Nomas: The Shattered World

By T. R. Payne

Nomas, a curious inquisitive boy of fourteen summers, sought out the people who passed through his community in a caravan. He had a unique skill that would help him with a job that the Elders in his community were desperate for him to carry out. He needed to find out where these mysterious people lived and how they stayed hidden from the rest of the world. They had possessions that the Elders wanted for the Community—security, technology, wealth, and food.

Nomas discovers the world is a very different place than his very ordered and controlled life in the Community. Nomas struggles to survive as he travels, fighting off wild dogs in the valley, escaping renegades on the roads, avoiding marauders in the devasted city, and going through a putrid forest. He finds shelter and friendship in the hidden Village. Gilia, the red-haired girl with a small dog, shows Nomas that life can have joy and happiness even if hard things happen. Nomas travels with the Villagers to a wild trading Bazaar and a city that is run by the AI machines. Nomas, once afraid of anything new or unknown, uses his unique abilities to fight an evil that rules the people in a shattered world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669818427

T. R. Payne

T.R. Payne with her little dog, Gracie, in her lap, writes stories that transports readers to new realms. Introducing new places and characters engaging in a world that may or may not mirror our own. To the delight of her little dog and the fans of Nomas, T.R. Payne is currently creating a sequel and a prequel to Nomas.

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Copyright © 2022 by T. R. Payne.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/29/2022

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1     Nomas

Chapter 2     Gilia

Chapter 3     The Examination

Chapter 4     The Discovery

Chapter 5     The Training

Chapter 6     The Journey Begins

Chapter 7     Dogs

Chapter 8     More Dangerous Than Dogs

Chapter 9     Found

Chapter 10   Learning

Chapter 11   Must Leave

Chapter 12   Meeting

Chapter 13   Explore

Chapter 14   Other Plans

Chapter 15   Time to Travel

Chapter 16   The Bazaar

Chapter 17   Help

Chapter 18   You’re Back

Chapter 19   New Cliffs

Chapter 20   AI City

Chapter 21   Working Together

Chapter 22   Standing Up

Chapter 23   The Interview

Chapter 24   Going Home

Chapter 25   Commitment

Chapter 26   A New Friend

Chapter 27   Plans

Chapter 28   Broken

Chapter 29   The Escape

Chapter 30   The War

Epilogue

T his

book is dedicated to my constant companion, Gracie. Thank you for staying with me the entire time this book was written. Even as this dedication is written, you are on my lap. I hope to repay you with plenty of dog treats. And also, all love to my husband, John, you’re pretty cool too. I love you more than the dog.

And to all my favorite people—Johnny, Andrew, Amber, Mia, Sarah, Dominic, Lucas, Van, Skylar, Noah, Felix, Quinn, and LeAnne. I love you all.

And to all of the readers, thank you for choosing this book, I wrote it for you.

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PROLOGUE

A broken and shattered world created, not by temperature or weather changes, wars with nuclear bombs, or plagues and pandemics, or aliens from a far-off planet, but by a great shaking. Worldwide earthquakes shook the foundations of the world, which opened long dormant volcanoes that destroyed the surrounding land with lava and covered the earth with ash that floated in the atmosphere for decades. The planet’s landscapes and water were changed, and the people on the earth fought for survival. The earth itself shook people off of its back.

Nations reeling from losing more than 80 percent of their citizens were ended with the final wars made to take or defend resources that were left. In the end, the only thing left were pockets of humankind, only 2 percent of the previous population. People struggled if they stayed alone and wandered the earth; others gathered and worked together to carve out a way to live. Unfortunately, cruel and tyrannical people and beings always seem to survive as well, and they always want more power, more control.

CHAPTER 1

Nomas

I lay awake in my cot listening to the rain; it had been falling hard all night. The rain came earlier than expected, and the repairs of the canals, levies, and ponds were not yet completed; I knew this would be a backbreaking day. On days like today, it wouldn’t have mattered if you were a builder or a field hand—all of us would be out in the rain, trudging through the mud trying to move it and keep the water from washing out the fields and flooding the cabins.

The bell was ringing, and the commands to get dressed and ready to work were sounded. The orders were given, and the men in my cabin were sent to dig a ditch on the far side of the field. We needed to get the water to go into the reserve pond. I thought, This should have been done in the dry months, we waited too long. We trudged through the mud with our shovels and picks. I saw the Builders come with their lumber and bags of sand, to support and brace the walls of mud. The rain was relentless; we were soaked to the bone. The mud stuck to the bottom of our shoes and made each step heavier as we trudged our way to the field. Our supervisors told us to start shoveling the mud to the side. We obeyed, and as we shoveled the mud, it washed and puddled back to where it was before. I looked around in frustration and wondered if anyone had a better plan. I heard an order for carts and more sandbags to be brought out with the mules. I wondered, Do we wait for the carts or keep shoveling mud that refuses to stay? I looked to the man next to me, and he just kept on shoveling the mud, waiting for orders to stop.

