There was a loud boom and the light glowed like a mini electric sun, reflecting off the concrete around them so brilliantly he thought their shadows might have been blazed into the concrete like those at Hiroshima. The whole basement continued to be bathed with its touch. Roger squinted through his fingertips like a child peeking at Christmas and was surprised to see that the light revealed a concrete corridor that stretched on as far as the light and receded just as quickly.
Just as the first wave of light began to fade, a second flash of white light blanketed everything. Roger squeezed his eyes shut, but even the dark space behind his eyelids had faded to white. The air expanded as it popped and crinkled around him as if they’d been in a bag of microwave popcorn.
And then, there was nothing. Simply white nothing. And eventually the white returned to blackness. After a few minutes, there was a flicker as Trey struck a match and lit the wick of his candle. A small ray of light encapsulated them.
Roger lit his candle, but the ebony universe around them held fast. The building that was so real a few minutes ago had fallen away, leaving them stranded on a concrete island.
“You think if we move, we’ll fall into infinity?” Trey asked, pushing his arm into the blackness and quickly drawing it back when the darkness severed his arm at his elbow.
“Of course not. If it was there before, then it has to be there now.”
“Does it? Well, if you think so, then move. Me, I’ll stay right here for now, wait for that magic staircase to come back.”
“Look, if we move the candles, then the light should move with us,” Roger said, thrusting his arm that held the candle into the same spot that Trey’s hand had disappeared into, but as soon as it crossed that threshold the light from his candle suddenly became dark. “Damn, it must have…” Roger’s voice faltered as he pulled the candle back to find that the flame still flickering at the top of the wick.
“So, what do we do now?” Roger asked as he continued to stare at the candle.
“Like I said, we wait for that staircase.”
“How do you know it’ll come back?”
“Don’t. I’m just guessing. There’s not much else to do but hang back and see how the waves land.”
“Isn’t that why those Obawok brought us here in the first place, because we hung back and waited?”
“Yeah, but have you been wondering about that, cuz I sure have been.” Trey asked, leaning forward as he spoke, as if confiding a great secret even though they were alone on some unknown plane.
“Sure, I’ve wondered about a lot of things, mainly why me, why here, but mostly, why fucking green trolls?”
“No, I mean, have you specifically wondered about why they target people who view the world the way we do?”
Roger leaned back and looked at Trey. His dimpled cheeks, reckless attitude, and carefree smile obviously hid something greater. “I guess I haven’t.”
“I have, and I’ve been thinking that maybe they take us out of the equation because we got it right. I mean, how easy are people to control when they only fall into two specific groups. How much easier is it to understand and accept a society when it’s kept on such limited terms?”
“What made you think of this?” Roger asked, wondering how he could have misjudged someone so horribly.
“Hey, dude, don’t you ever have random thoughts like that? I know I do, but I mainly keep them to myself because other people tend to think I’m nuts. I once asked my science teacher if one tear could cause a flood to some tiny people we couldn’t see, and I thought they were going to have me committed. Since then, I just rolled with the punches.” He paused and gave another of his toothy smiles. “I thought I might let you in on one of those crazy little thoughts because….”
“There’s nothing that could be more nuts than what we’re doing right now,” Roger finished Trey’s thought as he once stared into the dark.
“Right on.”
“As long as we’re sharing, I once spent like a month trying to solve one of those unanswerable riddles.” Roger paused. “It goes like this: if you shoot a rocket into the air and it can go to the end of the universe, what would it hit at the end of the universe. Is there some giant brick wall or somethin’ out there stopping the flow of everything? And if so, what’s on the other side of that wall because even though there is no end, somewhere there has to be an end. Nothing is infinite.”
The light ebbed around them, and Trey didn’t respond. Roger started to fidget, wondering if he’d gone too far around the bend.
“What you should have been asking yourself was why that question was so important you spent a month thinking about it instead of riding the waves, or smelling the roses, or whatever the hell you did for fun,” Trey said as he set his candle on the floor and lay down on his bag. “And if you’re still thinking about it now. Like, somehow, that question is still shaping who you are.”
“Right now, I’m wondering if Buddha was a surfer,” Roger said as he mimicked Trey and made his bag a makeshift pillow.
“Dude, that’s just way too deep.”
Roger chuckled and let himself drift into a light sleep, the soft orange glow of the candlelight beating against his eyelids like moth wings.
207
Twenty-Three
Wrapped in inorganic death shrouds.
In the darkness, Firturro could feel his mind pulling away.
“What happened to the fucking lights?” The President’s voice cut through the haziness.
“I don’t know, sir,” Tigaffo answered, his voice wavering.
Firturro twitched at the sound of the voices, and the chains around his arms and legs rattled. In the darkness, something seemed to be lurking, waiting for him to make a move so that it could swallow him.
“Tigaffo, find me some candles.”
