The Toby the Trilby Trilogy Boxed Set

by Angela Castillo

  Gramble Howard walked to the ladder and peered up into the darkness. “From what I remember, the door at the top is much easier to manage.”

  “Yes, you shouldn’t have a problem.” Gramble Edward gripped the rungs and shook them. The ladder stayed firm. “I’d come up and open it for you, but my knees…”

  Gramble Howard lifted a small pack and hung it on Toby’s shoulders. Inside were “travel garments” stitched by Gramble Shana’s careful hands and food to last several days.

  Gramble Edward strapped a toddler-sized gas mask, one of thousands in storage, to Toby’s face. “Just in case. We don’t know what’s up there.”

  “I understand.” Toby peered up through the mask. “I’ll be fine.” He clutched the straps of his pack, as though someone might think of another excuse and take it from him.

  “You stay warm, Boy.” Gramble Howard patted Toby’s head. “Don’t take off that mask until you see other creatures breathing in the air.”

  Gramble Gregory added, “Maybe you should leave it on at all times. Some creatures can adjust to anything. Why, in Antarctica… “

  “I’m sure it will be all right.” Toby’s skin was already clammy beneath the mask and this sort of lecture could last for hours. “You have taught me the skills I need and I promise I’ll be careful.”

  Gramble Shana’s tears ran in crooked rivulets through the wrinkles on her cheeks. “My darling Toby.” She embraced him.

  He turned to Gramble Lenora. “Take care of Polly. She likes a tomato or two now and then.”

  “Of course, my child.” The scent of her perfume enveloped him along with her hug. ‘She’ll be wondering where you are, so hurry back.”

  Gramble Colleen came last, and took Toby’s small hand in her wrinkled one. “You come back to us, Son.”

  Toby nodded. “Of course I will.”

  “We know.” Gramble Shana stared at the ladder. “It’s just… such a big world.”

  Toby suddenly felt dwarfed by his pack and mask. How could he even consider a venture out into the open without a protector?

  For the first time in days, the Voice came to him. “You can do this, Toby. I will be with you.”

  Had anyone else heard the Voice? But the elderly people’s expressions hadn’t changed from the brave smiles plastered there while they waited for Toby’s dreaded steps of departure.

  He grasped the smooth metal rungs and began to climb.

  In Toby’s younger days he drove the grambles frantic when he climbed to various high perches on the hundreds of machines that lined the cavern walls. This ladder was a simple task. Bar by bar he ascended, calls of “We love you!” and “Be careful!” echoing behind him.

  3

  OUT AND ABOUT

  Toby pulled himself through the porthole and yelled, “I made it up just fine!” He slammed the small cover down before anyone could change their mind and command him to return. The action sent up a cloud of thick dust and made him thankful for his gas mask.

  The beam from his small flashlight was swallowed by blackness before it reached the ceiling. The large entrance had been the meeting point where the grambles should have welcomed thousands, perhaps millions of people and led them to a prepared refuge from the mysterious devastation above.

  Bright colors beckoned to Toby from a rock wall. He wiped grime from a small section. Circus clowns and dancing animals smiled at him from painted scenes.

  Lumpy objects were piled against the wall. Toby picked up one of the soft, shapeless items. It was a teddy bear, with a tag reading; “Made for children of the disaster by St. Martin Episcopal Church.” Despite the dust, Toby wanted to hold the toy close and feel the softness of the fabric brush his cheek. Toys had been crafted by the caring hands of thoughtful strangers, to provide scared children with a warm object of comfort. Why had no one come? He almost put the bear back into the pile, then changed his mind and placed it in his pack.

  A set of metal doors filled most of the wall across from him, but beside them a much smaller door had been placed. Gramble Edward was right, the bolt slid with ease and he stepped out into blazing sun.

  A shaft of light stabbed through the mask’s shield. Hands over his face, Toby opened his fingers to let in the beam slowly until his eyes adjusted. His body tingled with warmth.

