Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo

by Obert Skye

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  Leven shook off his thoughts and glanced around as he was being sloshed about in the water. The light from his eyes lit the inside of the gaze in a brilliant manner.

  “What do you see?” Geth yelled.

  “We’re about to be eaten,” Leven yelled, “unless we duck!”

  As much as he hated the water, Leven dove below the surface. Fighting to stay submerged, he opened his eyelids and looked up. His eyes shone, and he could see Geth a few feet above him, floating on top of the water. Leven reached up with his right hand. Just as his fingers were about to close around Geth, the beast’s bite cracked the shell of the gaze, and his mighty teeth clamped together like a tightly wound bear trap. Leven closed his hand, whipping it back just as the creature’s jaw closed. Water rushed into Leven’s mouth and nose. He gagged and swallowed huge fists of liquid as he struggled to breathe. The bottom half of the gaze broke away and the vat tipped onto its side, pouring Leven and the water out in one humongous wave.

  The beast screamed.

  Leven tried to catch his breath as his chest burned and heaved. He spit and moaned, gasping for air.

  The beast screamed again.

  Leven scrambled from the broken gaze and opened his fist to set Geth free, but Geth was not there. Frantically, Leven patted his body, searching for Geth. He could feel nothing but the key still in his pocket.

  The beast screamed even louder, as if bothered by Leven’s ignoring him. Leven looked up to get his first real glimpse of his assailant.

  It would not be lying to say that Leven suddenly longed for the peace and quiet of being trapped in the gaze forever. Towering over Leven was one of the seven siids—the fifth one, to be exact.

  A hundred avalands would have been less threatening.

  The siid stood on four thick, meaty legs, each capped off with a hoof the size of a small hill. Its legs were wrapped in twisted vines and strands of old rope that looked to grow from the belly of the beast. The siid’s body was long and wide, like that of a bloated whale. The creature’s skin was pockmarked and scarred. There were spikes sticking out of its back and circling down under its body and around its hind side. The head of the beast was round, with a square mouth and long, twisted ears that looked like fleshy braids. Clinging to the end of each ear was a small, monkeylike waxel. One was red, the other yellow.

  The siid’s green-burning eyes were as large as its bottomless nostrils. On its shoulders were two mushy humps, and behind those humps were two long, leathery arms that were tearing at the ground with pointed claws, scooping up water with flat thumbs and carrying it up into the creature’s mouth. At the far end of the beast was a thick tail split down the middle like a forked tongue. Both bits of tail whipped at the air, slapping and cracking in a circular motion.

  Leven tried to catch his breath, but the sight before him stole every ounce of air his lungs had held. His throat burned painfully as air rushed out of his mouth. Leven closed his eyes and tried to calm himself—and to control his gift.

  There was nothing but fear.

  The siid lifted its head and breathed in, sucking broken tree limbs and loose dirt up from the ground. They stuck to the siid’s nose as if it were a vacuum, and when the beast blew out, debris and saliva flew everywhere.

  Leven could feel his knees weakening as he tried to decide what to do.

  The beast opened its gigantic mouth and roared, sending noise and wind circling madly, like a small tornado. Caught in the wind, Leven stood there shaking, easy prey for the siid. The beast moved forward and with one swoop picked up Leven in its gigantic mouth.

  Leven could feel the monster’s mouth clamped tight against him. He half expected to hear the sound of himself being crushed but couldn’t feel any teeth tearing into him. The siid reached into its own mouth and took hold of Leven’s head with one arm and Leven’s feet with the other. It turned Leven in its mouth, licking him with its thick, beanbag-looking tongue. Leven felt like a buttery ear of corn. He wanted to scream, but he also longed to keep his mouth shut so as to prevent a better taste of tongue.

  After rotating Leven a few more times, the beast let him roll out of its mouth onto the ground. Leven lay there spitting and coughing. He felt his arms and legs and realized that he was still intact.

