The Fall - (A Young Adult Dystopian Novel)

PART ONE - THE GLASS PALACE

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 face 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.

Chapter 2 – Homemade Beer and New Perceptions

The House of Casper celebrated my return with a feast. I’m not used to such luxury, especially after living on meager rations for so long, but I enjoyed it immensely. Mother and the other cooks had done wonders in such a short space of time, and I’m impressed. The garlic-roasted sheep is particularly juicy; and the baked ham and potatoes are divine.

There are seventy-three members of the House of Casper, including myself, packed around the large table in the center of the aisle. Each one is eating like it was their last meal as they gobble food quickly and talk with their mouths full. Most of it is trivial, rude, and boring but they are my family and it’s wonderful to catch up on how their lives are going.

Shirley, the cow, gave birth to twins and they both survived! says John Casper, my father’s younger brother. How miraculous is that? Of course then Shirley herself got stolen. I bet it was someone from the House of Rowan, those thieving god-spawn!

My Delia had a miscarriage, poor little thing, but she’s pregnant again now! says Molly Thames-Casper delightedly. We’re hoping for a boy.

I want a girl, Delia states.

Can someone pass me the ham? says Skye. She gives me a strange wink. She’s been trying to get my attention all evening but so far I haven’t been able to get a word in.

Some imbecile from the Order of Power tried to get in the front door, but we set the guard-goat on him! says Father, setting the whole table off laughing. I want to put my hands over my ears because the noise is so deafening, but I’m slowly getting more used to it. I have to. This will be my home now until the day I die.

Why does that bother me so much? I’d only been out in the world for seven months but I’d enjoyed every minute of it. Being home feels familiar and safe, but there isn’t an edge to it. Is this all there was to it? I will stay here until Father dies, take over as mayor, marry, have children, and die. That was how it worked. That was how it had always worked, right back to the very first mayor, the man who created this House just after the gods destroyed most of the planet.

Are you alright, son? Father asks.

I finish eating a piece of tender meat and say, It just feels weird to be back. I’ve been on my own for so long, and it’s so quiet out there. There’s hardly any noise at all! Did you feel like this when you went out into the world for the first time?

We all feel like that the first time, it’s only natural, says Father. I can’t help but notice Milo, sitting between his parents, eyes consumed in the book I had given him. He appears to be thoroughly absorbed.

Does it ever go away? I ask.

You get used to it when life steadies into a regular beat. You go out, you return, you go out, and you return. What matters is what’s waiting for you when you get back. I had your mother, my three children, and a large House to keep in order. I had plenty to keep me occupied. One day you’ll have all these things too, and you’ll be just as happy as I am.

Father certainly did look happy. He was always happy. But that is the problem. It’s obvious my dear father is hiding a lot of pain. He’s lost two children and that alone would ruin anyone. Jill was my father’s second wife as well. His first, a woman whose name I never knew, had died before I was born. Father has seen nothing but death his entire life. I don’t want to marry and have children, only to see them get taken away from me. I don’t want to live a life all alone.

I don’t want to be mayor, I blurt out.

But Father doesn’t hear me. He is talking to Uncle Rooster and his girlfriend, a loud, red-haired woman called Rosa. Maybe father is right. At the moment I am confused, but it will pass. Later on I would settle into a routine and do all the things I was supposed to. I hoped that it would come true. I don’t like feeling that the life I am supposed to lead is making me feel this way.

Then I feel a warm hand touch my shoulder. It’s mother. She looks concerned.

I heard you, she whispers.

I didn’t mean to say it out loud. I feel ashamed.

It’s okay. Try to take one day at a time.

I’ll try, I say. I mean it. If this is the life I am supposed to live then so be it. I look around the table at my family. Some are related by blood, others are just taking on the House name to gain shelter from the outside world. One day they will all look to me for leadership and protection. They would need me to survive. I couldn’t help feeling a little resentment at that.

