Alethea Unchained

By S.M. Webber

At just sixteen, Alethea is not your average teenager. Fiercely protective of her Pacific island, she leads a band of students in a David vs. Goliath struggle against a foreign power encroaching on their land and legacy. Their weapon of choice? Guerrilla tactics and relentless harassment, aimed at thwarting the takeover of an ancient gold mine.

Suspense mounts as Alethea grows wary of a stranger surveying their beaches, sparking a daring confrontation with a ship and a submersible on a covert mission. Amidst the chaos, Alethea's heartstrings tangle with Ty's, just before she's abruptly captured and forced to labor on a vessel scoping out military sites across the islands.

But Alethea's spirit remains unbroken, her creativity undimmed, her poetry and stories a testament to her resilience. The pressing questions linger: Will Alethea's and her comrades' bold actions make a mark against the invaders? And what fate awaits the mysterious spy who crossed paths with Alethea on the sands of her homeland?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781685628659

S.M. Webber

Sylvia Webber has worked as a teacher and has brought up two children. She has written Her Story in Four Centuries, Rider the Runaway, What Narissa Did in the War and Traveling with Santa.

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About the Author

Sylvia Webber has worked as a teacher and has brought up two children. She has written Her Story in Four Centuries, Rider the Runaway, What Narissa Did in the War and Traveling with Santa.

Dedication

In loving memory of my dear son, Jason, 1966–2022.

Copyright Information ©

S.M. Webber 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Webber, S. M.

Alethea Unchained

ISBN 9781685628642 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781685628659 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023916939

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Chapter 1

‘Finished with high school!’ shouted Alethea and her friend, Ginny, to all the world, as they raced down the steps outside their school. They would be going to secondary college next year, in a different building. They would be on vacation for weeks.

After that, their paths home diverged. Alethea’s went through the main street of their small town. She halted and peered shortsightedly into a shop window full of women’s dresses. Two-piece combos, the sign read. I’m wearing my usual jeans and t-shirt combo, she thought. Could have something nicer. I like pink and tan teamed with each other, and also dark green and pale blue. They don’t have any like that.

She heard a voice behind her, ‘There are better dress bargains at the wholesale shop.’

She turned and saw a young man standing there and said, ‘Do you often study women’s dresses?’

‘Not really. Yes, sometimes, out of longing for the company of women.’

Alethea liked the look of him. ‘I’m on my way home. Would you care to walk with me?’

He nodded, and followed her as she stepped forward. She saw a scrap of newspaper on the ground with characters printed on it and bent down to pick it up. A jet flew overhead with a loud boom.

The man said, ‘We’re nearly to the drug store if you’d sit a while and have a drink with me.’

‘Okay.’

They went in and, when they were seated, Alethea said she’d have a lime soda, and the man, a cappuccino. He said his name was Dane and she told him hers. He said he was an off duty naval officer from the military base. He could have been an airman too, she thought.

She said, ‘I picked up this piece of newspaper – do you know what language it is in?’

While he examined it, she surveyed the large framed photos round the walls of American soldiers who fought on their island in the Second World War, but they did not show any of the enemy. These were from the same country as many people now living in the town.

Dane said, ‘I don’t know the language. A few Asian countries use characters. But there are no local newspapers like that. I suppose a tourist could have brought it in.’

In a minute, the waitress brought the drinks.

Dane said, ‘I suppose you’ve left school.’

‘Yep.’ That was sort of true.

‘So, thinking about going to college or getting a job?’

‘Yes, both. Jobs – there aren’t any. I’d like to go to college in America as I have a passport.’

‘You mean you have citizenship.’

‘Yes.’

Dane told her he’d only been on her island a few months. She asked him about his military training. She told Dane about her training with the Army Reserves after school hours. He asked her if she would go on a date with him when he was off duty again. She said she didn’t know. They seemed to run out of conversation.

At the door of the drug store, she said, ‘I’ll see you around.’

‘Yeah, see you later.’

Walking along the street, Alethea noticed the oleanders were flowering, red, pink and white. In separate trees, one bird was saying, ‘Will you, will you?’ and another was saying, ‘Yes, yes,’ and then the first one said, ‘Will you, will you?’ again, and the other changed to, ‘I don’t know, I don’t know.’ They were still doing it when she went out of earshot.

When she got home, she found Mom was going to have fruit salad and ice-cream for afternoon tea as the weather was so hot.

Mom said, ‘Why are you late?’

‘I was saying goodbye to my teachers and class mates.’

I wish Mom wasn’t at home so much, she thought. She should get a part-time job or do a course on something.

After enjoying the dessert, she went into the back garden, walking across the lawn to the palm trees on the fringe. The bougainvillea climber was flowering bright red. The beach was right in front of her, and she could look out to sea and observe the breakers. The waves were high. She went back to get into her swimming togs so that she could do some surfing.