  Several feet away; a green and brown jumble awaited him. Trees grew here like in Gramble Shana’s orchard underground, but in reckless abandon without the orderly rows. They offered blissful shade and he stumbled towards the grove. His skin, acclimated to the cave’s constant humidity, was dry already and his tongue lay in his mouth like a shriveled raisin.

  He pulled out his canteen and stared at it. The grambles had repeatedly warned him about conserving water. He couldn’t possibly need a drink yet. It would take time for his body and the new atmosphere to become friends. He put the container back.

  Spots danced before his eyes. He leaned against a tree, waiting for them to settle on the forest floor and become dappled sunlight. He took a few tentative steps. A curious, crunching happened beneath his feet. Dirt and dead leaves covered the ground and insects of different sizes and shapes scurried about on tiny bug businesses.

  “You can breathe,” he said to them and removed his mask.

  A refreshing wind hit his face. He gulped the delicious air and filled his lungs to capacity. No rocks bound him, no walls pinned him in. Steps turned to giddy skips; soon he was dancing on the forest floor. He wanted to shout, turn cartwheels in this glorious, glorious world. Toby stopped himself as he remembered; dangerous animals surely lived in this forest. He kept silent, emotions betrayed only by a wide grin spread across his face. He placed the mask on the ground and moved forward.

  Trees stretched out shaggy limbs far over his head. He longed to climb each one of them, to feel different textures of bark and examine every leaf. Frilly ferns carpeted the path beneath his feet and ivy curled over stumps and fallen branches. Insects dusted the ground in numbers he never thought to see alive and moving. Each looked like it had crawled out of Gramble Lenora’s nature books.

  TAP TAP TAP.

  The sound came from high in a tree where a dark, red capped bird struck its beak against a trunk.

  “Woodpecker,” he breathed to himself.

  An old road wandered through the thick trees; overgrown by large bushes and clumps of brush. He followed this until thirst compelled him to stop and take a drink. If his canteen was half emptied and no water source had been found, he had promised to turn back.

  While he swished the cool liquid in his mouth he saw a smaller path leading into the deep woods. “Maybe you will lead me to water,” he said to the trail, as though it would answer. He tied a piece of red cloth to a tree and turned down the path.

  His skin instantly cooled. Tapestries of moss wove through the branches and little wells of water pooled in his footprints. I must be near the swamp Gramble Howard had pointed out on the map. The trail grew more difficult to travel; his feet were soon muddy up to his ankles. Toby’s appreciation for his boots grew. Though thin and light they kept his feet dry.

  The path rambled in wild detours to avoid ever-growing pools of slime. His heightened senses were bombarded by the musty tang of swamp and could absorb nothing else.

  A stronger, acrid scent curled into his nostrils, sharp and dangerous. He couldn’t identify the beast but he knew it was close. He stopped to sniff the air.

  SNAP! The giant, leathery creature thrust itself from under the brush, rows of jigsaw teeth reaching for Toby’s leg.

  Feline instincts took over, and threw his body back before his human mind even thought to react. Toby scrambled up a tree and clutched a branch, lungs heaving. The alligator lingered at the base for several moments before it ambled back into the water.

  Toby waited a long time for the smell to drift away. He finally climbed down; thankful the afternoon’s lesson hadn’t cost his life.

  After another half hour, he finally caught the scent of fresh water and kn
ew it was close. A moment more found him knee deep in the spring. Without bothering to pull out the water testing strips Gramble Gregory had given him, he splashed water over his ears and drank deeply. Cavern streams had certain minerals and even their filters couldn’t remove the bitterness. This water was better than any drink he had ever tasted.

  Toby drank his fill, then surveyed the area. Green willow trees swept over the stream and water bugs balanced impossibly on the surface of the water. Toby checked his watch, set to computer time. If correct, darkness would soon arrive. Creatures of the night would begin to hunt and he didn’t want to meet any more predators. A flat patch of ground covered with springy ferns looked like the perfect place to pitch his tent.

