Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo

“Where is he?” Lilly asked.

  “I don’t believe it,” Geth said, kneeling next to the stump.

  “He soaked in?” Phoebe asked innocently.

  “He’s gone,” Geth said sadly.

  “That’s a good thing, right?” Lilly asked.

  “I don’t know,” Geth answered honestly.

  Winter put her hand on Geth’s back and rubbed it as the rain picked up. The small bits of green nail polish ran off the stump, followed by the purple tassel. All that was left was the bent paper clip. Winter picked it up and put it in her pocket.

  It is only appropriate to point out that, despite his anger and hatred, Ezra had done his bit to fight for Foo. His life was also a fantastic reminder that even the smallest bit of anger can cause damage and unnecessary drama in our lives.

  “It’s getting close,” Geth said seriously. “I have been alive for a long time and I’m not sure I ever thought this time would come.”

  They all just stood there getting wetter and wetter and staring at the stump. They might very well have stood there all day if it had not been for the loud cracking noise that shot through the air and shook the ground.

  Geth and Phoebe fell down.

  “Look,” Winter yelled, pointing at the stump. “Look.”

  Geth and Phoebe watched the stump as it raised up two feet into the air.

  “Is that because of Ezra?” Phoebe asked.

  “Leven’s knocking,” Geth smiled. “Are you two—”

  Lilly cleared her throat.

  “Excuse me,” Geth said. “Are you three ready?”

  Nobody answered; they just stared at the stump, waiting. Had they turned around and looked all the way down the road back toward the entrance to the mobile home park, they might have been able to see long strands of black shoot up into the air and pull Dooley Hornbackle down into the soil.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Outta Whack

  “Get up,” Clover pleaded.

  Leven just lay there on the ground, his body completely limp and his arms spread to his sides. The axe he had hit the tree with was lying on the ground next to him. Clover looked at the damage the chop had done. There was a good-sized gash in the trunk of the tree. Frond was rubbing something on the gash and crying.

  “Get up,” Clover yelled to Leven.

  “He’s probably dead,” Frond said coldly.

  “He’s not dead,” Clover replied, flashing his claws.

  Foo rumbled and the oldest tree’s branches shook and trembled. It moaned and creaked.

  “What did it say?” Clover asked.

  “It said to get out of here,” Frond answered.

  The tree bonked Frond on the head.

  “I’m trying to save you,” Frond told the tree.

  Leven mumbled and began to stir. He rolled over onto his right side and opened his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” Clover asked.

  “Ouch,” was all Leven could answer.

  “You can lie there for a bit,” Clover said. “But I’m kind of worried we’re running out of time.”

  Leven sat up. “How long have I been out?”

  “Just a few minutes,” Clover answered.

  Leven saw the axe lying there and looked at the tree.

  “You didn’t tell me it would hurt so much,” Leven said to Frond. “I feel like a giant bruise.”

  “I was hoping you weren’t the one,” Frond said. “A normal person wouldn’t have felt anything.”

  “Well, then, let’s get a normal person to chop the tree down,” Leven insisted.

  “I tried to stop you,” Frond said hotly. “I warned you. Now leave.”

  Leven stood up and dusted off his palms on the legs of his pants. He looked down at the axe and nonchalantly reached out his hand. The axe lifted from the ground and flew to his hand.

  Leven was as surprised as the rest of them.

  “I couldn’t do that before,” Leven said as a strong wind began to tear at the outside walls of the monastery. It sounded as if the wind wanted desperately to get into the courtyard.

  “What are you doing with that axe?” Frond demanded.

  Leven stepped up to the tree and winced. Frond looked as if he were going to pounce, but Clover proudly flashed his claws.

  “This is the only way,” Leven said. He pulled the axe back and, with twice the force of before, he swung at the tree.

  There were more sparks as the metal sank deep into the tree’s trunk. Leven fell to the ground on his knees, screaming. He arched his back, howling into the air like a wounded coyote. His body lurched and trembled and he fell forward onto his stomach.

  Time stopped momentarily, and then the sun rolled completely across the sky and the wind tore harder at the monastery walls—wood beams and mortar were being pulled away and dropped down into the gorge Leven had crossed. The ground shook and the oldest tree quivered spastically.

  “Leven’s not going to make it,” Frond screamed. “He’ll be dead by the fourth whack.”

  “You don’t know him like I do,” Clover argued.

  “I don’t care how well you know him,” Frond said. “You will still have a dead burn. Think about it. You want to kill him?”

  Clover knelt down by Leven’s head and gently shook his shoulders.

  “Come on,” Clover whispered. “Get up.”

  Clover pulled a leather bladder from his void and unscrewed the top of it. He poured water onto the right side of Leven’s face, drowning his right ear and hair.

  Leven coughed and sputtered like a dying engine; then his eyes flashed open. He lifted his head and looked at the tree. The gash was bigger, but the tree was still standing.

  “Shoot,” Leven complained. “How many was that?”

  “Two,” Clover answered.

  Leven moaned like the wind. He lay on the ground with his face in the soil and then pushed himself up and back onto his knees, groaning. He looked at the axe and raised his hand again. The axe floated nicely into his grip.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Frond argued.

