arranged the broken limbs in a way that helped to better disguise the makeshift entrance. As he worked his breathing returned to normal, causing the pain to dissipate and the overwhelming thump of his heart against his ribcage to return to a more solid rhythm.
He slid back into the space between the tree and the rock and waited. As the night closed in around him, he wondered if he would live to see daylight.
Small fingers dug into Del’s flesh and dragged her from the bleary netherworld of sleep. She woke immediately, the knowledge of where she was and what was going on slammed into her. When she opened her eyes, she was again confronted by the darkness inside her cloak. She brushed it back and found herself looking up at Six’s worried face.
“They want you. We supposed to watch for you. They say they no care how we find you.” His voice was a whisper that was deafening in the silence. He could sometimes be hard to understand because of his broken English, but she understood him all too well now.
If she continued to rely on Six, his life would also be in danger. Gnomes were immortal creatures, but they could be killed, most notably by the yellow sun’s light.
Their skin would burn intensely in just a few minutes under its rays. They had resided in the underground caverns long before the Obawok, but because of their inability to care for themselves after the appearance of the yellow sun, they were sick and dying when the Obawok moved into the tunnels. The gnomes had made a deal in which they would serve the Obawok if they were provided for, even agreeing to risk going to earth to retrieve items the Obawok wanted. Del knew the President wouldn’t think twice before sending a traitorous gnome to the surface.
Del had not known any of this until Six told her. He had wanted so badly to communicate with someone that he had spent years learning English, the common Obawok language. The bulk of their original language had been lost centuries ago, and now it was hardly used for anything more than ceremonies.
“Okay. I understand. Go ahead and return to your duties, and I’ll find a way out of here. I just need to know how to get to the President’s room.”
He looked at her for a second as if he didn’t understand what she had said before he began shaking his head. “You no understand. They looking everywhere. You cannot leave…you not make it. He real mad, he not care if they kill you, he told us.”
“I know, but I don’t have a choice.” She sighed and shifted her weight, causing Six to jump back in alarm. “Don’t worry, I just need to move around, and I need to find Trulle.”
“You not know him, you never met him,” he said while he turned his head to make sure that no one walked by. When he looked back at her, she could practically see the tension ebbing off him.
“It doesn’t matter, I gave birth to him, he’s mine, and I can’t leave him to that monster. Besides, I’m tired of spending my life in a hole being nothing more than his slave.” Tears began to streak down her face. “I’m tired of being so powerless.”
Six’s eyes widened, and he began tugging at his hands. “You the only one. You my friend, and I help. No matter yellow sun hurt Six.” He looked back down at his hands before continuing. “I will come when only young one home. I find way to take you, if you sure. Not now though. Wait here. I will get you later. We go then.”
Del looked up at him, she had offered him an out, and he was still helping her. “Thank you, Six. Thank you.”
He only nodded and turned to leave. He paused at the entrance back to the main hall and cautiously checked both directions before leaving.
When she was alone again she pulled the hood back over her head and scrunched as far back into the corner as possible. The only hope she had now was that the gnomes wouldn’t be looking for her so close to the Yellow Palace.
Roger sat in the darkness with his back against the cold rock. It was amazing how fast the surface cooled once the suns had set. For a while he’d closed his eyes and tried to get some rest, but he’d immediately heard something rustling in the bushes behind him. When he’d heard the noise again, it had been on his left instead of behind him, circling around his hiding spot.
Roger had forced himself to stay completely still, taking slow, shallow breaths through his mouth, counting backwards from 1,000 and then from zero back to 1,000. When he didn’t hear anything during that time, he’d relaxed a little. He pulled a small hand towel out of the side compartment of the backpack before putting the bag behind his head against the rock and placing the towel over his face to prevent strange bugs from crawling into his nose or mouth.
Since then, he’d managed to catch snatches of sleep. Once or twice the sound of gusting wind had woken him, but eventually exhaustion settled around him, and no matter how hard he tried to stay awake, sleep refused to let him go.
207
Sixteen
Bare feet leave ten second fossils.
Roger woke up to find that he was once again in the Obawok underground, but he wasn’t in a room; instead, he was wedged into a tight crevice, and his entire body was tingling. He wanted to stand but was sure that if he moved he would be caught. They were looking for him, and if they were to find him, it would be his death.
He heard soft footsteps in the hall and huddled into an even tighter ball, tucking his head down until something covered his eyes. He could hear them talking now, high-pitched, chittering voices that escalated his fear with each passing word. The language was beyond his understanding, but he knew they were looking to find him.
His breath quickened in time to his heart. He didn’t move, and he envisioned that his body was made of stone and was as green as the rocks behind him. He believed if he kept chanting to himself it would be true, that he would be able to meld into the rock and disappear.
His muscles were so tense that he wanted to cry out. A body shouldn’t be forced to take this much nervous pressure, but he remained still. Doing something, anything, to bring attention to his hiding spot would get him killed, and he had something important to do before death claimed him. The voices faded, but it was still too dangerous to move so he tried to return to sleep.
