by Obert Skye
The Want trembled like he was full of hot gas and about to explode. His body rumbled in sections, shifting so as to lower his left arm while his right side raised. He twisted and stretched out his uneven arms—they then came together and pointed at Leven.
“Don’t ignore your fate, or the whole of Foo, as well as every dream in Reality, will be gone. You must pick up the burden, and you may well save the world. Nobody can take this from you but you.”
“I’m doing the right thing?” Leven said, sweating.
The Want shook.
“What about Phoebe?” Leven asked longingly.
“I showed her to you for a purpose,” the Want said. “That purpose will become clear in time. Now, you have other things to think about. The rage is beginning.”
He extended his right hand to Leven. Leven took it, surprised at how warm it was. The Want’s fingers were long and seemed to hold onto Leven’s hand with shocking tenderness.
The feeling was almost comforting.
“You will save the world,” the Want said, “or you and I will die tonight. And by the color of the moons in view, I don’t think fate is done showing off. The world must go on.”
Leven wanted never to let go of the Want’s hand. The feeling became stronger and stronger. He could see new things in his head—things he had never imagined or actually seen. He could feel a heightened sense of perception, and warmth spread over his entire body. Every fiber of his being seemed to wake up simultaneously. The tips of his long hair opened as if taking a breath.
“Will you be there?” Leven asked foggily.
“I cannot be,” the Want said. “But you will hear my voice.”
“I would be wrong not to try to save the world,” Leven said, more to himself than to anyone else.
“The future would be a dark place.”
The Want pulled Leven from the room and into the large hall. Hundreds of dark robed beings were still flowing into the castle like black blood cells. The ceilings were brushed with broad, fuzzy strokes of deep red and black jagged cracks.
The Want stopped and removed his right shoe with his left foot. He then extracted his left with his right. His bare feet were white and old. They looked like withered fish in need of some serious water.
The Want dug his toes into the soil of the bare floor. His robe contracted until it was the width of a street pole. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and his robe filled with movement and substance again.
“The time is finally here,” the Want cried, bright bands of white light twisting around him. “It is here.”
The Want fell to his knees and burrowed his hands into the soil. He dug into the dirt like a dog, soil flying up and around.
“He’s in there,” the Want whispered fiercely. “I can feel him.”
Leven couldn’t see anything but dirt.
Once the Want’s hands were a couple of inches deep in the soil, he stopped. He smiled from beneath his hood, his red beard curling in multiple spots. The Want’s body glowed, and the dirt around his hands hissed.
The ground beneath Leven’s feet started to rumble.
“What’s happening?” Leven asked.
The Want smiled and then whimpered as Leven shook.
The entire island of Lith was starting to sink into the Veil Sea, and Lith’s final dream rage was about to begin.
Leven wanted desperately to see the future.
Chapter Thirty-One
What You Can’t See
Can Scratch You
The waves from the Veil Sea rolled in like thin taffy, stretching up onto the shore and then snapping back into the body of water from whence they had come. The beaches were barren and darkness had won the battle with light, leaving night in full force over all of Sycophant Run.
There was no laughter in the air—only the sound of waves and the occasional shout-out from a wayward whittle bird. Two naked moons hung in the air, while two more had the modesty to have dropped their bottom halves down below the horizon.
A tight whistle could be heard.
A few moments later, another sounded.
The waves came in and out.
Rast moved from his spot to climb up a pointed stone that sat like an angry finger on the shore’s edge. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses. The frames were made of wormwood and the glass was actually rock, polished so thin you could see through it. The glasses gave anyone wearing them the power to see any sycophant, whether invisible or not. There were only five pairs in existence. Rast put the glasses on and looked out over the shore.
The sight gave him goose bumps.
As far as the eye could see were posted sycophants. They stood like stone gargoyles, rigid and ready. There were millions of them. Some had their claws out, as if anticipating trouble. Many were crouched as if preparing to pounce, whereas others were already on their toes, halfway into an extraordinary jump. They were positioned to have effect in waves. If someone were to attack, they would be covered by wave after wave of vicious, dedicated sycophants. The entire beach and cliff walls were blanketed in them. There were also thousands spreading out into the shallow water.
Rast had always loved this sight.
Sycophant Run was one of the most marvelous and comforting places in existence, but the glasses showed another side. Sycophant Run was also ready for anything. It was a comfort to see his home so protected.
Rast turned a couple of inches to his left and was surprised to see he was surrounded by four other sycophants on the very rock he stood on. He had climbed up right over them without knowing. He knew better than to talk to them. They were poised and ready. Only the order from their commander to eat or sleep or attack could get them to change position or move.
“Remarkable,” Rast whispered. “Mule?”
Mule moved up the rock and stood next to Rast.
“Take a look,” Rast insisted. “I see no weakness.”
Mule put on the glasses and whistled. “Sometimes I wish others could see our forces,” he said. “It frightens even me to look at the sheer numbers. Think what it would do to our enemies.”
“I hope no one comes close enough to care,” Rast said, taking the glasses back. “It has been so many years since anyone has even attempted to come ashore.”
