Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo

  The large, happy taxi driver seemed to be enjoying the unusual trip across his country. He laughed and smiled as he listened to French music and sang. Shortly before reaching the German border, he pulled off the road and helped Winter and Leven into the trunk of his cab. He acted as though he might have done this before.

  “No talking,” he said, right before he slammed the trunk closed.

  “I hope this works,” Leven whispered, scrunched up against Winter in the dark trunk.

  “Me, too,” Winter replied.

  Geth was tempted to say something positive, but he wisely stopped himself.

  It was incredibly warm in the trunk of the cab. It was also obvious, from the stench, that the taxi driver had carried many rank and odorous things in there before. The floor of the trunk was covered with a fuzzy material and worn in spots like knee holes in trousers. Winter hated it, but Leven couldn’t help being lulled to sleep by the steady hum of the tires and the darkness. He had stayed awake as long as he could. Winter kicked and pinched him, but the trunk provided insufficient room for her to really get at him.

  “Lev,” she begged, “please don’t go to sleep.”

  “Just for a second,” he pleaded.

  “Leven,” Geth said authoritatively. “You must stay awake.”

  “Sleepy,” Leven mumbled. “Very sleepy.”

  He was beginning to drift off when the taxi started to slow down just outside of Strasbourg, France.

  “We’re stopping,” Winter hissed.

  Leven opened his eyes. As tired as he was, he knew they were probably crossing the border of France into Germany. He also knew that if the border patrol opened the trunk, they were all done for.

  “Be really quiet,” Geth whispered.

  They could hear their driver get out and slam his door. He said something loud, in French. He laughed and another voice responded back to him. They could hear the sound of keys rattling, and suddenly the trunk popped open. Light flooded in. Leven and Winter laid there staring up at the driver. He was looking in another direction and motioning to someone to come and check the trunk if they really wanted to.

  Leven and Winter stayed perfectly still.

  The border guard said something, and the driver shrugged and closed the trunk. He called out something loud in French and got back into the car and slammed the door. The engine roared to life, and they pulled forward.

  Leven and Winter finally breathed.

  “That was too close,” Leven said, his heart still racing.

  “So, we’re in Germany?” Winter asked, obviously short of breath herself.

  “I hope so,” Geth answered. “We are running out of time. In a short while the lake’s temperature will change, and we will have to wait two months to return to Foo. That’s the very next time the temperature will be right.”

  “Two months?” Leven moaned. “What do we do until then?”

  “If we don’t make it back now, it’s over,” Geth said. “Sabine’s shadows are too strong. You won’t last another week with them knowing about you. We have to succeed now.”

  “We will, won’t we?’ Winter asked urgently. “I mean, fate will make it happen, won’t it?”

  “Fate might have something else in mind for us,” Geth answered honestly. “We’ve done our part.”

  “Great,” Leven lamented, his right arm asleep in the cramped quarters. He was actually jealous of the sleeping limb. “Now that we are nearing the finish line, you’re admitting that fate isn’t the answer to everything?”

  Geth was wise enough not to answer. Winter remained quiet as well. Her head throbbing, she could feel both the ending and Sabine drawing nearer.

  iii

  Clover was too curious for his own good. He loved looking in places he knew he shouldn’t. It was a trait shared by most sycophants. So, when he saw the locked door with the big man in front of it at the bottom of the boat, he couldn’t resist taking a peek.

  He had waited and waited until the captain came down and unlocked the door. Clover slipped in with him. The room they had entered was small, with no windows or vents, which made it extremely stuffy. Two metal cabinets sat closed against the far wall. The captain opened one of the cabinets while singing a song in French.

  Clover gasped.

  The captain quickly looked around to see if someone was in the room with him. When he was satisfied he was alone, he shrugged and continued to open the cabinet doors.

  Clover’s gasping was called for. The cabinet shelves were piled with jewelry, coins, cups, shields, and other objects made of gold. It was clear to Clover that these men weren’t fishermen afraid of being caught—they were treasure hunters afraid of being caught.

