Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo

“Amazing.”

  A gigantic bolt of lightning flashed from below, just missing Leven’s feet.

  “We should get out of here,” Clover said needlessly.

  Leven dug his heels into the onick, guiding the beast upward through the maze of air.

  Fissure Gorge belched again, helping to push Leven and Clover into the open sky above the gorge.

  The cool air felt wonderful on Leven’s face.

  “Back!” Leven commanded the onick.

  The onick instantly agreed, flying them safely to the other side of the gorge and one step closer to Winter.

  “You were smart to follow fate,” Geth said.

  Leven only smiled.

  Once above land, the tireless onick glided to the ground, retracted its wings, and began running again at its familiar astonishing speed. Leven couldn’t resist patting the beast on its head. Once again it snapped at him.

  “Some people never learn,” Clover shouted, so as to be heard above the rush of air. “The onicks are loyal to the passengers on their backs, but they don’t like to be reminded that they’ve helped someone out.”

  “What an amazing creature,” Leven yelled back.

  With that, Leven tucked his head behind the onick’s shoulder blades as they raced toward Morfit.

  The afternoon was deepening. Purple sky pushed against the yellow horizon, giving the world of Foo a thick green cast. A milky stream of whisps passed in front of the dipping sun and caused the entire scene to shimmer. Leven thought of Janet and hoped she was all right.

  “How much farther?” Leven asked Geth, raising his voice above the swish of the passing air.

  “We’ve got a bit of a ride still,” Geth answered. “But we should be able to see the tip of Morfit soon.”

  “I hope Winter’s all right,” Leven yelled.

  “You know, this all could be a trap,” Clover pointed out.

  “I’m sure it is,” Leven said quickly. “But we’ll let fate take care of that.”

  Geth smiled.

  “Besides,” Leven added, “we have—”

  Leven was unable to finish what he was saying, due to a heavy jolt of energy ripping through the air and striking him squarely in the chest. The impact sizzled, sending pain to every inch of his body and causing the key hanging beneath his shirt to burn his skin. The shock went through Leven and into the onick. The beast’s legs were knocked out from under it, and it began to roll, throwing Leven off and even farther down the road.

  Dirt and pebbles rained down as they both skidded to a stop. Dazed, Leven coughed and spat as he pushed himself into a sitting position. The poor onick got to its feet, shaken and limping.

  Clover tried to comfort Leven as he sat on the ground.

  “What happened?” Clover asked.

  “I don’t . . .”

  Again Leven was cut off, an invisible bolt of energy tearing through the air and slamming into his back. Leven was thrown forward ten feet and landed on his face on the ground.

  “What’s going on?” Geth yelled.

  Before Leven could answer, he was struck again, this time directly in the heart. Leven clutched his chest, moaning and writhing in pain on his back on the ground. Clover came to him.

  “I don’t know what you—” the little sycophant began.

  Leven opened his eyes, shutting Clover up. Never had Leven’s eyes burned so gold. It looked as if fire were leaping from them.

  Clover reared back.

  “Wow,” Geth whispered.

  Although she was not there, all of a sudden Leven could see Winter. Her face was pressed flat against a dirt floor. There was darkness all around, and she was screaming.

  Leven got to his feet and looked in the direction of Morfit. With clenched fists and his eyes ablaze, he began to viciously manipulate fate.

  Clover’s knees were shaking from the intensity of Leven’s actions. The sky pulsated, beating out the light for the day, while Leven’s gaze stretched farther into the dusk. Leven raised his hands and closed his eyes.

  “Winter,” he whispered fiercely, seeing her in his mind. He could also see a tall, hooded, two-sided being standing over her.

  Leven held out his arms and directed his energy toward Morfit.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Stolen

  Jamoon pushed Winter to the ground with his right arm, relishing the delight of being seemingly unbeatable—as long as Winter was without her gift.

  “Give up,” he hissed.

  Winter reached out at Jamoon and scratched his arm until she drew blood. He screamed angrily and let her go. While Jamoon was looking at the scratch marks, the decaying nihils circled around him, waiting for their next order.

