by Obert Skye
President Topple stopped talking because he was caught off guard by the sensation of floating. He drifted up with his arms and legs failing. Ezra stood on the edge of the desk raising his arms and laughing. The guards that had come in with President Topple pulled out their guns and pointed them at Dennis.
“Whoa,” Dennis said, standing. “Don’t point those at me.”
“Who’s doing that?” the tallest guard asked.
“It’s not me,” Dennis insisted.
“Hold it,” the president yelled as he floated in midair. “Put your guns away and step back.”
The guards reluctantly returned their weapons to their holsters and backed up.
“What do you want?” President Topple asked Ezra.
“To be taken seriously,” Ezra seethed. “Even I don’t know the full extent of my powers, but I’m pretty excited to find out. And I have no problem testing them on you and the ‘resources’ you’ve lined up. If you want me to just turn a blind eye at all those who will be coming through, then go for it. You deal with them. Either way, in the end I’m going to take the credit and finish off those beings in Foo who have created me with so much anger and confusion. In the end I am going to stand over Geth’s dead body triumphantly. Then and only then will I begin to reason and barter.” Ezra was breathing hard.
“Who’s Geth?” the president asked, still floating in the air.
“That’s not important to you,” Ezra said. “We will return to the exit and call the shots. Then, if I complete what I must, I will make sure you get yours.”
“Could you put me down?” President Topple asked.
Ezra waved and the president fell to the floor. Dennis and two guards helped him back onto his feet. He leaned against the desk again and rubbed his head.
“I can’t let you just have the run of our country,” President Topple said. “I need to know what’s happening.”
“Come with us,” Ezra said. “I don’t care.”
“We’ve already decided that wouldn’t be wise, so I’m sending General Lank. He has a clear understanding of our military and my mind.”
“Wow,” Ezra said sarcastically. “Are you complimenting or insulting him?”
“Do we have a deal?” the president asked, ignoring Ezra’s last jab. “I can’t just let you fly around untethered.”
“So the guy with the square red face has to tag along?” Ezra asked.
President Topple nodded his head.
Ezra looked at Dennis. “What do you think?”
Dennis flipped the hood of his purple robe up over his bald head. “I think we should get going.”
“Of course,” President Topple said. “We’ll get you back to the site as fast as possible.”
“Can I fly the helicopter?” Ezra asked.
Dennis looked at the president and frantically shook his head.
“I believe our pilots can get you there even faster,” President Topple said.
“Whatever,” Ezra complained. He hopped off the desk and crawled beneath the hood of Dennis’s robe. His head popped back out. “Have someone bring that throne.”
President Topple picked up the can and fabric and handed it to one of the guards. “Good luck,” he said. He then smiled like his portrait again and walked out of the room.
Chapter Twelve
Tag, You’re Wrong
Brindle was tired. His small body and old knees were pleading with him to please take a break. He climbed slowly up over a lip of stone and across a thin wooden bridge that connected a bit of the Sentinel Fields with the beautiful shore of the Veil Sea. From the shore Brindle could see the thousands and thousands of beings marching across the gloam toward Sycophant Run.
The sound of their feet rumbled like low, endless thunder.
Brindle swore. He lifted Lilly up from around his neck and set her gently on the ground. The small white sycophant was still blissfully asleep, thanks to the bite Brindle had given her a few days before.
Brindle stretched and rolled his neck. His fur bristled and his eyes blinked softly. He was a kindhearted sycophant who had no desire to be doing what he was now doing. He had been sent by Rast to retrieve Rast’s daughter Lilly. Rast felt that Lilly might know more about the key that was missing and had been used to unlock the Dearth. Brindle had found Lilly in the Invisible Village and pleaded with her to come. When she had refused, Brindle had bitten her and heaved her up over his shoulders. He had been working his way back to Sycophant Run ever since.
Brindle picked up Lilly and carried her over to a large rock. Laying her down on the rock, he took a seat next to her, then pulled a small piece of fruit from his leather satchel and smelled the skin. The green twizberry was ripe and spongy. Brindle bit into it, and purple juice ran down his furry chin.
The thundering of the marching armies continued.
Brindle’s small heart could barely take it. He knew that everything was different now. With the secret of the sycophants’ immortality out there, everything had changed. Bringing Lilly back would do little good, now that every soul in Foo knew how to dispose of the sycophants or at least to make them visible.
“It will never be the same,” Brindle whispered to himself as he watched the marching hordes. “So much destruction and devastation, in a place where beauty and peace have always prevailed.”
Brindle turned and looked at Lilly. She was smiling, and her small left foot twitched. Brindle bent down and whispered into Lilly’s ear.
“Arise and dream of Foo.”
Slowly Lilly’s green eyes blinked open. She looked at Brindle and smiled.
The bite of a sycophant is a marvelous thing. Sycophants long to serve, but every once in a while they need a big dose of me time. By biting those they serve, they are able to spend a few days doing the things they want to do. People who are bitten simply sleep peacefully, their brains showing images of sycophants and how wonderful they are. When they wake up from the bite, they are not only calm and happy but filled with kind thoughts about how spectacular and needed sycophants really are.
