by Ivory Autumn
At Drust’s words, Andrew’s heart stirred with fear and apprehension. By the severe tone in his voice, Andrew knew that Drust was speaking the truth. His mind filled with a thousand questions. He wanted to know more. He wanted to read the footprints like Drust. He wanted to learn everything this man knew. “Please,” Andrew said. “If what you say is true, I want to know more. Can you read my footprints?” He took off his shoes and stepped in the loose sand on the cave floor, creating two perfect footprints. Then he stepped back, waiting for Drust to speak.
Drust gazed at an old picture frame hanging on the opposite side of the cave wall as if he hadn’t heard Andrew at all. The picture hung sideways on its nail. In its frame were two very small baby footprints, with carefully lettered words below them, Baby Drust, may your feet grow into a strong man, and may you always keep on the right path.
“Drust?” Andrew asked again.
“Hmm?”
“Will you read my footprints?”
“Will I what?” Drust snapped. “I should say not…” his voice faded when he saw that Andrew was serious. Half in irritation, and half in curiosity, he looked down at Andrew’s footprints. He squinted, and held a candle above the prints, looking at them with keen eyes, barely tracing the outlines with his finger. Whab leaned over him, as if curious as well.
“You’re blocking my light, Whab. Get out of the way!”
Whab stepped back and folded his arms, waiting.
After a full minute, Drust looked up, his eyes filled with wonder.
“What do you see?” Andrew asked.
Drust straightened himself, looking at Andrew with new eyes. “You walk differently than the others. I had thought you were much the same. But…”
“But what?”
“I was wrong about you.”
“And…?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Where will I end up?”
Drust’s face filled with a mysterious air. “That’s not for me to tell. Only yours to decide.”
Andrew’s face filled with anger. “Can’t you tell me anything? Am I on a good path?”
“Well, that depends. If you mean good, as in “safe.” No. You are on a very dangerous path, even more so than ever before. But the way you walk will affect the paths of many others for years to come. Take care to watch your step, for your path will be a lonely one in the days ahead.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Don’t trouble yourself about the future. It will trouble you sooner than you wish. You are writing the future with each step you take. ”
“What does my path say about The Drought? Will I ever see my other friends again? Do you know if they are alive?”
“So many questions. Only this I will answer. Your other friends you speak of, I do not know. But yes, you will see The Drought, and very soon, too.”
“And?”
“And the rest is up to you. You are indeed the maker of your own path. It is not up to me to show you where you will yet walk. You must show yourself.”
“How do I do that?”
“You already know the answer to that question. Besides, the things most important in a footprint are the repeated patterns that I see---the beginnings, your very first step, and how you took it. That is what is important---when you have dared to walk alone, to step away from the masses following the followers that do not know where they are going. The first steps are a good indication of the last, and indeed, from what I have seen of your past, you need not fear, though you have much to fear, Andrew. Don’t be afraid. To walk in shadow doesn’t mean you have to become a part of it. And besides, now I know that you are a friend, not foe, we can all sleep in peace tonight.”
Andrew folded his arms and stared at Whab who was looking at Drust with eager eyes, signing to him with his hands.
“Why is his mouth sewn shut?”
Drust glanced over to Whab, and smiled. “Ah, him? Whab, oh he’s a good soul. His mouth was sewn shut by a wicked king who wanted to silence him.”
“Why did he want to silence him?”
“Because Whab had been a great lord himself, second only to the king. He had been told to speak a lie, to look past the darkness the King had let into his kingdom. But instead, Whab decided to speak the truth. So, the King punished him, had Whab’s mouth sewn shut before he could say another word, then tossed him out of the kingdom. He thought by silencing Whab, he could silence the others who wanted to speak the truth.”
“Did it?”
Drust nodded. “Yes. It created such a fear in the people that there rose up a great drought both of hearing truth, and speaking it. You, yourself, know this. When was the last time you heard the truth spoken in the streets, or echoed in the stillness of night? When was the last time you heard a stranger whisper such words to their friends? Though our land is in great need of water, and a Drought has been released, our land has been thirsty for truth much longer. Without such life-sustaining words, our souls have dried up and withered. In cities and towns you see them---those thirsty souls, afraid, unable to speak, unable to hear. The ground was hard and dry long before The Drought came.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Andrew said, looking at Whab with admiration and pity. He held out his hand and touched Whab’s swollen lips, sealed together by a band of unbreakable string. “Does it hurt?”
Whab shook his head.
“But how do you eat? How do you drink?”
He cocked his head to the side, and grabbed a hollow reed, and tucked the reed into a loose fold of his mouth where the stitching was loose enough to create a small opening. Then he carefully poured a pitcher of water over the reed. He stopped and then taking the reed out of his mouth, smiled through his eyes at Andrew.
“Can’t anyone cut the strings for him?” Andrew asked, appalled.
Drust took Andrew by the shoulder. “Until now, I did not think it was possible. But after seeing your footprints, I am of a different opinion.”
“What do you mean?”