  Clover was captivated by the glitter. He stared at it in awe, wishing he could materialize and touch it. The captain closed and locked the cabinet doors and left the room still singing. Clover could have followed, but he wanted another look at the gold.

  Once he was alone in the room, Clover messed with the locks on the cabinets, but he couldn’t get them to open. He pushed and pulled to no avail. With no other option, he decided it might be best to just let it be. He needed to get out and find Leven. Unfortunately, the door to the small room was locked. He banged and banged, but the walls were too thick for anyone to hear him.

  Taking a page out of Geth’s book, Clover just lay back and decided to let fate take care of him. After half an hour of waiting for fate to do something, Clover fell asleep, and by the time he woke up the boat had already been back out to sea for an hour.

  “I bet they’re just sick about me coming up missing,” Clover said to himself, thinking of Leven and Winter and Geth.

  A key finally sounded in the door. Clover stood invisible in the middle of the room as the captain came back in whistling. He walked to one of the cabinets and opened it up. It too was full of gold and jewels and all kinds of sparkling things that sycophants are so fond of.

  Clover pulled a pout from his void and looked at it in his hand. Pouts are small, bumpy, stone-like creatures. They are the texture of wet clay, with their only real feature being a tiny, wrinkled hole on the top of them. Pouts are native to the Swollen Forest. They are shy little things that are almost impossible to find and catch unless you accidentally step on one and cause it to begin pouting. Clover had found this particular one years before when he inadvertently sat on it. He had tucked it away in his void for just such an occasion.

  Clover set the pout on the floor behind the captain’s back. He closed his eyes, whispered an apology, and then kicked the poor little creature as hard as he could. The pout flew up against the wall and fell down between the desk and the wall. It instantly began to pout, filling the room with the sound of sniveling.

  The captain immediately turned to locate the source of the noise. As he did so, Clover slipped into the cabinet, picked out a couple of nice pieces of treasure, and shoved them into his void. Invisible, he rolled under the desk, pushed his skinny arm up behind it, and retrieved the pout. He shoved it back into his void just before the captain pulled the desk away from the wall. The sniveling immediately stopped and, finding nothing, the captain stood there scratching his head and wondering if he had gone crazy.

  Clover dashed from the room and climbed the stairs to the open deck. He was surprised to not see any land. The sea was blue, and a cool wind filled his tiny nostrils with the smell of saltwater. A small boat roared up alongside the big boat Clover was on. In the little boat was a short, orange-haired man.

  “I think this is the spot,” the man yelled up to some crew members. “I’m getting positive readings.”

  “Perfect,” a tall, dark man standing near Clover yelled back. “Let’s get the gear and get down there.”

  The short man with the fiery hair left the engine of his little boat running and put his foot on a ladder, preparing to climb up to the deck of the bigger boat. At that exact moment the engine of the small boat he was still halfway balanced on suddenly roared and the craft shot ahead.

/>   As his boat pulled away, the astonished man was dumped into the water. The crew of the bigger ship hollered as the seemingly empty little boat made a broad turn away from them and headed toward the French coastline. Their hollering did little good as the boat continued to speed farther away.

  Clover smiled as he skillfully captained his first vessel. He turned and looked back at the men still hollering, then faced France and joyfully pushed the throttle down for more speed.

  iv

  The black French taxi stopped at a park just outside of Munich, Germany. The fat, friendly driver took all the money Leven handed him and then gave him a few bills back.

  “For food,” he said in broken English. “One must eat.” He smiled, patted his stomach, and then drove off.

  “What now?” Leven asked Geth.

  “We need to get to the town of Berchtesgaden,” Geth answered. “Our destination’s not far from there.”

  “Can’t I just sleep for a few minutes?” Leven begged, eyeing a large patch of grass.

  “No,” Winter insisted.

  “What about Clover?” Leven tried. “Shouldn’t we just lie here and wait for him?”

