Vision2

by Brooks, Kristi

  She glanced up and could see where the tunnel turned from its normal dingy green into a brilliant yellow. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her head and walked toward the Yellow Palace, realm of the gnomes.

  207

  Fourteen

  Even dead dogs have tales.

  Roger awoke in the orange chair feeling refreshed and nightmare free, albeit cramped. He stood up, stretched, and put the comforter and pillow back on the bed just as he heard the door being unlocked.

  When they looked in, Roger headed to the bathroom. A small knap sack had been left with him for his necessities. He had loaded it up with non-perishable food items the night before, but he had waited to pack the bathroom stuff. After he finished getting ready, he loaded up his toothbrush, toothpaste, and two unwrapped rolls of toilet paper into the bag, thinking it better to be safe than sorry where toilet paper was concerned. As he placed the second roll of toilet paper into the bag, the door opened again, and his heart skipped a beat. He shouldered the bag and walked to the door, hoping that he’d remembered to pack his courage as well.

  The trip was made in mutual silence. Roger’s stomach had begun to twist into tight knots of excitement, and he had become suddenly afraid that his breakfast might decorate the walls. While this might be an improvement, he wasn’t willing to donate any extra nutrition to accomplish it.

  As they entered a dark tunnel on the right side of Granffa’s Court his heart began pumping the blood through his system so fast that if he closed his eyes he could hear each frenzied “pump and swoosh” as his overwrought heart contracted and released.

  Clenching his teeth together, Roger tried to maintain that all-important game face his high school coach had always insisted that they wear on the field.

  Roger could still hear the pompous bastard’s voice echoing in the locker room that always smelled like sweat and piss no matter how many times they made the freshman scrub it down. The floor had been covered in blue and yellow tile that had faded to a pastel horror over the years, and rows of deeply dented lockers had stood as

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  Kristi Brooks

  silent sentinels to years of adolescent anger. Even though he was on the brink of reality, he could still remember those pre-game lectures.

  Every head in the room was turned expectantly towards Coach Thompson, waiting to hear his encouraging words, and even though those words were the same ones he said before every game, no one was whispering, fooling around, or even moving while he was supposed to be talking. All thoughts were wiped from Roger’s head once the commanding voice had begun its rant.

  “If you let little those pricks out there see that you’re afraid, then they’ve already won. Forget that your girlfriend is sitting in the stands an’ that if you win she’ll most likely share that damned elusive pussy of hers with you. Forget that there are scouts from OU and OSU markin’ down everythin’ you do and judgin’ you. Focus on nothin’ but the bastard in front of you, on the ball, and, most importantly, on the play. For the three hours you’re out there, you can think of nothin’ else and you can be nothin’ else but a football player. Never let them see anythin’ but the good ‘ole game face. That face is all they need to know about you. Do you hear me?”

  The frenzy he managed to whip the players into by the end of that speech had always convinced Roger that Coach had been a tent revival preacher in another lifetime.

  That was then, and this was a vastly different situation, but the rules should still apply. So, Roger shook his head and put on his game face just like Coach had taught him before stepping into the well-lit portion of the tunnel. Right now he was nothing but a player on the field of battle and would be until the game was over.

  That’s right, Roger, you can beat these cunt rags at their own game, Coach’s voice called out in his head. The man who had become so weak with cancer at the end that he could barely stand had still managed to make it to every single game. But the voice urging him on was the old Coach, the healthy Coach, the Coach that always had a fist sized chaw stuck way back in his mouth, inviting death to go a round or two with him.

  The orange-red light now filled the tunnel, illuminating everything inside. They were so close to the surface that Roger could feel the air rushing past his face. It was the first time he had felt a natural breeze since he’d stood outside pumping gas under the hot Oklahoma sun a lifetime ago.

  Roger could see that the President, all fifteen councilmen, and Firturro had formed two neat lines at the end of the tunnel. Each of them studied him intently as he walked past that he felt like the new kid on the first day of school. They had all seen him before, but now it seemed like he was a different person, and they all wanted to know what kind of person that was going to be.

  Is he healthy? Is he sane? Their thoughts screamed out to him, but he didn’t cave to their scrutiny.

  Be neutral, be Switzerland, he thought, and almost burst into nervous laughter, but he pinched his tongue between his front teeth.

  Tigaffo led him to a white circle that had been painted on the ground, Tigaffo stopping a few feet short of the circle and gestured for Roger to step inside the sphere.

  Once Roger was within the circle’s confines, the President stood in front of him and held out his arms, palms pointing towards the sky.

  “Roger Fulright of Mulray, Oklahoma, has successfully completed training and is hereby released into the environment to complete the Mezoglike. You have thirty hours from this point to make it to and complete the first phase.”

  He bowed his head between his upturned arms before continuing, “Daktvya oglodden triveste. May the ancients guide you.”

  The President then raised his head and lowered his hands, moving towards the tunnel where most of the other councilmen were already scuttling back into the hole. At the entrance, they all turned, almost in unison. Roger felt like a lab rat, and before he even realized what he was doing, he lifted his hand and flipped them off.

