Tunuftol's Fortress of Light: Tunuftol, #1

By Ann Snizek

Krissa Wittek, a protective big sister fighting to survive the foster system, wants nothing more than a place she and her brother can call home. When the voice from her dreams leads her to a hidden key in "Grandma" Athey's attic and the truth of her identity crashes around her,she sets out on a quest through a locked portal to a world she didn't remember - as the Chosen One of Nyssa - to return the Light and save her world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Snizek
• Release date: Dec 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781386460312

Ann Snizek

Originally from Vermont, Ann now lives in Virginia with her husband. She spent much of her childhood moving from place to place. Now settled, she enjoys homesteading and pursuing her dreams of sharing her imagination through writing and graphic art. Ann's love of books from childhood continues today - always searching for new ways to stimulate the imagination. She knows the struggles of adversities as well as the thrill of triumphing over them. Pulling from vast and various life experiences, both her own and those observed, for inspiration, Ann strives to learn, grow, and share. She loves hearing from her readers through social media or emails. Feel free to contact her through her site.

Book preview

1: STARTING OVER - AGAIN

T he Wheels on the Bus played once more during the two-hour ride already endured that morning. Ironically, the sedan's wipers kept tempo with the childish song. Thirteen-year-old Krissa inwardly groaned. She had a pounding headache from the musical torture, but forced a smile at her undersized brother, Micah, who sat in the seat beside her.

An intense flash of lightning and violent crack of thunder rattled the car windows and raised the hair on her arm. It also echoed Krissa's mood as desperation started taking over. Krissa struggled to remember how many placements they had gone through over the years, but lost count. She shrugged in frustration as she stared out the window at the rain-blurred scenery. This would be their third placement this year alone, and it was only April. If they didn't find a place soon to keep them out of the Children's Home and away from their caseworker, Mrs. Johnston, Krissa feared that Micah would be taken away from her.

Mrs. Johnston had privately admitted to Krissa that she delighted in finding the worst families available in the foster system and relocating them as often as possible. Occasionally, the disturbed woman slipped up and the Wittek children found temporary sanctuary in a decent home. Krissa felt sure the woman had escaped from some institution, or perhaps had been part of some depraved preschool program for terrorists.

The sedan turned down a dark, dirt road overhung by the branches of the old trees that lined the sides, making it feel more like a dismal tunnel from a nightmare.

We're here! Mrs. Johnston said as they pulled into the driveway of an ancient farm.

A looming, white two-story house came into view with its tattered black shutters and tired, covered porch stretching across the front. The red barn, no longer red, had faded into pink and drastically needed repair, as did all of the smaller sheds. Lightning struck so close everyone jumped, and Krissa's hair stood up on her arms again.

Oh, my! What a grumpy Gus today. The caseworker patted her chest as if to restart the heart Krissa didn't believe she had, and both kids rolled their eyes.

The short, round, forty-something woman, who always wore a brightly colored, flowery dress with a pink sweater and a fake pearl jewelry set, fumbled with her teddy-bear raingear and bag. She climbed out under her matching umbrella to head to the house as dry as possible.

Krissa and Micah each gathered up their trash bag of belongings, and swallowed hard before plunging out into the drenching rain and slick red mud. The never-ending pattern, of being dragged from one home to the next, caused butterflies to not simply dance, but have a full out rave in Krissa's stomach.

An oddly-agreeable looking, elderly woman stood just inside the rusty screen door and a round old beagle pushed past her to greet the children with a happily wagging tail, completely heedless of the rain or mud.

Daisy Mae, get back in here, you crazy old dog. The woman's voice rang with laughter.

The old dog responded with a horrific baying, but turned and slowly waddled up the worn steps ahead of the new arrivals. The screen door creaked as the old woman pushed it open. She stepped aside for them to enter the mudroom as Mrs. Johnston shook the rain from her umbrella.

Good morning, Mrs. Boske, the caseworker said. Here we are.

