by Obert Skye
“Hear, hear,” Reed said.
“We won’t lose,” Rast said firmly. “We are the last line of defense. We stand as the final obstacle. In front of us stand nits and cogs and lithens and all those who have not stopped looking at each day as a chance to better themselves. If we fall, it is because those who should have stood before us collapsed under the weight of their own desires. Our honor and our success are one and the same.”
The council was quiet as the dim stars overhead twittered and blinked.
“Should we try to find Lilly and get some answers from her?” Goat finally asked.
“I think that should be one of our first steps,” Rast said softly. “Go, do whatever it takes to bring her back.”
Mule cleared his throat.
“Yes,” Rast said resignedly. “Bite her if you must. But bring her home. I will travel to the Want. He’s not quick to embrace us these days, but he’ll give me an audience.”
“And the pegs?” Brindle asked.
“Tell them everything,” Rast said. “Those who guard our shores should be kept from nothing. If the secret’s loose and the rants do gather, then there’s a very real possibility that our land will be attacked. The pegs must sharpen their claws. I have a feeling the Dearth is awakening.”
All of them gasped and mumbled.
“What of the secret?” Mule asked, nervously. “Surely, I don’t tell the posted pegs of that?”
“That it was let loose?” Rast questioned.
“Not that secret,” Mule said self-consciously. “The marsh?”
“No!” Rast answered quickly. “It will come to that only if the end appears in full. Till then, nobody but those fate has already filled in will speak of that. Die first. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” they all answered.
“Go,” Rast waved. “Our journey begins this moment.”
They all stood and put their hands on each other’s left shoulder, forming a circle. Rast looked at each of them carefully. His eyes were filled with admiration and gratitude.
“We are small,” Rast said reverently. “But our hearts beat as loud as any. For so long we’ve sat here talking about things that apathy has allowed us time to contemplate. Now fate is moving with speed. Prepare your stomachs for a large drop.”
They all nodded and then one by one slipped out of the starry tree and into the dark.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Longing for More
Magic—there are those who say it doesn’t exist. In fact, Clover himself has made that statement before. But all it takes is the careful study of any leaf to realize that something magical is going on somewhere—which makes it odd that Clover would say such a thing, seeing how he cares for leaves.
Magic is a tricky thing.
Often it is explainable. People fly through the air in planes and live underwater in submarines. Plants grow within weeks and cities operate and sustain millions of people. A person can talk to practially anyone almost anywhere around the world instantly. People’s images are transported by photo in the time it takes to press a button. Dinosaurs seem real, huge apes exist, and other worlds are a movie ticket away.
Perhaps nothing is more magical than the book. Paper, glue, and some words and you are taken away from where you sit, stand, dance, or lean to greater understanding or experience. There was a time when the written word was almost always believable—if it was on paper, it had to be true. But there are so many written words these days, so many keyboards typing so many letters, that even the gullible are cautious.
It is with great concern that the story of Foo has been written and preserved. To believe in Foo is to believe in more than magic—it is to believe in dreams coming true. It is to understand that the time is coming when the limitation we place on ourselves will no longer be an obstacle that we have to climb over.
To believe in Foo is to relax the mind and let imagination win. It is to step into fear and let fate worry about the outcome. It is to want those standing next to you to dream as big as possible so that your own future will be that much brighter.
It is a magical thing.
But as Leven followed after the Want, thinking about what he had just learned, his heart full of concern for Geth and Winter, Foo didn’t feel very magical to him. In fact, Foo felt like a place he wished he could disappear from.
Poof!
Thoughts of never knowing what he now knew crowded his mind. He half wished he were still in Oklahoma being picked on by Addy and Terry and having to worry about no one but himself.
No, Foo did not feel very magical.
It felt heavy and cold. Each step Leven took made his head hurt. Even the company of Clover seemed painful. Clover had shoved everything he had gotten in the room of unfinished thoughts into his void—everything except the small felt hat, which he still wore.
“I think it makes me look older,” Clover said, riding on Leven’s shoulder.
Leven didn’t reply. They were back in the large, greenhouse-looking room moving toward a glass wall that seemed to have no doorway, carefully following the Want. Outside the windows people still looked in, pointing and begging for the Want to give them attention.
“Who are they?” Leven asked.
“They’re fools,” the Want answered. “They come from all over Foo to stand in wait for any trace of dreams that might fall from the room above.”
“Why?”
“The residue,” the Want scoffed. “My eyes have done the work, and the ashes drift down so that those below might taste the flavor of finished dreams. Enough of it and they can fly momentarily—too much of it and they lose all sense of who they once were. These souls are lost.”
A man was feverishly licking the windows.
“They have given their minds for a small drop of some other person’s dreams.”
“Can’t they just manipulate dreams like everyone else?”
“These are not nits,” the Want snapped. “These are cogs and other ungifted beings. Besides, the residue of that which has passed through my eyes provides tastes far sweeter than any dream. Of course, as the effect wears off, the darkness they knew before is stronger than ever. Now hurry, the time is coming and we’ve still one more trail to follow.”
