by Obert Skye
“So we just march in?” Leven asked, diverting the conversation from Winter’s condition.
“I was thinking we’d march quietly,” Geth said.
“Let’s go, then,” Leven replied impatiently. “We’ve got to stop that secret. It could be selling itself right now.”
“I don’t think it is,” Geth whispered. “It’s held its tongue this long. It is an unusual secret that recognizes what it has. This one is waiting for the right buyer, and, if what we were told in Cusp is true, we know that buyer has not arrived here yet. Besides, the secret’s scared. It won’t be standing in plain sight. Look for it in the corners or the rafters. It’s waiting for the right moment to show itself and make the deal of its lifetime.”
“Let’s hurry,” Winter said, blowing on her stiff hands. “It’s freezing.”
“Remember,” Geth said. “If you spot the secret, don’t react. Don’t let it know that you know it’s there. And Leven, you must keep your face and eyes hidden. It will recognize you easily.”
“Got it,” Leven said.
“What if it runs?” Winter asked. She was wrapped in a dark brown robe tied around the waist. Her long blonde hair spilled out from under her hood, circling her green eyes and once pink, currently blue, lips.
“Then we chase it,” Geth said with enthusiasm.
“There must be . . .” Leven stopped to count the creatures tied up outside the tavern. “There must be at least twenty people in there.”
“Perfect,” Geth whispered, slipping from his onick and sounding like the toothpick he once had been.
“Last time I counted, we made up only three,” Leven said calmly.
“Nobody in there will give us trouble unless we ask for it,” Geth said.
Leven smiled at Geth. It was still not easy to believe that the toothpick Leven had toted around for all that time was now a man taller and stronger than him. And not just any man, but a lithen, which was about as close to royalty as Foo got. Geth’s long,
dusty-blond hair hung down in front of his blue eyes. The hood of his green robe was pulled back off his head, and his kilve hung from a thick leather strap over his shoulder. When Geth had first stepped from the ashes and back into his former self, he had looked far more royal and polished. He now appeared much more roguish and up for adventure.
“I wouldn’t mind a tenth of your confidence,” Leven whispered.
“You’re not scared, are you?” Winter asked. “I mean, you have multiple gifts; all I have is this kilve.”
The wooden staff Winter held looked dull under the dark night. The top of it emitted a weak amber glow.
“Don’t worry. Fate will see us through, and by the time you both take your places in Foo, you will have the confidence to do anything you please,” Geth smiled. “Now, let’s go.”
Leven pulled the reins tight on his onick. His hands were bigger than they had been when he had first stepped into Foo—in fact, his entire body was larger. The experiences he had struggled through had caused him to grow rapidly, aging his body by a couple of years at least. He felt like a smaller version of himself wrapped up in a body two sizes too big.
“Let’s snuff that secret out,” Leven said.
Geth clicked his teeth and maneuvered his onick down the thin stone path through the trees. The onick Leven was riding moaned and hissed, causing those tied up in front of the tavern to moan back.
The three of them dismounted and loosely tied their onicks to the wooden post in front. The cold wind twisted up both of Leven’s legs and ran down his arms. He wished both for warmth and for Clover.
Clover had not returned since he had run off to take care of some other sycophants that the tharms had tied up. Leven had allowed Clover to leave freely, but had he known then what he knew now, he never would have let Clover depart. He could think of little besides the safe return of his close friend.
“He’s fine,” Winter said as she stepped up next to Leven and touched his hand.
“What?”
“Clover’s fine,” she smiled. “Even if the whole of Foo knew how to harm him, he could stay hidden. Besides, we’ll put a stop to the secret and there will be no reason to worry.”
“About Clover,” Leven specified.
“Sure,” Winter said. “There will still be plenty of other things to worry about.”
“That’s what makes fate exciting,” Geth said, sounding like a philosophy teacher and motioning for them to follow. “Who knows what’s coming next?”
The three of them walked quickly to the door of the tavern.