  “You said I did,” Leven replied, not fully paying attention to the desperate sycophant.

  “It was the tree,” Frond yelled. “He’s old and he’s not thinking . . .”

  The wounded tree still had the strength to smack Frond.

  Leven looked at the axe and shivered. He could see his reflection in the metal and was surprised how wounded his eyes looked.

  “What are you waiting for?” Clover asked as the wind howled outside the courtyard.

  “It hurts,” Leven said honestly.

  “What good things don’t?” Clover pointed out.

  Leven looked at Clover. “You’re amazing.”

  Clover blushed and jumped onto Leven’s right shoulder. “Well, I figure this is that part you were talking about where I save everyone. I know sycophants are supposed to listen and take orders, but I’m telling you to hit that tree.”

  Leven smiled as best he could and then swung. The axe hit its mark and sent every nerve ending in Leven’s body into a spastic convulsion. Leven stood there shaking as if he were a cartoon character who had foolishly put his finger into a light switch. His hair smoldered and his chest flexed violently. He tried to say something but instead tipped backwards wordlessly, falling to the ground.

  Frond looked at the deepening gash in the tree. He picked up some of the chunks of wood that had been chopped out and frantically tried to put them back in the cut.

  “Are you happy?” Frond screamed at Clover.

  Clover just stood there looking at Leven as he was lying on the ground. Clover had only belonged to two beings: first Antsel and then Leven. And, to be honest, as much as he had loved Antsel, he now cared for Leven ten times more. Clover looked at Leven as he lay there and couldn’t decide if he should cry or be angry.

  On the other side of the monastery the island of Alder was drifting toward Morfit, creating new mountains and rivers and flooding once-dry shores. The Waves of the Lime Sea had b
egun to retreat to the Green Pond, and the animals that populated Foo were losing their minds. Avalands were driving themselves into the seas; onicks were attacking nits and cogs; and the Cinder Depression was rising like a mountain.

  The ground shook and Clover jiggled.

  “What kind of sycophant lets his burn die?” Frond hollered, still trying to patch up the tree.

  Clover’s mind was a mess. He kept trying to think of the things he had been taught, hoping they would help him know what he should do. He remembered his mother telling him that he would do great things, and his father reminding him that “without sycophants, Foo would fall.” But Clover couldn’t decide if he would be best serving Foo by stopping Leven or by keeping him going.

  Leven sat up and looked around. He looked like a kid who had just been awakened from a long nap and now had no idea where he was.

  Frond swore.

  “Are you okay?” Clover asked.

  “No,” Leven mumbled. “My head feels like it isn’t even attached.”

  Clover looked Leven over. “It is.”

  Leven could barely lift his arms and he had to sit still for a while before his legs would work again.

  “This might kill me,” Leven said groggily.

  “Frond said it would,” Clover reminded him.

  “I wish Winter was here,” Leven slurred. “I think I’m in love with her.”

  “That’s great,” Clover said, trying to prop Leven up.

  “Don’t you care if I die?” Leven asked.

  Clover stared at him. “Of course. But there are worse things than death.”

  Leven stood up and reached for the axe. It flew to him again. “It’s a pity. I would have liked to have lived with this ability for a while.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Clover agreed.

  Leven stumbled forward and struck the tree for the fourth time.

  ii

  The stump continued to rise. Long shoots shot from the sides of it and up into the air. The roots beneath the stump began to churn and burrow.

  “What’s happening?” Winter asked.

  “Leven’s doing it,” Geth said. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Doing what?” Phoebe asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  An older couple who had been across the street rummaging through their ruined home stopped to look at the rising stump. The woman pointed and the man fell to the dirt. Two seconds later she joined him.

  “People are dropping off,” Geth said needlessly.

  In the far distance, an entire mountain range moved across their view. The old people who had just fallen were sucked into the soil by long strands of black.

  “Shouldn’t we be standing on stone or something?” Winter asked.

  “It’s too late for that,” Geth said. “The Dearth’s reach is as wide as the world.”

  Hail fell from the clear sky, pelting them on the head.

  “So we just stare at this stump?”

  “Remember what Leven said,” Geth said seriously.

  “Leven’s said a lot of things,” Winter pointed out.

  Geth smiled. “In the end you might save us all.”

  Lilly stroked Winter’s hair.

  “How?” Winter questioned. “By staring at this stump?”

  There was a tremendous rap, and the stump shot up two more feet. The sun circled around the earth and Phoebe fell to the ground. Geth ran to her and knelt beside her. He laid her head in his lap.

  “Phoebe,” he said calmly, “are you there?”

  Phoebe just lay there looking as beautiful as ever. Her white skin glowed and her body trembled slightly.

  “She’s going,” Geth said. “Going . . .”

  Her body began to fade and then pulsate. Winter tried to pull on her arms and stop it from happening, but Geth did nothing.

  In less than a few seconds Phoebe’s body blinked and then was gone.

  Winter looked at Geth in disgust.

  “What?” Geth asked.

  “You didn’t do anything!”

  “There’s no way to stop it.”

