Aleadra stared, and her mouth dropped open at the sight of Sirabetta’s entire body rippling like a lake in a storm. “No!” Aleadra shouted. She leaned forward and held her hands out, speaking formula after formula. “Stop!” she gasped as the rippling continued.
It was no use; with a burst of white light and a puff of dusty-smelling air, Sirabetta’s body snapped back to her thirteen-year-old self. She dropped down to her knees and wept into her palms, one of which was once again covered with a useless splotch of multicolored ink.
Aleadra placed a hand on the crying girl’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“What happened? Why am I like this again?”
Aleadra exhaled wearily. “I’m not sure.”
“So what do we do now?” Sirabetta whined.
Aleadra sipped some water. “Now we rest a bit. Then we try again and we keep trying until we get it right.”
“Again? How much longer is this going to take?”
“Teenagers today—no patience,” Aleadra said with a cluck of her tongue.
“Don’t patronize me,” Sirabetta said acidly. “After all those years focused on your own life! And then you refused to help me get justice, leaving me to face one punishment after another from the Union—you’re in no position to act superior!”
Aleadra nodded. “You have every right to be angry with me for the past, Sara Beth. But I’m here for you now, and I will do everything I can to help you.”
“My name is Sirabetta!” she shouted. Then her expression and tone softened. “I know you’re trying your best. It’s so hard to be patient; we have to finish before those children get here.” Her features twisted again. “I want Bloom to pay!”
Aleadra took more water and smiled coldly. “Don’t worry, my dear. If they arrive before we’re ready, we have our foot soldiers to greet them. This is my vow: I will make you better, and you will have your justice.”
CHAPTER 33
THE ROAD TO YUCK
The next morning, my Viewing Screen showed me the interior of that mud hut where Simon and his friends were asleep. Minutes ticked by, and they continued to sleep. I checked my wristwatch (official, custom-made for Historical Society Narrators) and considered nipping back to my bedroom for a nap.
Then a squat, rectangular alarm clock went off in the hut, delivering a mild buzzing sensation directly into the bodies of the four sleepers. Each of them sat up, jolted by the unpleasant but very effective alert.
Simon, a bit cranky from having stayed up too late, thought of reaching out for the alarm clock. In response, a gravity arm reached out, coiled around the clock, and smashed it against the far wall.
“Oops,” he said.
“They do shut off automatically once you’re fully awake,” Flangelo said.
They got up, ate, and prepared for what they hoped was the end of the quest.
“Too bad we can’t travel by those pools,” Owen said.
“We’d have to know where we were going,” Flangelo said.
“I do,” Simon said. “I know exactly where.”
“Like I said,” Flangelo chirped, “let’s take the pools.”
“Wait, how do you know?” Alysha asked.
“Yeah, did your powers change in that lake so now you can see the future, or did an octopus come to you while you slept and tell you or what?”
Everyone turned to stare at Owen with mouths agape.
Owen blushed. “What? Is it really so impossible?”
Flangelo and Alysha shrugged in unison; he had a point.
“No. I felt a strange twitch in space-time; something made Sirabetta really stand out. I’m almost positive she’s in the rain forest. Beneath it, maybe.”
“Okay,” Flangelo chirped. “We’ll take a pool to the outskirts of the jungle and explore until we find her.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. It was a map of the pools: a maddening tangle of different colored lines that showed no sense of organization as the routes criss crossed one another.
“You can make sense of that?” Owen asked.
Flangelo looked skyward. “Please. You just have to know how to read it.”
Alysha leaned forward. “I think it’s upside down.”
Flangelo’s cheeks grew red. “I was getting a different perspective.”
“Here,” Simon said. Without looking, he pointed to a spot on the map.
“That’s right!” Flangelo said. “But how . . . ?”
Simon chuckled. “An octopus came to me while I slept.”
“Ha-ha,” Flangelo muttered as he walked to the steering control.
Simon looked away. He didn’t know how he knew. Maybe his contact with the Order of Biology’s Book had forged some sort of connection to the domain.