  With Jamoon distracted, Winter glanced around the room. She spotted the kilve she had once carried. It was leaning up against the wall, and she dashed across the room and grabbed it. In one swift motion she turned and struck Jamoon on the right shoulder with the heavy staff. Jamoon dropped to one knee, and his dark nihils began to screech.

  Winter wheeled toward the door. The roven in the corner stretched its wings, blocking the exit, and the nihils swarmed around her, pecking at her skin with their beaks. The pain drove Winter to her knees.

  Jamoon was back up. He parted the nihils and grabbed Winter by one of her pigtails. He pulled and his grip stretched every feature on Winter’s face and made it hard for her to breathe.

  Jamoon mocked her as she struggled. “Not much of a fighter without your gift,” he sneered. “How wonderful it is that now you can die.”

  “What about the plan?” Winter gasped, hoping to catch Jamoon off guard by being honest.

  “What plan?” Jamoon asked, glaring into her green eyes.

  “The one you whispered about to me in the ice caves.”

  “You mean your plan?” he asked coolly.

  “My plan?” Winter choked.

  “You really can’t remember, can you?” Jamoon laughed. “Look around you. Doesn’t this room mean anything to you?”

  Winter looked around, confused. “No.”

  Jamoon’s grip tightened. “You were so different then. Young, but not as young, and so willing to help make Foo a better place. Fool.”

  “I don’t understand,” Winter gasped.

  “Don’t you remember what you did up here? The experiments, the use of metal? You walked right into it. So willing to break the rules in an effort to help the common cog—such an idealist. Those poor souls who have no gift,” Jamoon taunted. “And you just wanted to find a way to give them one. That’s when you dreamed up this room.”

  Winter winced as Jamoon pulled even harder on her hair. The nihils chirped sadistically as the candles on the wall increased their flame, brightly lighting the room. Winter looked closer at her surroundings. The walls were white and tiled. Along two of the walls were large ceramic hooks. Beneath the hooks were tables covered in sheets made from white feathers. Behind Jamoon, there was a mechanical-looking contraption.

  The machine looked familiar.

  “It’s such a sad thing when a nit dies,” Jamoon went on. “Such a sad, sad thing—a life and a gift gone for good. Fewer dreams can be enhanced in a powerful way. Yet, even when dying nits wish to transfer their gifts, they can’t. Or should I say, they couldn’t.”

  “So you’re extracting gifts?” Winter gasped.

  “Unsuccessfully, until we found you,” Jamoon laughed.

  Winter began to cry as small bits and pieces of what had actually happened came back to her.

  “You had just the right brain to solve such a complex and taboo problem,” Jamoon exulted. “You wanted so desperately to help, and Sabine was happy to let you. You figured out how to do everything we needed. With the ability to possess multiple gifts, we could conquer Reality easily. Of course, we needed the gateway to get there, and its destruction was a depressing blow. But, thanks to your fate and what remains of Sabine, I believe we have hands working in Reality to rebuild the gateway. There is only one person who can ruin thin
gs now.”

  “The Want?” Winter guessed sadly, fear almost suffocating her.

  “That fool,” Jamoon hissed angrily. “What good is he to us, now that we can take and, soon, bestow gifts?”

  “Then—” Winter stopped herself, suddenly realizing that the one they needed to stop was Leven.

  “Who can rebuild the gateway?” Winter asked, sure that Jamoon was bluffing.

  “With enough pain and persuasion we are confident Leven and you will show us everything,” Jamoon spat. “Of course, you’ll be much easier to work with once we’ve removed that bothersome gift of yours.”

  Jamoon moved closer to the odd metal machine, dragging Winter with him by her hair.

  Winter’s heart was thumping like a flat tire on a spinning rim. She looked down and was surprised to see it was still in her chest.

  “Leven,” she whispered.

  “Leven,” Jamoon scoffed. “He can’t help you now.”

