Excerpt of Where it Rains in Color by Denise Crittendon

The colonists didn’t know where Lileala had gone. Nor were they aware that she could still see and hear them. She continued her high watch, remotely viewing their actions and wishing she could stop them from what they did next.

They walked more than twenty minutes along the flat, barren plain, with Osiris leaning against his cane and Martore’s feet barely touching the ground, her hair like fragile leaves dancing in the wind. Garrette took one of Martore’s hands and she thanked him for the support. But for half a kilometer, there was nothing on their path, and no visible hiding place.

To Lileala’s relief, this was the sign they probably needed to force them to give up. She knew that most of them thought their quest a waste of time, and she was pleased when she heard them begging Brian to stop. Just before they turned back, Garrette spotted a hill.

 “You don’t think she went over that, do you?”

 “I’m afraid she must have,” Brian said.

 “But what if she didn’t?” asked Martore. “I’m not going any farther.”

“Well, I’m going to check.” Garrette started up the hill and stopped in his tracks. Everyone could hear the sound of falling pebbles and the crunching of sandals on gravel. They waited. Lileala came over the hilltop and toward the group. Then she froze. Before beginning her descent, a soft warmth surged through her body, and she was met with a recurring sight – the vision of the same burned cathedral she’d seen days ago. Except now it was shrouded in dense smoke. She paused and stared.

“What is it? What’s she looking at?” Martore shouted up at Garrette.

“I don’t know,” Garrette answered. “It’s like she’s stuck in some sort of nightmare.”

Lileala closed her eyes. What is this? Lileala asked in her mind. Why am I constantly being shown this church if no one is going to tell me what it is? Her body quivering, she fell to her knees and prayed. “Of one grace, one accord, one protection. To the Grace of the Ancestors, please, what is going on?”

Standing up, the grassless hill beneath her was slick. In her dazed state, she kept going, hoping to escape that drab, singed church. The vision hovered, and after a few more minutes, Lileala stopped again and sat.

“What are you doing?” Brian yelled, loud enough for Lileala to hear. “Are you okay?” He nudged Martore. “I’m going to get her.”

“Leave her. We have time,” Martore shouted.

Lileala picked up every word. The distant sun had begun its slow descent into a bleak evening sky. Still, the group waited while Lileala’s vision turned into a trance.

 Bubbles of intermittent blue light wafted from a window that was no larger than a dinner platter but provided an easy view of the goings and comings inside the old church. Concrete walls were coated in black ash and floors were a worn red cobblestone covered here and there with a smattering of silt-drenched rugs. The room was a meeting place containing a log table and sturdy chairs. Four men, their bodies cloaked in blue robes sat at the table and one struggled to speak. “Is this all that is left? A church? Is this all that is to be ours?”

Another man, no, a woman, wearing a bulky white gown, stood before them holding up a vial of liquid. “No, the church is ours too. You have this,” she said, handing him the vial. “This is all we promised you.”

Lileala placed both hands on her heart, hoping that would help her understand what she was seeing. The woman’s face had a strange opaque quality, and her cheeks and forehead were a patchwork of white smudges.

“Trieca?” A sudden anxiety came over Lileala and she lost the vision. “What is it?” she demanded. “I need to know! Po Tolo!” she begged. “Tell me, is this you that I’m hearing from? Are these images from your water beings?”

Yes, we are here.

 Lileala was relieved and elated. Then came another reply: No. That image has nothing to do with Po Tolo.

 “What’s going on then? Why is this happening?”

You are using your powers in many ways. Your heightened senses probe beyond the ancestors and into spaces we have not penetrated. When we explore it, all we hear is the muffled scorn from your captors, the Kclabs.

“But how can the Kclabs be captors?” Lileala asked. “They have the medicine.”

They are your captors, said the Po Tolo beings. Their rants speak of other captives, and of the remains of a world they destroyed.

“No, no, you have them wrong! Kclabs don’t destroy. They may not always be the easiest people to deal with, but they have good intentions. They’re healing us.”

Lileala nearly tumbled, ambushed on both sides by Brian and Garrette. Brian caught her and held her close to his chest. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but this is scaring us,” he said. “You’re not well. Come on, so we can get you to safety.”

“What are you doing here?” Lileala huffed. “I told you I don’t want you spying on me.”

“Hush,” Brian said. “The Kclabs are closer to securing an entry onto Swazembi. That means they’re finishing the cure and we’ll soon be out of here. Let’s get you back to our little community before they think you’re up to something. We can’t afford for anything to go wrong.”

By the time Lileala and the other colonists had walked the remaining distance back to the settlement, it was late evening and the vague imprint of the sun had already vanished. They were surprised to find the Kclabs still waiting, white silhouettes in the dusk. Roloc was propped against a boulder at least ten meters from the rest of the crew.

Unafraid, Lileala walked out in the open and stood in between Brian and Martore. Mernestyle gasped.

“Have you been hiding from us?” Mernestyle asked. “Why? Haven’t we been more than fair?” Lileala looked at her but didn’t see her. She was looking through her to a different time and place. Again, she saw John.

Her body ached. She was John, lying on a pallet of rags, tossing and bleeding in a shack with a mud floor. The wood of the shack had cracks that were splitting into larger cracks that were spreading into gaping holes. The ceiling sagged and there was no door. With Della away in the fields, all John could do was lie there, on the verge of death. His agony consumed Lileala, slicing through her mind, her legs, her arms. She fought to sit up and went into convulsions. John’s pain was like nothing she’d ever felt.

Again, she collapsed.