-to-none, Russell touted. Rello smiled, folding his arms and nodding in agreement.

All right, Oliver said suddenly, getting up off the grass and wiping himself off. He walked toward Russell and Rello. Let’s go, then.

Yeah, Jason said, following Oliver’s lead and getting up as well, let’s go.

Jason, you can’t go! Joline said, half-pleading, half-rebuking. Then Deborah stood up and patted herself off. Deborah!

What? Deborah said, shrugging. There’s nothing else to do.

Do you guys want to get in trouble? Karol asked.

So, I take it you’re not coming, either? Deborah asked Karol.

If I went with you and we got caught, my dad would have my hide.

Jason, what do you think mom and dad would do if you were caught sneaking onto castle grounds?

I dunno, but according to these two I won’t have to find out.

Are you two sure you don’t want to come? offered Oliver as the others began to move away. They both shook their head. Okay, see you later then.

Oliver hurried after the others as they made their way up the hill toward Stony Brooke Cemetery, the cemetery sprawled at the base of a small cliff, Russell and Rello in the lead. As he walked through the graveyard, the final resting place of the departed, Oliver couldn’t help but think about his father. Was his dad dead? It was a thought that had occurred to him on a number of occasions, but with Oliver’s mother’s refusal to speak to him about his father, he had no way of knowing about his father’s welfare. All Oliver was left with was a curiosity that faded more and more with time.

They reached the back of the cemetery to the base of the cliff where the entrance of Watchmen’s Cave began. Referred to as Watchmen’s Cave, the cave was actually a tunnel preceding the castle that goes into the cliffside and up, out onto the chief premises. They entered the tunnel and almost immediately heard rustling in front of them.

Oliver panicked and turned to leave, not wanting to be caught. As he turned his back he heard quick footsteps behind him as someone grabbed his shirt. It was Rello with an index finger to his mouth. Rello then pointed to the tunnel wall as Russell pushed open a secret door crafted to mock the dirt wall. Deborah and Jason followed Russell through the opening and Oliver and Rello hurried to join them. When they were all through, Rello pushed the secret passage door shut. Then they heard voices on the other side.

I swear I heard something, didn’t you? said a voice on the side of the door from which they had just come.

It doesn’t matter, I’m leaving. The second voice sounded boldly agitated and determined.

Wait! You can’t go! said the first voice.

It’s not here, Bukeford. It’s not in the castle. Nothing’s here! I don’t actually even know what we were supposed to be looking for, do you?

The others started to move away from the door, but Oliver stayed in the dimness, listening to the heated argument on the other side of the wall.

It doesn’t matter, does it? We must do what we’re told. We were told to look for a handwritten book of instructions, possibly a journal of sorts; that’s what we’ll do. The man named Bukeford seemed to be pleading with the second man. You’re being careless, Spurior! I think you’re forgetting your place. Maybe you’ve been away from home too long and have forgotten your worries?

I don’t care. I’m tired of us chasing our tails!

Keep your voice down! Bukeford rasped. You’ll blow our cover.

Well, good, it’s about time the people of this union knew what was going on. If they only knew what was coming…

What was coming? The last seven words of the second man lifted the hairs on