“Now you have been properly dismissed,” the guide said, excusing the doomed Obawok with a wave of his hands.
Every time he turned around he found himself confronted with a new level of depravity and repulsion for these people. It wasn’t the grutoms’ fault. What they did was a part of their natural cycle. The Obawok, however, had the capacity to think and therefore to know right from wrong. The fact they still behaved this way made Roger understand that they truly had no souls.
Obawok were so self-righteous they failed to think of humans as anything but trash, and they also seemed to feel this way about their own lower classes, treating their deaths as something amusing. He wondered if this was what the Jews had felt when they’d been taken from their homes and forced to participate in hellish experiments at the hands of the Nazis.
The guide addressed them as the guard exited the room. “Now, if you’ll just follow me, I’ll be glad to take you through the rest of the training. Roger, my name is Kiperro, and if you have any further questions, feel free to ask. I assure you that I will be the one answering them,” he said, giving the other guard a very stern look and nodding his head.
The guard put his hand on Roger’s shoulder and steered him through another corridor and into a sterile classroom. The shock of what had happened stayed with him, making it nearly impossible for him to concentrate. He kept fidgeting with the corners of his desk and staring at objects until they become black voids.
The few times he did pay attention he was reminded of the days he had spent in high school studying biology. The surface of Obawok was apparently covered with a multitude of plant life, and most of them had their own special quirks. For instance, there was a bright yellow fern that had small orange flowers growing at its tips. The flowers were edible but could cause slight headaches, but the fern leaves were deadly. Roger tried to keep a detailed catalog of all of the plants they described to him, but every now and then the guard’s face would pop into his mind or the haunting voice of that woman Obawok would fill his head with that word, Itckrelle.
By the end of the day his mind and body had been put through a mashing machine. They had discussed sixty-seven species of plant life, and as soon as that was over, he’d been forced to run a series of timing drills for the trainers. They’d claimed that they needed to know what kind of shape he was in so they could build his endurance, but Roger suspected that this was a truth with a sinister side. The reason they took down the information was probably a legit one to the trainers themselves. However, he would bet someone higher up on the chain of command would use these measurements against him.
He had run the drills as slow as he thought he could without attracting attention. The trainers didn’t act like they noticed, but after he had finished, Firturro had indiscreetly smiled and nodded at him.
He rubbed his legs, feigning soreness, but he actually felt good. He could feel every inch of his body, his skin humming with the nervous excitement of millions, perhaps trillions, of bouncing atoms.
Roger turned to Firturro as he finished stretching. “Are you taking me back to my room?”
“Not tonight,” Firturro answered, “tonight, you will be in Tigaffo’s hands. I’ve been asked to personally report to the President before and after each of your sessions so I won’t be able to escort you. But I trust that everything is going well. You don’t have any complaints about Tigaffo’s ability as a watcher, do you?” While the words flowed in a normal conversation manner, Firturro’s eyes quickly glanced to Tigaffo, and he gave one quick turn of his head. The meaning was clear: while he was free to complain about Tigaffo all he wanted, it wouldn’t matter.
“No, I was just wondering why I didn’t see you this morning. I missed sharing a cup of coffee with you, but if you have important business with the President, I understand.”
“Thank you for not being upset, but I assure you everything should be well taken care of. Now, if you’ll permit me, I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure, I understand.”
“Okay, let’s see,” Firturro said, consulting a checklist, “have you experienced any headaches or dizziness.” Firturro looked up from the list and gave another curt shake of his head.
“Um, no.”
“Any unusual occurrences?” This time Firturro tilted his head to the side and coughed a little.
“No.”
“Good, good. Now, that’s all the questions I have for now. I’ll have some bandages and medicine sent to your room for your injury.” Firturro said, nodding to Roger’s sore hand instead of his hand.
Roger looked up at Firturro, unable to stop himself from gaping.
“Umm, thanks. I appreciate that.”
“You’ll have to be more careful when walking through these tunnels.”
While they were talking, Tigaffo stood in the far right hand corner of the room, and while he wasn’t facing them, his body was leaning toward them.
Firturro smiled at Roger and led him to the door.
“Tigaffo?” Firturro asked, his voice so tight that Roger realized he was fighting the urge to laugh.
At the sound of his name, Tigaffo turned around. “Yes?”
“I believe Roger is ready to return to his room. He’s had a full day, and he needs to rest.”
“Okay.” Tigaffo motioned to the guards standing slightly behind him before walking over to them.
Roger said good-bye to Firturro and followed his appointed trio of leaders back through the labyrinth of tunnels.
Later that night Roger sat in his makeshift cell with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. As soon as they’d left the sunlight, he’d noticed that something had disconnected inside himself.
Another thing that had been bothering him was the lack of scents. While all his other senses had gone into overdrive, Roger found his sense of smell lacking. This thought had struck him while in one of his dazes and he’d noticed that none of the plants in the room had a definitive odor like roses or tree sap. If they’d been in a room with that much greenery on earth the air would have had an aroma. With the exception of the stench that had surrounded the President, his nose had been out of commission since he’d arrived.