  “How romantic,” Winter snapped. “She loved you.”

  “I love her,” Geth said coolly.

  Winter couldn’t decide if she should slap or punch Geth. She went with punch. Geth stumbled back and grabbed his chin where she had struck.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “Way to fight for her,” Winter growled.

  “You know I have fought for a lot of things in my life,” Geth said kindly. “And I would have held onto Phoebe forever if I believed it would help, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. What will make the difference is Leven.”

  “I don’t understand,” Winter said, trying not to cry.

  “You will shortly,” Geth said. “And you will help Leven restore everything as it should be. I’ll see Phoebe again, and you’ll get a chance to give her a hard time about how beautiful she is.”

  “She was overly attractive,” Winter complained.

  Geth smiled. “This is it. Now, if it had been you who was taken, I would be worried.”

  “Really?”

  “There’s nobody I’d rather have here as fate’s about to mess with us.”

  Winter straightened her shoulders.

  “So you love Phoebe?” Winter said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Very much,” Geth replied. “And she told me how you felt about Leven.”

  Winter’s green eyes burned. “I’m almost glad she’s gone for the moment.”

  Geth smiled as the stump shot up three more feet.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Your Name Here

  It took more than twenty minutes for Leven to come to. In that time the back half of the far monastery wall had been torn apart by wind, the moon had passed over twice, and Frond had fetched some dark herbs and was rubbing them on the tree.

  Leven got up on his hands and knees and threw up. Thunder above roared, calling him a wuss, and he shook his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  With Clover’s help he was finally able to stand.

  “Stop this madness,” Frond pleaded.

  “I’m trying to,” Leven replied. He stuck out his hand, and as the axe flew to him he strode and used the forward motion to chop the tree once more.

  The tree moaned and shivered as Leven collapsed against it. Frond began kicking Leven and Clover jumped over to take a swipe at him. Frond fell to the ground. Before he could hop back up, Clover was wrapping a long rope around him.

  “What are you doing?” Frond frothed.

  Clover bound Frond like Gulliver and then tied the rope off tightly. Frond sat on the soil crying and pleading.

  “You don’t care?” Frond asked.

  “Oh, I care,” Clover replied. “Wait . . . about what?”

  “Can’t you see what’s happening?” Frond said. “Foo is trying to cleanse itself of every nit that ever stepped in here. It’ll be just us.”

  “You and me?” Clover asked awkwardly.

  “Not just us,” Frond said. “We sycophants. Never will we have to take an order from a nit again. No more fighting over the right to serve. Just us. No stupid commands or selfish wishes. Just us.”

  “You said ‘just us’ four times,” Clover pointed out.

  “Well, I meant it five,” Frond argued, fighting at the ropes that bound him.

  Clover looked at Leven as he lay collapsed against the tree. “So why do you want to save the tree? It looks like it gives you a lot of orders.”

  “Don’t be a child,” Frond said. “The tree keeps things as they are. It guarantees our comfort.”

  “Foo’s falling apart,” Clover said.

  “And the tree pins us down,” Frond said. “As everything is blown away and destroyed, we sycophants will live on.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that.”

  “Then you’re a fool.”

  “Don’t call Clover a fool,” Leven insisted. He pushed himself
up against the tree and stood straight. His mind was confused. “Do you think Winter will call me?”

  Clover stared at Leven. “Um, maybe you should just work on the tree.”

  “What tree?”

  “The one you’re leaning against.”

  Leven looked at the tree and winced. “Where’s Geth?”

  “Waiting for you,” Clover answered, handing Leven the axe.

  Leven looked at it and began to shake. His legs and arms cracked and burned like dry wood.

  “Leave now,” Frond said.

  “Just let me finish one thing,” Leven said. He bent his knees and put his whole body into it, swinging the axe as if it were a baseball bat and this were the one chance he had to win the game. The axe sunk into the trunk ten inches and a wedge of wood the size of a toaster tumbled out, surrounded by sparks. Leven dropped the axe and put his head in his hands. The wind seemed to stop and then go in reverse, pulling all daylight with it. Instantly the monastery was filled with people, all looking out the windows and pointing toward the tree. The scene wound further back and the monastery buildings were being erected by thousands of cogs.

  Leven screamed, tearing at his own face and beginning to weep. The scenery around him stopped moving and the half-built monastery sat there empty. For the first time in many years, wind blew in from the sides and pushed through the oldest tree’s branches. The leaves of the tree turned all different colors and then one by one flew off into the distance.

  “Don’t let him die,” Frond begged.

  “I don’t care about the tree,” Clover said, jumping up onto Leven’s shoulder and gently patting the back of Leven’s head.

  “I wasn’t talking about the tree,” Frond said. “Lead Leven away—let him live.”

  Clover looked at Leven and cocked his head. “Had enough?”

  “No way.”

  The axe flew into Leven’s hands and he swung once more, driving the head of the axe a foot into the trunk. Then before his body could register the pain he yanked the axe back and swung again.

  The tree seemed to scream as a piece of it the size of a basketball flew out. Leven fell to the ground unconscious as time ran backwards and the monastery buildings completely disappeared.

  Chapter Forty-Five