  The reaction was better than he could have hoped for. Several of the councilmen gaped at him, and he laughed at the President’s glare.

  Before heading out he looked at Firturro. The old man stood proud and tall away from the others with his head tilted up towards the brilliant sunlight. After a moment, he turned and smiled at Roger before turning back into the tunnel, his small frame disappearing through the doors.

  Now that he was alone, he looked around and discovered that the area of land to his left was nothing but puke green sand that reminded him of old Cadillac sedans, while the land on his right looked a lot like the flat grasslands of southwestern Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle. Ahead in the distance, the grasslands grew into larger tree-covered swells. He shielded his eyes as he looked up at the two suns. One was a brilliant fiery orange while the other was yellow and appeared to be filled with strings of black and grey television snow.

  Roger smiled and took his first step out of the starting circle and into the open. He looked to the ground again, searching for some type of footpath. Several humans may have passed through this land to take the test, but most of them wouldn’t have gone in the same direction. There were many small worn patches in the ground leading away from the circle, just like he’d assumed there would be. A light, blue, glittery substance appeared to be strewn across one particular swatch of ground, and he began to follow the makeshift trail before he could doubt it.

  He spent most of the morning hiking through somewhat familiar territory, careful to keep the pace constant without being too aggressive. As he walked, he memorized the path of the suns as they made their journey across the sky and counted off how long it took for them to make their natural arcs. The yellow sun didn’t seem to be doing anything functional. It didn’t compete with the other sun for casting shadows, and it didn’t feel any hotter with the presence of two suns than it did at home with one. It was like a giant yellow shadow in the sky.

  In fact, it wasn’t nearly as hot on Obawok as it was in Oklahoma, and Roger was grateful for that small favor. The
extreme heat under the western Oklahoma sun could easily sap a person’s energy if they were trying to walk a long distance with a limited supply of water. But here, the temperature felt like it was a nice, steady 80 degrees with occasional breezes to take the edge off.

  After four or five hours, Roger climbed on the largest rock he could find and fished out a box of raisins and a couple of pieces of bread that he had folded and placed in six separate bags. He took a handful of raisins and put them in the middle of the first slice of bread and ate his makeshift sandwich slowly while he glanced around.

  From his position on the rock he could see a large patch of grutoms on the far left side of the path. He didn’t see any other obstacles, and as long as he didn’t veer off the trail he was currently on, it shouldn’t be a problem.

  He wiped the crumbs from his hands and face, re-shouldered his pack, and jumped down. As he walked along the path he noticed a shadowy creature stalking him a few hundred feet away. He pretended to stop and use the restroom to get a better look. The guides had covered only a couple of surface animals, and Roger was surprised that no one had mentioned this amazing specimen.

  While it had the same basic size and color of a panther, its back was arched at a much higher level. It yawned, and Roger saw that its canine teeth stuck out of its mouth at an odd angle and appeared to be a good deal larger than most panther’s teeth he had seen in the zoo. The creature made him think of a Discovery Channel special on giant beasts that ruled the world after the dinosaurs. This one resembled a giant lemur.

  While Roger was watching the creature, the rest of the world faded, and the President was standing in front of the creature, talking to him.

  “Schot laike tonomaka!”

  The creature nodded its head. Roger couldn’t understand the language that the President was using, but the harshness with which the words were spoken made him cringe.

  The vision faded, and Roger was relieved to see that he had begun moving again. He forced himself to walk at a steady pace and kept the creature in the boundaries of his peripheral vision.

  A little while later the animal raced across a small open area toward a group of trees. While it was moving, Roger made an interesting observation: the animal moved like a mix between a gorilla and a bunny rabbit. It used its front paws to brace itself while it ran like a gorilla, and it hopped using its back legs like a rabbit. The creature wasn’t acting like a predator, but it still caused a cold sweat to ripple down his back and dot his brow despite the warm weather.

  Hours ago Del had ducked into a small cove just outside the entrance to the Yellow Palace. The space was narrowed at the entrance and bloomed out to four foot by two foot, reminding her of a teardrop. She’d been in the dark watching the gnomes pass for so long she felt like an unknown spectator peeking in on another world. No one had looked in her direction, and if they had it would have been difficult for them to see her.

  She had become a shadow intruding on their world.

  The space wasn’t large enough to move around, so she sat with her knees tucked under her chin, and her arms were wrapped around her legs, holding them tight to her body so that the cloak covered everything, even her large, knobby feet. She’d pulled the hood over her head and covered her nose and mouth with the collar until her world had narrowed to two tiny slits.

  She’d been sitting there so long her body had become a tingling ball of nerve endings, and she shifted a little to try and take some pressure off. If had been possible she would have gotten up and moved around, but she couldn’t risk exposure.