“The string Whab’s mouth was woven shut with was enchanted. No living soul on earth can break it, unless the words he never got to say are released. He was bound by a curse to keep every unsaid, and every unheard word never said or heard by man locked inside a chest, to keep them for the end of his days, burdened by the weight of hearing but not being able to speak them. You see, Andrew this cave holds far more than just footprints. Whab is the keeper of every word that goes unheard, and every word that goes unsaid.”
Andrew looked from Whab to Drust in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”
“You don’t?” Drust repeated. “Ah, but you soon will!” He laughed and grasped Whab by the shoulders and shook him. “I have seen it in the boy’s footprints. The end of your curse is soon at hand, and all that you have kept in silence will be free. FREE. Do you understand? This boy is the one who will free those unsaid, unspoken words. Words of truth! The ground will not be so dry anymore. Things worth hearing will be heard, things worth saying will be said again!”
Tears filled Whab’s eyes, and he and Drust danced around the room, thumping and hollering so loudly that they woke up Croffin, causing several bottles of footprints to crash to the floor and break.
“What’s wrong?” Croffin snapped, glaring at the two noisemakers with a red, swollen eye.
“Nothing is wrong!” Drust cried. “All is right!”
“Not if you woke me up out of a peaceful slumber!” Croffin retorted.
“Careful,” Drust cautioned Croffin. “From the tone in your voice, I should say the tone in your pad prints are very much the same. A word of warning to you. Be careful, for such tones lead to the picking of wrong paths.”
Croffin looked at Drust like he was insane. “What tone in my voice? Me take wrong paths? Pish posh! I’m a coon. Coons don’t take wrong paths; they may spy, sneak, lurk in the dark, but we don’t take paths. Paths choose us.”
Drust smiled knowingly. “Paths never do the picking. J
ust as peach trees never asked to be picked over a cherry tree. It is the picker that must choose if he wants his peach picked while it’s still green, ripe, or infested with worms.”
Croffin let out a loud yawn, and scratched at a flea. “Ah, In my life, I have come to the conclusion that you must leap from tree to tree, before whatever road that’s out there overtakes you. And if that road overtakes you, you must be sure not to be the one standing in its way.”
“You have a lot to learn,” Drust murmured. “No road or path may overtake you without your consent. It’s the forks in the road that you have to be wary of. They like to prod you into paths that are not desirable.”
“I shall try to remember,” Croffin yawned, closing his one eye, and placing his skunk’s tail over his face. “Forks are dangerous. I always eat with my fingers, anyhow.”
“Drust…” Andrew asked, pointing to Whab and ducking as a spray of dirt was tossed at him. “What is he doing?” Whab had gone over to the darkest corner of the cave and was digging like a madman, thrashing, and scratching up dirt obsessively.
“He’s digging…” Drust said, holding a candle over Whab who was heaving up dirt with his bare hands, creating quite a hole in the cave floor. Drust stopped short, unable to think of the right words.
“I can see that, but why?” Andrew prodded.
Drust glanced at Andrew, his eyes shining and fearful in the candlelight. “He’s digging it up.”
“Digging what up?”
Drust didn’t answer. He just stood over Whab’s shoulder watching, waiting, almost afraid.
Though Andrew was tired and yearned to sleep, he could not. His eyes were glued to the spot where Whab was digging. With each bit of earth he dug up, the ground seemed to throb and vibrate. The deeper he dug, the louder the sound became, low, and throbbing, haunting---thump, thump, thump.
Whab dug and dug, heaping vast piles of dirt around the hole, until the hole itself seemed to gobble him up. The earth vibrated, and shook, throbbing with a hammering, haunting sound, louder and louder. Then a hand appeared out of the hole. Drust reached out and grasped the hand, and helped Whab up. They both stood over the deep hole, staring at what Whab had unearthed.
The throbbing sounds echoed through the cave like a carpenter chipping away at a piece of wood.
“It has grown,” Drust said. “It’s very large.”
Whab nodded.
The sounds from within the hole lulled, and then became utterly quiet.
Andrew leaned over the hole. He could barely make out the outlines of what looked like a large chest.
The sounds suddenly returned, causing Andrew to jump back. The sound throbbed like a broken heart, unable to find peace. The sounds were intense, and impossible to ignore. There were muffled groanings, weepings, and a hundred other voices that rolled like thunder, all muffled and coming from within the chest.
Andrew’s heart lurched within him. With each sound, it was like something punched him in the gut. He stepped back and covered his ears. The mournful sounds groaned, louder and louder as Whab, and Drust pulled the chest up and out of the hole. The sounds told of forgotten promises, lost treasures, fallen kings, and of youth long since overtaken by age…things he could not quite hear, but felt.
“What is in there?” Andrew asked, horror lacing his voice.
“Lost words that no one has ever heard. Unsaid words, and unheard words. The things that people should say, unsaid things that should be heard, but have never been.”
“Why are you showing me this?”
