Groundswell

By Patti Larsen

Her whole life was a lie. The ground is safe for all of them. Skyline is the real danger...

Aurelie Bay struggles between the choice to remain on the ground with her new family, or return to the city where she was raised and somehow convince the powers that be that not only is their desperate build upward unnecessary, Skyline is on the brink of destroying itself and those the corporation builds to save.

But when she’s confronted by strangers who claim to be grounders but act far too much like skyfolk, who hide an agenda that puts her adopted village at risk, Aure is drawn into a bigger and darker truth that changes everything she knows about her world, her city and the future of humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Oct 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781998948147

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Part I: Grounded

Chapter One

A trickle of moisture tickles as it traces a line down my temple to my cheek, my hand rising absently to swipe it away. My lower back aches, groaning its protest at the hunched posture I’ve adopted, and I finally straighten, the same hand massaging aching muscles though I’m smiling despite the discomfort.

Sunlight, while muffled by the yellow tint to the atmosphere, heats the air around me and warms me like nothing has ever done before, almost hugging me with its intensity. I inhale the thickness of it while more sweat beads in my upper lip. I’m not used to the humidity yet, but I’m adapting as I recover and heal and accept this new life I’ve been given.

Squeals turn me around. I spot the pair of children running down the row of shining red strawberries I’ve been picking, laughing as they dash their way through the field. I step sideways to allow them to pass, the older, taller boy in pursuit of his smaller, rounder sister, both of them calling, Hallo, Aure! as they thunder past me.

I laugh in return and let them go, waving to their mother who stands abruptly two rows over, her scowl more smile than disapproval.

Here now, ye bratlets, she calls to them. Fetch the baskets and do yer part, before I take a switch to ye both. Danelle tosses her hands at me. Sorries to ye, Aure! They know no manners, that pair.

They giggle as they carry on, ignoring her completely while I sip from the small flask of water at my waist. The clothing I wear feels odd still, the heavy weight of a hand-woven skirt’s hem tucked high at my hips to keep it from catching on the tops of the large bushes thriving in the dark soil. My plasboots are long gone, examined with curiosity, no doubt, by my rescuers, but of no use to the people I find myself living among. Instead, soft boots of real leather have finally fit themselves to my feet as my host promised they would when she presented them to me. I wiggle my toes inside what used to be a stiff and unrelenting shell that steady walking in the moist grasses and over damp ground has turned into form-fitting perfection a match to my footprint.

I much prefer them to my maintenance shoes though I still miss my level ten sneakers.

My basket is full, I tell Danelle, showing her the harvest. She’s peeling the dark green stem from one of her own pickings, the massive fruit almost the size of her palm. I’ve only ever seen pictures of strawberries and in those, they were much smaller. I’ve discovered in very short order that many of the things I’ve come to expect of the ground aren’t as they used to be and are often much better.

Like the taste. Danelle crosses to me in a lazy, rolling gait, stepping over the rows of pants to join me. She hands me half of her prize, the scent so strong as juice runs down my hand that I can barely keep myself from cramming the whole thing in my mouth. It’s the most delicious flavor, though honestly every bite I take of every food I’ve had since I woke here two weeks ago can compete for that honor.

Danelle examines my basket with a happy smile, winking thick lashes over one dark brown eye. She’s older than me, maybe twenty-four, but the two rascals that just ran past are hers and she’s swelling in the belly with a third on the way. I can’t imagine being a mother at my age and touch my stomach in an unconscious gesture as she nods toward the end of the field.

I think we have enough for the day, she says. Let’s see if Mother needs help, aye?

I join her immediately, adopting her rolling pace, the buzz of a passing insect catching my attention. I watch the long, thin dragonfly with its massive wings settle on a vine before it flutters its way off again, iridescent wings shining in the muted sunlight. Despite knowing about such things intellectually, thanks to history vids I grew up with, being in the midst of them still feels remarkable.

Danelle holds out one hand, the creature landing curiously on the red juice still staining her fingers before it’s gone again, flying off to its own adventures and leaving me sighing with the surreal happiness that has been my existence here.

I stumble over a chunk of rock, my companion reaching out to catch me. I’m still a little weak and tire easily, my recovery a miracle, as far as I’m concerned.

Mother will have my hide if I let ye push yerself, she says with concern on her tanned face. Her dark brows come together over her huge, brown eyes, the plait of her thick, brunette hair swinging over one shoulder as she catches me with her strong hand and rights me again. I kick at the chunk of assfall as the kids call the artificial stone that lurks beneath the ground, man-made highways of the stuff overrun with soil and vegetation surfacing from time-to-time, they tell me, more a menace than of any use.