  If they found her, they would try her for impersonating a man, and not just any man, but a councilman. The price for that kind of treason was death, and although she’d known that was an inevitability when she’d ran, getting trapped in this small alcove hadn’t been part of the plan. Then again there hadn’t been much of a plan to past part one: escape.

  A hunger pain clenched her stomach, and she groaned through a mouth that felt as if she’d spent the day licking sand. Every movement, every sound seemed too loud to go unnoticed as they grew and echoed back at her, tattling on her existence to those wondering the halls. She glanced up, but none of the gnomes turned in her direction or pointed an accusing finger, and she felt herself relax a little.

  If she could just find Six she might be able to salvage her hope, and right now that was all she wanted. She thought of Trulle as she leaned her head against the wall and fell into a light sleep.

  A little while later Del heard the chittering of approaching gnomes and snapped her head forward. A spasm of pain burst down her neck and into her shoulders so violently that she clamped her teeth together to stop herself from crying out. Her eyes were bright and glistening with pain and her hood had fallen back off her forehead, revealing her face and brow. Before she had time to fix herself, the gnomes passed her hiding space, and one of them looked directly at her. Del pushed the sleeve of the cloak tight against her mouth and gasped under its protection.

  She sat there for a few long seconds in the dark and contemplated her options. There weren’t many. She could wait it out and see if anything happened, or she could get up right now and risk moving among those very beings who might be looking for her. It didn’t take her long to decide that she wasn’t going to stay in this cramped space and wait for her punishment. Joints and muscles cried out in unison as she braced herself against the wall and started to stand, but before she could get herself up completely one of the gnomes walked back by the entrance.

  As she watched, the gnome moved his hand over his hip, and Del saw the odd, puckered scar that was her friend’s distinguishing mark. Sighing, she slid back down the wall and pulled the hood completely over her head. When she was enclosed in darkness she allowed the tears of relief to come as the hope she had believed lost resurfaced.

  Alone in his chambers, Darelle stormed from one end of the room to the other, his stride quick and unbroken and his eyes glaring at the wall as he turned round and round. Ten minutes ago he’d been told of Del’s disappearance. He’d managed to listen patiently as the trembling guard recounted how she had stolen a negligent councilman’s cloak and just walked right out of the controlled area.

  He’d clenched his teeth and fists together until every nerve ending in his body hummed. Only two other Obawok women had ever gone missing before, and both of them had been found roaming the tunnels, lost in a homeland they knew nothing about, but Del had somehow managed to elude them overnight. Darelle had grabbed a small knife from his desk and forced the guard to hold out his arm. The knife’s blade had easily punctured the guard’s thick flesh and slid into his muscle. He’d then twisted the blade until the ungrateful creature begged for mercy. “Today you will remember that I’m to be told of these developments immediately,” he’d said before dismissing the guard with a wave of his hand. Now he found himself wishing that he’d kept him around a little longer.

  But he had more things to consider, and torture, though fun, would not help him find a way to dispose of Trulle. The impending transition weighed heavily in his thoughts. A lot of different factors would need to come together for it to be done right, and things were so bad right now he couldn’t imagine having a successful conversion.

  Darelle continued to pace silently, but he now walked slower, contemplating the suffering he would inflict if things didn’t go his way. He wanted them all to pay, and the price was going to be their lives. He paused mid-step and smiled as the plan solidified, and for the moment, everything was golden.

  207

  Kristi Brooks

  207

  Fifteen

  A card catalogue for souls.

  It was twilight, and according to Roger’s interior calculations, he had been on the surface close to nine hours. If he was on the right path, then he was getting close to the first trial station, but right now, he needed to find somewhere to hunker down and wait out the nocturnal creatures.

  He scrambled up the side of the hill and shielded his eyes against the
brilliant sunset as he searched for both a place to hole up for the night and for the creature that had been with his furry shadow for most of the day. He hadn’t noticed it for a few hours now, and its absence made his skin tingle a little with anxiety.

  Off to the left and over a small hill, Roger spotted what looked like a good place to set up for the night. There were several large, gnarled trees that had grown up next to a large rock, creating a space just large enough for him to wedge himself into. Fighting against the approaching night, he ran back to the trail and over to the secluded area.

  As he ran, there was a sudden burst of movement behind him as the tall grasses rustled in time to his steps, and he pushed himself to run faster, faster, until a sharp pain had needled its way into his side. The stitch sank deeper as he ran, threading its way across his abdomen and up into chest, but he didn’t reach the small niche until both suns had sunk into their pockets on the opposite sides of the horizon. Roger dropped to his hands and knees mid-stride and crawled through the shrubbery toward the face of the rock, his ragged breathing filling his head as he pushed his way through the branches, their tiny limbs poking and tearing at his clothes and skin.

  Luckily, his entire body fit into the alcove without too much trouble. As his outstretched hand found the cool surface of the rock, he looked back and saw that the place where he’d crawled in was still pretty covered over by the surrounding foliage. Roger ripped a couple of low hanging branches off the nearby tree and carefully

  207

  Kristi Brooks