Lilly smiled even wider.
“Hello,” Brindle said.
“Hello,” Lilly blushed. “Where am I?”
“I’m taking you to your father,” Brindle answered. “He needs you.”
Lilly’s eyes scrunched closed and she shook her head softly. “I’m tired.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“What’s that noise?” Lilly asked.
“Those in the distance,” Brindle pointed. “They are moving toward Sycophant Run.”
Lilly gasped. “Why?”
“Come with me,” Brindle said. He swung Lilly back over his shoulders. She braided her fingers together under his chin and held on.
Brindle moved swiftly. The short rest was all he had needed. He ran over a web of stone and down onto the shore of the Veil Sea. Ten minutes later he had caught up with the armies of rants. Brindle dashed beneath their feet and bodies, racing out onto the gloam.
The gloam was about thirty feet wide and divided a section of the Veil Sea down below Sycophant Run. The water on both sides of the gloam was churning wildly and spraying everyone. Rants and nits marched with speed down the gloam. Brindle could see groups of echoes and cogs and troops of black skeletons marching between the rants.
“Why are they going to Sycophant Run?”
“There’s an exit there,” Brindle said. “They’re moving to escape Foo.”
“The sycophants will stop them,” Lilly said, her head still in a daze.
Brindle didn’t have the heart to say anything else. He ran as fast as he could down the gloam, weaving through the throngs of beings. Some rants were chanting, and tall black skeletons on onicks were herding the masses and yelling to keep the armies moving. The sky above was filled with hovering birds curious over what was happening.
“The sycophants will stop them,” Lilly said again.
“Not this time,” Brindle answered. He ran through the legs of an onick and farther down th
e gloam.
“Wait a second,” Lilly yelled. “Did I want to come with you?”
“I can’t remember,” Brindle yelled back.
“Where was I?”
“Lost.” Brindle jumped up over a cluster of slow-moving rants. He came back down against the gloam and shot like a rocket right down the middle.
“I was in the Invisible Village,” Lilly declared.
Brindle didn’t answer.
“You bit me?”
“Don’t think too much about it,” Brindle said loudly, his breath labored from the run. “Foo is gasping for air and there’s little time to worry over things like that.”
“It looks to me like Foo’s dying,” Lilly said sadly. “I didn’t want to come with you, did I?”
“No.”
“I won’t speak to my father,” Lilly insisted, her head clearing as she clung to Brindle.
Lore Coils were still drifting all over Foo, and most of them were whispering the words of the sycophant secret. Brindle watched two sycophants appear out of nowhere as the words Alderam Degarus rolled over them.
“How can they know the secret?” Lilly asked.
“The Dearth got it,” Brindle said. “He stole it from Leven’s mind.”
“Who?”
“Leven Thumps.”
“Just like a nit to ruin everything.”
“He’s no nit,” Brindle said, still running. “He’s the Want and he’s our one chance.”
“Our one chance?” Lilly seethed, the hate in her rising. “Then why was my burn needed?”
“Winter brought him back.”
“Don’t say her name,” Lilly ordered. “Don’t say her name ever.”
Brindle and Lilly ran in relative silence, with her holding on to his neck and him running as fast as he could. The troops of rants were organized and vast, and they marched toward Sycophant Run with a great sense of purpose and speed. A harsh scraping and the sound of screaming began to rise from the distance. It grew louder and louder.
“What’s that?” Lilly asked.
“It’s the sound of war,” Brindle answered. He weaved along the edge of the gloam and directly toward the point where the gloam now connected with Sycophant Run. Brindle could see hundreds and hundreds of sycophants valiantly fighting the throngs of rants that were spilling onto the shore. The armies of rants held large poles with fluttering leaves of metal that twinkled like bright lights under the morning sunlight. All over rants were hollering the words that stole the sycophants’ invisibility.
“Alderam Degarus!”
Some sycophants were trying to fight, but the shimmering metal put them into a trance, and their visibility made it simple for the armies invading their shores to kick and swat them away. Some sycophants had their claws out and were trying to make a last-ditch effort to protect their home. But, sadly, for the most part the beaches were littered with wet, dazed sycophants. Many were simply in a trance, thanks to the metal, but some lay suffering from wounds.
Brindle stopped. Lilly slid down from off of his back, and they both stood there staring in awe. Lilly’s eyes became wet as Brindle breathed slowly.
As they stood there, hundreds of beings continued to rush past them, racing onto Sycophant Run and toward the direction of the exit. Some refugees kicked the sycophants out of the way; others just stomped over them.
“I don’t believe it,” Lilly said, her voice cracking. “It’s so horrible.”
Brindle was quiet.
“Couldn’t someone stop this?” Lilly asked angrily.
“Winter tried,” Brindle said softly.
Lilly’s small knees buckled. She put her tiny hand to her heart and gasped for air. A couple of careless rants pushed Brindle aside and almost trampled Lilly. Brindle reached out his hand and Lilly took it.
“She never wanted to leave you,” Brindle said. “But at the time it was the only way. She argued to bring you with her, but it was not right. Antsel and Geth both thought it too much for you.”
