The Chronicles of Trellah, Book One: The Perpetual Rain Read online

  The Chronicles of Trellah

  Book One: The Perpetual Rain

  T. S. Graham

  “The World’s Toughest Book Critics” have weighed in, and it’s high praise for The Chronicles of Trellah!

  “Graham’s writing deftly evokes the story’s atmosphere, setting the tone beautifully from the start with a haunting description of Thomasville’s rain-swept terrain; a sense of mystery and danger permeates the prose. Meanwhile, Sophina is a brave, intelligent heroine for young readers to follow… The book exhibits fine character development and powerful dramatic tension. An excellent choice for readers eager for a suspenseful, emotionally satisfying fantasy adventure.” – Kirkus Book Reviews

  Professional Reviewers and Readers Alike Love Trellah!

  “An action-packed, fantastical thrill ride… Heartfelt and uplifting.” – Jen Blood, author of critically acclaimed adult mystery/thriller, All the Blue-Eyed Angels

  “Evocative of Madeleine L’Engle, John Connolly, J.R.R. Tolkien, and C.S. Lewis… Suspect my comparisons to other authors are hyperbolic? That’s because you haven’t read the book.” – Dr. Christopher Gee, Professor, University of North Carolina

  “Original and engrossing… The last time I couldn’t wait for the next book in a series was Harry Potter.”

  “It was like Nancy Drew with a bit of Stephen King thrown in.”

  “If you like The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, or The Lord of the Rings, I’m sure you’ll like this book!”

  “I look forward to following T.S. Graham’s work as he grows to be the best fantasy author since Tolkien.”

  “Excellent read! This is one book I did not want to put down.”

  “I felt like I could see, feel, and even smell so many aspects of the story, everything is so vivid!”

  “This is a book for all ages that will bring out the creative child in even the most selective of critics.”

  Read these and many other 5-star reviews from readers of all ages at Amazon and Smashwords!

  Copyright 2012 by T. S. Graham

  Cover Design by Skaar Design

  www.skaarinc.com

  All rights reserved. Published by Jagged Coast Publishing

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Jagged Coast Publishing, 206 Sligo Road, Yarmouth, Maine, 04096

  First edition, March 2012

  Coming Soon

  Chronicles of Trellah, Book 1

  The Deluxe Edition!!

  With new edits plus 14 spectacular full-page illustrations and cover art

  by renowned artist Ryan Penney.

  Includes the Prologue and Chapter One of Storm on the Horizon,

  Book Two in the Chronicles of Trellah Trilogy!

  Flip the page for a sneak peek!

  To my wife and daughters,

  whose patience and understanding

  helped bring Sophina to life.

  Contents

  1 The Perpetual Rain

  2 The Intruder

  3 The Gateway

  4 The Valley of Trellah

  5 The Elders

  6 The Crossing

  7 The Forest of the Dead

  8 The Eclipse

  9 Front-Page News

  10 The Two Storms

  11 The Wrath of the Umbyans

  12 The Caverns of Mount Vahkar

  13 Behind the Mask

  14 The Reunion

  1 THE PERPETUAL RAIN

  Rain pelted the window as Sophina Murray rolled over in bed and stared at the gloom outside. In normal times, the October sun would’ve peeked over the sill by now to gently nudge her awake ahead of the alarm clock’s cold blare. But there was nothing normal about this October. Halloween was drawing near, and it had been nearly a month since Thomasville, Maine, the quaint fishing village that Sophina called home, had seen a glimmer of sunlight through an unyielding blanket of gray clouds.

  Sophina brushed a lock of auburn hair from her eyes and sat up with a sigh. There was a time, not too long ago, when she would’ve leapt out of bed, slipped her finest school outfit over her slender frame, and bounded downstairs to eat breakfast with her mom and younger brother, Eliot.

  But life was different now. It was more than just the dreary weather that kept her feet from hitting the floor with a thud.

  * * *

  Sophina made her way downstairs to the living room where her mother was staring at Channel 6 news reporter, Spike Branson, whose well-groomed face filled the television screen.

  Sophina understood why her presence went unnoticed, for Spike, reporting on location from Thomasville Middle School, was talking about the weather. Rain wasn’t often the lead story of a statewide newscast, but this rain was different—different because it hadn’t stopped falling for twenty-nine straight days.

  Although this fact was noteworthy on its own, one other detail elevated this storm into the realm of the downright bizarre: It was raining only in Thomasville. The rest of Maine was experiencing normal weather patterns for this time of year. Meteorologists had labeled what had developed in the sky over Thomasville a weather anomaly, which Sophina quickly realized was just a fancy way of saying they had no clue why it was happening. Before the rain had started, the biggest weather news had been a rare solar eclipse coming up sometime this fall; now, Sophina couldn’t remember the last time anyone had even mentioned the eclipse.

  This morning, Spike was explaining that a sharp drop in barometric pressure over the summit of Jagged Mountain, just two miles north of the village, was indeed the driving force behind the anomaly. As the air above the mountain rose, moisture-rich air from the Gulf of Maine was drawn inland to take its place, resulting in near-continuous rainfall.