As they walked up to the wall a long, rectangular hole opened up in the floor, exposing a set of wooden stairs. Leven felt some relief that they went down. The Want moved quickly down the stairs with Leven behind him. In a few moments they could hear no sound of those outside licking the windows.
“What does it matter how we walk?” Leven asked, his soul feeling restless.
“Questions,” the Want ranted. “What happens in Lith is repeated in the rest of Foo. I can’t just walk from here to there without affecting the feelings of thousands. I know what I must show you. I know what I must tell you, and I know that there are ways and places I must do it in. In the end the pattern you mark out will become familiar and important to your memory.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let’s hope that someday you do.”
The Want scratched at the wall as he walked. The stairs led to a tunnel whose arched walls had been made by the careful stacking of bones.
“Many died in the metal wars,” the Want hollered back. “Their bones help to remind me of their sacrifice. It’s hard not to be selfish.”
“How nice,” Clover whispered. “Hasn’t he ever heard of a plaque, or maybe some memorial photos?”
They stepped down two more stairs and the floor became wet, covered in half a foot of running water. The water seeped through the bones and moved in a circular motion across the floor.
“Watch for snakes,” the Want warned. “And be quick.”
It was an unnecessary warning, as Leven had already spotted the hundreds of yellow lines swimming through and along the walls of bones.
“They’re lemon snakes,” Clover whispered. “They look dangerous, but I actually wouldn’t mind having a one for a pet. Just don’t let them bite yo
u.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” Leven answered, amazed at how many there were.
“Of course,” Clover continued. “They would never bite anyone unless you stepped on one.”
Leven stepped on a large one.
“Oops,” Clover said as the snake snapped its head back and dug its teeth into Leven’s right ankle. “You should always just shuffle around lemon snakes.”
“Oww!” Leven yelled.
“Pull it off quick!” Clover hollered. “It’s draining itself.”
Leven could see the snake’s color seeping from its body and into his leg. The tail of the snake was now clear as the color level lowered. Leven grabbed ahold of it and tried to tug it off, but it wouldn’t give.
“Pull harder!” Clover said, grabbing the snake’s tail with his small hands in an effort to help Leven.
The Want kept on walking. He had seen Leven get bitten, but he paid it no mind, not slowing his pace at all.
“It won’t come off,” Leven said frantically.
“It will once it’s empty,” Clover said mournfully.
“What then?” Leven asked. “Is it poison?”
“Not actually.”
The snake was now completely empty of color. It looked like an outline of a snake drawn in black ink. It released its bite, dropped from Leven’s ankle, and lethargically swam away.
“What does ’not actually’ mean?” Leven asked, pulling up his pant leg to look at the bite. There were two small holes surrounded by a burgeoning patch of yellow. The yellow crept up his leg and spread out over his entire body. In a few seconds Leven’s face looked like an odd-shaped sun.
Leven’s cheeks began to burn. He could feel his knees and elbows twisting inward. His face became drawn as his lips pushed outward. His toes and fingers were drawing into themselves. He could feel his forehead furrow and fold. He felt like his blood had been replaced with acid. His knees drew in, his stomach crinkled, and his rear end gathered. The heels on his feet became concave as they popped in.
Leven was literally puckering up, his skin turning a bright shade of yellow.
He could barely walk, his legs feeling as if they were receiving rug burns from some invincible citrus ghost with incredibly big hands and a strong grip. Leven fell into the water and rolled onto his rounded back. His legs pulled in and he tucked his head to his chest, forming a big ball.
Leven rolled in the water like a slick cork. He bounced against the bone walls, trying to grab something to steady himself. Unfortunately, his withered hands couldn’t get hold of anything.
Snakes with little or no color oozed out of the walls and began to swim toward Leven. They looked like withered tadpoles approaching a yellow pond. Snakes sprang from the water to latch onto Leven—five bit into his neck, twenty on his back, ten on his right leg alone.
Leven moaned as they bit him. He tried to fight them off, but he had no control of his puckered limbs.
The attached snakes began to fill with color—draining the zest from Leven’s veins. The sting of the bites faded as each ounce of sour left Leven’s body. Snakes that were as thin as noodles gorged on Leven’s creamy center and bulked up, looking like swollen Twinkies.
Leven smiled at them.
“This is my favorite part,” Clover said, hanging onto the bone wall. “Once my brother got bit by a lemon snake, and after the sour had been sucked from his veins he was kinder to me than he had ever been. It only lasted an afternoon, but it was a great afternoon.”
Leven couldn’t remember ever having felt bad in his life. His body relaxed and returned to form. Of course, his heart felt so large in his chest that he had a hard time steadying himself as he stood. He waved at the snakes and shuffled so as to not upset them.
“That’s the prettiest color of yellow,” Leven said, pointing down at the snakes. “Like a flower.”
“Yeah, like a flower,” Clover agreed. “Shuffle faster so we don’t completely lose the Want.”
“What a great suggestion,” Leven smiled. “Thanks.”
“You’re spreading it on a little thick,” Clover said.
Leven looked more horrified than when the snake had bit him.