It seemed they lived in a tropical island paradise, where their ancestors had long ago just sat under the palm trees eating bananas and catching fish occasionally. Every morning, the sun came up over the sea and flooded the house with sunlight. But now there were cyclones, with high winds and heavy seas, which had been made worse by climate change. They could damage the beach and houses. Dad had built their house to withstand them, with shutters you could close on the windows to stop the glass breaking. Sometimes, they had no electric power. It was altogether frightening, but tourists still came.

Dad was home in time for dinner. He was tired after doing research all day.

He said, ‘I’ll have to go in again to water and test the plants I have growing in the greenhouse for my experiment.’ His work was on a weed, lantana.

When not fighting, he and Mom are hardly speaking to each other these days, thought Alethea. Because they are not on good terms they are not communicating properly. Just the other day, Mom had flown into a rage at Dad in the kitchen and threw an egg at him but, it appeared, only aimed it at the floor in front of his feet.

‘How did you go in your final exams?’ Dad said.

‘All right.’ They are now going to talk to me more as they ignore each other, thought Alethea. I don’t want that attention. If I want to say something, I will, but not necessarily in answer to their questions.

Mom said some boring things about dentist appointments and so on. As soon as she could, Alethea left the table, loaded the dishes into the dishwasher and retreated to her room.

She decided to wash her hair. It was dark and wavy and usually tied back in a ponytail. But if she washed it and didn’t brush or comb it out, it became long shapes, not quite ringlets, but bunches of hair falling in castellated waves. Mom said her castellated hair was like Aunt Maude’s, when she was young. Apart from her remarkable hair, Alethea was good-looking, people told her.

About the Jack Sprat nursery rhyme, she told Mom that she and Dad were like that.

Mom said, ‘I’m not like that, nor is Dad.’

‘I didn’t mean it to be taken literally.’

Mom was always locking the back door by mistake. No one could get in. They were left banging on the door until she came.

‘Why do you do this?’ Dad said.

‘I must have an issue with my security.’

‘More like an obsession.’

Alethea took her journal out of her desk. It was an old foolscap account book, thick, with a hard cover. Dad had found it in the family papers. She had headed it The Writings of Alethea. She was still writing introductory remarks. Today she wrote, Mom is called Regina and Dad, Guy. Dad always says ‘I’m the guy who married into royalty.’

Then she wrote, Mom and Dad are fighting again – or passive aggression. Mom threw an egg at him in the kitchen, which landed at his feet, by design apparently. Dad had asked her to dust the books and bookshelves. They are so engrossed in their altercations that I have no one to talk to. Wish I had a brother or sister. They always say I’m so self-centered – that’s the reason for it. Usually, I fight with them. What can I do about them fighting? Are they going to break up? I’ll have to think how to put them back together again. If they split up, I’d rather live with Dad.

Someone knocked on the door. ‘Come in.’ She hastily put the journal back in its drawer, away from prying eyes. Dad came in and perched on the bed.

She said, ‘I can’t go to bed till my hair’s dry.’

He said, ‘Then let’s have a talk about what subjects you are going to take for your final exams.’

‘Okay. We did discuss it at high school a bit. I’ll do English. Math – it’s boring but useful. Science – one should learn it, it’s part of truth. Then I’m going to do a subject called Warfare – ancient and modern. I can do practical work for it that I want to do, and write it up.’

‘What would that be?’

‘Military strategy and tactics. I might have a career in the armed forces. I became interested in it after doing Army Reserve.’ Glad he didn’t ask what the practical work would be.

‘Is that all?’

‘I can do a sport or hobby, which is not marked but just rated as satisfactory or not. I like sports – I’ll choose one. I have to take one more subject. I think there’s something to do with design, or technical drawing, I would like.’

‘So, it’s sorted out then.’

‘Yes.’

‘You know, Alethea, that we think you’re too young for your age, in your thinking and behavior. After all, you’ve only just turned sixteen.’

‘I’ll try to do better – I’m already planning to be more mature in my outlook, and responsible.’

Dad left, and it was still too early for bed. She needed to make notes to take to the next meeting of her group, which was against the defunct gold mine being revived and developed by a large foreign country. They would be able to write an assignment about it for Warfare in secondary college, and she wanted to do some of the work for it in the school holidays, as well as after school.

She wrote on a piece of paper:

How can we stop this very large power trying to gradually take over our small nation by funding enterprises that we cannot do or repay? They are getting our government’s permission to open the gold mine again, and operate it themselves – to the profit of all so they say. They should employ local people. Will they become the owners of it? We don’t want them here. We must fight back and make them go away. How? We don’t have political power. It will have to be by spying and guerrilla warfare.

They have aims to establish a port, or airport, or military base in our country. We already have their citizens migrating to live here and buying shops and property. They want to build tourist ventures. They have bad-mouthed the US military and turned our people against them.

Going to sleep, Alethea thought about getting her friends together tomorrow for a meeting. She would say something about not calling the very large country by its name because people from that country were living here and might feel stigmatized. Their presence was already resented.

Chapter 2

First thing in the morning, Mom grabbed Alethea’s jeans and put them in the wash. By the time Alethea was getting dressed, the scrap of paper with strange characters on it that was in her jeans pocket was being mushed up.