  The siid stood right above him and snorted.

  Leven looked around at the night. There was no one in sight. No sarus, no Geth, just the broken gaze and a creature as big as a mountain.

  Leven was astonished to hear someone talking to him.

  “Did I come through or what?” Clover asked, invisible but nearby.

  “Clover?” Leven looked around in disbelief.

  “How many times am I going to have to save your life?” Clover asked proudly.

  “You did that?” Leven asked, looking up at the siid.

  “It was no big deal,” Clover said, blushing so strongly that his two red cheeks materialized momentarily and then disappeared. “He owed me. Plus, I promised him a fresh fantrum seed and gaze water. Siids prefer water that’s been sitting around.”

  Leven got to his feet, his legs as wobbly as wet noodles. He could feel Clover helping to steady him.

  “Thanks,” Leven said honestly, still not comfortable standing so close to the siid.

  Clover whistled and materialized. The siid quickly whipped its tail around and picked up Leven with one half of the fork and Clover with the other.

  “Don’t worry,” Clover said. “It’ll get us out of the forest.”

  “I can’t leave without Geth,” Leven insisted, struggling in the fleshy fork of the siid’s tail. He broke free and began feeling the ground around him, calling, “Geth!”

  Clover bounced around doing the same.

  “Where was he last?” Clover asked, smiling.

  “He was in the gaze,” Leven lamented. “I tried to grab him, but he got away. We have to find him.”

  “He’s not here,” said Clover, pointing out the obvious. “He was probably caught in the runoff. I’m sure he’s in the Waz River by now. He’ll float to Fissure Gorge.”

  “Geth!” Leven yelled, his chest burning with pain for his misplaced friend.

  The forest began to moan. The sarus were returning.

  “We need to get out of here,” Clover said urgently. “Geth is a master at making it back. Besides, he told us if we were split up to get to the turrets.”

  “Geth!” Leven yelled one last time.

  In the trees there was a sweeping whisper. As Leven turned his head, a small, burning secret burst from the trees and sprang onto the bridge of his nose.

  Clover spotted it and yelled, “Don’t look at it!”

  Leven shut his eyes and tried to bat the secret off his nose. The secret wouldn’t have it. It pushed up on Leven’s eyelids, forcing Leven to open his eyes. Leven had no choice. He looked at the secret, and it smiled.

  “I embezzled from my boss,” the secret whispered. Then it clapped its tiny, fiery hands and dashed away.

  “The secrets are getting more serious,” Clover said. “We have to get out of here.”

  “But Geth . . .”

  Clover wasn’t listening. He gave his pathetic imitation of a whistle, and the siid picked Leven and him up again with its tail. Clover semi-whistled a second time, and the huge beast began to step quickly. Foo rocked as the siid pushed forward. The scales on its body clicked and rubbed in an awkward rhythm as the two monkeylike creatures hanging on its ears continued to argue with one another. Apparently the red one really felt it was the yellow one’s turn to clean the siid. Their high-pitched screaming cut through the air and reminded Leven of brakes squealing on a car.

  “This is the way to travel,” Clover said, excited. “We should make up some time.”

  Leven could think of little besides Amelia and Geth and the time they didn’t have.

  “Now’s probably not a good time to complain about you not ever really thanking me for bringing you here, is it?” Clov
er asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Leven answered sullenly.

  “That’s okay,” Clover said. “We can talk about it later.”

  Leven closed his eyes and tried to see the future—nothing.

  “Come on, Geth,” he whispered. “Come on.”

  The siid ran.

  Leven didn’t feel so well.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Be Careful Where You Step

  Janet Frore wasn’t comfortable. Ever since the dumb man with the dumb forehead and dumb hair had come by, Janet had been bothered.

  “What business does he have worrying about the girl?” Janet whined. “Besides, I did everything I could for Winter, and if she runs off it’s no concern of mine,” she tried to convince herself. “I should add up how much that child has cost me. I’m sure the total would be astounding.”

