Meremoth's Folly: A Tale of Sibbalore

By Katherine Robinson

The people of Malygda have lived out their days in blissful, ignorant obedience for the past one hundred years. They no longer wonder what life was like before the Mayor came to their town. But the day eleven-year-old Sarah finds a note about something called the Resistance, her life drastically changes. The Mayor is not what he seems-and his dark powers threaten not only the town of Malygda but the entire land of Sibbalore. Sarah and her three friends-Molly, Jack, and Benji-must face dangerous creatures and formidable magic as they seek to stop him. Can these four children overcome the odds and save the world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781644688878

Book preview

chapter 1

If you were to travel through the land of Sibbalore, away from the Silvery Sea in the west and over the majestic Mount Kitabu, passing through numerous quaint villages and bustling towns, eventually you would reach the edge of the Forest of Bäume, where the towering trees had kept silence for one hundred years. Few outside the forest remembered a time when the dark leaves had not stretched far overhead, guarding their secrets closely and rustling whenever a traveler dared to pass near the forest edge. However, it had been a long time since even the most curious adventurers had contemplated what lay beyond the ancient trees, and it is for that reason that our story comes from within this forest.

If some traveler had been able to penetrate the spell that guarded the Forest of Bäume (for it was an enchantment, Dear Reader, that shrouded the forest from curiosity), he would have come to an unnatural clearing in the center of the forest with an even more unnatural town. Every building in Malygda (for so the town had been called for the past one hundred years) looked exactly the same—the townhouses were all of a dull gray brick, exactly the same height and varying only by the iron letters hanging on the black doors. If you were to enter one of these houses, it would even be hard to distinguish the families from each other, for every house had exactly the same layout and exactly the same schedule rigidly followed. Every morning, the adults went off to work in office buildings painted an off-white color, and if you were to ask one of them what they had done that day (or what they had accomplished on any day), they would have answered with a short I went to work. Indeed, they probably did not remember what they had done, for their work was tedious and not worth further thought.

The children followed nearly the same schedule as the adults, only instead of going to work, they trudged off to the school, called the Institute of Learning. This building (one of the few interesting landmarks left in the town) had at least some claim to grandeur, for four white columns marked its entrance. Here, however, the teachers had created a curriculum filled with their own boring fictitious history instead of the fascinating facts that the children should have learned, and so every day the children returned home with their minds stuffed full of useless, dull information. Their sterilized studies prepared them for adult life, and adult life prepared them to continue the cycle that had not been broken in living memory.

Next to the school, in the very heart of the town, was another building that is of great interest to us, for it is here that our villain resides. This structure was called City Hall, but it was more of a stone keep than a government building. Four turrets rose from its four corners, and a grand wooden door wrought with iron proclaimed its importance to all who passed by it. However, the citizens of Malygda never questioned its existence or its purpose, for reasons that will be made clear later in the story. Although a chosen few did enter the Research Center that stood next to City Hall and worked long hours there, even they did not remember what they had done or why they had gone to work—but I get ahead of myself. I give you these details of Malygda not to burden you with needless description but to reveal to you how different a life our heroine lived from those who resided in the gray apartments with their colorless lives.

On the outskirts of town, set back against the edge of the forest, was an unusual house of dark red brick. Although this may sound normal to you, Dear Reader, this splash of color was a stark contrast to the gray scale of the town, so much so that the residents of Malygda avoided it as much as possible. However, it wasn’t really a house at all but was a bookshop with a small apartment on the second floor with a kitchen, a bathroom, and two tiny bedrooms. It is here that the residents of Malygda purchased their schoolbooks, and so they only ventured into this disruption of normalcy out of necessity.

In this bookshop, there lived a girl of eleven years old, the heroine of our story. She had lived in this bookshop for as long as she could remember and had never been to the center of town, for reasons that will later become clear. Her name was Sarah, and she lived with a woman she called Aunt Elaine. Aunt Elaine wasn’t her real aunt, but she was the only family Sarah could remember, so as far as Sarah was concerned, Aunt Elaine was family.