I saw something coming down the road. What is that? It looked like a lot of carts and horses, not mules. They looked even from a far distance to be larger than any of the ones I’ve seen before.

The field-master blew his horn and shouted an order. Go back to your cabins!

I saw the Protectors running toward us, yelling at us to get back to the cabin, to keep our eyes down, to move quickly now!

We all started running toward our cabin. I was frightened and wondered if what I saw earlier were invading enemies? Were we under attack? I kept running; the mud was slick, and keeping traction was getting more difficult with each step. Fear kept me moving toward safety, toward the cabins.

I looked up and saw more Protectors running into the fields and ordering us, Keep your eyes down! Move it!

I looked down as commanded. I felt relieved. These invaders would be no match for our great and mighty Protectors. I could hear the invaders’ animals. I had to look up and see if we were going to make it to our cabins. The caravan kept coming ominously toward us. The Protectors lined up at the edge of the road. The horn blew again. We were not going to make it to the cabins in time. I started to panic.

The captain of the Protectors barked out his orders, Kneel! Look down! Do not look upon the strangers!

We all got on our knees; we all looked down. I felt the mud sliding beneath me. I fell, face-first, in the mud just as the caravan was passing. I pushed up to regain my balance and slipped again. I heard laughter from a child. I looked up to see, and I saw great large horses pulling the carts and hideously large dogs that walked beside the cart. In the back of the drivers was a small child, who had a hood pulled over, but a wisp of her hair was free, and it was red as fire. I then felt a blow to my head.

Eyes down!

I fell into the mud again. Curiosity overwhelmed me. I had to look. I took a chance, and I kept my head down but looked up. There was something that wasn’t quite right, but I was struck again and blacked out before I understood what I saw.

I had a terrible headache when I woke. Someone must have carried me back to the cabin and put me in my cot. Dinner was already served, my bowl was not full, the stew was cold, and the bread was half eaten and stale. I ate what was left, hating those who ate what was mine. My head was pounding, and I still had mud everywhere—in the stubble of hair on my head, my face, even in my ears. I went to the washroom, and the bell rang, time for bed. I would have to wait till morning to wash. I was not looking forward to sleeping with mud all over myself. I lay there with the dried mud, and I started to pick at my face and ears, getting off what mud I could. I wondered what happened today, and if anyone would talk about it? Who were the strangers? Were they chased out of our community? I lay there listening to the men; they told stories of the old days, some of the prehistory days, but very few said anything about today. To my embarrassment, there was laughter at the mention of mud-face Nomas. As I drifted off to sleep, it came to me what was odd about the cart. The wheels didn’t leave any marks! The wheels were turning, but not touching the mud! But that can’t be right. My head must be playing tricks on me.

The next morning, I woke before the rooster crowed or the morning bell. It was a cold morning, and the rain continued. I went to the washroom and began to wash off yesterday’s mud. My mind drifted to the strangers and their caravan. I thought about the young child’s hair. I had never seen red hair. It was truly astonishing; I didn’t know hair could be such color. Everything about them was foreign to me. I’ve never heard of them passing over the Community’s land before, but I was young, only fourteen summers.

We had horses and mules for work in the fields, but the strangers’ horses were monstrously huge. The dogs were the size of our mules, but much broader through the chest. They were as black as night without the moon, and their heads were big enough to bite off a man’s head. I shivered at the thought of this. We, the Community, did not have dogs. We believed that dogs cannot be trusted; they were vicious animals. I thought these strangers must be vicious people, to walk with such beasts.

The carts were sleek and shone brightly, even on our gray and rainy day. All of the strangers wore different-colored cloaks, and their faces were hidden from my sight. I wondered about that; they all had different colors on, did it signify what work they did, like what we have here in the Community?

We, the Field-hands wear a dark brown, the Protectors wear black, the Builders wear a light-yellowish brown; the women who tend the garden wear green; the Elders wear a very light gray. All of our clothes were modest and practical. We were not prideful or tried to bring undue attention to ourselves as individuals. We worked, ate, and slept as a cohesive unit. Our community lived by our code: We are we; we are not just one. We depended on each other. That thought comforted me.