One of the guards lit a candle on the President’s desk as Tigaffo scurried around the room in search of more. Firturro followed Tigaffo with his eyes because there was a cut on his forehead. When he moved, his skin would stretch and pop, causing blood to ooze down his face in thick streaks.
If he shifted just a little, Firturro could make out the unconscious Six shackled next to him on the wall. Most of the gnome’s wounds had started to heal, but Firturro could not tell if he’d regained consciousness. Despite his own pain, Firturro managed a small smile at Six’s bravery.
The doors to the main hallway opened and one of the guards carried in the translator gnome Firturro had left in the apartment with Del.
“Where was he?”
“Sir, we found him tied up in Firturro’s apartment.”
“Was there anyone else with him?” the President asked, his eyes so brilliant they now glowed in the dark.
“No, sir.”
“Can he talk?”
“No, sir. I tried to rouse him, but I got nothing.”
The President directed his stare at Firturro. “But you know, don’t you, Firturro. You know where little Del has gone off to.”
207
Kristi Brooks
Firturro remained silent even as they began to unchain him from the wall.
It was so dark in the tunnel Trulle could have disappeared and Del would never have known. She felt better when her tumbling fingertips landed on the bag he had been carrying.
“Why would the lights go out?” he asked, his voice cracking as he spoke.
“I don’t know, but right now we need to get a candle or lantern lit. We can discuss why the lights went out later.”
“Oh, right.” With that, Trulle turned away from her and wandered back into the apartment. She could hear him rummaging around the room as she remained in the doorway, waiting. For a moment, Del was sure that the President had turned out the lights, that he was stalking her through the black tunnels, and she could feel the panic rising in her throat like vomit, threatening to become an avalanche of putrid backwash and emotions. She turned around in the dark, her hands stretched out in front of her like beacons. The panic vanished w
hen the soft light of the lantern filled the room and spilled into the hall. She took a deep breath as he approached.
“So?” he asked, the impatience on his face obvious.
“Yes?”
“I thought women had to remain in the pits. You aren’t allowed to enter this realm.”
“We do, and we aren’t. But I had to warn you.”
“Of what?” he asked, his brow furrowed as he spoke and he leaned forward, his gaze searing her.
“About your father. Look, I have to explain this to you rather quickly, so let me get it all out first, and then you can ask me anything you want. Okay?”
Trulle nodded, but his eyes never broke contact.
“You used to have a brother. That was how this started. Only back then, your father was known as Seille, and it was your brother that was called Darelle. Not your father. Never him.”
His eyes widened and then shrank into unbelieving slits. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ll bet that you’ve seen a lot of your father over the years, and I’ll bet that you’ve also seen him with some odd colored liquid. A glowing liquid that shines from the inside out.”
After a moment, he spoke with a voice that didn’t seem to belong to him. “Yes, I’ve seen it.”
She nodded as she spoke. “It’s energy that he’s harnessed, and the formula keeps him young.”
“You mean he won’t die?”
“No, I’ve been thinking about it for some time, and I think he can die, but only if we can separate him from the formula.”
“Where does the liquid come from? And how do you know all of this?” Trulle asked, his expression now alternating between disbelief and curiosity, and in the flickering light, Del felt sorry for him. She wanted to comfort him, but she knew she had to be direct with him. He would be needed in the aftermath of the President’s death, and she couldn’t spare him any of the horrible details, couldn’t coddle him with soft words and phrases. He needed truth.
“I know because he whispers things to me after he’s beaten me. I know because he’s been whispering these little kernels of information to me for three lifetimes now, and all I want is for it to end.”
She paused, and even though he said nothing, did nothing to acknowledge what she’d said, she knew he’d heard and, more importantly, understood.
“The energy comes from humans and Obawok alike. Energy never dies, not even when something else does. It just changes. He found a way to make it liquid, to make it something he can ingest.”
“And he told you all of this?”
“In bits and pieces, yes. Most of it I had to put together on my own.”
Del walked toward Trulle. She wanted to make sure she was face-to-face with him, so she could see the first emotion that went through his eyes.
“Now, we have to go back to the beginning. I told you I was here because it all started with your brother, Darelle. He was raised the same way you were, like all of the President’s sons have been raised, in secret. When he was the appropriate age, the President killed him and drank massive amounts of the liquid to make himself appear to be Darelle’s age. He then proclaimed Seille dead and reinstated himself as President Darelle.
“This might help you come to grips with what I’m telling you.” She held out the text she’d been carrying under her robe. It made her feel a little vulnerable now that she had given up the precious information Firturro had endowed her with, but she knew it was serving its purpose. “It’s a missing section of the ancient texts, Trisinna’s text, actually.”
He looked from the book back to her. “Why are you doing this?”
“I came because I had to, because he told me that he was going to take your place. I couldn’t bear to lose another son….”
“You’re my mother?” His voice cut into her explanation, but she kept talking.
“And I know I haven’t raised you or even seen you before now, but you’re still a part of me. I still love you.”