Sarah was an unusual girl, not at all like the other children her own age. For one thing, Aunt Elaine made sure that she was homeschooled, protecting her mind from absorbing the senseless information taught at the Institute of Learning (you must forgive me if you are a teacher reading this; I promise that my own education when I was young was wonderful, but in Malygda, this was not the case). For another thing, Sarah loved to read. Never having traveled into the center of town had left her without friends, so she took solace in the pages that surrounded her. Right now, for instance, she was curled up in one of the oversized armchairs in the front of the bookshop, reading an adventure story so thick it had to rest on her lap because her arms were tired of holding it up. Every once in a while, she would push her unruly caramel curls out of her face and lift her hazel eyes to glance at Aunt Elaine, fingering the small pearl on the silver chain around her neck, as she always did when she was nervous. Each time she repeated this curious action, she would open her mouth to speak, only to glance back down at the book she held and continue reading.

Sarah and Aunt Elaine spent every evening in the front of the bookshop, which served as their sitting room and the area in which most people shopped. Very few people went past the front desk into the back of the bookshop where shelves stretched all the way to the back door, full of fairytales and adventures and the best kinds of stories. Those were the ones that Sarah read the most; however, the people in the town rarely purchased anything more than their schoolbooks (Sarah had started to read one once but had stopped when Aunt Elaine called it names that we must not repeat here). The people had lost their sense of adventure; indeed, they had forgotten that there were stories that could make you feel brave or show you the meaning of true love. They preferred reading only what the teachers at the Institute of Learning prescribed to them, nothing more.

Because tonight was a chilly fall evening, a fire roared in the old fireplace behind Sarah. Aunt Elaine sat at the front desk in the center of the room as usual, keeping the records for the store. She worked tirelessly, and although at a first glance she seemed frail, the steel in her blue eyes convinced every customer that she was not to be taken advantage of. Her hair had long since gone white as snow, but she worked with the energy of a much younger person. Her pen scratched across the page while the fire crackled merrily, and the slight pfft of pages turning marked the speed of Sarah’s reading.

Tonight, however, was a different night, for Sarah had been rummaging around in the cellar earlier that day and had encountered a ragged, torn note about something called the Resistance. The more she perused the book she held, the more the questions clouded her mind, causing her to repeat the curious action we have seen her do this night. Finally, taking a deep breath, she shut her book and worked up the courage to speak.

Aunt Elaine, she began, voice trembling at her daring.

Speak up, Sarah, Aunt Elaine said, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily. She had been writing at the desk for the past few hours, her pen slowing down with the coming of night.

Well, it’s just that I found a note earlier, in the cellar, and I was wondering what it meant.

What note?

Sarah was surprised to hear worry in Aunt Elaine’s voice, and she hesitated before deciding to plunge forward again. It was about the Resistance.

The Resistance? Do you have this note on you?

Sarah nodded and handed it over; it was a tiny scrap of paper, with only a few words legible, such as luchien, Meremoth, Resistance, and Hayat. Aunt Elaine scanned the scrap of paper for a moment, her blue eyes seeming to mist over, then looked steadily at Sarah.

Perhaps it is time you knew, she said, but at that moment, there came a sharp knock at the door.

Aunt Elaine stood up, nearly toppling the chair over behind her. She strode around the desk in her usual impatient manner, but as the knock came again, Sarah saw her hand grasp the corner of the desk for support. After a moment’s hesitation, Aunt Elaine threw the scrap of paper into the fireplace and turned to Sarah. You need to get out, she said as the knock sounded again, stronger this time.

What’s wrong? Sarah asked, standing slowly and setting her book on the table next to her.

Aunt Elaine gave Sarah a small push toward the back of the bookshop. You need to leave, she said, her voice sharp. Go straight through the woods and find my sister’s house. Tell her the time has come for her to join the Resistance again. Do you understand?

Why—?

Go! Now!

Sarah gave a frightened nod and ran to the back of the shop; however, an overwhelming sense of curiosity mixed with fear flooded her veins, and she paused behind a shelf, straining to hear what was going on as Aunt Elaine opened the creaky front door.