It was going to be a long day; my aching head was not going to make it any easier. The rain had not let up, and the mud was going to be worse than yesterday. I was told the levy to the south of us was about to break. We were going to go and help the Builders reinforce it. I hoped they had a plan for today, and the tools needed to work.

We worked all through the morning moving bags filled with sand reinforcing the sides of the levy. It was mindless work, and my thoughts would wander as we picked up one bag and moved to where the Builders directed. The Builders were more efficient when they were in charge, and they knew how the bags had to be stacked. I could see that the wall built by the bags of sand were doing what was needed.

I was happy to work beside the Builders today; it was as close to being a Builder that I would ever be. As a boy, I had wanted to be a Builder and would often make little things out of scraps of wood and sticks and twine. I would scribble out designs in the dirt and dream of building beautiful chairs and well-built tables, maybe even a small cabin. I didn’t realize that the Builders did more than make chairs, tables, and cabins. The Builders designed the levies, walls, gates, towers, and fences; all of these things protected our community.

In our twelfth year, the young men would be placed where we were needed. It was practical, but it can be disheartening to be placed where you do not want to be. Gratefully, I was too small for Protector internship; I knew I could not fight invaders. I was too easily frightened; it was not in my nature to fight. The only internships available for my year was field-hands, livestock-hands, and sanitation. I was happy I did not get sanitation, but I would have enjoyed taking care of the livestock. I realized I was, overall, content to serve my community working in the field. I tried to be content where I was. I worked hard for my community. I was not slovenly or ungrateful. I looked for the small pleasures of watching the crops grow after the planting, knowing that my work was why people were able to eat. It just never left my heart to want to build something. I dreamed of making something useful, something that would make the work easier or to make a comfortable chair to sit in.

The women and men lived and worked separately. The women were gardeners, makers of cloth and clothes, bakers, and caretakers for children and chickens. I’m not sure if the women lived as the men do. The only thing I know about how the women lived is from my memory of being in the childcare center when I was a child. Now, I lived in cabins with the other men; we lived in groups of twelve. In the center of six cabins, there was one building that had a large kitchen with one cook and an assistant cook; they lived in it and prepared all of the food for the men. We had terrible cooks, Varit and Fritar. They overcooked everything. The last good meal I had was at the childcare center. The cook for the childcare center was done by a woman named Cisna. She was about as round as she was tall, and she sang as she made our meals. She was very happy; she was also one of the last women I saw before coming to the fields. There was one other woman that I remember well, but I did not want to think about her today. And if, as most of us lived, they were the last women that I would ever see again. This thought made me sad, and I did not know why.

The midday meal bell rang, and I was famished from all of the work I had done in the morning. I longed for one of Cisna’s stews; the vegetables were always recognizable and tasted fresh, and the broth had herbs that didn’t overpower your taste buds. I realized I should be grateful for any meal; I just wasn’t in the mood for the tasteless gruel that Varit and Fritar made.

The rain was finally letting up as we trudged through the mud to our cabins. A Protector walked up to me and asked, Are you Nomas?

I replied, Yes.

Good. Follow me, barked the Protector.

Could I eat first?

He turned around and said, There is no time for that, come with me.

I followed, sullenly, as my stomach started to growl with hunger. I couldn’t believe I was sorry to not have the gruel I wasn’t wanting just a short time before. I then started to panic. Where is he taking me? Am I in trouble?

CHAPTER 2

Gilia

G randfather! Grandfather! Gilia yelled as she rushed into the library.

Gilia’s grandfather, Professor Ashwood, sat in his old leather-back chair reading a very old and very thick book that was on his desk. His large desk was covered with twenty or thirty other very ancient and very heavy books.

Slow down, child, what is the fuss? And be careful! Don’t knock down, said an older man with graying hair and a neatly groomed gray beard.

In her rush, she realized she was going entirely too fast and stopped short of doing just what her grandfather thought she was going to do—knocking over the great pile of books with a ceramic vase on top. Are we going? Really going tomorrow? asked a very excited girl.

Yes, we are going. Professor Ashwood looked affectionately at his granddaughter, thinking how much she reminded him of his own daughter, full of life and spirit that never seemed to be down but curious about the world around her and wanting the adventure to explore everything.

Gilia exclaimed, Woo-hoo! Yes! I’m going to start packing. She turned to leave, and Grandfather reminded the small girl to pack her cloak. Of course, Grandfather. She turned back, remembering that she needed to ask one more thing. Grandfather, can Lilu come too?

Lilu? Why should Lilu come? Just another mouth to feed, teased Professor Ashwood.

