by Obert Skye
“What happened?” Dennis asked breathlessly, backing up against the wall. “Did you do that?”
“You pathetic people and your lack of imaginations,” Ezra scowled. “Thanks to the gateway, there are traces of Foo everywhere. Now, are you in?”
Dennis looked out the window at his new view. He heard things still trying to settle, and he could see the world from a different angle. It made him hungry to see even more.
“Where to first?” Dennis asked.
“The gateway,” Ezra barked. “And hurry, you’ve already wasted too much time.”
“The gateway?” Dennis questioned.
“Just get us to the train station,” Ezra yelled. “I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Dennis stepped over the puddles of cleaning fluid that had leaked out onto the floor and moved into the hallway outside his closet.
“You might want to take the stairs,” Ezra commanded. “I’m not sure the elevator’s in the best shape.”
Dennis took the stairs, four at a time.
ii
“Twelve thousand, four hundred and sixty-two dollars,” the teller said. She was a pretty woman, with dark brown hair pulled tight up onto the top of her head and light green eyes that looked two-dimensional under the warm bank lights. “That’s a lot of money,” she smiled. “Good for you,” she added, patting Dennis’s hand.
“I’ve been saving for a while,” Dennis blushed.
“Would you like an escort out?” she asked. “It’s bank procedure to offer extra security to anyone making a large cash withdrawal.”
“I . . . well . . .”
“No,” Ezra whispered in his ear.
Ezra was tucked up behind the right side of the dark sunglasses Dennis was wearing.
“No,” Dennis said loudly.
“Okay,” she smiled. “Well, then, thank you for banking with Bindle County Bank.” The pretty teller reached across the counter and pressed a sticker onto Dennis’s chest. The sticker read: “I save a bundle banking at Bindle.”
Dennis smoothed the sticker as if it were a precious gift given to him by a treasured friend. “Thanks,” he said, feeling a little light-headed.
Ezra growled behind his ear. “Come on, lover boy. We don’t have all day.”
Dennis took his money and stuffed it into a small, red fanny pack he had purchased before coming into the bank.
“Outside,” Ezra ordered.
Dennis zipped the fanny pack and walked outside. For a man with twelve thousand dollars in his hands, he seemed to have extremely low self-esteem. He walked more like a man with empty pockets and a fistful of debt.
“Where now?” Dennis asked.
“We need to get to Germany.”
The thought was so absurd that Dennis hardly registered it. He stopped and scrunched his eyes and twitched his nose in an effort to compute what Ezra had just said.
“We need what?” he asked.
“We need to get to Germany,” Ezra huffed. “And fast. There’s a chance they haven’t arrived there yet.”
“Where? They?”
“Germany, you twit,” Ezra spit in a rage. “And by they, I mean the ones who put me in this condition.”
“Germany’s across the world,” Dennis whined. “And I don’t have a passport.”
“Well, then,” Ezra said soothingly. “Why don’t we just lie down here on the sidewalk and give up?” There was no soothing left in his voice. “I suppose the only people that ever go to Germany have passports.”
“It’s the law,” Dennis pointed out.
“There’s a new law,” Ezra snapped. “Mine. What’s the fastest way to get there?”
“Plane, I suppose,” Dennis answered. “We could fly to the coast, but we’ll need a passport to get across the ocean.”
“There are other ways,” Ezra insisted. “When you build one of your toy . . .”
“Models,” Dennis corrected.
Ezra rolled his one eye. “Whatever,” he grunted. “When you’re missing a piece, what do you do, give up?”
Dennis was silent.
“You give up?” Ezra asked with disgust. “Well, this is not one of your toys. We will make it to Germany despite how many times fate tries to stop us.”
“Fate?” Dennis asked.
If Ezra had had a tongue he would have stuck it out. “The power of Foo,” he mocked. “Well, I think it’s about time that I showed Geth what fate can do when placed in the right hands.”
Dennis did not have a good feeling about things. “We’re going to need some help,” he pointed out. “I mean, a toothpick and me?”