Flangelo guided the cruiser, gliding across the desert to the transporting pool they needed. It was an isolated spot, far from the border they’d originally crossed and the other mud huts they’d passed.
Flangelo drove the cruiser in a circle around the pool’s unmoving surface, staring out of the large window as he went. He scanned the patches of shallow grass and brittle bushes, checking for any sign of surprise enemies lying in wait.
Finally he parked the cruiser, closed the black box around the steering column, and followed the kids outside. They all flinched from the change in temperature; the dry heat felt almost physical, like standing near a pizza oven. Compared to the climate control in the mud hut, it was awful.
“Okay, you know the drill,” Flangelo said. “One at a time, feetfirst,” he said, directing his stare at Alysha.
She bared her teeth at him and stepped into the pool. Owen carefully followed her, and Simon hopped in after. Flangelo went last and, in an instant, was beside the kids at the outskirts of the jungle region. They were suddenly up to their ankles in thick, moist grass and, worse, sticky humidity.
“Ugh,” Alysha said. “After this, let’s go to one of the cold ecosystems, okay?”
“Focus on the present, squidlings,” Flangelo said, “I suggest you let mini-motormouth do his camouflage trick on you. There are plenty of animals that could attack you in there, and it’s a lot harder to see them coming when you’re in the thick of it.”
“You, too,” Simon said. “If they’re out to get us, they might be after you, too.”
“I suppose I’d rather have chromato-gunk on me than get eaten,” Flangelo said.
They all joined hands and Owen activated his camouflage. Within seconds, his chromatophores spread across them, making them blend in with the air and grass around them. They turned to face the rain forest one hundred yards away.
The trees were very different from those in Dunkerhook Woods. Many had thin, almost white bark, while others had a rough, dark coating on them. Most were tall and some were thick, but they weren’t nearly as massive as Dunkerhook’s. They compensated for their lack of size with attitude, though. Most had their upper branches intertwined in a way that made them look like they were huddling together. Like they were ganging up on someone. It was not a welcoming effect.
Simon made them weightless, and Owen flew them onward; as they got closer, Simon noticed a variety of leaves, including several broad, prehistoric-looking ones poking out in various directions. The vegetation was thick and lush along the border, but that was nothing compared to the top.
“What is that?” Alysha asked. “Nature’s way of saying ‘go away’?”
The dense leaf-coated branches above formed a canopy: an impenetrable-looking roof. “I don’t think we should try to fly through that,” Simon said with a frown. Their camouflage did nothing to hide their scent or the sound they made, and crashing through that canopy would not be quiet.
“Even if we could,” Alysha said, “anything could be waiting in those branches!”
“I’ve seen TV shows about jungles,” Owen said. “There could be apes, monkeys, snakes, leopards. Gigantic spiders. Tiny poisonous frogs.”
“Or bugs,” Alysha said with a shudder.
“And that’s in modern jungles,” Flangelo said. “This one could have beasts and bugs from any time period, all only too happy to try to munch on us. Trust me, you don’t want to meet a prehistoric insect.”
“I can feel Sirabetta in there,” Simon said. “So we have to get in somehow.”
Simon and his friends landed at the edge of the jungle; holding hands to maintain the camouflage, they followed Simon’s lead one by one. Owen came next, then Alysha and Flangelo in the back. With a gentle tugging, Simon guided them toward the least wall-like part of the heavy vegetation at the border.
As he stepped into the biome, Simon was struck by how dark it was. Though the dome’s artificial light source made the morning bright and sunny outside the jungle, the ceiling of branches and layers of leaves allowed only for a dim, gloomy view inside it. Vines and creepers of different thicknesses wrapped around many of the trees. Others hung down from branches, some reaching all the way to the jungle floor.
It was hard to walk without brushing against some type of plant, especially since the group had to keep their hands linked. They moved in a straight line and tried to be as stealthy and alert as possible.