Evening, gentlemen. How may I be of assistance?

There was a slight cry as Aunt Elaine was pushed aside. We know that you can see us, said the most horrible voice that Sarah had ever heard. It was low, cold, and emotionless, and it caused the hair on the back of Sarah’s neck to stand up. She shivered as the voice grated over her ears again. Where have you hidden it? I won’t ask again. Tell me where it is.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you could be clearer—

There was the sound of a sharp slap, and Aunt Elaine cried out. Sarah gave a frightened glance at the back door, then took a step closer to the front room, rubbing her necklace between her thumb and forefinger.

You know where it is, woman, and you know what he is searching for. Tell us or suffer the consequences.

You will have to be more specific than that, because I haven’t got the faintest idea what you mean. Aunt Elaine sounded extraordinarily proper, a voice Sarah knew she reserved both for the times when she was angriest and when she was most afraid. She tried peering through the books, but they, while masking her, obscured her vision of the two visitors, and all she could see were two hulking silhouettes and the smaller form of Aunt Elaine.

Get out of the way, woman, the second shape growled in a voice even deeper and more like gravel than the other. He struck Aunt Elaine, and she crumpled to the floor. Your delay cannot stop our Master. We will find it, and you will be punished for your insolence. The two shapes stepped over Aunt Elaine and thumped over to the desk, their shoulders heaving up and down. Sarah heard the sound of papers rifling, feet stomping again, and the footsteps of one of them came closer, knocking books off shelves.

If you won’t tell us, we’ll have to burn it all down, said the deeper voice. You have your choice.

Aunt Elaine said in a weak but wry voice, Your loss.

The gray form laughed, a deep rumbling grind that turned into an inhuman howl. He seized a book from the floor and stalked over to the fireplace, dipping the book in flames and launching it across the room. The flames instantly spread, the books providing the perfect kindling for the fire. Sarah gave a tiny gasp of fear and moved deeper into the back of the bookshop, still unwilling to leave Aunt Elaine to the mercy of these two strangers but terrified of staying and being caught.

I’ll take this one with us, said the lower voice. Finish the search in the back, and join me out front. Find the girl. Meremoth wants her as well.

The shape nearest to Sarah paused and howled his assent, and she heard the fierce growls of the first voice and a small, piteous groan as the stranger lifted Aunt Elaine and carried her out of the bookshop. Sarah could wait no longer; the other stranger was nearly upon her hiding spot, and the flames were reaching long fingers out toward the back of the shop. She crept as quietly as she could to the back door, barely daring to breathe as the beast’s heavy shuffling came closer. Her hand touched the doorknob, trembling, and she slowly turned it, willing it to be silent. She opened the door inch by inch as the stranger came ever closer, knocking the shelves over and wreaking havoc on the bookstore.

Sarah nearly gave a scream as she saw the top of its head rise over the nearest bookshelf, focusing not on her but on the approaching flames. It was not human, not in any sense other than that it spoke and walked on two legs. It had a hulking frame, its arms uneven and hanging low to the ground, covered in gray fur. Two ears stuck up straight out of its head, twisting this way and that like a dog’s will when it hears something, and a grizzled snout protruded where a mouth should have been. It gave a long, slow sniff at the air, wrinkling its nose at the smoke, and then slowly began to turn toward Sarah. She caught a glimpse of two orange eyes, burning without the aid of the flames, and then she could bear it no more, wrenching open the door and scrambling outside. The beast gave a howl and pushed against the remaining shelves, sending them flying in his attempts to reach her. She slammed the door shut and sprinted for the dark woods behind the bookstore, ignoring the brightly lit street where the other creature had taken Aunt Elaine in favor of the safety of darkness and the unknown, finally following Aunt Elaine’s instructions.

The beast by now had managed to open the door, scanning the area for a sign of Sarah. She heard his voice echoing into the night after her, the horror of it pursuing her at every turn. You cannot escape. We will find you. And when we do, you will die. Ragged sobs tore from her chest as she reached the first of the trees and pushed past it into what had before been the place of her nightmares. Behind her, the beast gave a howl and lunged forward, but as he did so, the shop burst fully into flames, forcing him to dodge as the fire struck out at him. The monster gave a fierce growl and turned to face the flames, which flared up with a bright glow and seemed to almost rear up at him.

