by Obert Skye
The “falling apart” that Terry was speaking of referred to the odd occurrences that were now taking place all over the world. Large clusters of small bugs were biting people and carrying them off. Buildings were switching corners. Giant dirt monsters were popping up in people’s fields, and tall, angry columns of air were doing damage in multiple places across the globe. Not to mention the fact that Terry’s own house had been picked up, frozen, and then demolished.
“Some world,” Terry griped.
Thanks to the metal detector, Terry had found four nails,
a thimble, and two nickels just this morning alone. That, combined with what he had found on previous days, equaled six nails, a thimble, one cheap ring, a pair of half-broken glasses, seven pennies, four nickels, and a Canadian dime.
Terry was starting to doubt his decision about how he had spent his drinking money.
“Some men weren’t made to work,” Terry said to himself, licking his dry lips. “’Get a job,’ she says. ’Earn your keep,’ she says. I wasn’t born to be her paycheck. Why should I be stuck in an office pushing some paper?”
It was a foolish thing for Terry to say, seeing as how (unless you counted police stations) he had never been in an office. He moved across a small gully and up a thin foot trail. A new neighborhood was being constructed near where Terry’s old home had been. Terry pushed through an opening in the gate that surrounded the new construction.
He swung his metal detector over the soil, listening to the steady ticking of it. There were no houses built in the area yet, but the ground had been dug up and moved around in preparation for building.
Terry found a quarter.
“That’s better,” he said, as if chastising the metal detector.
He moved from left to right, walking two steps forward at a time and then zipping back the opposite way. He had seen other people with metal detectors moving in a similar fashion, so he figured he would follow the proper pattern.
The metal detector beeped loudly. Terry swung it to the right and it beeped even louder.
“About time,” Terry said.
He put the metal detector down and got on his knees. His body crinkled like a sleeve of crackers being bent. He looked at the dirt and slowly began to dig. The soil was loose from the earthmovers that had been through earlier in the day.
“Look at me digging in the dirt,” Terry said, disgusted. “This ain’t right. I raise a kid and give my all. In return, my house is ruined—now I’m houseless and working while probably some king somewhere in some country is eating pie with his feet up. The world is seriously wrong when I can’t even . . .”
Terry stopped talking to himself to extract what his fingers had hit up against. It was black and round, with an odd shape coming out of one side. It felt like it weighed about a pound. Terry quickly pushed the dirt off it, hoping the object would fetch him at least enough money to buy something to drink.
It wouldn’t, as it was just a metal pipe with a nozzle on it.
Terry swore. He had had enough.
“That’s it. I’m taking you back,” he said to his metal detector.
Terry knew he wouldn’t get a full refund, but he figured the pawn shop would at least give him enough money back to buy a few drinks. Still on his knees, he licked his dry lips and looked over at the discarded metal detector.
“Dumb science,” he spat. “Metal detector? More like pipe finder.”
Terry felt like he had said something intelligent. He bobbed his head, and as he did, he could see a thin strip of purple material sticking out of some newly tilled dirt.
Terry stood up.
He put his hand above his eyes and looked at the material. It was only ten feet away, but Terry wasn’t sure it was worth the effort.
He sighed, stood up and kicked the metal detector out of his way, and walked over to the material. He leaned down and felt the small bit of exposed cloth. It was slick, like satin, with a colorful edging.
The fabric was cool to the touch.
Terry tugged on it, getting some resistance. He pulled harder and the dirt broke loose, sending Terry backwards onto his rear end. The little piece of fabric turned out to be quite long.
Terry looked at his hands as if they had finally done something good for a change. He stood up and shook the fabric out. It was purple and thick, with an intricate stitching running along all the edges. There was a burnt spot across the bottom half, and it was dirty and stiff. Still, Terry could tell it was something unusual and of value.
“I’ve never seen a thing like this,” he mused.
Terry pulled at the fabric and a hood unraveled, letting Terry see that it was a robe of sorts. He shook it some more and held it up to his chest. He looked down at it and smiled.
“Free clothes,” he sniffed. “And Addy thought this job was useless.”
Terry turned the robe around and slipped his right arm into the sleeve. He then did the same thing with his left arm and the left sleeve. He closed the robe with his hands and flipped his head forward to throw the hood up over his hair. He let both his arms hang to the side and glanced down at the part of himself he could see.
“This isn’t metal,” he observed astutely, running his hands down the smooth, dirty front.
Terry twisted, and the soil covering the robe slid off into the dirt. The robe shone under the new sun.
“I like this,” Terry said lustfully.
He looked around for signs of any other items of interest. There were none. The ground was newly worked, and he couldn’t see a single thing other than dirt. Terry stepped back over and picked up the metal detector. The machine ticked in his hands. Terry reached to turn it off—but it already was switched off. He set the detector down, and it stopped ticking. He scratched his head and then picked it up again.
It ticked loudly.
Terry didn’t know what to think, but he knew that in some unexplainable way he was different from what he had been only moments before.
If there had been anyone standing nearby, they would have seen a mean, stubborn, hate-filled, lazy, deceitful, messy slob in an interesting robe. And at that moment Terry did not look a thing like what he actually was becoming.