“Help!” Ezra yelled. “Now, who in this sorry realm would be able to help someone like us?”
Dennis didn’t answer.
iii
“And what business is that of yours?” Janet Frore asked Tim Tuttle, her eyes red from too much sleep and her skin white and pasty from too little sun. She was sitting on her ratty couch, wearing a nappy velvet red robe that was pulled together with a green rope of frayed material. Next to the couch was a large refrigerator that Janet had moved there shortly after she had lost her job at the post office. The refrigerator hummed softly as Tim shifted in the rough wicker chair Janet had reluctantly allowed him to have a seat in.
“We’re just concerned,” Tim said politely.
“You should waste your concern elsewhere,” Janet insisted. “The child is not right.”
“Excuse me?” Tim asked.
“Don’t you collect trash?” Janet asked.
“I work for the waste management—”
“And don’t you have your own kids?” she interrupted.
“Two boys, but I—”
“I’ll tell you what . . . ,” Janet slurred, smacking her dry lips. She interrupted her interruption to take a drink from the garden hose she had pulled in from the outside through a window. Water was cheaper than soda, and the hose allowed her to not have to move to quench her thirst.
Tim stared at her in disbelief as she shot water into her face. She looked like a bloated red fountain, water spraying in and out of her mouth.
Things got more than a little wet.
Tim jumped up and wiped some stray water from his face.
Janet kinked the hose. “Sit down!” she ordered.
Tim remained standing. He had had enough; besides, the seat he had been occupying was drenched. He thrust out his weak chin as far as possible to make it clear how determined he was.
“I’ll tell you what,” Janet continued. “Go raise those little boys of yours to be future trash collectors so that I can sleep comfortably, knowing my garbage will always be removed. And then, stay out of my business,” she barked.
Tim’s face burned red, not from embarrassment but from disgust. “Excuse me?” he said. “That is no way to talk.”
“Oh,” Janet jeered, “a man of principle.”
Tim had no idea what she meant by that.
“Listen,” Tim insisted, his mind racing. “I think the authorities need to get involved.”
There was a flash of panic in Janet’s eyes. The last thing she wanted was for more policemen to come snooping around, asking questions. Besides, Janet wanted to keep reaping the welfare benefits she received as a single mother.
“Hold on a moment,” she snapped. “There’s no reason for you to trouble yourself over the girl.”
“Winter,” Tim added, feeling that her name needed to be spoken.
“Whatever,” Janet waved. “Don’t get all panicked on me. She’ll show up. The only friends she had were you and that nosey wife of yours. Where’s she got to go?”
“My point exactly,” Tim said. “She could be in trouble.”
Janet snickered. “She’s not in trouble. She always promised she’d run away. She’s just keeping her word.”
Janet Frore was a gigantic horse’s behind. Sorry. It is unquestionably bad manners to talk poorly of others, but people like Janet make it hard to keep your words kind.
“I
know she hoarded money,” Janet added, opening the refrigerator near her and hauling out a long stick of pepperoni. Janet gnawed off a big bite and did Tim the great disservice of talking with her mouth full. “She’ll come around when the money runs out,” she splattered. “Now, if you don’t mind, your large forehead is distracting.”
Tim could take a hint.
Chapter Fourteen
The Swollen Forest
Before the Trees
The Swollen Forest was growing rapidly. Every day its borders expanded closer to the Sun River and the shores of the Veil Sea. If not for the Fissure Gorge blocking its way, it would have already overtaken Cork.
As big and beautiful as it could be, however, the Swollen Forest was not a good place. It was home to no cute elves or motherless deer that ran around smelling flowers with their rabbit friends. Likewise, you would never find a house made of candy there, or a young, naive, red-hooded girl skipping around with a basket. It was a dark, foreboding place, as unpleasant as a blind dentist informing you that all your fillings need to be dug out with a dull butter knife.
The Swollen Forest was home only to those who wished to stay hidden. Many a soul had wandered in and never wandered back out. The safest thing would be never to venture there, but if you did have to traverse it, your best strategy would be to travel fast. Travel through the Swollen Forest was best done with lighted torches and in company with a large group—or, better yet, encircled by a ring of palehi.