Drust looked from Whab to Andrew, his face full of mystery. “Because, it is you, Andrew who must free these words. And by freeing these you will have broken Whab’s curse. You will have freed him as well.”
The desperate pounding of the words locked inside the chest caused Andrew’s heart to fill with fear. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
Whab’s face drained of color, tears welled up in his eyes. He grabbed Andrew’s hand and placed it on the chest of words as if begging him to release both him, and the words.
“Don’t you understand,” Drust said. “These words have been waiting here for you to release them. If you are to summon the people, you must first release these words. Truth has been hidden far too long. Secrets that need to be known, dark deeds that have been done must be seen by men, things that no one wants to see, hear, or say must be heard, seen and digested. The truth is, many have tried to hide the truth far too long. If it remains hidden, nothing you do will matter. These words need air, they need to be heard. They need to be said. So many, including, myself have been silent, when they should have spoken, and now because it is outlawed, they have lost their ability to speak at all. These words will stir the people, will help them to remember! These words will show them the right path they need to walk. And you, Andrew are the one who must release them.”
“Why me? Why haven’t you done it yourself?”
“Because it is not I, but you who must. You, who are the bearer of truth. And with these words, you will create a wave that will wash over the world, such a sound of truth that the world has never heard, a voice that will be silenced no longer. You must take this chest, and free these words, give them life, give them breath. Locked up, forgotten, and buried underground, these words are dying, losing the power for good they could do. These words are words of true substance, words of meaning, words of strength, of courage, and truth. Such words have not been permitted to be heard, or spoken. You must free them!”
“Here?” Andrew asked. “Now?”
Drust smiled, and shook his head. “No. Not here. Not now.”
“If not here, then where?”
“In a place where such words are outlawed. That is where they will mean the most. That is the place where they will carry the farthest.”
“And what place is that?”
“You will know the place when you find it.”
Whab nodded, and handed Andrew a large, gray key. “Whab wants you to take this. You may need this to open the chest. But I’m sure that you will not need it. When the time is right, you will find the appropriate means of releasing these words to the world. But do not open the chest until you find the place where the words locked inside the chest will mean the most. Do you understand?”
Andrew nodded, and slowly took the key. He walked over to the chest. It was a great chest, with a hefty lock on the front of it. He bent down and touched its dirty surface. Almost instantly the chest throbbed with subdued sounds, shouts, moanings, and loud thump, thump, thumps.
Startled, he jumped away from it, nearly falling. He stared at the thumping, throbbing chest that held what words Andrew dared not imagine. What words were locked inside that chest, what words had he not yet said, but should have?
Chapter Eleven
Footprints
Andrew lay on the ground, near Freddie’s cot, with a pillow under his head, listening to Croffin snore.
During the night, Freddie had slept soundly, almost noiselessly. Andrew however had not. The chest Drust and Whab had dredged up from the earth throbbed incessantly, waking him every time he fell asleep, pounding as if begging to be freed. Andrew held the key in his hands, wanting nothing more than to open the chest, to free himself of the noise. How tempting it was to open the chest, how easy to free himself of the burden. But he had given his word. Whab and Drust were counting on him to open it when the time was right, and not a moment before.
He yawned and sat up, unsure if it was morning or still night outside. He stood over Freddie watching him sleep.
“Don’t you worry,” Drust said behind him, Whab is an excellent doctor. He gave him medicine that will ease the pain, and help him sleep for many hours. Oh, don’t look so concerned. Sleep will help him heal better than if he were awake and in pain.”
“How long will he be asleep?” Andrew asked.
“Probably well into the day, and most of the night.”
“Just as long as he doesn’t feel any pain,” Andrew said.
“Oh, Whab made sure of that. He is sleeping soundly, without pain, you can be assured.”
“Good,” Andrew breathed, setting himself on a chair, and closing his eyes. “I should have asked Whab to give me some of that sleeping potion. That chest kept me awake most of the night.”
“Did it, indeed?” Drust asked, bumbling around the cave, with a single candle lit. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
Andrew frowned, wondering if the man was deaf. Drust was staring at the shelves filled with the jars of footprints. He drummed his large toes against the floor as if very pleased with himself. Drust’s pocket’s bulged with scavenged footprints. And over his shoulders were small satchels of footprints he had collected while Andrew had been asleep. He unloaded his sand-filled pockets into empty jars, labeling them with care. After that task was done, he put the jars back on the shelves. Each bottle looked unique and different. There were labels on the every jar, ranging from every kind of footprint imaginable, from dog, to human, to bird, to monster. When Drust had finished emptying his pockets, he stared at the shelves filled with his jars, in pleasure, as if he was looking at a large bookshelf filled with his favorite novels. “Andrew, by the way. I forgot to tell you. I have found something that might interest you.”
“What?”
Drust looked from side to side, making sure no one was listening. “The Drought.”
Andrew stood up, and faced Drust. “How do you know I’m interested in finding him?”
Drust breathed out, and drummed his fingers against the bottles of footprints. “You want to stop him, don’t you?”