Chapter Five
Four Leaf
Leven stepped out of the red door and walked between the two nits playing sticks. They were both a little louder and a bit more inebriated than when he had passed them heading the other way. The accordion player was singing a song about a pony, with the fire harmonizing along. Leven took a seat by Geth and Winter just as the purple-haired girl set down their fuzzy cream and food.
“Are you okay?” Winter asked. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” Leven said. “It wasn’t the cleanest washroom.”
“Hide your eyes,” Geth said.
Leven fumbled with the hood of his cloak. He pushed his sleeves up and drew in a deep, heavy breath.
“Isn’t it hot in here?” Leven asked.
“Not hot,” Winter said, tilting her head. “Are you sure you’re okay, Lev?”
“Fine,” Leven insisted, picking up his mug of fuzzy cream. “It just feels hot in here. I guess I’m still not used to wearing these robes.”
The drink tasted of pumpkin with a bit of banana.
Leven’s body grew even warmer, but the drink was too delicious to set aside. By the time he had taken his last swallow, sweat was oozing from his pores. Leven wiped his forehead and chin with the sleeve of his robe.
The purple-haired girl returned to their table. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked. “The fuzzy cream isn’t our strongest drink. We have much stronger if that’s what you desire.”
“We’re fine,” Geth smiled. “We’re just resting a moment. We’ve traveled a long distance.”
“Rest all you want,” she smiled. “The outside night holds nothing but cold and concern.”
Leven pushed his hood off and vigorously wiped his forehead.
“Cover up,” Geth insisted.
“It’s too hot,” Leven complained. “Besides, the secret’s obviously not here.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” Geth said. “Cover up.”
“No,” Leven said, his head rocking back and forth. “I need to go outside.”
Leven stood, knocking over the chair he had been sitting in. The chair chattered against the floor, but not a single other person in the tavern took notice or looked over. The chair picked its own self up and scooted away.
“Lev,” Winter said with concern, “what’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel well,” he said, refusing to look into Winter’s green eyes and pushing at his own eyes with his palms.
Geth stood up and reached out to pull Leven’s hood up for him. Leven moved away. Geth’s eyes grew dark, and the fire oooohed.
“Did something happen?” Geth asked, taking Leven by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Leven insisted. “I just need some air and to be alone. I’m sorry, but I can’t breathe in here.”
Leven broke from Geth’s grip, set his glass down, and headed toward the front door. Winter stood, but Geth reached out and touched her wrist. She sat back down, letting only her green eyes follow Leven as he left.
“Let him breathe,” Geth said softly. “He’ll come in from the cold.”
Leven stepped up to the front door and it reluctantly opened—whereas the heat of the tavern had seemed to welcome him in, the chill was tightening to keep him out, freezing like a brick wall Leven had to push through.
Leven pushed out.
The door slammed behind him. He pulled his hood back up and walked over to his onick. He reached out to touch the nose of his ride, but the beast bit at him.
“Easy,” Leven said, his breath thick as cotton.
The onick whined, causing all the other onicks around it to dance and snort.
“I’m not here to bother you,” Leven insisted, glancing back behind him. “I’m just hoping I did the right thing.”
Leven’s stomach lurched. The trees circling the tavern leaned in closer to steal any warmth the dwelling might be giving off.
Leven looked around restlessly.
A few feet from the tavern, the night was as dark as sinister ink. The distance looked like a flat blackboard that had never been touched by chalk or pen. Each hour Leven spent in Foo, things felt more and more like they fit him. The constant shock of landscape and creatures shaped by the dreams of those in Reality was almost normal to him now. But, at the moment, he felt horrible.
“I feel awful,” Leven admitted to his onick.
The poor beast moaned as if it were bothered by playing the silent therapist.
“I just wanted . . .”
The cold wind rattled in an uncoordinated fashion. Leven lifted his head and listened. There were normal and abnormal noises, but mixed in among them was a sound that seemed to command his attention.
Leven stepped back from his onick and pushed himself up into the shadows resting against the side of the tavern. He brushed his long, dark bangs back out of his eyes and peered into the distance.
The wind stirred, and the hair on the back of Leven’s neck jumped up. He stepped forward slowly, his backside to the tavern and his breathing all but stopped. He crouched down and pulled his hood tighter around his face.
“Boy, someone sure is tense,” a voice said casually from right next to him.
“I know,” Leven replied without thinking. “I think there’s something out . . . Clover?”
“Shhhh,” Clover said. “We don’t want them to hear us. Of course, I’m not really sure who ’they’ are. Although I’m guessing it was just me.”
Leven looked around excitedly. “You’re back.”
Clover’s eyes materialized just above Leven’s left arm.
“I was going to stay away longer, but I was worried you might need me. Besides, it was getting kind of boring. I met up with a couple of my school friends, and all they talk about is their burns. ’My burn can jump really high.’ ’My burn can sing beautifully.’ ’My burn . . . ’ ”
Clover’s eyes went out and he materialized completely, hanging onto Leven’s left bicep. Leven curled his arm around him and smiled.