When it felt like real sleep might actually be close enough to touch, a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and bit his tongue to keep from yelling out loud. If they had found him, he would go to his death without tears or hysterics. He would show them how strong a woman could be. He pulled back his hood to find a gnome standing over him. At first he was scared, but then he realized this was his friend. He was holding an ornate necklace and a thick brown cloak like the one Tigaffo wore.
“Ready?” he spoke so softly Roger could barely hear him. He didn’t reply but instead nodded his sore head.
207
Kristi Brooks
As Roger reached out to take the clothes from him, he saw that his hands were green, stubby, and glowing with a brilliant white halo like Firturro’s, and then it was gone.
Roger woke up trembling and removed the towel from his face. He looked around and knew that he was still safe in his small hiding spot, but he’d brought his knees closer to him and his left arm was wrapped tightly around them, creating the same protective position he’d held during the dream, a dream that had been even more realistic than the ones about his mother.
He shook his head and crawled on his elbows toward the burrow’s makeshift entrance. One thing he’d learned from years of hunting in the Oklahoma flatlands was how to move without making too much noise. He’d been on many of those trips, sitting in his deer stand for hours doing nothing during the early morning hours. On the occasions when he’d had to track a deer, he had learned, mainly through trail and error, that crawling forward on his elbows like a soldier was the best way to move into firing position without alerting his prey.
He slid his hand through the branches on the entrance and pushed down on them as gently as possible. When he was able to look through the branches at the sky and almost gasped.
What he saw was so oddly beautiful he could only stare. The moon was a pale plate that hung low on the horizon. The
sky was the same purple as a black light, and that only accentuated the light blue ring surrounding the moon. On earth, a halo around the moon was supposed to be a sign of impending snow, but he’d never seen before a halo that even compared with this one. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked towards the horizon to see if either of the suns had begun to crown.
The yellow sun was already prominent on the horizon, but the orange one hadn’t yet risen. The yellow sun hung in an ethereal world of darkness, its starkness calling out for a dawn that was far from approaching. The static he’d noticed before was even more prominent now.
Roger sighed and crawled back to retrieve his bag, the reality of the trial breaking into the moment. By his estimate he only had another eight or ten hours to make it to the first check in.
He emerged from the hiding spot a few seconds later, stretching his entire body before climbing on top of the rock to look around. The climb was steeper than it looked, but after a couple of slips and a banged up shin, he made it to the top. He paused and took a couple of deep, gulping breaths of the crisp air, his head hunched over, his hands on his knees. From the thirty-foot peak he could see the entire horizon and noticed that the orange sun had now crowned and dawn was in full bloom on its horizon.
The trail of blue pixie dust that he’d followed the day before was just a trace of glitter from where he stood, and he’d already decided to put his trust in Tinkerbell’s trail again. A half-cocked smile lifted the right side of his face as he turned and worked his way down the rock. He’d always had a crush on old Tink.
When he reached a small plateau on the rock’s side, Roger looked down and realized he was only about seven feet above ground. Unshouldering his pack as cautiously as he could without losing his balance, Roger swung it out slightly behind him, letting it drop to the ground before following. He rubbed his dirty hands against his pants leg. It wasn’t long after he had started hiking the trail again that his stomach started to rumble. When he’d been packing he’d decided that the most economic way to deal with his short supply of food was to only eat lunch. This way the food could stretch to cover both breakfast and dinner. But that logical approach didn’t soothe his stomach.
Roger tightened the straps on his back and continued to walk into the glitter covered, albeit uncertain, future.
Darelle sat stone-faced in his workroom. He had gone over every inch of its interior and nothing had been disturbed. Even the dust on the shelves seemed intact. What had Trulle wanted in his bedroom? There was nothing of any importance in the bedroom itself. Trulle had seen the secret room once before, and until recently, Darelle had assumed he’d forgotten about what had happened. That assumption had obviously been a horrible one to make.
Trulle wasn’t the only thing clogging his thoughts; Darelle was also concerned with the search for Del. She had managed to elude both the guards and the gnomes, and he’d never thought of her as the cunning or capable type.
He paced the shadow-covered floor between the glowing vials, patches of purple and yellow light touching upon his knotted features, making the shadows run even deeper and the lines appear even harsher. The stress was making him age faster than normal. He had tried to hide this, consuming even more of the rejuvenating liquid, but he didn’t want to deplete his stock.
There was no way of knowing how much longer his body would have to endure before he made the switch. Darelle looked at his aging hands and wondered how long the same body could continue to be rejuvenated. Would it eventually stretch and pull tight against his muscles until sores appeared from the constant strain? Or would it simply give up? He didn’t want to find out, didn’t want to consider death. There were too many demons waiting for him in death’s embrace. He knew the torture he would have to face, knew the price for consuming souls.
Darelle stopped pacing and faced his precious bottles as he remembered his earlier meeting with Letlure, a Plakla or surface dweller that had helped him dispose of humans before.