Yes, I see that. Good Morning, Mrs. Boske said in a bland reply. Her expression appeared much warmer as she waved for the kids to enter. Come in, come in. Please leave the mud here. That means you too, Daisy Mae.

The stiff old dog looked up at the tall, slender, old woman then hung her head and scratched fiercely at the floor mat. Micah giggled as he and Krissa peeled themselves from the dripping jackets and shoes. He stood wide-eyed in his stained socks and baggy clothes, clinging to his bag with one arm and Krissa with the other. Krissa forced the butterflies back down, her hardened defenses in place and ready.

Have a seat, the old lady said as she beckoned them into the kitchen.

Krissa instantly felt off about the room, a picture-perfect, old farm kitchen... a little too perfect to her mind. The smell of chocolate-chip cookies flooded the air, making her mouth water as she looked around.

The clean, well-used room had a deep, white double-sink; a small, round table with mix-matched chairs; and lots of cabinets. All of the cushions matched with the curtains in a small, red and white plaid. Handmade potholders, doilies, and figurines of roosters, pigs, and cows traversed the walls, windowsills, and shelves. Decorative plates lined the tops of the cabinets.

Would you like a snack? Mrs. Boske asked, looking from Krissa to Micah.

Micah's round eyes grew even larger as he nodded his head enthusiastically. More cautious and suspicious, Krissa mumbled a quiet yes please and pulled her chair closer to her brother. Mrs. Boske's eyes smiled as she collected cookies and milk and placed them on the table in front of the children.

The whole thing seemed too unreal to Krissa. However, a feeling of comfort spread over her. Startled, she glanced up at Mrs. Boske through narrowed eyes. The comfortableness certainly didn't match how she had felt up to that point and she struggled with the odd mix of comfort and unease. How could this place have such a strong, immediate, and contradictory reaction with her?

Krissa saw the old woman's eyes come alive, as if she won some priceless prize. She struggled with the emotions while Mrs. Johnston, still in her raingear, struggled with her bag for some paperwork.

Here are your copies of the paperwork. I'm afraid I must be on my way. Duty calls, you know. She handed Mrs. Boske a manila envelope as she sang out her words. You have my number if you have any problems.

The caseworker threw a withering and penetrating glare at Krissa, who clenched her teeth and swallowed the cookie with difficulty. The comfort and warmth faltered within Krissa, and a cold feeling struck her butterflies, creating a frozen weight in the mosh pit of her stomach.

Let me walk you out then, Mrs. Boske said and stepped forward, blocking Krissa's view of the much shorter woman and forcing her back into the mudroom.

The odd, old woman winked at Krissa as she left the kitchen. Krissa didn't understand the wink and brushed it aside a personality quirk. A flood of warm acceptance washed over her that seemed to thaw her gut, but caused her to choke on the cookie at the unexpected sensation.

Certain that Mrs. Johnston would say something to tarnish their new guardian's first impressions, Krissa strained to hear the caseworker’s words. However, with only the screen door between them and the irate storm that continued to blow, Krissa had a hard time.

Mrs. Johnston instantly dropped her bouncy tone into a harsh and scratchy growl. Venom laced every word. That girl's nothing but trouble. She'll rob you blind, and probably your neighbors too. On top of that, you had better watch your back. She's a fighter. Several of her previous homes sent them away for fear of their lives. I don't know why on Earth you asked for them both, or how you actually managed to get them. I warn you though; you'd be better off sending her back with me and just keeping that little boy.

Krissa bristled at the woman's words. How dare she? How dare she tell such lies? How dare she try to take Micah from her? Anger, resentment, and a sharp stab of fear struck Krissa's heart as multiple bolts of lightning struck nearby. She silently, and automatically, formed escape plans in case she had to grab Micah and make a run for it... with, or without, their shoes.

She couldn't exist without Micah. The majority of the fights Krissa had were to protect him. Micah's extremely high IQ and low stature made him a target. He always outstripped even the top students in his classes without any effort, even after advancing two grades. Krissa had to defend the only family she had left. She may not have been the best fighter, but she could hold her own... with other kids at least. Krissa shut her eyes, refusing to let that particular thought to continue.

