by Obert Skye
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No,” the boy waved. “A number of fish have died. But, I tell you, earthquakes don’t usually kill fish.”
“Did they investigate?” Tim asked, the hair on the back of his neck standing up again.
“I’m not sure I understand,” the boy said.
“Did anyone search underwater, or try to find out what it was?”
“It’s pretty hard to see anything under this water,” the boy said, referring to the beautiful green color that hid everything below.
Tim looked over the side of the boat and down into the water. The surface was a milky emerald green. There could have been anything hidden down there.
“The authorities thought it could have been a terrorist, or some trick,” the boy went on. “But I know of no reason why someone would want to do that here. Maybe it was Hitler turning over in his grave,” he tried to joke.
Tim laughed politely, since he was one of the nice kind of people previously mentioned. He looked down into the water again.
Tim needed to think. He also needed something else to eat.
The boat started back up and continued traveling to the distant side of the lake.
ii
The Munich Germany Airport was as busy as any place Dennis Wood had ever been. People pushed forward like determined mice with no maze and a straight shot to cheese, and the overhead speakers kept shouting instructions in German. The old Dennis would have been intimidated, but the new Dennis was not.
As Dennis walked through the airport, people moved out of his way. He stood tall, stone-faced, and dark. He wore Sabine like a robe over his shoulders, soaking in the blackness with each step he took.
He reached a small glass booth with a large, uniformed man sitting inside. The man’s girth was almost more than the glass booth could accommodate, making it look as if the entire thing might burst at any moment. The uniformed man had a short forehead and a wide, moist nose with a sweaty little mustache beneath it.
“Your passport, please,” he asked, his jowls jiggling.
Dennis handed him his driver’s license. The man looked at it as if it were a joke. As he looked up, however, bits and pieces of Sabine floated like black lint off of Dennis and into the official’s ears. Dennis could see the flecks actually moving around in the whites of the man’s eyes.
“Business or pleasure, Mister Dennis?” the man asked, his voice sounding as if he were in a slight trance.
“Business,” Dennis answered.
The guard looked Dennis up and down. He stared at his bald head. “Your hair color?” he asked, following his routine and not realizing he wasn’t holding an actual passport.
“Blond . . . when I have any,” Dennis answered.
“And your age?”
“Thirty-one,” Dennis sniffed.
“And the business you are on?”
“I’m here to rebuild something,” he said, frustrated. “Now can I go?”
“One moment,” the guard waved uncomfortably, which was a struggle, seeing how he had so little extra room in his booth. “What is the company you are with?”
Dennis said the only thing he could think of: “Gateway.”
“They make a fine computer,” the guard sniffed, stamping the front of Dennis’s driver’s license as if it were a passport. “Enjoy your stay, Mister Dennis. Next.”
He handed Dennis the stamped card.
Dennis walked away fuming. He was tempted to correct the guard about his name, but he let it go—for now. Someday, however, the entire world would get it right and fear the presence and power of Dennis Wood.
iii
Wearing Sabine as a black, tattered robe with an ugly hood, Dennis stepped off the bus in Berchtesgaden. He pushed back the hood, and the October sun danced off his bald head.
“This is it?” Dennis asked, referring to their location.
“It is,” his robe hissed.
“I want to see the spot.”
Dennis walked with purpose toward the lake. Wearing Sabine had given him great confidence. It had also helped him understand what was happening. As a cloak, Sabine had seeped information into Dennis. The seepage had left dark, tattoolike marks all over Dennis’s skin. Sabine had told him of Foo. He had told him of the gateway, and he had promised Dennis great power and endless dreams if he helped Sabine return.
Dennis had never dreamed before, and the mere thought drove him mad with ambition. He trusted Sabine. And he reveled in the blackness that had entered his life. He could see that there would be things to stop him or impede his progress, but none of those things overshadowed the fact that if he held on, Dennis would be able to escape his past and, for the first time in his life, dream powerful dreams.