One of the things that made the journey so perilous was the dreams coming in from Reality. A dream would swoop in and latch onto any creature it could find. In that vulnerable moment, while frantically trying to manipulate and enhance the dream, the inhabitant of Foo might be pounced upon by any number of creatures, to be dragged off to be buried or sold or cleverly hidden for hundreds of years.
Albert had gone to Morfit as an agent of Cork. The tall nit operated one of the gatehouses on the edge of the land of Niteon and was concerned about the state of Foo and the conflicts that were raging. When the Lore Coil communicated that the gateway had been destroyed, it did not expressly say what had happened to Sabine or to Leven Thumps, the destroyer of the gateway. In an effort to learn the truth, Albert had gone to visit Morfit and was now on his way back to Niteon. To get there, he had to pass through the Swollen Forest, and he was understandably nervous. All he wanted was to get home and let someone else worry about Morfit’s problems.
Albert and his escorts were now about halfway through the dark forest. The palehi were running swiftly, and as he struggled to keep up, Albert was totally unaware that there was a living toothpick riding in the cuff of his pants.
They were all breathing hard, and their legs were tired. The palehi’s straggly hair was drenched with sweat and hung down over their eyes, making it hard for them to see clearly. So far the band of runners had successfully managed to avoid any incoming dreams, but fear of what might happen if they stopped kept them moving quickly.
Albert was especially short on breath, and he was gasping as he asked the lead palehi, “How much farther, Simon?”
“We are closing in on halfway,” Simon replied.
“Has the forest been quiet lately?” Albert asked.
Simon stared at Albert as if he were crazy.
“What I mean is, have there been any new . . . problems?” Albert clarified, his lungs burning. “Those Lore Coils can wreak havoc on normalcy.”
Simon didn’t answer immediately, but finally he said a single word: “Jamoon.”
“Jamoon?” Albert asked.
“He has new power.”
“Power?” Albert gasped, stumbling over a large boulder and struggling to keep up. “What kind of power?”
Simon wasn’t exactly a great communicator, and Albert had difficulty making sense of his reply.
“Shadowy nihils surround him, and their bite can rot the mind. He is searching for those who slipped through, and his birds have a powerful effect on those who do not have the right answers. Some of his victims have been found wandering without purpose, looking for shade dark enough to hide them forever.”
“I say,” Albert panted, wiping sweat from his eyes.
“The Lore Coil spoke of Sabine,” Simon added.
Albert shivered. Hanging on to keep from being bounced out of Albert’s pant cuff, Geth put his small hand to his ear.
“You think Sabine has something to do with this?” Albert asked.
“Perhaps with the nihils. But Jamoon, they say, is acting under the influence of something unknown, much as Sabine was. Regardless, Jamoon will find Geth or destroy Foo trying,” Simon said. “Everything up is down. The poison of Jamoon and Morfit is too strong to ignore.”
Simon shivered, turned his head from Albert, and picked up the pace. Albert struggled to keep up, while Geth strained to hear over the sound of running feet on the forest floor.
“Morfit is gigantic,” Albert said. “There are more regrets than ever. And all sorts of beings walking around with silly looks and concerns upon their faces.”
“Go back to Niteon and forget,” Simon said. “Cork is blessed not to know how tainted the rest of Foo has become.”
Running at a smooth, even pace, Simon was still talking in riddles. “I’ll tell you this,” he said, “the Children of the Sewn can’t frame the darkness fast enough. Their walls are filled with dark images—so much gray. Many in Foo won’t step out of their homes for fear the Ring of Plague will steal their gifts.”
Albert’s ears burned at the mention of stolen gifts. Simon also had Geth’s attention.
“Stealing gifts?” Albert sputtered, his breathing and stride both uneven. “Impossible.”
“Believe as you will,” Simon said indifferently.
“But what about—” Albert started to say.