“Sabine?” Mule asked.
“I believe he was the last to try.”
“There is word in the air that large groups are settling beneath the Sentinel Fields—rants and nits and all manner of beings. And I’ve a feeling they’re not gathering for good.”
“I’ve heard,” Rast said. “I’m afraid the Lore Coil my emotions created has given them even more optimism.”
“And have you heard that the gloam grows?” Mule asked.
“So many dark things to fit into a sycophant’s head,” Rast said sadly. “Mankind is never willing to just move forward in happiness.”
“Progress feels thin without the rumble of battle,” Mule said softly.
“Fools,” Rast said, shimmying down the rock. “Are the commanders ready?”
“They know everything they need to know,” Mule answered. “The heart of every posted peg burns with anticipation.”
“I always hated that feeling,” Rast said. “It’s been many years since I was a peg, but I can still recollect the discomfort I felt at the possibility of battle.”
“Odd. That’s a feeling usually reserved for the old,” Mule said. “Me, I hungered for a fight—as do our pegs now.”
“Any word from Brindle?” Rast asked.
“None,” Mule answered. “I doubt we’ll hear anything until he returns with Lilly.”
“You seem confident that he will succeed.”
“I am always hopeful.”
Rast put his hand on Mule’s shoulder. “Thank the sand and stars that there are creatures like you.”
“Like us,” Mule said.
“Sometimes, when I think of the things placed on our small shoulders, I wonder what kind of sick sense of humor fate must have.”
&n
bsp; “There’s no gain in that thinking,” Mule pointed out.
“I suppose not.”
“Can I see the glasses one more time?”
Rast handed Mule the glasses. He put them on and looked out at the millions of tiny sycophants waiting to protect Foo’s greatest secret.
“We can’t fail,” Mule said.
“We mustn’t fail,” Rast added.
Another tight whistle sounded.
“The command’s making the rounds,” Mule said. “Tonight we can sleep soundly.”
Rast was about to agree, but his comments were halted by the slight tremor he felt beneath his feet. “Do you feel that?” he asked Mule.
“Feel what?”
“The ground. Is it moving?”
Mule jumped up and down. He dropped to his belly and put his ear to the sand. He stood back up and dusted off his small hands. “I don’t hear anything.”
Rast stood still. Something big was happening in Foo, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Sleep,” he said to Mule. “Tomorrow the world could be a different place.”
Mule walked off.
Rast put his glasses back on and looked out over the crowd. The posted pegs were in position and ready, just as they had been every day since the creation of Foo.
“If not tomorrow, someday soon.”
The waves jiggled awkwardly as they slapped down against the shore. Foo seemed off balance, and Rast knew it wasn’t the work of the shifting siids.
“Tomorrow the world will be a different place,” he said with a sad certainty.
Rast’s heart ached already for those who would certainly become lost in the dust of battle.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Going Down
I have met those who challenge the existence of Foo. It concerns me, but it concerns Clover even more. Imagine someone saying you didn’t even exist—worse yet, that you were made up by a person such as I.
My heart goes out to anyone in a similar circumstance.
Foo exists.
The words you are reading are there simply so that you can recall something that has been taken from your memory. You saw buildings move and planes get tipped over. A boy by the name of Cade Williams rode an avaland for two states and now doesn’t even recall it. There’s a reason for your memory lapse. I’d go into it, but the moment’s not right. Just take comfort in knowing that by the time the tale is fully told you will understand how and why. And you might even recall the uneasy, wobbly-kneed feeling you had the moment Lith began to sink and Foo became unbalanced.
It was a feeling Geth and Winter could relate to all too well.
The prison they were locked in was as solid as the stone walls around it.
“Can you feel that?” Geth asked calmly.
“What?” Winter asked, looking around.
The two nits they were caged with, Andrus and Sait, sat huddled in the corner talking between themselves.
“Lith’s moving,” Geth said.
“How’s that possible?” Winter said.
“I’m not sure,” Geth answered. “But I have a feeling Azure is at the heart of it.”
Geth turned to the nits, crouching down in front of them. “What do you know about all of this?” he asked.
“We know nothing,” Sait, the fat nit, said.
“What happened to your gifts?”
Both of them looked down in shame.
“Did Sabine steal them?” Winter questioned.
“They stole mine,” Andrus said. “Sait gave his away.”
Sait tried to burn holes in Andrus with his gaze.
“They promised we’d be left alone,” Sait said. “That we would be left to live out our lives and manipulate dreams in peace. They just wanted my gift. Mine was to see through soil. I hardly used it anyway.”
“You probably could have used it to avoid capture or to read that maze we were just put through,” Winter argued.
“I could freeze things,” Andrus said sadly. “I was summoned to Morfit to meet with Jamoon, and as I sat there listening to them, my gift was stolen from me.”
“Were you in Morfit when you gave up your gift?” Geth asked Sait.