“How’d he do it?” Dennis asked Sabine as he walked. “How did he build a gateway here? More importantly, how will we?”
“We will work at night,” Sabine buzzed. “We must secure materials.”
Dennis looked around as he got closer to the lake. He couldn’t see anyplace nearby to get the kind of materials they would need. “We’ll need a car to get the supplies,” Dennis said. “It could take some time.”
“We don’t have time,” Sabine seethed.
Dennis couldn’t wait to dream, but he was also thirsty from traveling. He crossed the street and entered a dimly lit gasthaus where a few patrons were drinking and eating fish. The walls were lined with decorative china plates and beer steins. The floorboards were wood and worn from years of thirsty people walking across them. Dennis walked past the tables and booths and took a seat on a stool at the long wooden bar. There was a lone man, wearing a blue baseball cap, sitting on the stool next to him. Dennis waved at the waiter and ordered a drink.
“We shouldn’t delay,” Sabine hissed silently and directly into Dennis’s skin.
“I just need a drink,” Dennis whispered aloud. “Don’t worry. I’ll work as fast as I can,” he said irritably.
The man in the ball cap on the neighboring stool heard Dennis talking and thought he was addressing him.
“Excuse me?” the ball-capped American said nicely. “Were you saying something?”
“No,” Dennis snapped. He was about to follow that “No” with something along the lines of, “Mind your own business” or, “Why would I be talking to someone like you?” but Sabine burned into his neck, sending a signal to hold his tongue.
The bartender delivered Dennis’s drink, and Dennis took a gigantic swallow and then belched. “Sorry,” he said to his neighbor. “I was thirsty.”
“No problem,” the ball-capped patron said kindly. “Are you from America?”
“Yes,” Dennis answered, getting signals from Sabine to play along.
“What state?”
“North Carolina, actually,” Dennis answered.
Sabine fluttered and rolled. There was something about the American that made him burn. It was clear that this man had not been to Foo, but it was as if he had been in contact with someone who had. Weary of Dennis’s poor communication skills, Sabine decided to take over the conversation.
“Where are you from?” Sabine hissed out of Dennis’s mouth. Both the American and Dennis looked surprised. “I mean, where are you from?” Sabine said, in a lower and softer tone and with an almost comical voice.
“I’m from Iowa,” the American said, looking at Dennis with confusion. “My name’s Tim. Tim Tuttle.”
Tim stuck out his hand, and Dennis shook it.
“Why are you here?” Sabine said, using Dennis’s mouth again.
Tim smiled awkwardly. “I’m looking for a couple of kids,” he said.
Tim was the kind of person who usually thought the best of others. Most anyone who sat next to Dennis would have thought him to be a creepy jerk at best. Tim, on the other hand, saw Dennis as just a dim-witted oddball, and felt compelled to talk to him.
“Kids?” Sabine hissed hungrily out of Dennis’s mouth.
“Are you okay?” Tim asked, tilting his head to stud
y Dennis’s face.
“Fine, fine,” Dennis lied. “I’ve just got a wicked cold,” he recovered. Sabine burned through Dennis’s skin, commanding him to let Sabine do the talking. “You’re looking for kids, you say,” Sabine prompted.
“A young girl and boy,” Tim said seriously. “But this is the end of the trail at the moment.”
“Are they in trouble?” Sabine asked.
“I think so,” Tim answered. “But I’m not sure I even know that.”
Sabine’s pulse quickened. He loved to take advantage of fate when it was working in his favor, and an extra person like Tim would make the work of building a new gateway much easier. Fate was such a fool.
“Leven,” Sabine said out of Dennis’s lips.
Tim spat his drink out, getting the bartender wet.
“Excuse me?” he said, wiping his mouth. “What did you say?”
“You’re looking for Leven and Winter,” Sabine said matter-of-factly.
Tim’s mouth dropped to the floor, and his eyes gave the decorative plates lining the wall some competition for saucer size. “You know them?” Tim asked.