  “Our time is almost up,” Geth said. “We need to keep moving.”

  Winter took Leven’s elbow and helped pull him down the street to a train depot.

  The train station was large. Inside the depot, huge posters written in German hung on all the walls. Tall tiled columns and long wooden benches occupied the center of the large, open building. A short man was busy mopping the floor in front of the escalator going down to the trains.

  “I can’t stay awake anymore,” Leven moaned. “I’m falling asleep on my feet.”

  “Just a little while longer,” Geth begged. “This is the last place we want Sabine to know we are.”

  They stopped and counted the few bills they had left.

  “I have no idea how much this is,” Winter confessed, staring at the Euro money. “It could be ten dollars or ten thousand.”

  “Just go to that window,” Leven pointed. “Ask the man for tickets to Berchtesgaden and see what he says. I’ll be sitting right here.”

  Winter sighed, folded the money into her palm, and approached the ticket booth. Leven sat down on the long wooden bench and tried to keep his eyes open.

  “Stay awake,” Geth warned.

  “I will,” Leven slurred.

  As she waited in line, Winter glanced back at Leven and could see him fighting to keep his eyes open. She waved to him but he was too glazed over to notice her.

  “Guten tag,” the man at the window said, letting Winter know she was next.

  Winter stepped up to the booth, trying not to look too nervous.

  “Do you speak English?” she asked.

  “Yes,” the man replied coldly. “How may I help?”

  “I would like two tickets to Berchtesgaden,” she said firmly.

  He punched a few buttons on his computer and tapped his fingers. Winter tried not to let her anxiety show, but she knew if the man asked to see her passport she would be caught. She was purchasing tickets to a destination within the country, but she wondered if he might ask to see her papers anyway.

  Winter smiled and tried to look at ease as he typed.

  “Two tickets to Berchtesgaden,” he said, pulling the tickets up.

  Winter felt great relief at simply seeing the tickets.

  He told her the cost and held his hand out, waiting. Winter slid all the money she had through the slot at the bottom of the window.

  “I’m not good with your money,” she apologized.

  He looked at the bills. “It is not enough,” he declared.

  Winter felt like crying. Her head had been aching for hours, and she was almost as tired as Leven. She wanted desperately to tell the impatient man behind the glass that she was homeless and had been chased by big clumps of land and eaten by a snake. She wanted to describe to him the fear she had felt as they had driven across the Atlantic Ocean and how uncomfortable she had been, both as a swollen girl with foam spewing out of her mouth and as a deflated girl trapped in the trunk of a taxi. She wanted to tell him about Sabine and how frightened she was. She knew once he had some idea what she had gone through he would simply hand her the tickets, and she could be on her way to the finish line.

  But of course she couldn’t tell him.

  The German ticket master looked at her in confusion. “Are you all right?” he asked sharply.

  “I’m fine,” Winter lied, wiping her eyes and reaching through the slot to take her money back.

  He didn’t buy it. “May I see your papers?” he asked, grabbing her hand as she reached in.

  “That’s all right,” Winter panicked. “I just need to go recount what I have.”

  “Your papers please,” he said more firmly, squeezing her fingers tightly.

  Winter was in trouble.

  v

  Leven simply could not stay awake any longer. His head bobbed and his eyelids felt like they weighed two hundred pounds apiece. He could barely see Winter off in the distance at the ticket window, and he wasn’t sure if she was a dream or reality. He closed his brown eyes and that was it.

  He was out.

  Geth heard the snoring and instantly started poking Leven. Geth pulled his legs together to give him a sharper form and began jabbing Leven as quickly as he could. He climbed up Leven’s face and pushed up his right eyelid. Leven gazed at him as if in a trance. He was completely checked out.

  “Wake up!” Geth ordered. “Leven, wake up!”

  It was no use. Leven slouched over in his seat and slid down on the bench, snoring with his face in the wood. He began to drool.