  Jamoon forced Winter to sit and strapped her right wrist to the machine. Fear was everywhere now, swirling around the room like a sticky twister and mixing with the flapping nihils. Ignoring her whimpering cries, Jamoon strapped down Winter’s left wrist. While Winter thrashed and screamed, Jamoon secured her left leg.

  But as he reached for her other leg, a thick bolt of blue shot down through the skylight and struck Jamoon in the right shoulder. Jamoon flew across the room and slammed into the wall. He hit it so hard, the wall cracked and broken tiles rained to the floor. Dazed, Jamoon shook his head and weakly tried to stand. With his nihils circling him, ready to inflict further pain on Winter, he looked wildly around the room.

  “What was that?” Jamoon demanded.

  Winter was silent.

  “You’ll pay for that,” he said, figuring the attack to be a work of Winter. His eyes narrowed in anger. “What was that trick you just pulled?” he demanded.

  Winter had no idea what had struck Jamoon, but as she looked fearfully at his angry face, another bolt of blue streaked in from the skylight—this one striking him squarely on the chin. Jamoon was lifted four feet into the air and then dropped to the ground in a heap. Dazed, he looked up from where he had fallen and growled.

  The nihils swooped down and began to tear into Winter. As she screamed and thrashed, Jamoon staggered to his feet and lurched over to the machine.

  “Let’s end your tricks!” Jamoon raged, strapping down her remaining foot.

  The birds lifted off of Winter as Jamoon reached over and hit the switch on the side of the machine.

  Light flashed and Winter was out.

  ii

  After having fought with Jamoon from a distance, Leven turned to glance at Clover and Geth. Clover looked like a new bride who has just discovered she has married a monster. His blue eyes were wide with fear, and his leathery little mouth was hanging open.

  “What?” Leven asked, defensively.

  “You were either fighting something,” Clover said, “or you were doing some really awkward dance.”

  “I saw a large cloaked being,” Leven explained. “Both halves of him didn’t match.”

  “It was probably Jamoon,” Geth deduced. “He’s a rant. Rants can’t just manipulate a dream and move on. Half of each rant remains in a dreamlike state.”

  “Jamoon,” Leven whispered, looking down at his hands.

  Clover shook his head in disbelief. “He had Winter?” he asked.

  “Is she okay?” Geth asked.

  “No,” Leven said. “I couldn’t completely control my thoughts. But I think I knocked Jamoon down a couple of times.”

  Clover’s jaw dropped again. “You actually manipulated fate from a distance?”

  “I don’t know,” Leven admitted. “It was more like my actions here affected what was happening there. What does that mean?”

  “It means that I have one heck of a burn,” Clover said proudly. “As an offing you shouldn’t be able to do that. Isn’t that right, Geth?”

  Geth didn’t answer.

  “So what am I?” Leven asked, talking more to himself than to anyone else. He had felt so different ever since his fight against the Ring of Plague. He could see things more clearly, and it felt as though his heart had expanded to fill his entire body. His eyes were burning gold at the moment, but there was no vision behind them. When he shook his head, the gold remained.

  It felt like the first day of summer, when school is finally out and days and days of freedom stretch out before you. It felt like he was somebody else—somebody stronger and unafraid. He couldn’t remember ever having been scared or hurt, and he could see hope and possibility in things as insignificant and insecure as himself. He felt as if he were made of putty and someone had shoved their thumb under his ribcage and pushed him taller. Even the horizon looked to be at a different level. He looked at his feet to see if he was wearing platform shoes. He wasn’t, but the high-water pants he was sporting were even higher on him.

  “What’s happened to me?” Leven asked, this time wanting an answer.

  “We need to get you to the Want,” Geth said, hopping onto Leven’s shoulder. “You are definitely Hector’s relative.”

  “First things first,” Leven replied. “How are you doing, Geth? Can you hold on? If you’re all right, I think we had better go help Winter.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” the battered little toothpick said. He could feel himself hardening even more, but he didn’t want to admit it. “I think you’re right. Winter is the one we need to concentrate on.”