“Hide your eyes,” Geth instructed Leven as he pulled on the hood of his own robe.
Leven flipped his hood up onto his head and tugged the front of it down over his brown eyes. Tiny bits of his long, black hair poked out of the edges. Leven still felt uncomfortable wearing a cloak. It seemed to be the standard dress in Foo, but every time he saw himself he felt as if he were dressing up for a play or for Halloween.
The door to the tavern opened by itself.
Like steam, the smells of roasted sheep and body odor flooded over the three of them. A short nit with a face full of woe sat in the corner playing a slow tune on an accordion. The tavern master looked up from the counter he was wiping to stare at them. He was tall, with a back as bent as any reputable hook. Confident they were no threat, the tavern master growled and went back to wiping down the counter.
Leven looked over the crowd.
The fire was humming along with the accordion, providing a nice background noise for the raucous laughter coming from those drinking and eating. There were two nits throwing sticks in the corner and two tables where single patrons sat somberly drinking. A young woman with long purple hair walked between the tables flirting in an effort to up her tips. She stood tall and put a hand on her hip while winking in Geth’s direction.
Geth smiled.
A group of six souls were sitting in the far corner. Two of them were rants, covered in large black robes; two were cogs, their blue foreheads appearing almost green in the light of the fire; and the other two were wide and oval shaped. Below the hems of their thick wool skirts, plump, mushy ankles topped their rounded, nublike shoes. They had no necks—instead, their shoulders rolled up into their dome-shaped heads, on which just a few straw-looking strands of hair grew upward in a jagged fashion. Their skin was pale and thin, and their facial features were flat and almost translucent.
“Eggmen,” Geth whispered in surprise.
“The candy makers?” Leven asked.
Geth nodded.
“The ones Clover’s always talking about?” Leven said with excitement.
Geth nodded again. “They usually stick to the Devil’s Spiral and almost never associate with rants,” he whispered. “The rants’ unstable condition can prove dangerous for them and their brittle skin.”
Leven glanced at Winter. She was slowly looking over the room and rafters with her green eyes.
“We should find a place to sit,” Geth said, still looking at the Eggmen.
They all moved to a square table at the far end of the room. The fire hummed louder just so they could properly hear it.
“I wish Clover were here,” Leven whispered. “I know he has some candy ideas he’s wanted to get to the Eggmen.”
“I doubt those two have much affiliation with the rest of their race,” Geth said softly. “Eggmen are loyal and stay together no matter what. Seeing two alone like that is not a comfortable sign. I’ve never enjoyed dealing with strays.”
“Any sign of the secret?” Leven whispered.
Both Geth and Winter carefully shook their heads.
“You know we’ve been riding for hours,” Leven pointed out.
“Thanks for the report, Lev,” Winter joked.
“What I mean is, I wonder if they have a bathroom.”
Geth motioned with his right hand to a small red door near the back of the tavern.
“Keep your eyes hidden,” Geth warned again.
Leven pulled his hood so tight he could barely see out under it.
The waitress with the purple hair sauntered up to their table and took their drink orders. She then apologized for the other company in the bar.
“The cold brings the elements in,” she smiled.
Leven looked around and marveled at where his life had come to. He had traveled a long way from the Rolling Greens Deluxe Mobile Home Park and Sterling Thoughts Middle School. Gone were bullies like Brick and Glen, and in their place were Eggmen and whispered secrets.
Leven definitely preferred one set of problems over the other.
“What can I get you to drink?” the waitress asked.
“How about three pints of fuzzy cream,” Geth answered. “And a bar of shaved mint. Oh, and some roasted sheep.”
“Of course,” she said, winking.
Leven stood and headed to the red door.
Chapter Two
Futile and Futiler
Everyone enjoys a bit of quiet at times. A silent sunrise or a peaceful evening can be very satisfying. Or perhaps it has just snowed and the streets are vacant and there is no traffic or noise. That sounds—or, in actuality, doesn’t sound—enjoyable.