Trulle stared at the small flame produced by the lonely candle. He had looked down the instant that she had told him she loved him. Del wasn’t certain if he believed her or not, but she’d reached him. What happened from here was out of her control.
Roger felt something shift and he sat up suddenly as pain seared its way across his muscles. He leaned forward and held his breath, trying to relax enough so the spasm might dissipate. Trey was already standing next to him.
“Hey, the stairs are back,” Trey said as he hoisted his pack off the ground.
The spasm became a secondary worry as Roger stood up and turned around. The candles were almost gone, their wicks floating in a widening pool of wax as the thick liquid spilled over the thin walls of the candle’s shell and collected on the concrete. Their light had severely diminished, but Roger and Trey were now standing in a glow that filtered down from the top of the stairs.
Roger slung his pack over his back and looked at Trey. “Guess we’d better do this now.”
“Gotcha.” Trey took off running up the stairs, and Roger followed closely behind. They took the steps two and three at a time as they ran, afraid of what might be lurking under them should the stairs once again disappear.
As they reached the top of the stairs, they hurled themselves through the small doorway. Sunlight shone through the windows and spilled across the abandoned building. The buzzing that had filled its chambers the night before was gone, and nothing flickered in and out of place while they were running.
They stepped into the open desert just as the suns were pulling themselves into the early morning sky. Roger looked at his feet and immediately noticed that his finely dusted glitter trail had returned.
“Your glitter back?” Trey asked.
“Yep. How about your fish?”
“Riding in the sky like Lucy with her diamonds,” Trey said, and they began jogging through the sand, their hopes rejuvenated.
It didn’t take long before the sand began to grasp at their feet, and each step became a small eternity as both suns beat down on Roger, laughing at his attempts to outrun his fate and his fear.
By the time the suns hovered above them, Roger could not even walk fast, and he did nothing more than stare down at his sand covered shoes as they kicked through the sand like automatons. Shielding his eyes, Roger looked up and over at Trey only to find that he was doing the same thing. For a moment he pictured that they were in some horrid western, and if the director would pan back, they would see the vultures circling above them. The feeling was so eerie that Roger looked to the sky, and promptly stumbled face first into the dirt. Sand crumbled around him and leached into his pores. He managed to pick himself up a little, but when he looked around, he saw that Trey hadn’t stopped walking.
“Hey, a little help here,” Roger yelled as he tried to get his footing and slipped back into the sand. Trey turned toward him, his face blank and his jaw slackened so that Roger could see that his tongue had become thick and swollen and as chapped as his lips, as if he hadn’t bothered to close it in a long time. Then, without a word, Trey turned back to his path. Roger grunted and pushed himself up again, managing to pull himself onto his hands and knees. “Didn’t you hear me?”
Trey again turned his head toward the sound, but this time it was only for a second. Roger managed to stand up, and brush himself off. He went toward Trey, intent on knocking him in the head, but when he looked up he sucked in a giant whoosh of air. A beautiful Harpus bush was spread out in front of them, waving its colorful limbs in the stale desert air, and Trey was walking toward it. Roger closed his eyes, but the swaying yellow, red, and purple leaves were seared into the backs of his eyelids, and he found his feet moving even as every muscle in his body strained against movement. Opening his eyes, Roger once again began to study his feet, certain that he would not be able to fight at all if he took a second look.
But before he even realized what he was doing, his eyes had rolled up, and he saw that he was only a couple of steps away from the lush beauty. Trey h
ad stopped walking beside him, but Roger dropped to his knees and inched toward the bush. The purple flower unfolded into a color filled rainbow.
Roger sucked in a deep breath of air so hot it burned through his nose and mouth, drying up any saliva he might have had left. He blinked, and the flower unfolded yet again, it’s soft petals back the universe one layer at a time until there was nothing left except six blood red points. Then the bush pulled in on itself like a cat preparing to launch at its prey, and Roger felt something slam into him, knocking him on his side as the darts sprang from the center of the bush.
“Ow!” Roger screamed. Two of the darts had pierced his shoulder, and he grabbed them and yanked them out before rolling over. When he did, he saw that there were four darts protruding from the left side of Trey’s face and neck. Roger immediately sat up and removed each dart from Trey. With each pull of the dart there was a loud pop, as if he’d just removed a giant leach or tick, but there was no sign of blood.
“Trey, man, can you hear me?” Roger asked as he gripped Trey’s shoulders and shook him. Trey’s head rocked back and then snapped forward until his chin was resting on his chest, a thin line of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth.
“Unhh.” The single syllable slipped from Trey’s mouth as if it were nothing more substantial than the spittle.
Roger could feel the tingling poison working its way through his body with each solid thump of his heart, and he didn’t think he would be able to carry on, much less take Trey with him. He started to stand, but the sand sucked at his heals and he fell down next to Trey. For a moment he stared at the twin suns and closed his eyes. He was going to rest a little, that’s all. Just a few seconds to clear his thoughts, a few seconds to rest.
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