Nonsense, Mrs. Boske said tersely, snapping Krissa back to the conversation. I know exactly what I'm doing, I know what you're doing, and I know your true name, Duana Jebel.

A gust of wind picked up and drove the heavy rain into the house, making the next words unclear. Krissa's mind faltered in the escape planning, and she absently took a bite of her second cookie, straining to hear more.

No, you can't be, said the woman Krissa had known as Mrs. Johnston. But that would mean that they're really...

The door creaked open and the roar of the steady downpour became too overpowering once more, drowning out anything else that passed between the women. Krissa grumbled to herself over the frustrating interference of nature as she heard the faint, but distinct sound of a car starting.

The door creaked again. Another flash in the sky accompanied by an earth-shaking boom rattled the entire building as the door slammed shut and Mrs. Boske reappeared. Krissa and Micah both jumped and even the lights flickered.

Glad that's over, Mrs. Boske said in a growl under her breath. Turning to the children, her eyes softened considerably and even twinkled. You ate that quickly, didn't you? You can have another after we settle you in your rooms. Would you like that? Micah nodded eagerly. Thought so, Mrs. Boske said. Ready then?

Both children stood, scrapping their chairs across the floor. Micah once again hugged his damp bag to his body, and Krissa put her free hand protectively on his shoulder as they followed Mrs. Boske to their rooms. Daisy Mae grunted as she rose from under Micah's chair and waddled along behind them.

Krissa figured that Mrs. Boske couldn't be all-bad if she didn't like Mrs. Johnston, or Duana Jebel, or whatever her name was. Things looked good until Krissa saw the living room with its stereotypical nursing home look. She started to dread what their rooms would be like. As they went upstairs, the steep and narrow steps complained with the same groaning and creaking that Krissa felt.

Here's your room, Micah. I believe you'll find it to your liking, Mrs. Boske said as she opened the first door.

The small boy entered the blue and white striped room and walked straight to the small bed with its blue and white checkered quilt. The simple tasteful décor fit the boy. He set his bag down on the floor with a silent, growing smile. The only noise in the room came from the rustle of the plastic bag and the panting of the old beagle by the boy's feet.

Mrs. Boske then led Krissa farther down the hallway and opened the next door. Your room is right here, my dear. I thought you'd like to be close to your brother.

Krissa's room had a full-sized, four-poster bed with a beautifully made lavender and white quilt. It also contained a delicately carved dresser with mirror, an old steamer trunk resting at the foot of the bed, a desk that had scroll-worked legs, a white lamp, and a sturdy wooden chair. A small, empty bookshelf sat nestled between the two windows. The tidy and delicate room conflicted with the wild haired, scraggly self-image of Krissa.

She took in the beauty of the room with awkward amazement. Every other room she'd been given had been very plain, ugly, and empty... white walled with only a bed and dresser, if she even had a room of her own. Krissa had concluded that foster parents didn't want to put in effort for any child that wasn't going to be there long anyway. Well... hers never did.

What do you think? Mrs. Boske asked with a look on her face that puzzled Krissa.

She got the impression that Mrs. Boske knew that she liked it, but waited for more... a specific reaction perhaps. A sense of anticipation became so thick in the air that Krissa could almost taste the tang, but couldn't figure out what caused it.

It's ok, I guess, Krissa said blandly and shrugged, determined not to allow any attachment despite the longing in her heart. In actuality, she loved the room. It reminded her of her room in the last home she and Micah had shared with their parents.

A flash of the last day with her parents coursed through her thoughts. At eight-years-old, Krissa had reluctantly taken her three-year-old brother outside to play, at the insistence of their dad. Once outside, Micah took off. She freaked out, and tore the neighborhood to shreds trying to locate him before their parents found out. When she caught him, the explosion happened. If Micah hadn't wandered off they'd be dead too.