Firturro had found renewed faith in Roger. A sense of strength and independence surrounded Roger that Firturro had not witnessed in another undecided. The other humans had neglected to decide on their path because they were weak, but the approach Roger took toward life was truly unique among humans; he was comfortable letting fate intervene when it was supposed to and made important decisions when free will was necessary.
Omiralle insisted Trey was like Roger, but Firturro believed that while Trey was unique, he wasn’t the one that would break the President’s hold. However, Firturro did believe Trey would play an important role. The only problem was that neither human knew exactly what it was they needed to do, nor was Firturro sure how to direct them.
Roger couldn’t be allowed to fail. The changes Obawok needed to survive could only be instituted in the midst of extreme upheaval. Firturro drank his Kalika as his mind swam with all the possibilities that lay before their society. To be freed from the ancient’s demands would open up new possibilities for Obawok and finally sever their dependence on the human world. The others had no idea how deep his want of this rebellion lay or he would have been executed long ago. As it was, only a few non-watchers would even speak to him anymore, and conversations tended to cease altogether when he entered the room. He knew that those who were violently opposed to change were watching him, Omiralle, and the others dedicated to their cause. And it wouldn’t be long before their watching turned to hunting.
207
Eight
Chinese finger traps
“What?”
“The President has decided that Firturro, because he is the head watcher, should only be allowed minimal contact with the human…ah, you.” Tigaffo’s chest swelled with importance as he relayed the President’s mandate.
“Well, what does that mean exactly?”
> “That outside of observing your training, he will not have any contact with you.”
“So, absolutely nothing has changed from yesterday, right?”
“Oh…well…umm, nothing really, it’s just official now.” His chest deflated with every word, and he didn’t speak again as they trouped through the halls toward the training center.
When they got there, Roger was immediately shuffled into the classroom, but this time information seemed to sift through the air and directly to his thoughts. When Kiperro had been discussing edible plants, Roger had suddenly known that while you could eat the plant Pilita, it would cause you to have severe stomach cramps and slight visual hallucinations. When Pilita had been named, Roger had seen a young man curled up on a bed of green sand, clutching his stomach and reaching at nothing.
“I have a question,” Roger stated, breaking into the guide’s latest speech about specific toxins found within the beautiful silver Futerin flowers. Everyone in the room turned and looked at him. Kiperro’s face immediately turned into a scowl.
“Yes?” Kiperro asked, the anger rattling through his voice.
“This is all very interesting, but I don’t even know what the Mezoglike is. I have a rough understanding of what is going to happen, but I want to know what is involved with the separate tests of character. Does the completion of these tasks solely revolve around my ability to survive on the surface? Because that’s all we’ve discussed.”
207
Kristi Brooks
Uncomfortable silence spilled across the room as they each turned to look at Firturro like a line of falling dominos.
“Surviving on the surface is only part of the test, and, as I mentioned before, there are also three tasks that you have to complete,” Firturro answered.
“Well, what are they? It’s my life you’re putting up for your enjoyment, and I’m tired of this cryptic bullshit. If you want me to jump through any more hoops then you’re going to have to give me something I want: answers.”
“That’s an acceptable proposition, but I can only tell you as much as I know. The first test measures your problem solving ability, and the next test accounts for your mental acuity when faced with the duality of human nature.” Firturro sighed and there was suddenly a frozen pause in which time became as tangible as water slipping through a sieve, briefly locking them in a moment in time before everything shifted.
Roger’s pulse quickened and beat through his temples until his vision blurred. A mental picture of that old Monty Hall game show, Let’s Make A Deal, where the contestants had to choose between keeping what they already had or letting it ride for a chance to win what was behind a numbered door, replaced the somber atmosphere. Then the colorful game show faded, and Roger found himself on the edge of a void that stretched out in front of him like a giant napping cat. The stage and the three doors were now a hundred feet away on the opposite bluff.
A man in a blue bunny costume walked to the center of the stage before turning to look at Roger, and suddenly the black space that had been growing between them shrank back to nothing, and the man in the bunny costume was actually Firturro, and his lips were moving.
“…aspects of reality that exist within everyone. Only two humans have ever made it this far. One was before I was born, and the other happened when I was very young, and neither case is to be discussed.”
Roger tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but terror still had a hard, clenching fist around his lungs.
Kiperro cleared his throat, forcing Roger’s attention back to the room. The guide was pointing at a small green and red plant for reference.
And the moment was gone.
“Now we’ll be moving onto the Grangitan plants. They are edible, and their leaves can hold up to an ounce of water at a time.” Kiperro continued with his speech, sweeping the remaining silence and fear out the door. “Grangitans are good, and they only cause slight headaches in some people….”