I’ll make sure Fallon doesn’t blame you for my choices. The village’s headwoman might have given me permission to leave her house a few days ago and even encouraged me to participate in small tasks, but this is the first time I’ve pushed myself and I’m feeling the consequences. It’s nice to stretch, to walk and carry, to encourage my muscles to work. I understand Fallon’s slow and steady plan to full recovery. I should never have survived, should be as dead and gone as my friends back in the crumbling city I’ve left behind, and I owe my existence to my host and the healer of the three hundred or so souls who call Leeford home.

Thinking about Skyline has me looking back over one shoulder, my chin brushing the soft weave of the shirt I wear, a shudder passing down my spine despite the fact I know what looms over me. We’re miles from the exit I used to escape, from the bridge and the river that flows beyond the walls of Skyline’s crumbling foundations, but the sheer size of my former home ensures it feels like I could reach out and touch it if I tried. Though the haze in the atmosphere blocks out the bulk of the climbing walls, its presence hovers like a threatening shadow, a constant reminder of what I’ve endured to get here.

Of what I’ve lost.

Danelle’s arm goes around me, her basket resting on her hip as she turns my attention away from Skyline and toward the end of the field. Ye be safe with us, Aure, she murmurs, sounding like her mother enough I smile.

Thank you, Danelle, I say, my gaze skimming over the trees ahead, the vague outline of a building beneath altering the outline of the forest. We pass the abandoned place, birds flying out through gaps where windows used to keep the world out, the path ahead barely cleared wide enough for the two of us to walk. I’ve discovered it’s a constant fight between nature and the people here, that the heat and humidity has supercharged growth. Not that the Leefordians are at odds with the world around them, not from what I can tell. Instead, it seems they only use what they need, clear what they must and leave the rest to the animals, birds and insects that thrive in the towering forests surrounding their little village.

It’s all still wonderous to me, and I’m curious about the neglected and abandoned buildings that overgrowth has devoured. I’ve already been informed that they aren’t safe to explore, though there are enough trinkets and tidbits of unexplained origin, made of metals and plastics that are impossible for these people to manufacture, I know someone is poking around the old civilization that once thrived here. I’m willing to let my curiosity bide a while in favor of savoring this new life I’ve been lucky enough to fall into.

Mother tells me ye be thinking of going back up the way ye came from. Danelle’s tone is level and kind, but I can tell from her tension as she tightens her arm around me that she doesn’t approve.

The need lingers, of course, it does. I adjust the weight of the basket in my arms as we clear the edge of the trees and enter the periphery of the village. The small houses, all heavy brick dug out of the rubble and repurposed into new homes for the residents, squat on the dark ground in low profile, windows wide open to the warm air. The sounds of laughter and chatter, of metal striking metal and general industry, make my thoughts even more poignant.

All the lies I was told about the ground are false. There are no toxins in the air I breathe deeply into my lungs again as though to prove that’s true. People survive here, thrive even, much more so than they do above. And knowing what I know, that Skyline’s days are numbered, that everyone who hides in that city above the earth, who thinks they are safe, is doomed. Betrayed by the corporation that controls them into believing there is no other choice but to build.

When building is what’s going to kill them in the end.

My family, I say, surprised when my voice cracks. Danelle pulls me around, stopping just past the wall of a home, the shadow of it falling between us and the sun. It’s still more than warm enough, but I shiver with goosebumps regardless, shaking my head. The soft tinkle of the beads Fallon wove into my hair is a musical reminder of just how far I’ve come. I look up and into Danelle’s eyes, her heigh advantage on me and bulkier build making me feel like a child she’s about to chastise. I have to help them if I can.

She hugs me with one arm before letting me go abruptly. That we agree on, she says with so much heat I’m surprised by her firm nod and intense stare. But not yet, dearly. Not until ye can make that dangerous trek with success assured. She pokes me and I waver, feeling the weakness in me as she mock-scowls. What good ye be to any ye love like this, weakling?

I grin back and poke her though she’s a rock who snorts at my effort. I’m working on it.

Momma! We both turn as the boy of her small duo of offspring skids to a halt a short distance away, a nervous smile on his face. I catch the wail of his sister as she hustles around the corner toward us, her brother backing off. I didn’t do no thing!

That has me snickering because Brenin and Micca’s antics usually end up with her crying and him being punished regardless of the circumstances.

Hush, wee, Danella says to her daughter, focus turned to her son as she throws him a scowl that makes him groan. Brenin, what have I told ye?

She marches off with an apologetic smile, Micca’s face tucked into her skirt peeking out at the last second to flash me a grin through her fake tears and I can’t help but laugh at the girl’s mischievousness. Such behavior would never have been tolerated in Skyline. Duty and commitment to the city and the rest of the residents meant strict codes of conduct that I followed, that my family followed without question or hesitation.