“I believe we are working for the same thing,” Sabine said through Dennis, trying to keep his voice light and as un-sinister-sounding as possible.
“How do you know them?” Tim asked, so excited that he didn’t let his great brain take a moment to analyze the bad vibes coming from Dennis.
Dennis stood and motioned for Tim to follow him. “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
“I can’t believe this,” Tim said with excitement, following Dennis to a corner booth. “Are they okay?” he asked.
“I believe so,” Sabine hissed out of Dennis.
“Thank goodness,” Tim said, taking a seat, the smile on his face impossible to suppress. “I’ve been so worried.”
“We’ve all been worried,” Dennis hissed.
Tim was too excited to see the danger sitting right before him.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Door Number One
The onick slowed as the base of Morfit came into view. It was dark by now, but thousands of small, glowing lights twinkled from all over the mountain. Leven could see people and creatures trudging toward the base, carrying rocks of various sizes in their hands. Leven guided the onick behind a row of short, orange-colored trees and hopped off.
“Will it wait for us?” Leven asked Clover, referring to the onick.
“If no one else jumps on its back,” Clover answered. “Onicks are loyal only to those who are on top.”
“Maybe we should hide it or something,” Leven suggested. “It could come in handy later.”
Clover was already fishing around in his void. He pulled out a thin wooden jar with a small lever on the top. It looked a bit like an old-fashioned can of aerosol spray. Clover read the label and smiled. “Doesn’t expire for another twenty-two years.”
He sprayed a shot of air at the onick. The air created what looked like a hole in the poor creature.
“Wow!” Leven said. “What is that stuff?”
“An attempt by the citizens of Cusp to be more like the sycophants,” Clover said haughtily. “It can make you invisible, but it’s very sticky and uncomfortable. Plus, it takes hours to wash off. Not to mention the bugs that get stuck in it.” Clover tisked. “Everyone wants to be us.”
Clover began to spray the onick all over. The poor beast didn’t mind because he didn’t know what was happening. In a few moments nothing remained visible but a bit of rope tying him to the fantrum tree.
“Hurry,” Leven said, as Clover was putting the finishing touches on his masterpiece. “We need to get in there.”
“I’m almost done,” Clover said, turning toward Leven. As he did so, he accidentally sprayed the lower half of Leven’s left arm.
Leven just stared at his lack of limb. His arm looked as though it had been cut off just below the sleeve of his T-shirt.
“Oops,” Clover said, just as the can sputtered out the last of its contents.
“Perfect,” Leven complained.
“Sorry,” Clover tried. “But don’t worry. It’ll wash off eventually.”
Leven looked down. It was the oddest sensation not to see his arm and hand there. He brought his hand up to his face and touched his nose. As he pulled away he noticed a slight stickiness on his invisible fingertips.
“I’m sure this will help,” Leven said sarcastically.
“Mister Sunshine,” Clover beamed happily. “That’s the attitude.”
Leven was tempted to use his invisible hand in an unkind fashion. Instead, he said, “No ‘Mister Sunshine.’ Let’s just find Winter so we can take care of Geth.”
Leven stepped away from the fantrum tree and began moving toward Morfit. Clover followed close behind after leaving a vapor stick beneath the tree. He had cracked the vapor stick, and a horrible smell was now lofting through the air. The noxious fumes made Leven light-headed.
“That’ll keep people away from our onick.”
“I’m not sure I want to go back now,” Leven said, pinching his nose with his visible hand. “That’s awful.”
Clover would have responded, but he was having a hard time breathing himself. Leaves on trees began to droop as small bushes and plants curled up or threw dirt on themselves to escape the stench. Leven and Clover could hear the poor, invisible onick gag, pass out, and fall against the ground. Due to the odor, however, neither ran back to help it. It wasn’t until they were a good three hundred feet away that they could safely breathe again.
“I’m not going back there,” Leven insisted. “I’ve never smelled anything that bad before.”