  Meteorologists had been saying for weeks that a drop in air pressure was likely fueling the storm, but the event was so localized that even their most advanced equipment couldn’t detect it at a distance. Winds at the peak of Jagged were too strong for a helicopter to land, so a team of scientists had lugged their gear by foot to the top, where they had braved the elements just long enough to collect the data needed to support their hypothesis.

  But the larger question remained: Why was it happening?

  Two long months ago that question would have stirred Sophina’s imagination, but this morning she had just one simple thought on her mind: Move it, or you’ll be late for school again.

  “Good morning, Mom.”

  Mrs. Murray’s eyes lit up as she turned to face her daughter.

  “Sophina . . . I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Sophina stepped into her mom’s embrace. Hugs between them used to be cursory—a quick coming together before parting ways for the day. But they meant so much more than that now. Mrs. Murray had learned that tragedy could do one of two things to a family: pull it closer, or tear it apart. She had chosen the former.

  “Why do you watch this guy?” Sophina asked when her mom finally let go. “He’s a major dork.”

  “Spike Branson is a dork?” responded Mrs. Murray playfully. “I happen to think he’s rather . . . informative.”

  “Informative?” Sophina repeated with a smirk. “He’s so full of himself. It’s blowing a gale and his hair isn’t moving. That’s not normal.”

  Sophina’s observation earned her a second smile.

  “That’s your dad shining through,” said Mrs. Murray. “He could always spot a fake from a mile away. . . . Come on; let’s go see how big a
mess Eliot’s made in the kitchen.”

  They found Eliot foraging through the refrigerator. He was independent for a six-year-old, often getting up to make his lunch for school before his mom and sister had even rolled out of bed.

  “You already have a brownie in your lunchbox, Eliot,” Mrs. Murray pointed out. “Please put the cookies back and take a banana instead.”

  Eliot huffed in frustration. “But Mom—all my friends bring a sweet snack and a dessert to school,” he pleaded.

  “Well, your friends will look really silly when all their teeth fall out, won’t they?” returned Mrs. Murray. “Put the cookies back in the jar.”

  “Bananas rot your teeth, too,” Eliot pressed. “Heidi Farnsworth says they have more sugar than candy.”

  Sophina couldn’t help but giggle as Eliot returned the cookies. His knack for getting in the last word was aggravating for sure, but he knew when he was beat.

  Sophina noticed that the table was set with three plates, and her mom was keeping pancakes warm on the back of the stove. Seeing this lifted her spirits, for it had been some time since their mom had cooked them a sit-down breakfast.

  “I want to drive you to school,” offered Mrs. Murray as they sat down. “It’s raining harder than usual.”

  “Thanks, but I’d rather walk,” said Sophina as she grabbed the syrup.

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Mrs. Murray insisted. “The wind has picked up, too. It won’t be comfortable on foot.”

  “I’m okay, really. Besides, I told Erickson I’d meet him in town.”

  “Erickson?” Mrs. Murray repeated. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. How’s he doing?”

  “Fine,” answered Sophina, trying to temper her mom’s curiosity. Actually, she had no plans to meet Erickson. She’d just said that to justify turning down her mom’s offer. She had to walk to school; it wasn’t a choice. And it would continue to not be a choice for as long as there was a view of Greystone Harbor from the woods path that led to her school.

  “He’s fine—that’s it?” Mrs. Murray asked.

  “That’s it,” Sophina replied. She wanted to change the subject, but her mind was stuck at the harbor. It didn’t matter because Eliot did the job for her.

  “We’re all going to drown, you know.”

  Mrs. Murray shot a confounded look at her son. “Why would you say that, Eliot? Of course we’re not going to drown.”

  Their mom abhorred any talk of death these days, but drowning was an especially touchy subject in this house. That didn’t deter Eliot one bit.

  “Heidi Farnsworth says it’s going to rain until water covers all the houses in Thomasville,” he continued matter-of-factly.

  “Well, you can tell Heidi Farnsworth that she’s wrong,” said Mrs. Murray with a rare hint of impatience. “It doesn’t flood here, no matter how hard it rains. We live on a hill and the water just runs down into the ocean. We’re perfectly safe. Understood?”

  Eliot nodded. “Dad won’t let us drown, anyway. He’ll come with his boat and save us.”

  Eliot’s words seemed to hit Mrs. Murray like a sledgehammer. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled to maintain her composure. Sophina showed no such restraint.

  “Dad’s dead, Eliot! Why can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

  “Sophina, don’t talk to him that way!”

  Only one thing upset Mrs. Murray more than talk of their father’s death, and that was when Sophina spoke harshly to Eliot. This happened far more often these days than it used to.

  “He talks as if Dad is going to walk through the door any minute!” Sophina continued without thinking. “I can’t take it anymore!”

  “He’s six years old. He’s dealing with it the only way he knows how.” Mrs. Murray would have continued in Eliot’s defense, but a dismal moan pulled her attention away from Sophina and back to her son.

  “Sophina didn’t mean it,” she said, draping her arms over Eliot’s shoulders. “She’s just upset. We all are.”