That level of caution was stressful enough, but the atmosphere made things really unpleasant. It was less hot than the desert or the savannah, but the humidity was terrible. The air had a thick, clinging feel that made breathing a labor. Each moment was sweatier than the one before, especially for their clasped palms. Every step was like trying to walk through a wet, stinky sponge.
The stench was ripe and always present: the odor of decay mixed with vibrant life stung the group’s nostrils and tongues. The closest comparison would be to take a few thousand rotten eggs and sprinkle them with a ton of cedar chips. Add in a lot of dead plants, some fresh flowers, and a dash of paprika, and there it was—not quite eau de rain forest, but close enough.
Then there was the noise. Unlike the barren desert they’d just left, the jungle was a thriving ecosystem. Every second provided another sound: a buzzing insect, a croaking frog (often trying to eat a buzzing insect), a squawking bird (sometimes going after a frog), or some sort of mammal. Whether swinging among the trees, ambling along the ground, or dozing on a branch, the mammals didn’t seem interested in trying to eat the birds. They were still pretty loud, though.
The rain forest floor wasn’t sweetening the deal; it was covered in several inches of moist leaves, rotting branches, loose soil, and an assortment of colored molds, mosses, and fungi. Within minutes, the group’s feet and shins were coated in muck.
“Simon, you’d better be right about this,” Alysha whispered. “This is probably the most disgusting thing I’ve had to do.”
“It is for all of us,” Flangelo warbled in a low voice.
“Shhh!” Simon whispered. “We’re supposed to be sneaking!” He used the sleeve of his free arm to mop at the sweat on his forehead, and then he stared past a copse of dark green, ivylike plants. “We’re not too far.”
They went in silence after that, all aware that they were walking toward a deadly enemy and whatever surprises she’d gathered for them. It made them appreciate the muck they walked through; though unpleasant, at least it wasn’t trying to kill them.
For now, they were putting a lot of faith in Owen’s camouflage to give them the element of surprise. Fortunately, the noises their footsteps made were covered by the sounds of the jungle. Unfortunately, they didn’t notice the tracks they were leaving in the rain forest floor as they went.
But anything—or anyone—familiar with the sights and sounds of the jungle would be able to pick them out easily.
CHAPTER 34
ON THE RUN . . .
“That’s it. We’re done here.” Aleadra stood up from her position by the mattress and leaned against the wall of the small chamber.
“Done?” Sirabetta asked, sitting up. She held out her hands. “These are not mine.” She felt her face. “This is not mine.” She smacked a hand against the mattress. “This is the face of a thirteen-year-old girl.” She gingerly touched her nose. “Great—now I’m getting a zit!”
Aleadra wiped her sweaty brow. “Sara Be—, Sirabetta, I’ve turned you back to thirty-three years old again and again. And each time you’ve snapped back to this age. Whatever that boy did to you goes deeper than I can reach. Maybe deeper than anyone can without using the same formula he did. I’ve reached my limits; I can’t restore you.”
“You’ve failed me again, Aleadra. What about my power? My revenge?”
“Perhaps you should focus on your loftier goals. When you started this, you were dead set on fixing the Union. ”
“I can also want revenge, can’t I?” Sirabetta hissed. “But I can’t do anything if I’m stuck like this!” Her raging turned to sobs.
Aleadra knelt stiffly and awkwardly hugged her; Sirabetta flinched at first but soon accepted the embrace. “Step-by-step, you can do what’s necessary to fix this foolish system. And perhaps, along the way, you’ll find the satisfaction you seek, too.”
Sirabetta rose to her feet. She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Maybe you’re right.” She frowned at Aleadra. “What other choice do I have?”
Aleadra shrugged. “Keep your sights on the Book. ”
“Well, then,” Sirabetta said, “there’s only one thing to do. I’ll need to get some new tattoos. Ones that work. Ones that will let me topple those jerks—” She caught herself and frowned. “Those wretches in power.”
She helped the exhausted Aleadra stand. “Someone’s coming,” Sirabetta said.