“It was a strong stick,” Clover agreed. “But the smell will fade.”
“Wait a second,” Leven said. “Where’s Geth? I thought you had him.”
“I did,” Clover said ashamedly.
“Well, where is he?”
“He was riding on my back,” Clover explained. “I was afraid he might blow away. Plus, he started lecturing me about some of the things I’ve been doing. I’m sorry, but I’m my own person, unless of course you want me not to be.”
“Clover, where is Geth?”
“Don’t worry, I just put him in my void.”
Clover started fishing around in his void for Geth. He pulled out a sticky popsicle stick.
“Nope, that’s not him,” Clover said. “What if it was? That would be so weird.”
Leven shook his head.
Clover put his hand back in the void and pulled out a postcard with the state of Oklahoma drawn on the front.
“Nope.”
He pulled out a leaf shaped like a kitten, a plastic spoon whittled into a plastic knife, an apple core, a temporary tattoo of a butterfly, a dry spaghetti noodle, a live moth, and a dead fish before he finally found Geth. Clover pulled him out and held him in his palm.
“Here he is,” Clover announced.
Leven had never seen Geth looking frightened before.
“Don’t ever put me back in there,” Geth whispered fiercely. “Ever. Please.”
Leven picked up Geth and put him in his shirt pocket. “Sorry.”
Geth clung to Leven.
Leven moved to the edge of the trees and near a wide dirt path. He could see a number of people shuffling toward Morfit. Most held stones in their hands and wore robes of some sort. Leven looked down at his pathetic outfit. The flood pants and his torn shirt he had bought in France were about as uncool as anything he had ever seen. Clover had fished another old sneaker out of his void, so Leven now was wearing two shoes, though they didn’t match.
“Shouldn’t I be wearing a robe or something?” Leven asked.
“We don’t have one,” Clover pointed out. “But you might want to pick up a rock and look sorry about it,” the sycophant instructed.
“A rock?”
“Morfit is built by the stones of everyone’s shortcomings,” Geth said. “Bringing and leaving rocks frees you of your guilt. Toss a rock and
it meshes with the mountain, growing up or out, depending on your throw. Morfit was once a sacred place that had something to do with the power Fissure Gorge produces. Now it’s nothing but a huge, dark reminder of how far we’ve come.”
Leven looked up at Morfit, towering high overhead. “So, any rock will do?”
“Any rock,” Clover concurred.
Leven bent over and grabbed a large stone from the ground, holding it in his one visible and one invisible hand.
“Wow,” Clover said dramatically. “You must have done something awful.”
“You said ‘any rock,’” Leven pointed out defensively.
“Still,” Clover resounded.
Leven ignored Clover and tried to look distraught.
“Are you going to be okay?” Clover whispered.
“You said to act guilty,” Leven reminded him.
“Well, you’re pretty convincing,” Clover said suspiciously. “Now we need to do something about your eyes.”
“What about my eyes?” Leven said.
“They’re still burning gold,” Geth answered.
Scattered about the ground were small puddles of water. Leven leaned over one of the puddles and looked at his reflection. Leven’s eyes were burning gold, despite the fact that there was no vision in his head. Leven, however, was more taken aback by how much older he looked. The white streak in his hair was brighter and more prominent, and his face looked less like a child’s.
“I look—”
“Here,” Clover interrupted, rummaging around in his void. “Take this.”
Clover handed Leven a black gumball.
“I’m not eating anything you give me out of there, without some explanation.”
“That takes some of the fun out of it,” Clover said, “but if you must know, it’s a Pigment-o.”
“And?”
“It should help disguise your eyes.”
“How?”
“It changes your eye color,” Clover said briskly. “Now take it so we can go find Winter.”
“It’ll change my eye color?”
Clover crossed his heart.
Leven stuck the black ball into his mouth and chewed. Surprisingly, it tasted like real gum. Leven chewed quickly, stretching and pulling the gum in his mouth.