  Sophina joined her mom at Eliot’s side. The guilt caused by her spontaneous outburst had already begun to gnaw at her insides.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his ear. “Mom’s right. I didn’t mean what I said.”

  After a few sniffles, Eliot looked up at Sophina with hope in his eyes.

  “So you do think Daddy’s coming home?”

  Sophina kissed Eliot on the forehead. She wanted to say yes, but couldn’t force out the lie.

  * * *

  The wind flattened Sophina’s raincoat against her body as she stepped outside. Her mom was right; the storm was getting worse.

  When the clouds had first rolled over Thomasville, they hadn’t shed so much as a sprinkle. The initial formations were striking, and each evening a growing number of townsfolk had gathered on the common to watch them reflect the red and orange hues of the sunset. But the clouds had thickened as the days passed, soon melding together to block out the last of the sun’s warming rays.

  And that’s when the rain started.

  So far, the anomaly had proved to be nothing more than a nuisance to the locals and a curiosity to everyone else. But Sophina feared that could soon change. This wind meant business, and it was only getting stronger.

  Sophina stepped off the cobblestone walkway and turned right onto the brick sidewalk. This was usually the spot where she put her head down and left their old sea captain’s home at 4 Dirigo Drive behind, not looking up again until she’d arrived at the edge of Greystone Harbor. But today a strange sensation gave her pause. Somehow, she knew she was being watched.

  She glanced up at the turret of the house next door to find her reclusive neighbor, Mrs. Tanner, peering at her through a gap in the curtains. Mrs. Tanner didn’t look away when discovered, which only accentuated the creepy feeling that had come over Sophina.

  She’s gone completely insane, Sophina mused as she looked back to the puddle-strewn sidewalk and hurried off down the street. Mrs. Tanner was the last person she wanted to think about right now. Still, she couldn’t stop her mind from drifting into the past, to a time when life was blissfully simple.

  Until last winter, Mrs. Tanner had been more than just Sophina’s neighbor—she was also her seventh-grade science teacher, and a brilliant one at that. Mrs. Tanner was the first to recognize Sophina’s gift for the sciences, and went out of her way to foster that talent by allowing her and Erickson to stay after school and conduct experiments that were usually reserved for high schoolers. Once, she had even let them time how long it took various metals to dissolve in hydrofluoric acid, a trial that produced more than a few head-turning smells.

  Mrs. Tanner was also one of the only adults in Thomasville that Sophina considered a friend. Hardly a Murray family picnic or backyard gathering took place without an appearance by their lifelong neighbor, and they had exchanged holiday gifts for as long as Sophina could remember.

  Then, without warning, everything had changed. The week before winter break Mrs. Tanner had stopped coming to work. At first, Sophina had assumed that an illness was to blame. But as the days wore on, it became clear this wasn’t the case. The first clue came when she overheard a snippet of conversation through the teachers’ lounge door.

  “I can’t believe Kate finally answered her door,” said Mrs. Bethel, Sophina’s fifth-period math teacher. “What did she say?”

  “Not much,” Principal Hupper revealed in his monotone voice. “She said she needed more time off, but wouldn’t say why. She was fidgety, and her eyes didn’t look right. She didn’t look sick; just . . . not right.”

  “Joan, the woman who works the meat counter at Harbor Grocery, said that Kate came in and bought seven smoked chickens—all at once,” Mrs. Bethel said in a hushed voice. “Joan asked why she needed so many—given that Kate lives alone—but Kate just laughed and acted nervous.”

  “That is strange,” Principal Hupper said. “Not like her at all. . . . Well, I haven’t received her pape
rwork yet. If it doesn’t arrive soon, I’ll have no choice but to suspend her. That’s between you and me, of course . . .”

  The paperwork never arrived, because a month later word spread through town that Mrs. Tanner was finished as a teacher at Thomasville Middle.

  Since then, Sophina had seen Mrs. Tanner’s shadow moving behind the shaded windows of her house many times. If she was healthy enough to walk around, then surely she was capable of filling out a simple form to let her employer know why she needed the time off. Why did she walk away from a job she seemed to love? How could she do that to her students?

  How could she do it to me? Sophina fumed.

  She was angered most by the fact that Mrs. Tanner had refused to even acknowledge her father’s death. Two years ago when Mrs. Tanner’s mother had died, Sophina had delivered homemade meals to her doorstep every evening for a week. Mrs. Tanner not only failed to return the favor, but it seemed she didn’t even care.

  Sophina glimpsed the outline of Jagged Mountain through the clouds and rain as she turned onto Main Street, providing a welcome distraction from her thoughts. Jagged’s face was a sheer granite cliff, down the left side of which flowed a spring-fed waterfall. The cliff was revered by rock climbers who came to soak up the views of the island-studded Atlantic from the summit. She’d spent many summer days swimming in Glacier Lake, which spread out like a mirror from the beach at Jagged’s base, looking up and dreaming of the day she would be old enough to don climbing equipment and scale the peak.

  That doesn’t matter now, Sophina thought. That cliff will never be climbed again if this rain doesn’t stop.