“I could have helped,” Lilly said, her pink eyes still taking in the horrific scene.
“It wasn’t how it happened.”
“So I was wrong?”
Brindle was quiet. He was wise enough to know the power of silence.
“Now look how they trample us,” Lilly said. “We have served since the first day of Foo, and now they use us as a road to walk upon. How could they?”
“It’s hard to find any good in this,” Brindle said.
“There is no good,” Lilly cried. “How could there be?”
“All is not lost,” Brindle argued.
“How can you say that?”
“Leven still fights.”
“And . . . Winter?” The name did not come easily to her.
“She fights just as hard,” Brindle said. “Many Lore Coils whisper her name and her intentions. She’s very strong—it took everything she had to leave you.”
Lilly let her eyes run. The sound of the marching armies and the sight of so many of her kind being pushed around bobbing in the waves made her stomach sick. She had known the world was full of bad things, but she had never imagined the kind of evil that could have ruined and stripped the innocent land of Sycophant Run.
“What do we do?” Lilly asked, sobbing.
“We find your father,” Brindle answered.
Lilly began to run, and Brindle followed closely after.
Chapter Thirteen
When Worlds Collide
The cavern burned bright—hundreds of torches being held by hundreds of beings lit the wide space like a tunnel of Goth love. Rants and nits and cogs and all other beings stood shoulder to shoulder quietly holding up the lights. The scene smelt like a campfire where someone had thrown something plastic into the flames. An acrid, burning scent drifted back up the tunnel looking for more oxygen.
At the head of the line stood the map of glass, lit beautifully from the fire. The swirling colors shifting over it were mesmerizing. The map cast shadows and waves of light up against the cavern walls. It also showed quite clearly the current course one could take to walk through the water and get out of Foo.
The three overly protective thorns buzzed around the map, making sure nobody touched it.
“Read, if you want,” the black thorn buzzed, warning the crowd. “But if you touch her . . .”
“She’s not just yours,” the green thorn argued.
“She’s more mine than yours,” the black one said.
“You’re both thick in the heart,” a brown thorn said. “Look how she gazes at me.”
All three thorns looked at the map.
Next to the map, trying to ignore the thorns, wearing a soft yellow wool sweater and a corduroy cap, hunched the Dearth. He had on felt pants with patches at the knees, and his bare feet were woven into the soil he needed contact with to live. He had a bushy mustache and kind old eyes. In fact, Leven’s having chopped him in half in his true form had unwittingly made the disguised Dearth that much more endearing. Now the old man walked hunched over and holding his back, looking like the spokesman for some very mild English tea. The Dearth lifted his right hand, and everyone aside from the thorns grew quiet.
“This is it,” the Dearth commended them. “You’ve done well.”
Loud cheers echoed off the walls of the cavern as the excitement rolled like a wave down the line of all those who wished to get out of Foo.
“For years I have whispered from the soil,” he said. “And now, in a few moments, all that we have fought for, all that we have dreamed of, will be ours. We will walk through and possess the soil of Reality. Move quickly—the waterways will stay clear for only three days and it is the desire of all to touch the dirt of Reality. And you will—”
“Die!” a voice screamed as a nit broke from the ranks and shoved a small knife toward the heart of the Dearth. “Long live Foo.”
Before the man could reach the Dearth, hundreds of thin black strands shot out from the dirt and wrapped around the man’s arms
and legs. The nit tried to scream, but the strings of ooze quickly wrapped him up like a spider encasing a fly. The black wad was dropped to the ground in front of the map, where it sank into the soil.
“Some people are so shortsighted,” the Dearth tisked. “Anyone else wish to complain?”
Even the thorns were quiet.
“Good,” the Dearth clapped. “Now, let’s put that out of our minds and begin our final march.”
The crowds cheered. The map shifted just a bit, and the thorns praised it. The Dearth observed the change and marked a paper he had in his hand.
“We should be there shortly,” the Dearth said, turning and heading into the darkest part of the cavern. “I will mark the trail for those who follow.” Those in the cavern were all too happy to do just that.
After a couple of hundred feet the cavern narrowed just a bit, and a large torch hanging on the wall was singing a song about curiosity.
Next to the torch was a gigantic wooden door. The door was over fifteen feet tall and as wide as the cavern. There was a large carving of the land of Foo on the wood and the illustration was current, showing the gloam reaching all the way to Sycophant Run. Beneath the wooden doorknob was a large keyhole. The Dearth reached out and twisted the knob.
It was locked.
There was a small murmuring from behind him, but the Dearth quickly pulled out a key that was hanging from a cord around his neck. The key was gold, with two circular swirls at the end and two large metal teeth. It was a copy of the key that had belonged to the sycophants.
The Dearth fingered the key and slid it into the lock. A crisp clicking sound like that of a gun loading sounded throughout the cavern. The Dearth turned the key, and the lock turned and tumbled in a series of clacks and snaps. The Dearth reached out, and this time the knob twisted easily and the door popped open with a gust of wet wind bellowing in.