Roger paced the room after he’d eaten his dinner, thinking about Alice in Wonderland. The first time he’d read the book he’d been in high school. His first impression had been that the story was about an acid trip gone horribly, horribly wrong, but now he understood the complexities of Carol’s alternate dimension. Roger wondered if Carol had something on the rest of the world, if somehow he’d seen into this crazy place with trolls and strange yellow gnomes through his own reversed or enchanted looking glass as he slept.
He continued to think of the possible links between the world of literature and Obawok as he got ready for bed and later even as he lay down. The moments of stillness in between time and thought stopped altogether as Roger drifted into sleep.
No one can help you. You’re doomed down here, just like I was….
Roger’s eyelids flipped open in one solid movement, exposing his eyes to the stale air in the room. The damp sheets tangled around his legs and held him prisoner when he tried to move. They were wound so tightly around his knees and calves that his feet were tingling. In an attempt to push the haunting images from his mind, he rubbed his fingertips vigorously against his temples and swung his feet over the edge of the bed and slid them onto the cold floor before he had a chance to hesitate.
When he felt the packed dirt under his toes, he immediately stumbled away from the bed, and as he took the first step, the room tilted and the floor shifted so violently that he had to reach out with his right hand and brace himself against the wall. As he leaned against the wall, his breathing echoed through the room and bounced back at him.
When he regained his balance, Roger made his way around the room lighting every candle and turning up the flame on every oil lamp until the room was bathed in flowing swatches of light that danced and flickered across the walls, making the darkness a memory. Roger sat on the edge of the bed, holding a candle in front of him like a talisman.
Something stroked his calf, ankle, and foot in one swift motion, and he jumped away from the bed, dropping the candle. Its weak flame flickered and died with only a small strand of smoke to testify to its existence.
He backed into the far corner of the room, staring into the inky black hole just under the mattress. As he leaned down to get a better look, the roar of his racing pulse throbbed in his eardrums. It was a 6-inch slot so small an Obawok wouldn’t even be able to fit under it. Just then something scuttled under the bed, and two bone thin hands reached out toward him. A moment later his mother’s face appeared at the small gap. A ripe maggot fell from her eye and was crushed by her scrabbling hands as they struggled to free her from the makeshift prison. Roger shrieked and stumbled back until his body once again crashed into the wall. The figure under the bed screamed back at him, causing several more maggots to fall from its face before it shrank back into the darkness.
After a few tense moments, he noticed that he was pinching his shoulder so hard that his flesh was tingling as if it were on fire. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing like that, but his flesh was now branded by two deep red indentions. Keeping his back pressed firmly against the wall and his eyes on the bed, he slid across the room until his knees hit the edge of the orange armchair and he collapsed onto its velvet covering, picked his feet off the floor, and hugged his knees under his chin.
After a few minutes in that position, his legs and feet began to tingle, but he didn’t move. He continued to stare at the gaping mouth under his bed, waiting for the thing that had once been his mother to find a way out.
The minutes stretched out in front of him and he drifted into a stupor as he stared at the small black patch. He was so intently focused that he barely noticed when Tigaffo came into the room to collect him the next morning.
The pair of socks he’d worn yesterday was still lying across the arm of the chair, and he slowly pulled them on his numb feet. His knees creaked when he moved, eliciting an involuntary groaned. His shoes were also sitting next to the chair, and for the first time, Roger found himself thankful for his poor housekeeping habits, and he also pulled them o
n before lowering his unsteady feet to the ground.
Because the cave was much cooler than he was accustomed to at night, Roger had been sleeping in the sweat suit he’d found after his first day there. He elected not to change clothes so that he didn’t have to walk around the room.
As he was leaving, he realized that he hadn’t blown out any of the candles or even bothered to comb his hair or brush his teeth, but not even the idea of scum attaching itself to his mouth could make him stay in that room a moment longer. As soon as his shoelaces were tied, he stood up and looked at Tigaffo, ready to leave.
A happy smirk stained Tigaffo’s usually sour face.
He trudged behind Tigaffo, filled with daydreams of kicking the little troll in the back or, Roger’s favorite, punching him repeatedly in the face until his green features ran together under a shower of blood.
They passed through the main hall, which Roger had learned was called Granffa’s Court, and headed toward the training facilities. The dark and enclosed space proved to be a breeding ground for Roger’s rampant imagination. It was like he was five again riding through a haunted house at a carnival. Dark objects in the shadows seemed to move or reach out at him causing him to jump in his skin. Several times he’d had to close his eyes to ensure that he didn’t run screaming down the corridor.
It was only when he found himself emerged in the bright orange light of the training room that Roger felt the last pieces of the nightmare dissolve and slip away, and he could almost believe none of it had been real.
Kiperro spoke, bringing a much-needed interruption to Roger’s dangerous thoughts.
“Night is the most dangerous time on the surface. There are nocturnal creatures that roam under the cover of darkness far worse than any which can be found in broad daylight. This also leads into the problem of visibility when dealing with night animals.”
He sounded like a college professor reciting something he had learned out of a book. The way these people lived and behaved, Roger doubted that few, if any, Obawok had even been on the surface.
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