by Obert Skye
Reed climbed up next to him. “There’s too many, Rast. And the metal is putting so many of us in a trance.”
“I see cogs and echoes fighting as well,” Rast said sadly. “Why would they fight against us?”
“It’s the whole of Foo spilling onto our shores,” Reed cried. “They want out and we’ve failed to keep them away.”
Rants circled in and around the numerous troops of sycophants. Some sycophants were slashing away with their claws out and eyes closed, but most were dropping like stones as their minds became transfixed on the shimmering metal.
“We should retreat,” Reed yelled. “We should hide until these fools have gone away.”
“And let them just walk out of Foo?” Rast asked.
“What choice do we have?”
Rast looked at all the thousands of sycophants. He watched as wave after wave of attackers rolled off the gloam and joined the battle. Two sycophants were hurled over their heads, flying back into the trees and crashing to the ground.
“We must retreat,” Reed said.
Rast looked at Reed. “Let me at least get my hands dirty first.”
“But . . .”
Rast screamed and then plunged down from the flat stone directly onto a huge rant. Reed shrugged, screamed even louder, and took on an enemy of his own.
Chapter Two
I’m Not Sleeping Anymore
Leven tossed and rocked, trying desperately to find some more sleep, but the dream he had just experienced kept his mind racing. So, despite the exhaustion that had been brought on by lack of rest and even more by Leven’s battle with the Dearth, sleep was not coming easily. As he lay on the floor, his mind whirled and whined like a rusty hamster wheel. He could hear Geth breathing lightly across the room.
“Are you awake?” he asked softly.
There was no answer. Geth had found sleep, and only the sound of wind pushing through the leaves above answered Leven.
“Worry,” the wind seemed to whisper.
Leven turned onto his side.
“Worry.”
Leven opened his eyes. His pupils warmed slowly, sending a ray of gold up into the roof of the tent. He could see the stitches in the fabric.
Leven lifted his right hand and held it up to his view. His fingers looked the same, but he knew that something had changed. The Dearth had been unable to kill him. He had seen the blade crash down against his own neck and nothing had happened. His mind played the image over and over in his head. Leven caught his breath and sat up.
“Worry,” the wind moaned. “Worry.”
Leven could hear the sound of splashing water in the distance. He turned his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them back up a moment later, they dimmed until they were as dark and brown as they used to be.
Leven stood up and shifted his right ear away from the wind. It was faint, but the sound of splashing water still trickled through his brain.
“Clover,” Leven whispered, “is that you?”
The thought disappeared like a bubble as he looked down and saw Clover curled up in a ball, sleeping by Geth’s feet. Geth mumbled something and turned over.
Again in the distance water splashed.
Leven stepped away from the tent and into the dark. He could feel stone against his feet as he climbed down the knoll. He flipped the hood of his weathered black robe up over his head and pulled it closed at the neck. The robe was tight against his back and shoulders and way too short, causing Leven to look like a wizard wearing floods.
Leven hiked deeper into the dark, pushing through long, ragged tree limbs and tall tangles of grass. He looked up and saw a couple of dozen stars rolling slowly as if the sky were being tilted and they were sliding backwards. With his eyes to the sky, Leven’s feet faltered, and he fell forward onto his knees and palms. His hands scraped violently against a jagged rock.
“Perfect,” Leven complained. “You’d think I’d know how to walk by this point in my life.”
Leven moaned, stood back up, and dusted himself off. Had he been the normal Leven of a couple of weeks ago, his hands would have been bleeding profusely. But now there was no blood, and under the moonlight all he could see was a long, white scratch that was quickly fading away. Leven held his hand up and listened to the worrisome wind. He could still hear the faint sound of splashing water coming from beyond the trees.
“Worry,” the wind blew.
Leven stepped out of the thick trees and looked over the ground. The half-moons covered the landscape in shadows and shine. Up and over from where he stood was a small pond, and on the edge of the pond were dozens of smaller puddles of water.
The air smelled delicious and wet.
Leven jogged to the puddles and dropped to his knees. He thrust his hands into one of the larger puddles to rinse away the dirt from his fall. As he pulled his arms out of the water, he could hear the sound of splashing. Leven looked to his left and saw a big puddle gurgling and spitting. It looked like a boiling cauldron buried beneath the soil.
He stood up and shook his hands off, stepped over to the fizzing body of water, and looked down. The puddle shot small drops of water up into the air and onto Leven. He instinctively backed up, but the water was cool and calming, like a summer rain.
Leven watched the water in the puddle settle and then grow glassy. He marveled as an image began to take shape in the liquid. There was a small, dark room with a high window and a dirty rug on the floor.
The image began to grow clearer.
Now Leven could see every thread of the rug and the texture of the walls and floor. He could hear the sound of talking coming from outside of the window. Amazed and a bit bewildered, Leven knelt down. He held his hands out over the puddle and flexed his fingers as a coolness from the water tickled his palms. Leven looked up at the moons and marveled that it wasn’t their reflection he saw in the water.
He shrugged his shoulders and stuck his fingers in the liquid.