With branches tearing at her face and clothes, Sarah ran as hard as she could, desperate to escape and leave behind the monsters. Let it be a dream, let it be a dream, she cried to herself, tears wetting her face and turning silver as the moon peeked through the trees, only to disappear behind the haze of smoke pouring from the burning bookshop and plunge the forest back into darkness.

The howls of the two beasts faded as Sarah ran deeper into the woods, leaving her surrounded by the normal night noises of the woods. Out of breath, she paused, her mouth dry and her heart hammering in her chest. The rough aroma of the dirt and bark around her gave her some comfort, though fear still assailed her. What have they done with Aunt Elaine? Sarah asked, the sound of her voice thin in the night. Who is her sister? What do I do? she spoke aloud, the only attempt she could make at remaining brave.

No answer came, so Sarah continued as best as she could away from the bookshop. I have to keep going; I can’t stop here, she kept telling herself. The monsters are back there, and Aunt Elaine’s sister might be in this direction. Or not. But I’m going to keep telling myself that she is. I must be positive. I must. She continued talking to herself in this way to keep her spirits up, for if she began to dwell on the events that had just happened, her hands would tremble and her chin quiver and tears begin to spill out of her eyes. She knew from every good story she had read that the best thing to do in her situation was to keep on going. If she stopped and felt sorry for herself, she would never get herself moving again, or even worse, she would give up and turn herself in.

Even now, the beast’s words haunted her, the mere echo of the chilling voice in her mind more frightening than all of her nightmares put together. The good thing about such dreams is that you wake up eventually, and someone is always there to comfort you, and you can drink a nice mug of hot chocolate and go back to sleep without being afraid anymore. Sarah, however, knew that this sort of nightmare would take a lot more than hot chocolate to conquer, so she gave a few sniffs and continued walking through the forest, letting a few tears spill out (even the bravest heroine knows that it is acceptable to cry) but going on all the same.

Carrying on in this way, Sarah came to a sort of clearing in the trees and paused to catch her breath again and (hopefully) catch her bearings. After all, she didn’t want to be stuck in the forest forever, and she didn’t know how to get to the other side. She moved to a flat stone near the center of the clearing and lay on her back, trying to wrap her mind around all that had just happened. What do I do? Sarah asked herself, tears once more filling her eyes.

The trees waved slowly in the wind, dark against the light of the moon, and an eerie feeling came over Sarah as she stopped crying and listened. All of a sudden, she heard the cracking of twigs, like something was walking in the woods, coming closer and closer. Sarah jumped up and swung around, her breath caught in her throat. Who’s there? she called.

The sound came closer, just on the other side of the thicket, and Sarah strained to see into the darkness. Who are you? she said again, her heart pounding and her eyes widening. The bush began to shake, and a soft blue glow emitted from its branches. Summoning all her courage, Sarah took a small step forward, the bushes rattled harder, she took a breath, and—

"You will die!"

Sarah gave a piercing scream at the gravelly voice, sprinting in the opposite direction from the black form rising out of the bushes. The creature let out a howl as she ran deeper into the woods, not pausing to see if it was following. She gasped for air but didn’t stop, shoving branches out of her way and running toward where the trees got fewer and farther apart. Every twig cracking, every bird noise, every rush of the wind, and she was sure she was caught, that the thing behind her had finally reached her. She imagined that every branch slapping against her face was its giant claws ready to kill her, but the final blow never came.

Sarah ran to the edge of the woods, clutching at a stitch in her side, and spotted a wooden tree house just on the edge of a field. She scrambled up the ladder and cowered in the corner, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. The wolf-creature growled beneath her, and through a knot in the wood, she saw it advancing toward a bright white glow coming across from the tree house. From this angle, Sarah couldn’t see its eyes, but she was sure they would hold the same orange hatred as the others. As Sarah watched, the wolf-man gave a final growl toward the glow across the field, then turned and disappeared back into the woods.

