The Fall - (A Young Adult Dystopian Novel) Read online

Chapter 1 – The House of Casper

  The sign pasted on the red door declares “House of Casper; knock for admittance.” I consider knocking, but decide against it. They know I’m due. I shouldn’t have to declare myself. Then again, I have been away for seven months, far longer than I was supposed to. I could be anyone; an untrustworthy trader or a caravan carrying the purple plague.

  I sigh, drop my backpack onto the yellow weeds that sprout up out of the ground, and knock loudly on the door. The air is crisp, clear and cold. I can hear a buzz of activity coming from further inside the House. How I’d missed that noise, though strangely, I wasn’t really looking forward to being immersed again. I’d been on my own for so long, with nothing but my own thoughts. It might be difficult to readjust to a House life.

  There are metal bangs from behind the thick steel door, a loud chaos of noise and voices swearing loudly. I can’t help but smile. He’s such a clumsy sod sometimes; trips over anything and everything.

  “I’m coming!” the voice complains. “I’m coming… Who put that bike there? I could’ve fallen down and broken my leg!”

  There is more clanging, and the door is unlocked and slowly opened, accompanied by much wheezing and groaning from both man and door.

  “You sure took your sweet time,” moans Uncle Rooster. “Your mother and father have been worried sick about you! They were almost on the verge of sending out a search party!”

  Rooster’s bearded face is peppered with some sort of white powder. I imagine that Mother has been teaching him how to bake again. When I’d left he’d been trying to impress a lady with his culinary prowess, though his skill in that area is somewhat of a disaster.

  “I had trouble with a Felum, some Gaggles and the gods,” I admit. I hardly dared to even say the word “god” for fear of retribution from the skies, but thankfully nothing happens.

  Rooster laughs. “They haven’t been seen around here in years!”

  “I could hardly mistake them for pigeons, now could I?”

  “It has been known. Well, after supping some of my home brewed beer, anyway.”

  I cross my arms, impatient. “Can I come in then?”

  “You’re serious about the gods?”

  “I wouldn’t lie about a thing like that.”

  Rooster makes an aristocratic sweeping gesture with his hands. I ignore him, give him a hug, and follow him inside. The air smells familiar and comforting and I feel warm already, even though I can still see the mist from my breath. It’s good to be home.

  Home is a gargantuan edifice of metal structures, domes, walkways and glass panels. In fact, there is so much glass that the place is called “The Glass Palace.” Sure, some of the glass has been broken through accidents and sonic booms caused by the gods as they sweep by on their never-ending struggle, but overall about three-quarters of the building are either fully intact or just marred by a few hairline cracks. There is a glassmaker who lives a few miles away in the House of Rowan but he’s very expensive and we can’t really afford his services except when it is a dire emergency. Mayor Rowan and Father don’t get along that well, I recall. I think there was a punch-up of some kind.

  In olden times, “The Glass Palace” had been some sort of two-level, super-sized trading station. Relics from that time are still visible. They are scattered around either piled up in the basement or used as furniture. Faded signs hang on the walls, though most of them are unreadable. Attempting to guess the names of the traders could create a popular children’s game. My best friend, Skye, was a professional at that; she had such a silly imagination.

  The banner over my own home inside the House is the only one left that is legible; it reads “Marks and Spencer”. It had sold various items of clothing and other odds and ends. Most of the clothing has either been traded or worn out centuries ago, though there was a rumor that a tribe down South collected Marks and Spencer clothes. Ancient stories said that there had been many items of luxurious food left behind as well, but they had all been consumed centuries ago.

  The Glass Palace is huge, comprised of many family units (I don’t know the exact number). Mine is the central unit, mainly because my father is the mayor. His three siblings didn’t mind the least; it was less work for them. Not that they had a choice in the decision. The first-born was always the mayor. In all earnestness, my father was the best man for the job. He is fair minded, compassionate, and fiercely protective of everyone under his roof. He would keep us all safe; his brothers, sisters and their spouses -- no matter the dangers intruded upon us.

  Father is waiting for us at the top of the stairs that lead toward my home. It’s wonderful to see him again after all this time. It delights me to see his pale white skin and immaculate goatee, the wrinkles around his hazel eyes and his white hair tied back into a ponytail. My father is my hero. I want to be just like him when I grow up. Of course, I will be. I will be mayor when he dies, as I am the only child. But my deeds and my actions are what count. Anyone can inherit a House.

  “Welcome home, Ben!” Father announces. His voice is rough, like the roar of a large animal. “Glad to see you’re unhurt.”

  He gives me a hug. I expect he’s been worried sick these past few months. It had been the first time I’d been allowed out on a trading mission, sort of like a rites of passage thing I had to do when I turned fourteen. Everyone simply called it the “Journey.” Even though everyone went on a Journey, it was doubly important I do well in mine. After all, I am the mayor’s son. I understood his anxiety about not wanting to let me go; my brother had been killed on his first trading mission. He was terrified of losing another child.

  “A few scratches,” Father observes. “Your hair’s a tad scraggly, and you’re looking mighty thin. Are you sure you ate enough? And look at how you’ve grown! By my reckoning, you’ve shot up another couple of inches! Soon you’ll be as tall as me, my boy!”

  “I hope so.”

  Father is the second tallest person I’d ever met, nearly six and a half feet. His towering height alone could be enough to intimidate troublemakers. True, the shaman in the House of Felix had been taller, but he was also mad, so he didn’t count.