They’d met in an abandoned building on the far side of the entrance cave. Both humans and Obawok were kept away from this area of the surface. If other Obawok saw the wavering buildings and indications of a previous society jutting out from the otherwise desolate landscape, they would begin to question things.
And Darelle hated questions. They were never good.
Several Toberoks, wolf-like guardians that had once been strong allies to the Obawok and still maintained those ties with him, guarded the area. Buildings molded from the stone stood out against the sand like rotting teeth. Next to these ancient Obawok dwellings were abandoned wood buildings that flickered in and out of one’s sight, wavering like a fire torch in the wind. Darelle never used those buildings, never went near them. They meant death to any creature that wondered inside their empty doorways. There was only one of these buildings on the other side of the desert that the surface dwellers could enter to maintain Obawok electricity, and only then at certain times.
The darkness had been almost impenetrable when they’d met the night before Roger’s Mezoglike. Darelle had approached the building with only a small torch to guide him. When he neared, the Toberoks growled and remained steadfast in their protective positions.
“Trak Amoy,” he said, flicking his free left hand. Obeying him, the Toberoks moved aside just enough for him to squeeze through, but they continued to hold their lips back from their sharp white fangs in an eerie sneer. As soon as he’d passed, they returned to their original guarding positions.
Letlure stood off to the side of the building, his frame a hulking shadow of the night. Darelle entered without addressing him, and Letlure followed. When he stood up straight, he looked like a horrible nightmare come true. He was close to ten foot tall with clumps of fur covering his body, claws that looked like talons, and fangs jutting out of his elongated snout at such random angles that he appeared to have had been put together by a mildly retarded deity.
When they were both inside, Darelle faced him, the light flickering rapidly in the enclosed darkness, casting fragmented and jerky shadows against the wall.
“You know why I’m here?”
Letlure grunted and slowly nodded.
“Tomorrow the journey begins. He shouldn’t make it past the first part. Favik na trelor, he must be stopped.”
Letlure tilted his head, his face made even more awkward by the light and shadows passing over it. “Trelor ta unamon?” He grunted, his low voice rolling across the night.
“Yes, before the first trial. Watch him for a day, follow him closely, and on the second day, trelor—death.”
Placing his furry fist across his Mongolian-like brow, Letlure bowed before backing out of the stone entrance. “Trelor nan.”
When Darelle had been sure Letlure was gone, he’d returned past the slobbering Toberoks and into the tunnels.
The memory of that meeting put a smile on his sour face. Letlure had never failed him; he was both loyal and strong, just like his father and grandfather. Trulle and Del were momentarily forgotten as his imagination worked out Roger’s gruesome death in detail.
Six scurried through the tunnels and into the main chambers without attracting any extra attention, and as he turned into the watcher’s tunnels, he slowed down and reminded himself to act normal. As bad as things were, they would get a lot worse if he were seen entering a watcher’s private domain when he wasn’t on the duty roster.
When he’d heard about Del’s escape, Six had known he was going to need help in getting her out. Since making friends with Del he’d been keeping an eye on those who might be sympathetic to her situation, and the watcher Firturro was definitely one such Obawok. Six had often heard Firturro mumbling to himself, and Six knew that Firturro didn’t like the President and that he didn’t trust the ancient texts.
Now Del was stuck. There was a price on her head, and the President would punish anyone caught helping with her, and none of the gnomes would risk punishments that were beyond cruel. The thought of being near the President when
he was in a rage made Six clench his teeth together until his head throbbed.
He checked the hall before giving the door two quick raps. Usually gnomes would enter residences using a special dial just under the lock to enter a code, signifying why they had entered. For example, if Six were to enter 6170, it would mean he’d come on a routine laundry pick-up; 8471 meant he’d cleaned the apartment; and 3018 signaled that the room’s allotted provisions had been dropped off for the week.
The guards checked the codes each day and compared them to the duty roster to make sure that no illegal entries had been made. If there was a problem and something was missing, they would be able to track down the gnome that had serviced it easier. If he used a code, they would know when they compared the logs.
Firturro shuffled to the door in his robe and gaped at the scared gnome in front of him.
“I need you help. We in danger, stuck in crevice and no get out. Important news, important girl. Please let in.”
The squeaky tones of the gnome’s voice filled the empty corridor. He had never heard a gnome speak. Their language consisted mainly of high pitched chitters and clicks which could not be duplicated by the Obawok tongue. He knew there were translator gnomes, but this wasn’t.
Firturro ushered the gnome into his apartment, glancing down the hall before locking the door.
“What are you talking about? What girl?” Firturro asked, the words out of his mouth before he’d even turned around.
“She the girl, she missing for long time.” The gnome’s hand was frantically pointing downward as he talked. “She knows much, knows important, wants tell someone but not know trust.”
Firturro knew about the girl he was speaking about. The President had put the entire Obawok population on high alert, and there was a price on her head for the first gnome who brought her in, with no restrictions on how they returned her.
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