  “Leven,” Geth begged. “Get up.” Geth thought of Winter and pulled himself up to see if he could spot her. She was still at the ticket booth, talking to a man behind the glass.

  “Winter,” Geth whispered, knowing his voice would never be heard above the noise of the train station. “Winter.”

  They were in big trouble.

  vi

  Sabine’s shadows were confused. One moment they were under control and being driven by the very master they had desired to escape. Now, they could feel no pull. Sabine’s departure into reality had cut them all off and left them to be their own beings. They were now free to do as they chose. Of course, shadows aren’t the greatest free thinkers. All they knew was their command to find Leven Thumps. They flew around the earth wild and free, making whatever mischief they wished, happier than they had ever been, and still searching for Leven. Freed from Sabine, their forms became bulky, filling with air and dimension as they swirled wildly. They were no longer only two-dimensional, and they found themselves able to touch and destroy things in ways they had never been able to before. Soon after they were freed, sleep finally overtook Leven, and his location immediately became known to the shadows. Normally they would have reported back and been given instruction by Sabine. But with no master controlling them, they knew only one thing to do.

  They needed to get Leven.

  vii

  “Your papers, Miss,” the German man insisted for the last time. “I must see your papers.” He was hurting her hand.

  Winter panicked and turned toward Leven just in time to see thousands of shadows pulsing though the windows and doors of the train station. They looked like black waters flooding the entire place. She screamed, jerked her hand free, and ran toward Leven.

  The small German behind the glass signaled two guards standing nearby and they moved toward Winter. She had already reached the bench where Leven was asleep in a pool of his own drool. She glanced over her shoulder and could see the two guards walking quickly toward her. She could also see about ten thousand black swatches of evil swooping through the station. The shadows began knocking down people and tipping over trash cans and tearing down signs. Papers were flying all over the station and people were screaming in terror.

  Of course, people weren’t absolutely sure what they were screaming
at. With no connection to Foo, people were unable to see the shadows, only the effect they were having as they flew joyfully through the depot, discovering the thrill of having no master other than their own will. Who knew how satisfying it could be to swoop up behind an unsuspecting person and knock him off his feet? Or what about the great thrill of snatching the wig off an important- looking woman and terrorizing her poodle?

  The shadows went wild, all of them swirling and working their way toward Leven.

  The two guards who had been after Winter turned their attention instead to the hysterical crowd. The taller of the two guards was suddenly picked up as if riding on a horse. He was lifted to the high ceiling and dumped with precision into the large fountain in the middle of the room.

  “Lev, wake up!” Winter screamed. “Get up!”

  Leven stirred, mainly because the whole station was in utter chaos and sounded a bit like a bomb going off in slow motion.

  “Run!” Winter yelled, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him to his feet. He had been standing for no more than a couple of seconds when a huge shadow slammed into him from behind and sent him sprawling face-first across the tile floor. Leven knocked over at least ten people before he came to a stop. He looked up to see Winter soaring across the room on the backs of two shadows, her hair flying wildly about and her eyes as big as dinner plates.

  As Leven tried to stand, hundreds of shadows leaped on him and pushed him down. He kicked and hit, but they just kept piling on top of him.

  “Help me, Geth!” Leven screamed in desperation.

  “There’s too many!” Geth yelled back, trying to work himself out of Leven’s pocket.

  Leven slammed his fist into a shadow and it dispersed. No sooner had that one gone than hundreds more jumped at his wrists, pinning him to the floor. Leven kicked and bucked with his legs, but there were just too many.

  Meanwhile, Winter was being bounced across a crowd of shadows, like a beach ball above a crowd of concertgoers. She flew up and down, up and down, and was becoming sick to her stomach. Tiring of the game, a cruel shadow seized Winter by the ankles, spun her around, and let go of her. She flew across the depot and might well have been seriously hurt had it not been for a group of twelve large women heading to Innsbruck for a quilting convention. Their fat bags of quilting material as well as the extra pounds they were carrying around made for a rather awkward (but soft) landing.