  Leven tucked Geth behind his ear and jumped back onto the onick. He took his seat behind its shoulder blades and was surprised to find the fit different from before. The broad back felt somehow smaller.

  After making sure Clover was also aboard, Leven dug his heels into the onick, and the quick beast took off, racing toward Morfit.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Echoes of the Blast

  The world is full of people who like to bring people down. I know of at least two. You can probably think of more than that.

  Then there are those people who are helpful and constructive and like to reach down and help others up. Those people are way better than the first kind and very much in the minority.

  Tim Tuttle was that second kind of person. He had spent his entire life thinking well of others and helping where he could. He had a lovely family, and though his job was menial, he had the brain of a genius.

  He also hadn’t traveled much, and when he got off the train in Berchtesgaden, Germany, he was blown away by the spectacular scenery. “Who knew Mother Nature was so big on green?” he said in awe.

  As the train pulled away, Tim began walking down toward the Konigsee. It was early morning and there were very few tourists out. A couple of old men were working with brooms up and down the street, cleaning gutters and walkways, and a tiny car passed by, delivering firewood.

  As Tim strolled toward the lake, he admired the clean shops and stores along the way. A woman with matted hair and short arms wheeled a case full of bread in front of him on her way to her shop.

  “Excuse me,” Tim shouted after her.

  She turned.

  “For sale?” Tim asked, pointing to the bread and holding out some money.

  She looked bothered, but not bothered enough to pass up money. Tim bought two small loaves and thanked her in German.

  She wasn’t all that impressed.

  Tim tore into the bread and was so involved in eating it as he arrived at the lake that he almost stepped off the dock and into the water.

  He stopped himself just in time. He looked up, and his jaw dropped. His bread fell out of his mouth and onto the ground—instantly four ducks raced for it. The Konigsee was the most beautiful sight Tim had ever seen.

  You may have read in books that one spot or another is the most beautiful place on earth. Well, those books are lying, unless they are talking about the Konigsee. Surrounded by tall, snowcapped mountains and forests of gorgeous pines, the valley where th
e Konigsee rests is breathtaking. The green water and the pristine setting would make even Zeus look into the price of real estate there.

  “I’m not in Iowa anymore,” Tim said honestly.

  At the dock Tim purchased a ticket and climbed onto a boat going across the lake. There were only three other tourists on board, so Tim stretched his legs up onto the seats next to him. Halfway across the lake the boat stopped and shut off its engine. A stocky German man in leather shorts stood on the front of the boat and began to play a trumpet. The ring of majestic mountains surrounding the lake created a beautiful echo that accompanied the trumpeter.

  Tim couldn’t sit still. He stood and turned around, taking in the entire scene. A German boy with a thin moustache and white, freckled skin who helped run the boat noticed the look on Tim’s face.

  “Spectacular, isn’t it?” he said in almost perfect English. There was obviously something about the outfit Tim was wearing that gave away the fact that he was an American.

  “It feels like my eyes can’t properly describe it to my brain,” Tim smiled.

  The German boy grinned.

  “I’d never heard of this place before,” Tim said.

  “Most people are more aware that Hitler died nearby,” the boy said, sticking his chin out. “Such a beautiful place to be marred by such evil. You are from the States?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes, Iowa.”

  The boy didn’t know what Iowa was, but he nodded his head. “Here on business?”

  “I think I’m here to see this,” Tim said, motioning to the lake and its surroundings. “And, I’m looking for someone—a young boy and girl.”

  Again the boy smiled. “There are lots of boys and girls that come here.”

  “It would have been a couple of days ago,” Tim clarified.

  “I wasn’t working,” the boy apologized. “I wish I had been.

  I would not have missed the explosion.”

  “Explosion?” Tim asked anxiously.

  “Booosh,” he said with excitement. “It was after sunset, and an explosion went off under the water,” he explained. “Some think it was an earthquake, but my mate was here, and said it was no earthquake.”