“No,” he answered. “I was near Cusp. They stopped me on the road and promised peace and prosperity for me and my family if I simply gave up my ability to see through soil. I stepped into a large black tent, and a machine made of metal stole my gift. The moment it was gone, they bound my hands and threw me into a weld with others they had captured in the Red Grove and below Fté.”
“Who was in charge of all this?” Geth asked with disgust.
“Sabine was mentioned,” Sait said. “As were Jamoon and Azure and, at times, the soil.”
“Soil?” Winter asked.
“At first the soil was clean here,” Geth answered. “But the Sochemists claim that, as dark and dirty people were snatched into Foo and eventually died, their buried souls corrupted the dirt and gave strength to the Dearth. Now the soil whispers and hisses for power, using weak souls like Sabine and Jamoon to help it rise up above the ground and take on a life above.”
“And there’s some reaching for Lith?”
“For years the Dearth has pushed the gloam slowly closer and closer to the Thirteen Stones, reaching to have control of all the gifts and to use them,” Geth replied. “I’m afraid now that Lith is being sacrificed for that very reason and for the same evil. We have to get to the Want.”
Andrus and Sait shivered.
“What is it?” Geth asked.
They both looked in different directions.
“The Want?” Geth questioned.
“Don’t say it,” Sait begged. “I might cry.”
“I’ll throw up,” Andrus said with bile in his voice. “Even though I haven’t eaten for days.”
“The Want’s to blame for so much of this misery,” Sait blurted out.
“What do you mean?” Geth demanded.
“The Want has stood still for too long,” Andrus said. “His mind is not his own.”
“That can’t be,” Geth said, pushing his hands over his face. “His mind might be heavy with dreams, but he has not listened to the Dearth.”
“I’m sorry, but he has,” Sait insisted.
The ground rumbled, and the thin stream of water nearby widened and began to spill gently into the cage.
“Tell me all you know,” Geth begged.
“I don’t know much,” Andrus said. “But I know the Want has dark plans. Like I said, he has stood still for too long. Azure has mentioned that the Want simply waits for the one person who will seal the fate of Foo.”
“Who is that?” Geth asked, already knowing the answer.
“Leven Thumps, of course,” Sait answered.
Winter began to tug at the bars in vain as water pooled around her ankles.
“You’re sure of this?” Geth asked.
“Positive,” Sait replied.
“I’ve been played. We’ve got to get to Leven,” Geth said, as if they had stayed there simply because they had been waiting for a reason to leave.
“Okay,” Winter agreed. “Any ideas?”
The ground shook and lowered a bit. Lith was going down.
“This cage was built years ago,” Geth said.
“Excellent,” Winter said, her voice raising. “I was curious about the construction date of the jail that’s going to kill me!”
“That’s just it,” Geth said. “Fate has long been an enemy of killing. When you take a life, you directly interfere with what fate had in mind for that person. The rules for murder and killing here in Foo have always been muddled. Judging by the bones on the floor, this cage has probably killed a few people.”
“Again,” Winter said, shaking water off her ankles, “that’s obvious.”
“Yes, but to ensure that their prisoners would die, whoever built this would have had to leave some way for captives to get out. That way their fate would not be sealed, and if they died, it would be in a
sense their own fault for not finding an escape. We may be mortal, but Azure would not have thought that Andrus and Sait could die unless he knew there was an escape.”
“I see no way out,” Sait said.
“Of course not,” Geth said. “They would never make it obvious, or even easy. But there might be a pattern or a code we can’t see that could open it up for us.”
Winter moved along the bars, feeling each one. “They’re all solid,” she reported.
Andrus and Sait began to tug on bars as well. The ground moaned, and water began to pour from the side in a thick, steady current.
“Keep looking,” Geth said.
“There’s nothing here,” Winter yelled. “Unless you’re talking about our impending death!”
Geth turned to her and smiled.
Winter shook her head, her blonde hair twisting. She flashed her green eyes at Geth and frowned just enough to let him know she wasn’t smiling.
“They wouldn’t make this without a way out,” Geth comforted.
“I think that’s what the gate is for,” Winter pointed.
“An alternate way out,” Geth clarified. “Are any of the bars thinner than others?”
Water was swirling around them.
“This one is,” Andrus said, his right hand on a bar.
“Does it twist?”
Andrus gripped the bar and twisted as hard as he could. The bar turned clockwise in his hand.
“It’s turning, but it’s not doing anything,” Andrus said.
The water was above Winter’s knees and rising fast. Thin yellow snakes began to flow into the cage. Winter screamed like she might win a prize for doing so.
“They can’t hurt you,” Geth said. “They won’t bother you unless you step on them.”
The water was at Winter’s waist.
“It’s not doing anything,” Andrus said again. “It’s just turning.”
Geth pushed through the water, pulling on the other bars.
“Here!” he exclaimed.
A bar on the opposite side of the cage had lowered half an inch, disconnecting it from the top.
“It won’t twist any farther,” Andrus announced.
“That’s fine,” Geth said.
“There’s no way I’ll fit through that,” Winter hollered, staring at the half-inch gap between the top of the bar and the top of the cage.