  Gramble Edward, the only member of the group with any camping experience, had drilled Toby in the art of fire creation. Though he could make a fire with matches, flints, or a string and a stick, he chose not to build one. His night vision was excellent, and would be helped by the full moon peeking over the trees. Smoke and flame might also attract unwanted attention.

  Even after he prepared camp, Toby was reluctant to bid farewell to his new world. A log made an excellent seat and his fingers played hop-scotch on the rough bark. Nature created an orchestra of sound. Many melodies he knew from recordings or films; whispers of mother animals nestling babies into bed, courtship songs from frogs of countless ponds; crickets harmonizing with instruments of wing and limb.

  “Goodnight, all.” He stood and addressed the unseen creatures. “I have a long way to go tomorrow.”

  A tiny flicker answered him, first one minute blaze of light through the trees, then another. Fireflies? Toby peered out into the thicket. The orbs brightened and bobbed through the trees. More of them joined the first three in a distinct row.

  Lights? In the deep woods? There was only one species with the ability to produce such a display.

  People. His mind swirled with the revelation, his excitement, already on overdrive, climbed another notch.

  Instinct told him to move light. He gathered his most important tools back into his pack, scaled a small tree and slung the bag over a branch. His flashlight and a small penknife both fit nicely in a pocket. Toby’s feet made almost no marks on the ground as he dropped from the tree and moved towards the dancing lights.

  4

  THE SWAMP PEOPLE

  Despite Toby’s enhanced senses, the forest path was hard

  to follow at night. Mud oozed under what seemed like stable piles of leaves, pulling at his boots with slimy tentacles of muck.

  The lights came closer.

  He remembered a warning from Gramble Edward.

  “If you find people, be prepared,” the elderly man had said, pushing his small, round glasses farther up on his nose. “Here we celebrate who you are. But people are strange creatures, Toby. You have studied about racism and groups who shunned or even hurt others because of differences. So take caution. Scout them out before you show yourself.”

  Though Toby was prepared, he couldn’t imagine how it would feel to being treated that way. He crept low, training his flashlight beam on the ground to watch for twigs and brush before each step.

  The procession moved slowly. The people were dressed in garments constructed from swamp moss. Hair woven in round, basket-like shapes rested on the shoulders of men and women, shades of umber, silver and white advertised varying ages. Beards hung down almost to the men’s waists, hairs curling to meld with their outfits. Toby was fascinated, having never seen so much facial hair except on films. The people marched in silence, resolution covering their tanned, strong faces.

  A girl stumbled along in the center of the crowd. She wore a pure white dress, in stark contrast to the rest of the group. Golden hair spilled down her back. She could not hold a torch, since her hands were bound together in front of her.

  Why was she a prisoner? Toby’s heart beat faster; the girl must be in danger. No weapons were visible, but if discovered he’d be overpowered in an instant. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead despite the cool evening. He didn’t dare wipe them off. Perhaps if he followed the group he could find a way to help the girl.

  He stayed back while keeping the group in sight. A twig cracked under his foot and he froze. Panic welled up in him then dissipated when no one turned.

  The group followed a well-worn path. They crossed a bridge made of logs and rope, the bound girl stumbling as the structure swayed. The people watched her struggle to regain her balance, but no one offered a hand to assist her.

  The procession came to a sudden halt. Coils of serpentine brilliance stretched before the leader of the group. Calmly and without a sound, the man found two sticks and gently moved the snake to the bushes on the side of the path. The march continued.

  Small, stifled sounds drifted over the people’s shuffled footsteps. Was the fair-haired girl crying?

  The path widened, then split in two, circling a large swamp. The glossy, black edges seeped past the view of the torchlight. Patches of slime floated on the surface of the water. A dock made of logs and rope jutted out towards the center, with extra sections of rope coiled to the side. Chunks of rock served as a crude staircase to reach the edifice.

  The people placed torches on stakes set a few feet apart. The flames made eerie shapes as they flickered in the breeze. The leader approached the girl. When he turned his face, Toby glimpsed an ancient scar that slashed through his cheeks and lips, disappearing under his white beard.