But there are also times when silence is simply not acceptable. Yes, there are times in life when a person needs to stand up and say something loud. Perhaps there has been a robbery and you know who did it.
I suggest you speak up.
Or say you know just the button to push on the dashboard of life, a button that will grant everyone every wish they’ve ever desired and end all suffering and cruelty. If so, don’t just raise your hand and speak up, but press the button quick!
Throughout history there have been many great moments where someone has ended intolerance or confusion simply by speaking up. There have also been equally sad moments where those who should have spoken up have stayed seated with lips closed and in doing so allowed evil and wrongdoing to continue with no signal to shut it down.
Tim Tuttle was not the kind of soul to let wrong slide without saying something. Normally Tim was a quiet, thoughtful being who preferred thinking to speaking, but the time had come for him to open his mouth and give his two cents. He was standing in the most beautiful landscape he had ever set foot on, and yet his head was filled with ugly thoughts.
“This isn’t right,” Tim said to Dennis, thrusting out his weak chin. “It feels like we are creating something impossible. How will this help me find Winter?”
Dennis smiled. He stood tall and ran his right hand over his shaved head. The black robe he wore was tattered and blew like stiff, dried algae in the light wind. The robe was so thin in spots that Tim could clearly see bits of Dennis’s white shirt underneath. Dennis’s pants were, as usual, wrinkle free, and he still wore the bank sticker that said, “I save a bundle banking at Bindle.”
Dennis looked at Tim and pushed the right sleeve of his robe up with his left hand. He then did the same to his left sleeve with his right hand.
Tim stepped back and tugged his ball cap down more securely on his head.
Dennis’s arms were covered with dark images and lines running in every direction. The images wriggled across his skin in waves, twisting around his arms and slithering up under the robe. The lines bubbled below and above his skin, straining to break out.
“What is that?” Tim said, pointing to Dennis’s arms.
“Nothing to worry about,” Dennis answered. “Genetics.”
Tim stepped back even farther. “Does it hurt?”
“Not at all,” Dennis smiled.
What Tim didn’t understand was that Dennis was changing. At first he had been simply a vehicle for the last bits of Sabine to wrap himself around, but as each minute ticked off, Sabine was seeping into Dennis, meshing with the once dim-witted janitor. Soon Dennis would be more powerful than he could have ever dreamed of being. He would also be torn between destroying Foo and returning to the law firm where he used to clean offices, just to rub it in their faces.
“I’m not sure this is where I should be,” Tim said. “My head feels thick.”
“That’s just the air here,” Dennis hissed softly. “It’s too clean. I promise you Foo is real. And you will find Winter. I’m certain of it.”
“I just don’t know anymore,” Tim said. “I just don’t know.”
“What don’t you understand?” a sharp, angry voice chimed in. “Foo is real, and you’d better get there, or that girl’s dead. Finished. Extinguished. No more.”
Tim looked down in the direction of the talking toothpick.
Ezra was hanging from the right leg of Dennis’s indestructible pants. Ezra’s purple hair was wriggling like tiny snakes, and he was pointing at Tim with his right arm. His single eye was blinking madly. A couple of days ago, Ezra’s future had looked rather bleak. He had been nearly snapped in two by the angry hands of Dennis. Now, however, Ezra was mending. Ezra had talked Tim into purchasing a small vial of dark green nail polish. Tim had then watched Ezra painfully and slowly lower himself into the nail polish, creating an enamel body cast that corrected the weak spot where he had nearly been snapped in half.
Ezra had dipped himself in and let the polish dry, again and again, coating his entire body in dark green enamel. It had made it a bit harder for him to move his arms and legs, but with a little work the dried nail polish gave in spots, and Ezra had soon gained full range of motion. He still stood with a slight bend, but he was back. And, as before, Ezra had no patience for anyone. He tolerated Dennis because he didn’t want to be snapped in half again, but his tongue was as acerbic as ever.