  “I think you need to see your mother next,” states Father with a smile.

  “I was going to but I wanted to unpack first.”

  “See your mother first, that’s an order.”

  I sigh. I could hardly disobey my father, could I?

  The shop where our home was based has had its four entrances boarded up bar two; the top floor’s front and back doors. I’m coming in through the back door. Next to the doorway itself is a small potted plant that hadn’t been there when I’d left, some kind of yellow, willowy fern, and a wheelbarrow that Father or one of his siblings must have left there. Mother would probably have a few words with Father about the mud and the clutter later.

  The door, made from a large sheet of thick, worn out, blue plastic, is wide open. I’m not sure that’s wise, even though the penalty for thieving from another family is banishment. Maybe I am a little wearier of the world.

  I go inside, only to be greeted by the sound of toddlers laughing and giggling. The sudden cacophony of sounds is a shock to my ears; I hadn’t realized children were so loud. Or maybe they’d always been that noisy and I was used to the serenity of just my own thoughts. It still feels wonderful to be home, though.

  I sniff as I round a corner in the hall. Mother must be cooking something. Cow? Dog? Or maybe rat? Whatever it is, it makes me smile in remembrance. Mother can cook anything and make it taste divine. I’ve missed that. All I’d had on my Journey was dried strips of meat and whatever I could scavenge on the way, usually squirrels and wild cabbage. Sure, there’d been the odd House or village able to give me a loaf of bread but somehow they just weren’t the same.

  “Ben!” shouts a squeaky voice.

  I almost trample on something as I round a corner. Standing in front of me is a little boy, no older than five, with black curly hair and a fa
ce peppered with freckles. His fingers are covered in some kind of yellow stuff, and his bright blue eyes are regarding me with childlike innocence. I smile and kneel down on the floor, giving him a hug. He is my young cousin, Milo, the closest thing I have to a sibling, now that both my brother and sister are dead.

  “Have you brought me back anything?” Milo asks, clutching at my leg, staring into my eyes. He never blinks. Maybe he thinks I’ll vanish if he did.

  “I did find something that you might like,” I say, rummaging around in my backpack. Where did I put it? Maybe it dropped out during the scuffle with the Felum?

  “Found it!” I declare, pulling from my bag the prize. In a way I’m sad to part with it. It is a curious item, but I figured it will bring more happiness to Milo.

  “What is it?” Milo cries, his body dancing in excitement.

  I place the gift in his hands, expecting giddy cries of astonishment. Milo just stares at it, a little out of breath. I don’t know what he is waiting for.

  “What does it do?” he asks carefully.

  “It doesn’t do anything. It’s a book.”

  “I don’t like books,” Milo sulks. “They smell funny and you can’t eat them.”

  I open the book to a random page somewhere in the middle; faded, but still legible, pictures are clearly visible, along with word balloons and lots of vibrant primary colors. It looks interesting enough that I wished I’d saved it for myself now.

  “It’s got pictures in it,” I say, trying to get my tiny cousin interested. “See? You like to look at pictures.”

  Milo’s bottom lip quivers and his eyes begin to water. He is on the verge of a tantrum. Children who cried when they didn’t get their own way was something I hadn't missed. Milo is a sweet kid but he could be a pain sometimes. I was sure I hadn’t been like that when I was his age.

  “Take it home and read it,” I suggest. “Then tell me later if you didn’t like it. I promise I’ll let you swap it for something else of mine. Deal?”

  Milo’s tantrum slowly evaporates. “Deal!”

  “You run along now while I go and see your Aunty Jill. I bet she’s been worried about me.”

  “She has!” Milo shoots back as he hurries away, waving the book over his shoulder. I can’t help but see something of myself in him. I’d always had a fascination for strange objects that were brought in from the outside world.

  I halt a moment outside the kitchen. Mother had been worried I wouldn’t come back alive. After a stern word from Father she had backed down, even though he too had been a little doubtful of my chances of survival. In the end, Mother hadn’t even waved me a goodbye. She hadn’t wanted to look into my eyes. She feared it would be the last time she saw her only surviving son and couldn’t bear the pain of watching me walk towards an obvious death. I understood her fear, but I had triumphed and returned. Up until the strange incident with the gods and the Felum, my Journey had been relatively event free. Still, I was back in one piece, and would be recognized as a man by the House now, and I felt a sudden pride fill me with strength. I am a man. That would take some getting used to. I wondered when I would start shaving. I wanted a goatee just like my father.

  “So you’re back.”

  Her tone of voice wasn’t lost on me. It was surprise, almost wonderment. That voice held a sudden happiness. It did dent my confidence, though, to know she hadn’t expected to see me alive again.

  “How are you doing?” mother asks. “I mean, how are you really doing?”

  “I got through it all fine. There’s not one scratch on me.”

  Mother was a woman of small stature but high temper. She always vied to have the last word in an argument, her cooking and baking was unsurpassed in the region, and she was the only person in the world who could tell father what to do. She was sometimes bossy and intimidating, but she was also the most compassionate of us all. In fact, she was like a mother to the entire House, not just to me.

  “Were you ever in danger?”

  “Not once,” I lied. “It was a little dull.”

  I want to tell her how I had exceeded against all odds, how I fought the Felum in pitched battle and avoided a macabre death from gods and starvation... but I can’t. I will never tell her what really happened. All she needs to know is that I am back. I hug her, and I cry, and pretend like I’ve never been away.