  Janet didn’t stand much. She stood up for things like moving from the couch to the bed, going to the rest room, walking out to get the mail, or driving to the grocery store. Other than that, she sat on the couch, eating and thinking nasty things about everyone she knew, had known, or would someday meet.

  Today, however, was mail day, and Janet was in for some standing.

  Janet liked to let the mail build up for a few days and then gather it all in a plastic sack. Normally she would venture out in midafternoon, but thanks to a terribly engaging soap opera, Janet had been unable to pull herself away from the TV and get the mail at an earlier hour.

  So, here it was, eight o’clock at night, and Janet was suddenly feeling an unusual burst of energy. She decided to use that energy to go for the mail.

  Janet hefted herself from the couch, rising like a fat wad of dough in a hot oven. She pushed up and onto her two poor legs. She gave her lower limbs a few moments to adjust to the shock, then began to shuffle out of the room.

  Janet stopped at the front door to catch her breath. She had decided to shed her robe and was now wearing a yellow housecoat with a row of red flowers stitched around the bottom hem and along the sleeves and neck. Of course the flowers didn’t stand out half as much as all the food stains she had dribbled down the front. Janet cleared her throat and choked a bit on some food that was still sitting in there. She ran her puffy fingers through her long, thinning hair and reached for the doorknob.

  She pulled, and the world around her came leaking in.

  Janet could see the night sky. She could see the lights on in the neighbors’ homes. She listened to the streetlights buzzing and took in the sound of a softball game being played down the way. It had been so long since Janet had stepped out at night that she had almost forgotten how it was.

  She looked down at the walkway. It was littered with rolled-up newspapers that she had never taken the time to come out and collect.

  She stepped onto the walkway and began to journey down toward the mailbox. A light wind blew through her hair and around her body. The smell of fresh-cut grass filled her nostrils.

  Janet stopped in her tracks. There was something about being there, covered in night and a veil of stars. There was a celebration in the wind and a sense of nature in the sounds around her. For a brief and fleeting moment, Janet almost regretted how much of life she was missing.

  “Dumb nature,” she muttered, shaking the feeling off.

  Three young boys appeared, riding down the street on their bikes, their laughter and talk filling the air. They pedaled near Janet’s house; upon spotting her, the tallest one yelled out, “Hey, look at that whale in a dress!”

  They all laughed and continued on past.

  Without even thinking about it, Janet reached down and grabbed one of the rolled-up newspapers she had been too lazy to gather up. She flung it as hard as she could, knocking the tallest boy in the back of the head. His bike wobbled, and he crashed into the curb. He rolled over and looked back at Janet.

  “Serves you right,” she barked as she stood on the edge of her walkway where it haphazardly met up with the city’s sidewalk. “You need to—”

  Janet stopped talking due to the appearance of a shooting star streaking across the black, fuzzy sky. She looked up at the celestial miracle and watched it fade in the distance. The temperature was a perfect sixty-three degrees. She wasn’t standing directly over the mismatched sidewalk, but there was a bit of her hanging over the line, a bit that might not have been there had she spent the last few months of her life doing something besides sitting and eating. Fate snatched a wisp of her, and although she had no understanding of what had transpired, she could feel that something about her had changed.

  “I need to stop getting up,” she complained, shaking her head.

  Janet collected her mail, shuffled back inside, slammed the door, and locked it tight.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Spirited Hitchhiker

  To Leven, the Swollen Forest was nothing but a confusing maze of trees and terror. Noises he had never heard and could not identify seemed to sound at every turn and from every patch of darkness.

  It didn’t exactly help that he was racing through the place twisted into the tail of the fifth siid, with a whispering secret stalking him. Or that he was beginning to feel ill.

  “How do we know he’s not just taking us somewhere to eat us?” Leven yelled to Clover.