The clarity of the memory stunned her. The original shock of the tragedy had sent her into some type of amnesia. Months after the accident, she finally remembered their names, but nothing else. By that time, something had happened to the records of the incident. Officials couldn't find any records of their identity anywhere. While many memories gradually returned, Krissa struggled for years with a vague gnawing at the back of her mind, as if she had forgotten something of extreme importance.

I left that shelf empty for you. There're things in the attic you can pick from, if you like, Mrs. Boske said calling Krissa back to her surroundings. You might even find something that catches your eye. Any time you want just go ahead. No need to ask.

The heavy silence that fell made Krissa uncomfortable and she fidgeted. Mrs. Boske continued to watch her intently.

You get settled and dry, then you and Micah can come on out to the barn. Put your wet things in the tub across the hall. The rain will be stopping soon, and I've got lots of work to get done now that you’re here. The strange lady disappeared down the hall as soon as Krissa nodded acknowledgement.

Dumping the contents of her trash bag onto the bed, she tenderly opened the backpack that had fallen onto the bed and pulled out a small cloth that wrapped a picture frame. The frame contained Krissa's most treasured item, her only real treasure, a portrait of her and Micah with their parents. She sighed deeply as she looked at the image.

This lone picture, from so long ago, constituted all she had of their lives before foster care, and Micah had the watch their mom had given their dad, as his treasure. She had found the treasured items while wandering through the wreckage they formerly called home. For some inexplicable reason, no one else ever noticed the items... not even the rescue workers that found the two kids wandering the rubble of five flattened houses.

Krissa hugged the portrait and beat back the excruciating pain her sudden memories brought her. She gently set the picture in the center of the desk facing the bed before putting away the rest of her things and changing into something dry.

Well, here we go again, Krissa said to the picture with desperation shooting through her. She plopped down on the bed with a heavy sigh and choked back her emotions. "I wonder how long we'll be here. Oh, how I wish..."

The floor creaked, interrupted Krissa, and caused her to look up at Micah, standing in fresh clothes, at the doorway. The old beagle had followed and sat by the boy’s feet. Her tail thumped a few times against the floor as the she watched.

What do you think? Krissa asked as she sat up, quickly composing herself.

"Seems nice. Cookies are really good! I like it," Micah said in his quiet way and shrugged. Leave it to Micah to say it so plainly and from the stomach.

I don't know. It's nice, but there's something else I can't explain. I feel like things are too... I don't know, Krissa said trying to explain, but let out a frustrated puff of air at her persistent wild lock of hair that once again fell in her face. Don't get too cozy. You know how it goes.

Micah forced a small smile in response. Of course, he knew how it went. It was the only life he did know. They had become experts at starting over - over and over again. It had always been the same thing, but Krissa wasn’t so sure this time. A strange feeling deep down grew into hope that maybe she would be able to have her dream. She didn’t feel safe enough to admit it to herself, much less Micah. After all, she was supposed to protect him. That’s what big sisters are for.

2: WHAT A DAY

S o, what now then? Micah asked.

Outside. Mrs. Boske is waiting at the barn.

In the rain? Micah groaned.

She said it's supposed to stop sometime soon, Krissa offered with a shrug.

Neither of them looked forward to getting rained on again as they went back downstairs to the kitchen. Micah excitedly noticed a note Mrs. Boske left on the table beside a plate with two more cookies. It said simply, Enjoy. Micah grabbed up a cookie with delight and inhaled it.

Krissa took the other and glanced down at Daisy Mae who had continued to follow them, and stood between their feet. The old dog returned Krissa's gaze in an almost human way that sent chills up her back. Krissa got the strong feeling that they would be stuck with this odd, old beagle for a long time to come.

In the mudroom, Krissa felt like the Itsy-Bitsy Spider. They wriggled their feet back into their soggy shoes to go out into the sun, which had come out, since the storm had passed and had started to dry the saturated ground, like Mrs. Boske said it would. Then she silently cursed Mrs. Johnston for the two hours of baby music.