“But that’s not important. So, what’d I miss?” Clover asked. “And what are you doing here? Last time I checked, the Red Grove was not the best place to hang out.”
“Geth’s inside,” Leven said, motioning with his head toward the tavern.
“Toothpick?” Clover said affectionately.
“And Winter.”
“I still don’t really have a good name for her,” Clover apologized. “She hates Frozen, and now, with her gift being taken from her, that doesn’t really . . . well, you know.”
Clover cleared his throat uncomfortably.
Leven rubbed the top of Clover’s head, and the small sycophant shook.
“I’ve missed you,” Leven said.
“I probably should have bit you so that you wouldn’t have even known I was gone,” Clover sniffed. “I’m not the best sycophant.”
“I’d argue that any day,” Leven said, stepping back out closer to his onick. “How’d you find me?”
“You’re my burn,” Clover said. “I always have a pretty good idea where you are. So, what are you doing here? I figured Geth would be up by the Guarded Border where the troops are gathering.”
“You don’t know,” Leven said painfully.
“Know what?” Clover asked. “That the war’s about to begin?”
“No,” Leven said sadly. “Do you remember that secret I dug up?”
“Vaguely,” Clover replied, blowing on his small hands. “Maybe we should have this conversation inside. It’s freezing out here.”
“You vaguely remember the secret that was chasing us through the forest?” Leven said, ignoring Clover’s suggestion. “The one that followed us across the gorge?”
“Oh, that secret,” Clover waved. “Sure, I remember it. Persistent thing.”
“It caught me,” Leven admitted. “I was sleeping, and it snuck in and looked me in the eye.”
“They rarely give up,” Clover said nonchalantly. “Antsel dug up a few secrets while he was my burn. They can be a huge burden. I still think we might enjoy this conversation a bit more if we were inside instead of out. I smell fire and food.”
Leven looked toward the front door and then back to Clover.
“The secret I dug up was about the sycophants,” Leven confided.
Clover’s leaflike ears shot up and twitched. He looked up at Leven and then disappeared.
“Are you okay?” Leven asked, looking around.
“Was it an embarrassing secret?” Clover asked nervously. “Because some of us have done some pretty embarrassing things.”
“I wish it was only embarrassing,” Leven mourned. “I know how sycophants die.”
“That can’t be,” Clover said anxiously. “You can’t know.”
Leven’s eyes smoldered sadly. “I know how sycophants can die,” he repeated.
Clover wailed. His cry rang through the cold air and up into the dark sky. The nearby trees shook nervously.
“I wish I didn’t know,” Leven said. “We set off after the secret right after it caught me. Geth was hoping we could catch it before it whispered to anyone else.”
“So, does Geth know the secret?” Clover asked nervously.
“No,” Leven answered. “He wouldn’t let me tell him. He thinks if we can stop it in time no one will find out, and he’d rather not know. But now . . .”
Leven stopped himself from saying more.
“Why hasn’t the secret already told everyone it has seen?” Clover asked.
“It’s not your normal secret,” Leven explained. “It seems to know what it possesses, and that it’s far more important and powerful than your average secret. We think it has kept its mouth shut because it’s looking for a way to profit from what it knows. We tracked it across Fissure Gorge, through the Swollen Forest
, and into Cusp. There Geth met a man who had heard the secret was traveling to the Red Grove to sell what it had to a very wealthy and powerful nit.”
“And the nit’s in there?” Clover asked, pointing to the tavern.
“Not yet. He’s supposed to be coming,” Leven said. “Right now there’s no one in there but a few nits and rants and a couple of Eggmen.”
“Eggmen,” Clover said with excitement.
“Not good ones,” Leven said.
“So why are you outside?” Clover asked. “There’s no bathroom inside?”
“Actually,” Leven said, “there is, but I wasn’t feeling well. My head is pounding. I feel like I have too much to think about.”
“I should probably bite you and head out to Sycophant Run to make sure they know what is happening.”
“But you’re not going to, right?”
Clover didn’t answer.
Leven prepared to feel the sting of teeth on the back of his neck. Instead, he heard the sound of large feet clomping on stone near the back of the tavern.
Leven stepped softly. At the rear of the building was a wooden walkway with granite steps leading up to it. Across the walkway was a small stone cottage that served as the home of the tavern’s owner. The cottage was dark and as dead as a rocky corpse. It sat slumped against the soil, visible only by the secondhand light the tavern was giving off.
A black form washed across the front of the cottage and slipped back behind it. Without thinking, Leven moved up the granite steps and across the wooden walkway. He shuffled his feet forward slowly, barely lifting them at all.
The sound of bit bugs grinding their partial wings swirled around Leven in the cold wind.
At the edge of the walkway there were seven uneven stepping stones that led to the front door of the cottage. Leven ignored the door, stepping instead to the side and inching around the corner of the cottage, his back pressed to the wall.
There was nothing but darkness.
Leven stopped and held his breath. The night rested on his shoulders and head like an itchy shawl that offered no warmth. He could feel Clover shift from the side of his left leg and up onto his right shoulder. Leven closed his eyes and let them burn gold. He could see the dark sky, so full of clouds that the moonlight couldn’t properly show off.