“I am so sorry,” Leven apologized, not wanting to disappoint anyone.
“I’ll be okay,” Clover said.
“Hurry!” the Want yelled from up ahead. “She’s waiting.”
“Do you have any idea who he’s talking about?” Clover asked.
Leven shook his head. “It feels like spring,” was his only answer.
The walls turned into long piles of unorganized bones. Leven shuffled through the water and snakes smiling as if he had just been voted most likely to have a completely blissful life.
The Want stopped to wait for them. He looked in the direction of Leven and shook.
“People should shuffle,” he said. “But perhaps it’s fate that your mind is in a clean, happy state.”
The Want stopped in front of a large, ornate door, decorated with a carving of an angel touching the ground.
“I’ve shown only two people this before,” the Want said.
“Thank you so much,” Leven cooed.
“It’s not a privilege,” the Want said. “It’s a weight. Follow me.”
The door opened. Clover pushed Leven, and Leven moved into the hole right behind the Want. The tunnel was dark, with wet strings of dirt hanging from the ceiling like multiple uvulas. Leven hit his head against one and the tunnel seemed to choke.
Leven looked concerned for it.
“You’re worse than when I bit you in Reality,” Clover said softly.
“You were just doing what you had to,” Leven said nicely.
They kept walking down the dark tunnel. Leven began to hum.
A bright light shone in the far distance. As the light increased, the sound of crying reached their ears. Leven’s happiness waned. He felt a great sense of despair and sorrow for whoever was wailing.
“What is that?” Leven asked, clutching his chest.
“I have no idea,” Clover said. “I’ve never been anywhere near this part of Foo.”
Leven kept his eyes on the back of the Want, moving through the tunnel at a quick step. The light grew brighter, and Leven could see a person in the midst of it.
It was a woman.
She wore a short green gown and had hair the color of sunny water. She was caught in a teardrop-shaped cage of metal that hung from the ceiling by a thick chain. Her skin was white but glowed slightly green. She had tiny feet and hands, and a face that looked like a brand-new flower after a long freeze. Her soft, sun-swept hair flowed down her back and twisted in the air like fine wire. She floated in her cage, looking like the filament of a bright bulb.
Leven loved her.
Her moaning increased as the Want stepped from the tunnel into the domed room where she hung. The ceiling was tiled with orange and yellow clay squares. Symbols Leven didn’t recognize were etched up and down the walls.
Leven and Clover stood there speechless. The woman’s beauty was unsurpassable, but the hurt in her eyes was equally devastating.
“Who is she?” Leven asked desperately.
“Quiet,” the Want said.
The woman looked at them and fluttered slightly higher in her cage.
“Why?” she asked the Want. “Why do you come back?”
“Silence,” the Want insisted. “You should thank me for the company, Phoebe.”
“It is a reminder of what I hunger for,” she cried. “A cruel picture of what I don’t possess.”
“I need the boy to lay eyes on you,” the Want said, ignoring her lament.
“What boy?” Phoebe asked, looking at Leven.
Leven was taller now than he had been only hours ago. The things he had experienced and been told on Lith had aged him quickly. His shoulders and arms were lean but strong, and he stood like a being that had wandered through a number of difficult experiences and somehow made it out.
“Look at him,” th
e Want demanded. “It’s Leven.”
Phoebe appeared bored.
“She’s a longing,” the Want explained. “And she is the very last of her kind.”
Leven walked around her slowly. Phoebe moved like liquid in a lava lamp, up and down, expanding and contracting in a hypnotic manner.
“She’s beautiful,” Leven said, still dizzy from the snakes.
“Few beings even remember the existence of her kind,” the Want continued. “We’ve removed all mention and illustration of them from our history.”
Leven looked concerned.
The Want grabbed the bars of Phoebe’s cage and shook it violently. “She can’t be buried,” he said, disgusted. “Her being repels the dirt. She can’t starve to death—the very air feeds her—and water won’t steal her breath. She can age, but it’s slow.”
“Let me free,” Phoebe said, “and I will bother no one.”
Leven moved closer to her.
“She was placed here at the end of the wars,” the Want said, as if he were talking about an inanimate object that he had hanging on his wall. “She was not easy to capture. There was great discussion about what to do with her, but we had to be certain not only that metal was disposed of but that those who longed to work with it would feel the very desire disappear.”
“There’s always more to desire,” Phoebe said sadly.
“True,” the Want shook. “Unfortunately, the desire for self needs no additional representation in Foo. Those with dark hearts and an ear for the soil have found ranker things than metal to lust for.”
“My bondage is the reason for Foo’s failings,” Phoebe said urgently. “There’s a balance. Fate cannot move as it should without longing.”
The Want waved her words away. “You say things I have no concern for. Fate has placed you on a path that will end with your quiet death. Unless . . .”
The Want looked at Leven as if he would finish the thought.
Leven shook his foggy head, wishing he could think clearly. The woman he saw wasn’t a threat to anything but maybe ugliness. She hung there like a solution to all things dirty and sordid. Her eyes made Leven question his own creation. He felt like a second-rate being in her presence.