“Watch out!” Simon yelled, throwing out an arm to stop Albert.
Simon’s warning was too late. A thick, yellow dream rose up through the floor of the forest and trapped Albert, flowing up around him like a glass tube. Albert looked out at Simon, but the lead palehi was unable to help him. All that he and the rest of the palehi could do was surround Albert and the dream he was caught in and wait.
Albert frantically worked with the vision. It was a long, detailed dream that belonged to a math professor back in Reality. The professor was consumed with a certain complex problem and was dreaming about a possible solution. Albert tried to manipulate the details of the dream to resolve the man’s frustration so that he could simply take a deep breath and awake refreshed, but the dream was too intense and long.
In the darkness of the surrounding forest a low moaning and clicking noise sounded. Absorbed in the dream, Albert couldn’t hear it, but the palehi could, and they glanced about wildly.
The sound grew louder.
“Sarus!” one of the palehi yelled. “Sarus!”
The palehi began to tremble and run in place.
“Stay!” Simon commanded. “He will pay. He will pay!”
“Payment means nothing if we are suffering in a gaze!” another palehi yelled, bolting off into the trees. His departure was like a bullet from a starting pistol at a marathon. Except for Simon, all the palehi raced after him. Only Simon remained, standing there staring at Albert stuck in the dream.
Albert could see the palehi fleeing, but the dream he was working in would not end. He began manipulating things in such a way that the professor having the dream would be confused and wake up. Albert threw in a vision of a clown, a little red wagon, the professor’s first-grade teacher, and a scene played by garbage men. In Reality, the professor tossed and turned as the unrelated and implausible images filled his mind. But he was tenacious and didn’t give up.
The moaning and clicking grew louder. Now, even Simon was panicked. He turned toward the moaning sound, then back at Albert.
“Sorry,” he mouthed. “I can’t take sides.”
Simon turned and ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction, leaving Albert on his
own.
Of course, Albert wasn’t completely alone. Geth stood tall in the cuff of Albert’s pants, peering out, curious what the outcome of this would be. He could feel Albert thrashing about, frantically trying to put to bed the dream he was working on. Geth could also clearly hear the sound of what was coming in the woods. He knew the noise, and he knew the sarus were at hand. He wasn’t at all surprised that the palehi had fled.
The thunderous clicking was deafening now, and Albert was sweating, madly moving things around in the dream. In desperation, he threw in a vision of the professor’s ex-wife, and the terrified professor awoke instantly, ending the dream.
Albert was free, but it was too late.
Chapter Fifteen
Icy Reception
There are lots of wonderful places that most of us might like to visit someday. The beaches of Costa del Sol seem like a good place to go. Maybe you’d like to see the Grand Canyon or the pyramids of Egypt or the world’s biggest ball of yarn.
Then, there are the places you would rather not go—a tax collectors’ convention, a sewage treatment plant, or maybe the home of someone who keeps spiders as pets and insists on taking them out of their cages and making you hold them.
You could also add the ice caves in the Mediania Mountains of Foo to that list of undesirable destinations.
At the moment, those ice caves were home to Winter Frore, who was being held captive there, encased in an icy coffin. After Geth had escaped, the room had gradually grown smaller until Winter was lying on her back, not even able to lie entirely flat, and her whole body was screaming out in pain.
Winter’s stomach growled. Her throat was parched, and her body was running out of energy. She had no idea how long Geth had been gone or if it was morning or night. She missed Leven and Clover and Amelia and Geth. She wanted desperately for Leven to appear and tell her everything was going to be all right.
Winter didn’t know how much longer she could last. In her cramped condition, she felt like a seed that desperately wanted to grow but was wrapped in cellophane.
She was also confused. When she had stepped back into Foo, her head had begun to fill with memories and images of the life she had known before going to Reality. Now, however, those memories were beginning to fade. They were like a wave that had pushed onto shore, but the ocean was now receding. All she could clearly remember was her life in Reality. She also remembered Leven, but what they were fighting for was fuzzy. If they had some cause, she could not remember what it was.