The merriment continues for far longer than is necessary. A roast donkey is carted out, dripping in juices and roasted carrots; alcohol is drunk in copious amounts, and all the adults become quite drunk, myself included. Now that I am a man of fourteen, I am allowed to drink Uncle Rooster’s infamous secret recipe beer, and it tastes good. And as the night wears on, and my head spins faster and faster as I drink more and more beer, I feel happy. It may be the alcohol talking but I find myself laughing at dirty jokes and singing and dancing on the table. My head lives in a world of ecstasy.

I am about to pour my sixth, or maybe seventh, pint of beer when I hear someone shout Ben, tell us about your Journey!

Seventy-two pairs of tired and drunk eyes all turn toward me (for second-cousin Gwen just the one eye; she had lost it to a starving raven some years before). I’m good at telling stories, and I knew this moment would come. The House would want to know what I’d accomplished during my first venture outside. Where should I start? I couldn’t reveal what had happened with the gods and the Felum, though. I don’t want to upset Mother.

And don’t leave out the bit with the gods! Uncle Rooster roars.

I sigh. I can almost feel mother’s anxiety wash over me. Now that she knows, I might as well tell the whole story and leave nothing out. I just hope I can reassure her I was in no real danger at the time.

I take a small swig of beer to calm my nerves, take a deep breath, clear my throat, and begin. And because I am in high spirits, buoyed by the attention and the alcohol, I may have embellished the tale a bit. I didn’t consider the effect my story would have on my parents, only that I tell an entertaining tale for my eager audience. So the journey out was fraught with danger at every turn. Every night spent camping in the open air was a struggle for survival, my stay at the House of Reed was almost akin to a kidnapping and forced enslavement, and my narrow death by gods, a thing of legend. If I forgot to mention being rescued by a Felum, it was just a mere oversight. After all, would they really believe it anyway? The Felum were the enemy of humans.

...and when the gods, Tornado and Blue Hair, were gone, streaking away like thunder to continue their eternal struggle elsewhere, that was when I was presented with another test to my manhood. A Felum...no, four Felum appeared out of the bushes.

There is a rush of gasps at this announcement. I sure do like an audience. Why had I been so apprehensive about telling a story? It was easy.

I could see the look in their eyes as they watched me; they wanted me dead. I hadn’t encroached on their territory or done anything to them but they saw me as a threat and a meal. I knew at that moment that my days on this planet were over. What hope could I have against five Felum armed with spears? They would take me and eat me alive, just like they do to any human they catch.

What did you do? Milo asks. The book is still clutched in his tiny hands, but his eyes are solely on me.

I slam my fists down onto the table, making everyone jump.

I took out my slingshot and loaded it with a ball bearing. They roared and charged at me. I looked the pack leader in the eye, pulled back the slingshot and fired. The ball hit it square between the eyes and it fell down, stone dead. Its fellow tribesmen stopped in their charge, looking from their dead friend to me in utter amazement. I growled back at them, easily imitating their noise, and they retreated back into the bushes, afraid, like little pussy cats cowering before a large dog.

The family howled like dogs, banging their fists on the table. I join in with them, enjoying the feeling. I feel like a hero.

A cup of ice-cold water hits me in the face. I sit up in bed, my head aching and my stomach feeling like it’s been caught in a hurricane. I have never felt this bad before, not even after eating that funny tasting squirrel while on the outside. Was this what too much beer did to you? How did adults stand it?

My mother is standing by my bed, a disappointed look on her face. Her eyes have bags under them, and her hair seems to be going grey. I never noticed that when I came back yesterday.

Alcohol doesn’t agree with me, I mutter. There is a horrible taste in my mouth, something like badger dung.

It’s time you got up, says Mother sternly, beginning to pick up my dirty clothes off the floor. Your father wants to have a talk with you.

I do not feel like moving an inch.

How much of that story was true? my mother inquires.

Most of it. I did see the gods.

Mother frowns. They could’ve killed you.

I pull the covers back over me again, ignoring her. I feel too awful to begin explaining things to my mother right now. I will talk to her later, when I feel better.