“Extinguished?” Tim asked, staring at Ezra and still not completely able to comprehend a talking toothpick.
“I thought you understood English,” Ezra spat. “Did I say alive?”
“Silence,” Dennis said. “We’ve work to finish. We need to find a mismatched piece of road that can be transported and placed in the bottom of the gateway.”
“I’ll start searching,” Tim said, looking forward to the chance of getting off on his own.
“Perfect,” Dennis said. “We’ll be in Foo before the week is through.”
Ezra leaned back and cackled a sinister laugh. Dennis and Tim just stared at him.
“I mean, oh good,” Ezra corrected his behavior.
Tim turned to go but was stopped by Dennis’s hand on his shoulder.
“It’s a cold day,” Dennis said. “You’d do well to wear something warmer.”
“I’m fine,” Tim said.
“Here,” Dennis insisted. “Borrow this.”
Before Tim could say another word, Dennis had torn off a thick swath of Sabine and wrapped it around Tim’s right wrist.
“No, really,” Tim protested. “I’m . . .”
The tattered bit of robe felt so warm. It heated up Tim’s body like a pleasant embrace. It seemed to speak to him. Tim motioned as if he were going to remove it, but he dropped his hands.
“I’ll just wear it for the moment,” Tim said slowly.
“Of course,” Dennis said.
“It’s so warm,” Tim slurred.
“What’s happening to him?” Ezra sneered. “He’s gone all foggy.”
“He’ll be fine,” Dennis said, the dark images shifting across his own skin. “He’s just getting a little better taste of Foo.”
Tim just stared.
“He’s kind of a strange dolt,” Ezra observed, his single eye blinking toward Tim.
“Well, he’s about to get stranger.”
Ezra laughed another wicked laugh, and this time he made no attempt to excuse his behavior.
Chapter Three
Mirrors and Rafters
The sounds of the bar were warm and comforting. A worn wooden sign above the door said Washroom. Leven wove through the tables toward the door. The nits throwing sticks were arguing about one of them cheating.
Leven moved around them and up to the red door. He reached out and the door opened effortlessly, without his help
. Doors had a better understanding of what they were supposed to do in Foo than in Reality.
Leven stepped in and the door closed softly behind him. There was a short stone corridor with a single candle burning on the opposite wall. The cold was much stronger in here than in the tavern’s main hall.
Leven shivered and exhaled. He watched his breath lift to the high straw ceiling, drifting in and out of the rafters as it ascended. At the end of the hall there was another red door.
Leven stepped up to it.
The doorknob turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. To the right of the door was a long, twisted flight of stairs leading down. Leven looked around and then descended.
The stairs took him to a small room lit by two glowing candles. At the edge of the room was a large wooden pump with a bucket sitting at a tilt beneath it. Next to the pump was a short wall hiding a deep, rancid hole.
“I miss normal toilets,” Leven sighed.
Before Leven left the washroom he ran water from the pump over his hands and looked in the mirror hanging unevenly on the wall above it. He pulled back the hood of his robe and was somewhat surprised at the reflection of himself.
Leven’s face was a bit fuller than he expected, and his brown eyes glowed a subtle orange around the rim of the pupils. His hair was long, and the white streak above his right ear was as bright as if it were an active light source. His straight nose and teeth were familiar, but different.
Leven ran water over his hands and pushed them both back through his hair. The few freckles he had were fading. The uneven mirror made his skin look different shades of white.
“You brought us into this,” Leven’s reflection spoke.
Leven looked at the mirror in shock.
The image he projected sighed. “Don’t act too surprised,” it said. “You’ve seen stranger things in Foo.”
Leven touched the mirror, and his reflection smiled a crooked smile. Leven pulled the mirror away from the wall and checked out the back of it.
“You always were slow to believe,” his reflection said. “Of course, now that you are in Foo, you are forced to believe simply by being here.”