The relaxing smells of fresh hay and grain filled the air outside, and a cow mooed from somewhere behind the barn. As insects buzzed about in the freshly washed air, chickens scattered about trying to catch them. When they reached the barn door, Mrs. Boske dropped a pair of gloves into a bucket. Beside it, a rope tied to the barn wall climbed up to a huge beam and down to a tire swing swaying from the breeze as if begging a child to climb aboard.

There you are, Mrs. Boske said wiping her forehead with a cloth. She noticed Micah eyeing the tire swing and added, The swing is safe enough. You be careful not to fall off and you may even have fun with it.

Hi, Grandma Athey! a voice yelled from the driveway.

Well, hi there, Pin, Mrs. Boske said shielding her eyes. You didn't waste any time, now did you? Mrs. Boske chuckled a little. They just got here.

I know. I waited for that woman to leave and ran over as fast as I could, a girl about Krissa's age answered as she slowed from a run, and walked over to the group at the barn with her face nearly as pink as the barn itself from excitement. She had long blonde hair in a single braid down her back, large and unavoidable light blue eyes, an amazing smile, and two perfect dimples. She had a fairy-tale face... very soft and delicately perfect.

Krissa... Micah, this is Pinelopi Hillard. She lives down the road. Pin, this is Krissa and Micah Wittek, Mrs. Boske introduced them. They each said their hellos and Daisy Mae let out an awful baying sound.

Hello to you too, Daisy Mae, Micah said and bowed awkwardly. Mrs. Boske let out a chuckle and her eyes danced.

I guess you want to run off with them, Mrs. Boske said with eyebrows raised good-naturedly, and let out a sigh as if recalling her own youth. Show them around, and have a good time, but take Daisy Mae along with you. I'm sure she'd go even if I didn’t say so, but I've said it now. She nodded her head at Daisy Mae as if daring the dog to argue with her. I've got stuff around here to get done. Be back in time for lunch.

Thanks, Grandma Athey, Pinelopi said with an impressive smile. "Oh, Momma Tana wanted me to tell you that we picked up your order at Sophie's, and she'll be bringing it to you before dinner tonight."

Thank you. Now go have fun while you can. Mrs. Boske turned, with a smile on her wrinkled face and a twinkle in her eyes, grabbed the bucket and a rake, and walked off to the far side of the barn shaking her head.

Krissa suspiciously studied Pinelopi. She stood about two inches shorter than Krissa's 5'5. Some of her blonde hair had fallen out of her braid, but it lay perfectly in curls as it framed the girl's face. She wore clean, crisp, designer clothes, and her expensive shoes bore only a slight trace of mud. Without a doubt, Krissa saw her as one of the popular girls" that never had anything to do with her, or her brother, except to pick at them.

Self-consciously, Krissa thought about her own appearance. Her huge, ugly, mud-plastered shoes could almost carry on their own conversation with the way the bottoms pulled away. The outgrown, ragged jeans and oversized, riddled t-shirt, that said Cougars Class of 1987 in faded letters across the front, broadcasted the sharp social contrasted from the girl she just met. She reached up and brushed back her rouge lock of hair, then slid her hand over the thick brown mass as she pulled it into a ponytail. Krissa did have green eyes at least, she sighed softly. She knew they weren't nearly as bright, or noticeable as Pinelopi's eyes, but they were the same color her mom's had been.

So, how old are you guys? Pinelopi asked. I'm fourteen.

I'm nine, Micah said. "Krissa is almost fourteen. She will be next week." Krissa could hear the pride in Micah's voice as he told his sister's age. The fact that he spoke at all startled her, and she looked over at him. Usually, his shyness around new kids kept him silently by her side. Krissa smiled, but braced herself for the all too common negative comments. Most kids guessed that he was about seven instead of nine since he barely stood four feet high and a good wind could probably knock him down, which most kids tried to do also. To Krissa's relief, Pinelopi giggled.

Cool, Pinelopi said. I wouldn't have guessed you were nine though. You're a bit small, huh? Like me.

Yeah, but only when you're looking down at me. I’m tall if you're only two, Micah added wryly