Alethea called up her friends who were interested in her project about the gold mine, and they agreed to meet at her place as she was the leader of the group at present. When they arrived, they commented on her hair, which she had always tied back in a ponytail for school. Only Ginny had seen it in its present form.

‘Look at your snake locks,’ said Cloudia. ‘Make a horrible face.’

Alethea did.

Cloudia winced, and flinched mockingly at the sight of it. ‘Now you look like Medusa. You could frighten people off by the way you look.’

Mom brought drinks, and Alethea said they would sit outside on the deck chairs and have their discussion there. That was Maxine, Elias, Ginny (Ginevra to Mom), Cloudia, and Julian.

While they were drinking, a pure black cat came into the garden. Alethea pointed her out. They watched the cat stalk for prey in the long grass under the palm trees. She walked very slowly as if to not disturb her prey, paused to listen, crouching, or holding a paw up as she froze her movement. She suddenly sprang, and landed her front paws on something. She stretched herself up the tree trunk and sharpened her front claws on the bark.

‘I call her Panther,’ said Alethea. ‘If you walk up to her, she runs away, her little bell tinkling and warning the birds.’

‘We have one the same at home,’ said Cloudia.

Elias said, ‘Ty might join us but hasn’t made his mind up yet.’

‘He’s like that,’ said Alethea. ‘Now, I’ve written down some notes about the gold mine and printed them off.’

She handed round the copies. They were all reading it.

‘Where do we start with our gold mine project? Because we have plenty of time now in the holidays to get it going. It will advantage us in our course at secondary college.’ They were all doing Warfare.

Julian said, ‘Obviously, we’ll have to case out the physical lie of the land in the area of the gold mine. Have to go there and walk through the bush and note down what we find like fences, people, and interesting natural and man-made features.’

‘Taking care not to fall into any holes in the ground where the mine is,’ said Maxine. They all laughed.

‘We should ask the council why they are allowing this,’ said Ginny.

‘That would raise thorny questions they won’t want to answer,’ said Alethea, ‘but we should seek a meeting with council after we’ve done more research.’

‘They will try to palm the issues off onto the politicians,’ said Elias. ‘But I wanted to say, are we going to go on talking about the very large country or name them?’

‘I’ve thought about that,’ said Alethea. ‘I don’t want to call that very large power by its name because we have people from there living in our country, running shops and so on, and some of them have been here for a very long time. In fact, we have people from a number of foreign countries and races who have settled here, and I don’t want to sound racist. I’m not racist. I don’t want to be a person who stirs up trouble. If I say people from that very large country who are trying to run the gold mine, all of you will know who I mean.’

‘I agree with that,’ said Cloudia.

No one disagreed, and Julian added, ‘Sometimes people’s cultures and traditions are talked about in an unconsciously racist manner.’

The group met at the bus station the following Saturday morning to catch a bus at ten o’clock for the destination of a small village where their walk would start. They carried enough food and water for the day in knapsacks, and wore suitable clothes and shoes for the rough terrain, and hats. When they arrived at the village, they saw coconut trees and bananas being grown. Locating the path uphill from the village, they passed sugar cane plantations.

‘If we were stuck here, we’d have plenty to eat,’ said Maxine.

The landscape became forested but they managed to keep to the path winding its way up. It had the tracks of a four-wheel drive vehicle that had been recently driven up it. The vegetation was palm trees, ferns, and sword grass, which cut your hands.

Alethea halted them to speak, ‘Keep an eye out for brown snakes, which are poisonous. You see that noxious weed over there growing in a clump or thicket? It’s called lantana. It’s not a native plant and is difficult to eradicate. I know about it from my father who, as a scientist, does research on it. Some students in the Environment course at college spend time digging it up when they can. The local council is in charge of removing it but they make little progress because of lack of funds.’

‘It looks like something you could hide from enemies in,’ said Cloudia.

They continued walking, still keeping close to the path with the tracks on it. Farther up, there were more ferns, and rocks that they stumbled over.

‘Let’s sit on the rocks and have lunch,’ said Alethea.

They took out their sandwiches and drink bottles. Mosquitoes were a bother.

‘Do you think we’ll discover anything interesting?’ said Julian.

‘Of course, we will!’ said Maxine. ‘We should write it down in our notebooks.’

‘I think we might find holes in the ground where the crust has been weakened by mining,’ said Elias. ‘Possibly put a foot through one, though.’

Cloudia and Ginny giggled. After lunch, they went on trudging up the hill. The ground became steeper and rougher, with a tangled undergrowth.

Julian said, ‘I’ve just remembered how there are still mines from the second world war found now and again, even though the council is supposed to have removed them.’

Cloudia said, ‘I can’t see what I’m putting my foot on properly with all this undergrowth.’

‘As long as we keep near the path there are not likely to be any mines,’ said Ginny, sensibly.

‘I don’t like to walk on the tracks in case we want to come back and examine them in some way,’ said