You’ve been asleep for a day already. You’re a man now, says mother, pulling the covers off me. And your father really needs to talk to you.

What?

You were tired from your Journey. Add to that Rooster’s diabolical beer and your body just needed the rest. Get dressed for breakfast, hurry now.

Mother walks away, leaving me to stew in my own misery. I am never, ever going to drink Uncle Rooster’s home brew again.

I start to wonder what Father wants to talk to me about. As a man of the House now, I have new responsibilities. With a new spring in my step, excited but still a little groggy, I get out of bed and pull on some freshly washed clothes Mother has left for me. The trousers are new, and of a sturdy material. So far I’d only gotten second-hand stuff from the other families. Mother must have made them especially for me.

I eat a breakfast consisting of chewy cereal and goat’s milk. My stomach still feels queasy but I manage to keep it down due to extreme hunger. Mother and Father don’t speak much to me during this time, which is fine by me. I’m not really in the mood for any deep conversations about my encounter with the gods just yet, because I don’t know what to say. The whole incident had been over with so quickly.

How did you sleep? my father asks.

I groan. I could do with another day to recover.

Not likely, he smirks. We have a lot to do today.

Like what?

We have some new quarters marked out for you in another wing of The Glass Palace, says Mother, sounding half excited, half sad. We thought you might want to have a look at them before you moved in.

I’d forgotten about that. Now that I am a man I have to leave home and start to build up a home of my own for my future spouse and children. I’m not sure I want to move out, but after spending such a long time away, I’m more than up for the task.

What’s it like? I ask.

It’s small, but comfy, and it will be warm in the winter, says mother. I’ve made you some nice bed sheets.

That’s nice.

Mother and Father begin talking to each other about all the things that makes a home a home. I ignore them and concentrate on finishing off my breakfast. The only thing I know is that my home is going to be my home. I’ll let my parents help but I want to make my own mark.

Mother said you wanted to talk to me about something, I ask Father after putting down my spoon.

You’ve had an offer of marriage, son, says Father proudly.

I’m a little awestruck to say the least. Normally a newly qualified adult has to wait months for a decent proposal of marriage from a suitor. I’d only been back two days! Who wanted to marry me? It wasn’t as if I’d had my eye on anybody before I left, and as far as I know nobody had taken a shine to me either.

I don’t understand, I say.

Whomever you marry will give birth to the next mayor of the House of Casper, says Father. It is a position in high demand. I think it’s fair to say you’ve had several offers of marriage; six in fact.

I begin to panic. I don’t have to marry any of them, do I?

Marry the person you love, says Mother, taking my father’s hand. They really do love each other. But be sure to consider all those who have proposed. You don’t want to upset anyone.

I will, I say. I’ll consider all the proposals, not that I will upset everybody. But some people will be upset. I am highly sought after.

Father laughs. Don’t get too overconfident now.

I’m being cocky to hide the sheer horror of my situation. I may be an adult now, but I’m not sure I want to get married yet. Well, the wedding would be held off until I turned fifteen but I would still have to choose someone. If, by the age of twenty-one, I haven’t yet chosen a mate, one would be chosen for me. The continuance of the mayoral line was more important than falling in love.

I’ve never even considered falling in love before. I’ve never even had a crush. I didn’t want to rush into things but I didn’t want to be forced to marry someone I didn’t like.

Being an adult is so complicated.

The moment I step out of my home into the interior of The Glass Palace, a rather bizarre sight confronts me. My best friend, Skye, is waiting for me. We’d set out on our Journeys together at the same time as we were of a similar age, but she’d arrived back a month before I did. I was a little envious of that, but I couldn’t blame her. She’s a lot more adventurous than I ever was.

Did your father tell you? she asks.

I wonder what she’s talking about, although I’m not really paying much attention to her words. The fact that she is dressed up in a skirt and blouse, with her hair in a tight bun and lipstick smeared clumsily on her face, is making me suspect something is afoot. While most girls indeed