  “I guess we really don’t,” Clover yelled back. “He promised he would take us to the far bridge, but I’ve heard stories about what a hard time the siids have keeping their promises.”

  “That’s great,” Leven complained. “So you talked to him?”

  “Well, it wasn’t so much talking as it was—”

  “Telepathy?” Leven guessed, thinking about a movie he had seen once where a bear talked to a horse with its mind.

  “No,” Clover answered. “It was more like swaying.”

  “You talked to him by swaying?” Leven asked.

  “I hope that’s what we were doing,” Clover said, suddenly embarrassed. “Let’s just consider it a good sign that he hasn’t eaten us yet.”

  “Perfect,” Leven said sarcastically.

  The siid moaned. A round, furry creature with big ears and a number of legs ran in front of it. With one smooth motion the siid dipped its head and scooped up the poor creature. The beast chewed and crunched on its victim as it continued running. The sound was a bit distressing.

  “This is not good,” Leven hollered. “I don’t feel well.”

  Crunch!

  “What else can we do?” Clover hollered back. “It’s a jarring ride, but we’ll get there.”

  There was a sickening squishing sound as the siid swallowed. The squishing sound was followed by a soft popping noise coming from across a distant field. That noise was followed by a long, drawn-out scream. Leven quickly turned his head. Up ahead, a middle-aged man was standing there next to some trees, screaming.

  “What’s he doing?” Leven yelled to Clover.

  “It looks like fate just brought him here,” Clover replied.

  “You mean he just stepped into Foo?”

  “I think,” Clover said. “If the sycophants come then we’ll know for sure.”

  No sooner had Clover said it than dozens of little Clover-like creatures began to appear on and around the man. Some were red and some were black as well as gray and yellow. Some were fat, but most were thin, and all of them were wearing small, shimmering robes. Sycophants dropped in from above and sprang up and out of the trees, all of them complimenting and yelling flattering things at the poor soul who had just stepped in. There were so many they muffled his screaming. The man swatted and screamed with even greater force as the sycophants kicked and scratched at one another, fighting over who would get to claim the new recruit as their burn.

  “Pick me, pick me!”

  “He’s mine!”

  “I burn for him!”

  The conflicts became increasingly violent, and hundreds of sycophants backed off, letting only the most determined fight it out. In a few moments one sycophant stood triumphant
on top of the screaming man’s head.

  The man batted and swung at the larger sycophant as the rest of the sycophants booed and hissed. Those who had lost began to disappear or slunk off dejectedly. The winner instantly started to console and comfort the screaming man.

  “You’re okay. I’ve got you now. You’ve entered Foo, that’s all.”

  It was an awkward thing for Leven to watch. He turned his head away from the scene as the siid continued to lumber through the forest.

  “What an awful jolt that must be. I feel sorry for that poor guy,” Leven said after they were far away from him.

  “What do you mean?” Clover asked naively. “He got a sycophant.”

  “And an entirely new life.”

  “He’ll get used—”

  “Where will his sycophant take him?” Leven asked.

  “Probably to Cusp, or, if he’s lucky, to Cork,” Clover said. “He’ll be safe and happy there. It is the most wonderful—”

  “Why doesn’t Winter have a sycophant?” Leven interrupted.

  Clover was silent.

  “Does she?” Leven asked.

  Clover shivered.

  “Well?”

  “Lilly,” Clover whispered.

  “Lilly?” Leven questioned. “She has a sycophant named Lilly?”

  “She did,” Clover answered. “She had to let her go when she returned to Reality as a baby. It was the Want’s decision.”

  “Can’t she get her back?”

  “No right-minded sycophant would ever take back a burn who had let it go,” Clover said passionately. “Especially Lilly. When Winter was first snatched into Foo, she was immediately assailed and piled on by dozens of sycophants, just like that guy. All the sycophants were arguing and fighting over who would claim her as their burn. In the end a white sycophant named Lilly won.”