Sarah listened to its retreat, hardly daring to hope that it was gone, and certainly not about to move to attract any more attention to herself. She sank back against the wooden slats of the tree house and let her exhausted eyes close, for they suddenly seemed too heavy for her to keep open. Questions kept stirring about in her mind, questions without answers such as how she could keep away from the beasts from the bookshop and how she would find Aunt Elaine’s sister. Tears slid down her cheeks as she thought of Aunt Elaine, taken by the creatures, but eventually her mind sank into a heavy fog too thick for questions to penetrate. She had reached the sort of state I hope you have never experienced, the point of exhaustion that drives you to feel listless and hopeless, not caring what happens next. She was soon beyond tears, and in this gray state of mind, she slipped into uneasy slumber.

chapter 2

Who are you?

Sarah jolted awake to find a pair of bright blue eyes staring at her curiously. She blinked groggily and found that the eyes belonged to a boy about her own age, his face full of freckles and his hair a mousy brown. He was balanced on the top step of the ladder, his short and stocky frame blocking the opening of the tree house. As Sarah sat up, trying to remember where she was, the boy jumped into the tree house and sat on his heels.

Who are you? he asked again, narrowing his eyes and looking at her more suspiciously.

I…I’m Sarah, she said, and as she spoke, all the events of the previous night came rushing back to her.

"Okay, Sarah, what are you doing in our tree fort?" The boy asked.

I was in the forest…they burned the bookshop…they came after me, and…and now I’ll never see Aunt Elaine again! Sarah burst into tears, overwhelmed by the realization that she had no idea where Aunt Elaine was or what the creatures had done with her. For that matter, she didn’t even know where she was or what to do to find Aunt Elaine’s sister. The boy with the freckles jumped up, his eyes widening in a panic at the sight of her tears.

Oh…er…don’t cry, Sarah. Um… He stepped over to the ladder again. Molly, please come up here!

What is it this time, Jack? Your binoculars should be right where you left them, a female voice sounded, tight with impatience.

"Please come up," Jack said. He peered anxiously out of the opening of the tree house and gave his arm a quick wave at the unseen girl.

Fine. But if this turns out to be one of your pranks… Molly left the threat unfinished, and Jack scrambled back to give her room to get into the tree house. A moment later, she appeared at the top of the ladder, a girl of fourteen with olive skin and long, straight black hair. As she spotted Sarah, her glare softened. What’s wrong, dear? Are you hurt?

Sarah shook her head but continued to sob, folding her head against her knees. Molly went over to her and laid a hand on her arm. Why don’t you come into the house with us, she said kindly. We’ll get you something to eat, some water, and then you can tell us what’s happened.

Jack nodded vigorously and disappeared down the ladder. Sarah gave a couple of long sniffs and followed. The three of them walked on a stone path across the field to one of the oddest houses Sarah had ever seen. The house itself was two stories high with a tower to one side, giving it a slightly lopsided feel. It was bright pink with periwinkle shutters and doors, but the lower windows were barely visible through the tangle of a garden that grew right up to the house, bursting with all kinds of vegetables, some of which Sarah had never seen. There was a chicken coop to one side of the house, full of hens that squawked and raced around, as well as various trees beyond the coop that Sarah was sure would yield beautiful fruit in the right seasons.

An oak tree stretched over part of the garden, its branches obscuring some of the windows of the house. Bright yellow butterflies still flitted about the garden despite the fact that it was already halfway through fall. Everywhere Sarah looked, glass ornaments and stone statues of every shape and size decorated the yard. She saw stone fawns and marble turtles and big glass birds with brightly colored wings spread out haphazardly around the yard, seemingly with no order at all. To Sarah, who had come from a home in which every book was put its proper place, the garden seemed wild and uncertain, but Jack and Molly seemed perfectly comfortable in the eclectic paradise. She had no chance to ask them where they were, however, because at that moment the large Dutch door at the back of the house opened and a very round woman stepped out.