Until I didn’t. I’m realizing even more clearly how much I’d been manipulated and controlled my entire life. I heft the basket of berries, arms aching and almost out of energy, crossing into the sunlight again, heading for the central square and the community kitchen there, nodding and smiling shyly to passing residents who are polite enough, if seemingly as nervous as I am to interact. I step up into the round building and set my basket on the broad, heavy counter, the polished wood a giant slab of some tree with live edges making the circular space perfect for a gathering. I’m not the only one delivering goods, and it feels wonderful to take part, to be a member of something important again.

I might be happy to be free of control, to know the truth as hard and painful as it has been to learn it, but I think I will always crave a sense of belonging. I can’t believe that’s a bad thing.

My hand falls to my waist and the water flask there, my feet carrying me to the metal tub at the far end of the room, the steady flow of fresh replenished by an underground stream bubbling to the surface. I’m replacing it at my waist when a shining silver disc falls to my feet and I crouch quickly to retrieve it, fingers closing over the warmth of the silver dollar I carry with me all the time.

Resentment and loss hit me a double blow as I stare down at the coin, memories of my lost friends, dead in the depths of Skyline’s crumbling darkness, jerking me out of the peace and contentment I allow myself more and more. The reminder is a harsh one and I’m suddenly clutching the coin so tightly I feel it bite into the palm of my hand.

Here now, and Fallon is there, her fingers unwinding mine before tilting my face up to meet her clear, blue eyes. I know now the two parallel lines that run across her forehead and down her cheeks in colorful strips are marks of her leadership and her status as a powerful healer, respected by many. And I’m used to her odd accent and the way she speaks, no longer struggling to understand her meaning fully, nor that of the other residents. And that the colored strings and beads woven into her dark hair laced with occasional strands of silver, the stacked bangles that tinkle at her wrists, all have stories behind them that she wears like a library of her life. But it’s her kindness and the way she gently soothes me that says the most about Fallon of Leeford, sister of my fallen friend, Jersey and the woman who saved my life.

I’m sorry, I catch my breath, sliding the coin forward to my fingertips. It just hurts sometimes.

She folds those same fingers over the disc, hiding it from view. I’ve tried multiple times to return it to her, but she insists I keep it and I’ve stopped offering. Come, she says, arm around my shoulder as her daughter had done not so long ago, guiding me away from the other women who now stop and watch out of the corner of their eyes, silent and respectful but likely about to burst into gossiping whispers the moment we’re out of earshot. I’m used to that, too, now and hardly blame them.

I’m judging me, too.

***

Chapter Two

We cross to Fallon’s house, the breeze blowing the fabric draping the windows and doorways into softly flapping eddies that look like the house is welcoming me home. I enter, my hostess right behind me, the cooler interior of her home making me sigh. The floor is inset into the ground, half of the height of it beneath the earth, the rounded roof’s thatched covering rustling in the breeze. I’m told they built this way to protect them from the violence of the storms that used to dominate their weather, that the deep grooves in the edges of the flooring are there to siphon away flood waters, the round domes of the walls meant to deflect high-velocity winds. While they are unable to remain and must flee deep into the woods when such storms come, their homes survive to be reused again.

Though it’s been a decade since a deadly hurricane has come through this place, according to the local storyteller, and I wonder if that’s a good sign or not.

Her home is segmented into three domes, the main room, hers and mine. There have been times I’ve chosen to retreat to the quiet of my bed and allow my thoughts to overtake me, but today I feel the craving for her confidence and sit on one of the padded cushions that line the floor. She sinks down next to me, hands reaching for the basket of her knitting, long fingers manipulating the thin needles as they click in a hypnotic dance over the fiber she tugs from the ball in the basket. She’s tried to teach me, but I’m still clumsy and prefer to sit back and watch her create in steady, ticking cycles of fiber and wood while I sag into the weariness that seems to absorb into my very bones.

Ye’ve pushed too hard today, she says without a hint of accusation despite her words.

I wanted to help. I look down at my red-stained hands, the scent of berries still clinging to me. You’ve done so much for me, Fallon. I need to contribute somehow.

That’s my upbringing talking, I know that, but I can’t shake it.

Fallon grunts softly, shifting her position as she tugs more fiber off the ball and whispers a count to herself before speaking to me. Ye be my guest, she says. Iff’n ye decide this place be yer home for permanence, then ye can feel the need to pay back yer way. She flashes me a smile that has me smiling in return because she doesn’t mean it at all. Fallon’s generosity astounds me, not just as a Skyliner but as a human being. I’ve never met anyone who gives so much and asks for nothing in return. It’s not lost on me that the