  The man grabbed the girl’s bound hands and jerked her towards the dock. She screamed and tried to pull away and a younger man yanked her back and slapped her face. The sound echoed through the swamp.

  Help her. Toby watched, his useless hands gripping branches at his sides, while the men forced her up the steps and to the end of the dock. The girl’s shoulders slumped and silent tears coursed over the bright red mark on her beautiful face.

  The scarred man raised his hands high in the air. His wild eyes glowed in the lights.

  “Oh, Natura,” his voice warbled.

  “Natura,” the crowd echoed.

  “Most beautiful Goddess,” the man continued.

  “Giver of good and terrible things.

  Milk sours early,

  trees bear bitter fruit,

  our children are fitful.

  We respect your wishes.

  The Tiend has come.

  We give you this child.

  Take her into your body

  to nourish your soul.

  Take her, and we humbly pray for favor.”

  Images of human sacrifice flashed through Toby’s mind: Incas’ offerings of life and limb, stone alters of the druids. He could not deny the horrible truth: this girl would die. Even while he grabbed the small penknife, his spirit protested the very idea of plunging it into living flesh. Could he hurt someone, even to save another?

  The men grabbed the girl’s bound wrists and lowered her into the water. The action seemed absurd. No sharp weapon, no blood shed.

  Water lapped at the girl’s knees, harmless at first, but while she struggled, her body sank further into the mud.

  “Please don’t do this!” She held out her bound hands before the crowd. “Why would your goddess want me? I’m just a girl! Please help!”

  The oldest man turned and took his torch down from its stake. The rest of the crowd followed his motion in a single, swift abandonment and filed back down the original path.

  Toby wondered if their action was ceremonial or if the people were too squeamish to watch the death of the innocent girl. Whatever the reason, the opportunity surpassed all hope. While his heart screamed “forward!” his brain told him to wait. He counted to one hundred, then snapped on his flashlight and crept to the edge of the pit.

  The girl’s head hung down. Tears dropped from the end of her nose and into the mud, a foot below her chin. She hummed to herself and swayed a little, perhaps in a small attempt to be brave. His flashlight beam touched her face.

  She l
ooked up, blinking. Her eyes landed on his ears, and her mouth fell open.

  “What are you?” she gasped.

  Toby was too busy to answer. He darted over to one of the extra pieces of rope by the platform and hacked it down with his knife, then selected a sturdy tree and tied the rope around the trunk.

  For a moment he hesitated; he hated baths and this plunge promised to be nasty.

  “Please hurry!” yelled the girl. The mud passed her shoulders now.

  He gathered his courage and jumped into the brackish water-muck.

  “Cold, cold!” he sputtered.

  Except for the horrible stench, pushing through the mud was like wading through Gramble Shana’s bread dough. Toby exerted every bit of his strength to pull free and move forward, step after slogging step.

  The girl’s frantic eyes begged him to go faster. Speaking would mean a mouthful of mud at this point.

  Toby finally made it to her side and dug down into the muck. There! He felt her fingers now, jerked her hands up and out of the slime. Hurry, hurry! He tried to wipe away mud, tried to see where rope ended and skin began-- almost impossible. His tiny blade sliced through and she was free.

  He tugged the rope over, with no breath to explain what the girl needed to do. Fortunately she pulled her hands up and over her head without being prompted and he pushed the rope through the grime to make a loop around her waist.

  With the rope as friend and guide, Toby’s trip back to shore was much easier. He heard a loud slurping sound behind him as the swamp protested the loss of its victim.

  Toby hauled himself out and braced his feet against a rock. His small arms strained to help pull the girl through the sludge since she was twice his size. At last, she collapsed on the bank.

  Even while Toby fought to catch his breath he listened. The swamp people might return at any moment. He took the girl’s hand, white and slender under a layer of mud. “Lady,” he said, for he knew no other name, “We are not safe here. If your people return, we might end up back in the pit.” He looked down at his ruined clothes. “I don’t think I would like that much.”