The image of the room and small window smeared and then returned. Leven reached in deeper and fingered the edge of the small window. He could feel the wood frame. His middle finger snagged a rough splinter and Leven instinctively tried to yank his hand out.
It wouldn’t budge.
The water began to swirl around his captured arms like a toilet slowly flushing. Leven growled and pulled, but the suction of the water was too strong. The puddle pulled his arms in up to his shoulders and swirled even faster.
“Geth!” Leven yelled. “Geth!”
The right half of Leven’s face began to go under.
“Clo—” he gurgled.
His head went under. Leven used his left shoulder to push up on the side of the puddle, but it was no use. The pull was too strong. Leven’s shoulder slipped from the edge, and in one second his complete upper body was down in the puddle. Leven twisted and shook, but the water pulled him in to the point where there was nothing but his legs sticking out. He kicked and thrashed like a maniac, but the puddle kept drawing him in—two seconds later, nothing but feet—a second after that, nothing but nothing.
The water stopped swirling, and once again there was only the sound of the wind as it pushed through the leaves of the fantrum trees.
“Worry.”
Leven flew through the air in a dream. He had reached into a puddle and now he was racing swiftly toward the ground as if he were flying. He was frightened and exhilarated all at once. Flaring out his legs, he turned to the right. He wiggled his arms and lifted up and then back down a few feet. He was falling, but with some control.
Leven could see the hulking black mountain of Morfit off in the distance. The silhouette was sprinkled with thousands of small, flickering lights. Leven witnessed the darkness in the far sky as black dreams and selfish imaginations polluted it.
Leven dropped hundreds of feet. His stomach was in his mouth and his head was in his toes. He bent his legs and his body shot over the land at an alarming rate. He felt a pull, spun wildly around in the air, and then was thrown downward.
Leven could see the Lime Sea in the distance and land rushing up to him like steam. Everywhere there were large wooden buildings with pointed towers and turrets. The buildings made a large square around a giant piece of land. The ornate structures slumped and crumbled as Leven pushed through them, coming to a stop against a hardwood floor.
Leven’s body sprawled out on the floor in the shape of an x. His head spun and he found it hard to open his eyes as he lay there. He breathed in deep and tried to lift his head, but a rough voice stopped him.
“Lie still,” the voice said. “Keep your face to the floor.”
Leven was happy to oblige, seeing how he felt as if he had just been hit by a large truck. Even with his face to the floor he could see something walking around him, the shadow of whoever it was shifting as it moved. The shape stopped above Leven’s head. It moaned as if bothered and then spoke.
“He set up so many traps,” the voice said. “So many traps laid out for you, and you fell for one of the tamest.”
“Traps?” Leven slurred, unable to speak clearly with his mouth pushed against the floor.
“Traps—all over Foo,” the voice answered. “He needed to speak with you. Devices and gadgets designed to keep you on the course. It’s interesting that you fell for such a simple one. Nobody in his right mind reaches into a puddle in Foo without testing the water.”
“I did,” Leven reminded him.
“I wouldn’t admit that,” the voice mocked.
“Why?” Leven slurred.
“Lie still,” the voice said again.
“No way,” Leven said, pushing himself up.
“Lie still!”
Leven jumped onto his feet. He looked around, ready for a fight, but there was nobody there. “Where are you?”
“Couldn’t you have just stayed down?” the voice said, sounding disappointed.
“Who are you?” Leven asked again, still looking around.
“That’s not important. You’ve nothing to fear from me at the moment, but that could change. I speak for one who has every interest in what you’re about to do. He arranged this.”
“The Dearth?” Leven asked angrily.
“Certainly not the Dearth,” the voice said lightly. “The Dearth moves on his own accord and for his own purpose. Even now he’s pushing through the exit. What can you do but leave him be? Foo has no need of such darkness. He no longer whispers from the soil. His thoughts are on Reality.”
“I can hear him still.”
“Good for you.”
“There must be others who still hear him here.”
“Whatever,” the voice said. “You nits bring nothing but selfishness and confusion.”
“I’m not a nit,” Leven said.
“Oh, that’s right,” the voice grunted. “The Want. I would bow, but I don’t believe you would think I was being sincere.”
“I don’t want you to bow to me,” Leven snapped, still searching around for the voice. “I want to know why I’m here.”
“So impatient,” the voice said. “You’re here because someone wants to meet you.”
“You?”
“No,” the voice snapped. “If I had my way, you would never come near.”
“So, then, who’s this someone?”
“Or something,” the voice answered casually. “I can’t tell you. In fact, I’ve already said too much.”
“I don’t think so,” Leven argued. “You haven’t said enough.”
“If I had my way, I would pierce your heart with a dagger and be done with it,” the voice said. “No theatrics. No lessons or epiphanies.”
Leven tilted his head and looked up to the ceiling. “So I guess I should be happy you’re not in charge.”
“What does it matter either way?”
“I think it matters.”
“Why? You’re fortified,” the voice said. Sounding as if someone were reading out of an encyclopedia, it intoned, “Blade, poison, and accident cannot steal your life.”