Oh, Grandfather, you know she only eats a little. She’s my best friend, she really must come. She must come to see.

Professor Ashwood looked up from his book and laughed a little. Well, if she must, then she must.

Thank you, Grandfather! Lilu, you get to come! Lilu, a tiny beast of a dog, excitedly ran and twirled in excitement, as if she understood every word. Lilu jumped up, and Gilia picked her up, and the dog’s little tongue licked Gilia’s face as her tail wagged faster than the girl’s heartbeats. We are going! And maybe, this time they can fix my legs, and I can walk and run and jump like my little dog, Lilu.

Gilia raced back to her room in her chair to pack. We are going to the Great City! she exclaimed to her little dog again. With her bag finally packed, Gilia thought about her mother as she ran her fingers across the bag. Her fingers lingered over the flowers stitched by her mother. The flowers were bright red, the very ones that she was named for, Scarlet Gilia. The girl looked at her dog and explained, My mother named me after this flower because I was born with a head full of red hair, and it made her cry with joy. At least that is what Grandfather tells me. The fiery-red, trumpet-shaped flowers were small and delicate with bright-green comblike leaves. Ipomopsis aggregata is the scientific name for the flower, and when her grandfather was feeling sad or thoughtful, he called the girl Ipomopsis, or he calls her Verbena, when he thinks of his daughter. Gilia continued to run her fingers over the threads of the flowers, trying to remember her mother’s face.

Ipomopsis! Gilia!

Yes, Grandfather, I am coming! shouted the little girl as she put the bag on her lap. Come on, Lilu, up. Lilu jumped on top of the bag, and as Gilia was ready to charge out of the room, she remembered her cloak and grabbed it off of the hook. She stopped and turned and took one last look into her room. She thought, It is slightly untidy, but not too horrible. Next time I come into this room, I will walk in.

Gilia! Come on, child, it’s time to go!

I’m coming, Grandfather! I’m ready to go.

Gilia settled into her carriage; she imagined they were quite a sight coming down the road. Horses pulled the carriages with two enormous dogs walking next to them. There were ten carriages filled with people and goods to trade and two carts for foods and cooking supplies. The guards, which were a part of the caravan, were there to keep everyone safe on their travels. The guards could look stern and menacing to outsiders, but to Gilia, most of the guards were just overgrown boys at heart, and Gilia enjoyed listening to them as they were often jesting and bantering with each other. The guards rode on large dark horses and wore plain low-luster black helmets and shields on their chest, back, and legs. The guards also wore hooded cloaks of different colors that were long enough that it covered them and the back of the horse they were riding. Each cloak was specific to each man; it had their rank and family emblems. The guard dogs were large and fierce, unlike the little dog Lilu. The guard dogs, the size of ponies, had wide heads and short muzzles with deep and broad chests. They had short, black hair and a deep-copper chest and belly. The dogs looked very fierce as they walked beside the carriages. They were intimidating animals, and they needed them to be vicious and fierce-looking. Going out of their village, the outside world was a dangerous journey. Many desperate and dangerous people were outside, and they would attack and kill for horses, carriages, food, and clothes. Most people who did not live in the Village were afraid of dogs. The Village had a lot of dogs, of different breeds and sizes; they were an integral part of life in the Village. The huge guard dogs were fierce, but when they were not working, but playing, they smiled. The dogs walking beside Gilia’s carriage were Anakim and Rephaim. The dogs Emim and Talmai were with Grandfather and a young man named Thorne.

Thorne was an apprentice of Professor Ashwood; he was a quiet young man, and Gilia thought of him as boring because he spent his days reading and writing all day with her grandfather and was a teacher at the school in the Village. Gilia had a couple of classes with Thorne, and he was a stickler for being 100 percent accurate in everything. Gilia, who was not the most careful of students and often looked for shortcuts to any work, decided he was absolutely no fun at all. She preferred her art teacher, Miss Sage. Gilia had decided that Thorne was just like his name—you didn’t want to get stuck with him.

Gilia settled in her seat and was excited to see the vast open space of the valley below; her nanny, Miss Petunia, whom Gilia called Petty, was already asleep. Petunia’s head nestled in her cloak and cushions of the carriage. How could Petty sleep? thought Gilia. The view was amazing! The trees were all kinds of colors—orange, yellow, bright red. Fall was here, and the trees were showing off how spectacular they were. Gilia lifted up Lilu so she could see. Her little tail wagged excitedly, and they both looked down the road, and they saw they had reached the gates that protected the Village, valley, and hills.

Gilia waited breathlessly as they opened the gates, and as the gates