Molly, Jack, what is taking you so long? Your breakfast is… The woman broke off as she saw Sarah and bustled over to them. As she got closer, Sarah noticed that nothing about the woman seemed to be put in its proper place: her apron was coming untied and hung crooked off of one shoulder, she was covered in flour, and a few gray hairs were escaping her bun to curl around her forehead and about her ears. The woman, however, paid no attention to such details and skidded to a stop before Sarah, her face pale. What is it? What’s happened?

Aunt Laurie, this is Sarah, Jack said. I found her in the fort when I went to go get my binoculars—oh no, I forgot them again!

That can wait until later, but come into the house, all of you. Breakfast is waiting on the table, and it’s getting cold. We can talk after you eat. Aunt Laurie bustled them into the house and gave Sarah the overall impression of a large mother hen making sure all her chicks were in line as she followed them uncertainly through the door.

The inside of the house was perhaps just as strange as the outside, with knickknacks of all kinds crammed into every nook and corner. Every room that Sarah could see was painted a different bright color, but she had no time to dwell on the decorations because Aunt Laurie practically pushed her through the kitchen to a table, shoving a plate in front of her.

Eat, she said.

I…I don’t know if I can, Sarah said, for she felt numb and her stomach was turning.

Eat, Aunt Laurie said again, heaping steaming eggs and toast on the plate. You may not feel like it, but I know once you start, it’ll help you feel better. She put a glass of water in front of Sarah, which she lifted and sipped gratefully. A moment later, the smell of the food seemed a bit more tantalizing, and she dug in, surprised to find how hungry she actually was. Aunt Laurie kept her plate and her glass filled as the other two children sat and ate as well, still eyeing Sarah curiously but not daring to ask any questions until Aunt Laurie said it was okay. After a few more helpings of toast, Sarah pushed back her plate, her stomach unwilling to accept any more food. I suppose I should tell you— she began, but at that moment, she was interrupted as another boy came down the steps and through the kitchen, one hand stifling an enormous yawn. He too looked nothing like Aunt Laurie; his skin was dark and his hair was nearly black. Whereas Jack was short and stocky, this boy was tall and thin, though he seemed to be about the same age as Jack.

Sorry I’m late he yawned, and sat down at the table, then started as he realized there was an extra person at the table. Who are you? he asked, suddenly nearly dropping the buttered toast he had just picked up onto his blue pajama pants.

That’s Sarah, and this is Benjamin, but you can call him Benji, Jack broke in. And Sarah is just about to tell us how she got into our tree fort, but you missed all that because you were still asleep.

Benji seemed to process this information for a moment, his dark eyes studying Sarah. After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders and began stuffing the toast into his mouth. Go on, then.

Four faces turned toward Sarah as Aunt Laurie pulled up another chair and joined the table. Go on, dear, tell us what’s happened, Aunt Laurie said. Deep lines creased the skin around her eyes as she spoke.

I’m not really sure where to start, Sarah said, a couple of tears pushing their way to the corners of her eyes and leaking out. She swiped at them angrily as Jack looked at the ground, Benji continued eating his toast, and Molly gave a small frown of sympathy. Aunt Laurie pushed the glass of water closer to Sarah.

When you’re ready, dear, just start with what happened to make you leave your home.

Sarah took a deep breath and sipped at her water. Well, I live at the bookshop on the other side of the woods with my Aunt Elaine. Her voice trembled slightly, but she pushed through with a resolute sniff. It seemed like a normal night, and Aunt Elaine was writing while I read a book. I had found a scrap of paper earlier in the day, and I asked her about it, but before she had time to answer, someone knocked on the door. I’ve never seen Aunt Elaine look so scared. She told me to leave, to run straight through the woods and find her sister, but I couldn’t just leave her, not like that! Sarah took a sip of water, trying to calm herself down and hold back the tears that burned behind her eyes.

"I listened from the back of the bookshop, but I couldn’t see much. I could just hear the voices of the two…creatures that entered. They wanted to know where something was, but they never actually said what it was. They just kept asking, but Aunt Elaine said she didn’t know what