“Thanks for the information,” Leven said.
“Unless . . .”
“Unless?” Leven asked.
“You might be safe from those who approach you, but you can still be killed by those with unfinished business.”
“What?” Leven said, surprised.
“Some can still hurt you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” the voice said mockingly. “And of course you can still fail.”
“What are you talking about?” Leven looked around slowly, taking in his surroundings this time. The room was small, but its ceiling was at least twenty feet high. The walls were all made of wood, and he saw a large wooden door and one tiny window near the ceiling—the same window he had viewed through the puddle.
“I mean, so what if you live, if all that you’ve set out to do fails?” the voice answered. “If Reality and Foo mesh, there will be no need for a Want. There will be no need for anyone.”
“We won’t fail,” Leven said lamely, not even sounding convincing to himself.
“Unfortunately, you will, without our help,” the voice said sharply. “Unfortunately, we have to step in and provide a way. You were pulled into Foo and given the power of the Want, but you know nothing about the balance of things. Nits have killed siids, nits have given up their own powers, nits have made the sky black.”
“I’m not a nit,” Leven said boldly.
“No,” the voice said sarcastically and from a new direction. “You’re their hope.”
“And you’re against that,” Leven argued.
“It’s not up to me. I’d let you dangle,” the voice said. “But it’s not my decision. And if you pass, you will stand before the tree, and the decision to save Foo will be all yours. I’m not happy about it.”
“Pass what?”
“Nobody walks straight to the tree.”
“What?” Leven argued. “I have no intention of walking to a tree. I’ll find the Dearth and put an end to his plan.”
“Really?” the voice questioned. “What are you going to do? Kill the Dearth? How? And if by some chance you do, then what? Plug up the exit and make everyone go back? Tell all those in Reality to ignore what they’ve just seen? Stupid. There’s only one way for you to restore Foo, and it breaks my heart to help you.”
“This is helping?”
“You will travel to Alder.”
“No way,” Leven said. “I’ll travel to Sycophant Run. I only have three days.”
The voice laughed. “You will travel to the island of Alder, believe me.”
The sound of something large and creaking crackled throughout the room. The noise clicked and moaned like something pliable being bent a bit too far.
“I must go,” the voice said. “I doubt you’ll make it out of these walls, much less any farther. This room could be your coffin. But if you do manage to get out, follow the glass.”
“What?” Leven asked, confused. “You’re leaving me here?”
“Find your way out,” the voice said. “Or starve, for all I care.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leven demanded.
“Can’t you do any thinking for yourself?” the voice whined. “There’s a way out of this room. Find it and you’re that much closer to walking the path that’s waiting for you. If you can’t get out, then I suppose it was fate for Foo to fall. Happy failure. And remember, if it’s too much for you, in three days none of this will matter.”
“You can’t just leave me,” Leven ordered.
“Make sure you’re not followed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leven asked.
There was no response. The room was silent. Leven walked to the large wooden door—it was locked solid. On the back of the door was an intricate carving of a huge tree. Leven shoved his right shoulder into the door, but it didn’t budge. He twisted and pulled on the wooden knob, but there wasn’t an ounce of give.
“Nice coffin,” he said to himself.
Leven let go of the knob and turned around. He glanced down at the ground. The wooden floor was well polished, and in the center of the room was a star-shaped rug surrounded by four chairs and a short table. On the table sat a large glass pitcher and a red clay mug. Leven walked to the pitcher and lifted it. He poured an inch of water into the mug, put it to his lips, and took a long drink.
The water was stale and flat.
Leven set the cup down and gazed up at the high window. A thick piece of rope hung from the window’s latch and stretched down to where Leven could easily reach it. Leven grabbed the rope and pulled lightly. The twine broke free of the latch and fell to the ground.
Leven picked up the rope and coiled it loosely in his hands. He tossed the rope up to the window, but there was nothing for it to catch onto.
Leven closed his eyes. He could see himself lying dead on the wooden floor, his body nothing but dust and debris. He calmed his mind and pulled at the image with his thoughts. He watched the scene in reverse, seeing his decayed body reassemble itself and then stand up. He wiggled his mind and forced the image of himself to walk backwards and pick up the pitcher of water.
Leven’s eyes flashed open.
With the rope from the window in his hand he stepped over the rug and stood above a bare section of wooden floor. Leven knelt down on the floor, took the length of rope, and laid it down in the shape of a large circle. He then stood up and retrieved the pitcher. Leven knelt back down and slowly poured the water into the circle of rope.
“Might as well leave the way I came,” he shrugged.
The water from the pitcher splashed and ran, but as it settled it collected into the large circle of rope. When the pitcher was empty, Leven set it on one of the chairs and then looked down at the glassy circle of water.
Leven smiled—his time in Foo had made him believe in anything, and he was finally beginning to understand the power of thought and invention. In fact, he was so accustomed to the miraculous that he wasn’t at all surprised to see the rocky knoll and the tents reflected in the water he had just poured out.
Again the sound of creaking could be heard outside the room through the window.