Krissantha appeared at the entrance to the cramped chamber. Her eyes widened at the sight of Sirabetta’s still-youthful form. “Forgive my interruption, Sir.” She turned to Aleadra. “Madam.” At a nod from Sirabetta, she continued. “I have important news.”
Sirabetta spoke with the commanding tone of her old self; gone was any sense of sorrow or insecurity. “The children are in the jungle and closing in on our position.”
Krissantha’s mouth dropped open. “How—?” She caught herself. “Yes, Sir.”
“We’ve done all we can here,” Sirabetta said. “Krissantha, you and Preto will accompany Aleadra and me on a new mission. I want a force to stay behind to take care of these nuisances. Include that new guy, the one with the exoskeleton.”
Krissantha’s mouth again gaped; nobody had told Sirabetta about the new recruit yet. “Yes, Sir. What are your orders?”
Sirabetta absently rubbed her exposed arms as she considered what she wanted. She’d tried showing them mercy before, and she’d suffered for it. She glanced down at her arms, then her palms. Those children did this to her! They were as guilty as the Council of Sciences and the other Union members who’d imprisoned her and left her to rot. Who’d made the Union intolerable for those who didn’t conform to their rules. These children had caused her plenty of pain and suffering; they deserved the same.
“My orders are to defeat the children and any with them. Do whatever it takes to keep them from coming after us. Except—make sure Simon Bloom is brought to me alive. Bloom and all his possessions. All of them, untouched. Understood?”
Krissantha nodded.
“Good. Wanderby will stay behind and command those who remain. He knows who Bloom is, and he can inform the others.”
“Yes, Sir,” Krissantha said, and she left to pass on the word.
“Are you sure that’s the best plan?” Aleadra asked. “You’re willing to risk them taking the Book for themselves?”
Sirabetta shook her head. “The Book won’t open for them without this.” She held up her palm with the multicolored tattoo on it. “And they don’t know how to get it. But until I get this fixed, the Book won’t open for me either.” She stared at her palm and rubbed at the colors there. “Without my tattoos, I’m useless in this type of fight. Our troops would notice, and that would lessen my hold on them.” She clenched her fists. “No, better to get my powers restored first. That way, I’ll be ready for anything and
everything.”
Even being thirteen and powerless, Sirabetta brimmed with confidence and menace. “Now let’s go. Soon enough, it will be a different universe. Mine.”
AND NOW A WORD FROM MY KEEPER
As Sirabetta and her closest allies began their preparations for leaving and Simon and his group labored through the jungle, my Viewing Screen changed.
An image of the front of Julius Henry Marx Junior High—Simon’s school—appeared. Classes were in session, and aside from the duck-shaped weather vane atop the school making a squeaky revolution from time to time, things were quiet. The front door opened and Miss Fanstrom emerged, briefcase in hand. She leaned against one side of the large concrete archway of the school’s main entrance, took out her notebook computer, and opened it. To my frustration, I could neither see the screen nor tell what she was thinking.
The top of her hair swiveled so that the tip was pointed at the angle from which I watched, miles away. The top of her hair was somehow aimed right between my eyes.
Miss Fanstrom glanced up and met my gaze through my Screen. “Of course you can’t tell what I’m thinking, Mr. Geryson. Who’s the Keeper of whom, after all?”
I gasped. She’d read my mind!
“Mr. Geryson, you read your Chronicle-subjects’ minds all the time. You’d be a rather poor sport to whinge about having it done to you, especially by your Keeper.”
I was too flustered to respond. I found myself wondering how much she knew about me and my Chronicle.
“Quite a bit,” she said. “Now, if you’d like to keep your private thoughts private, perhaps you should speak aloud rather than think to yourself all the time.”
That did seem to make sense. “I mean, that makes sense,” I said aloud. “But Miss Fanstrom . . . what are you doing?”
“Monitoring your Chronicle along with you.” She tapped the computer.
I was flabbergasted. Surely there were numerous Narrators at work across the world, yet she was focused on me?
The Octopus Effect Page 17
