Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo

  “You must know that she is here,” the Want said to Leven. “Look at her.”

  Leven couldn’t stop himself from doing so. The feelings she brought to life were so strong and alive that they seemed to weigh Leven’s shoulders down. He tried to smile at her, but his gaping mouth wouldn’t work properly.

  “Why?” Leven finally managed to ask. “Why is she here?”

  “Foo has many layers,” the Want said. “Too many do what they think is correct based on what their eyes see. But Foo is a place where you can’t rely on your eyes to tell you everything. You, Leven, are not like the other souls who have stepped into this realm. You’re a part of the story—a fork in the road—and the future of Foo looks to divide where you stand. Phoebe is a distraction. She is a part of Foo’s past that has not been completely taken care of.”

  “I don’t understand,” Leven said honestly.

  Phoebe began to moan and cry again.

  “Can’t you let her go?” Leven pleaded.

  “I hold the key,” the Want said. “But it will not be my hand that turns the lock.”

  “Give it to me, then,” Leven insisted, a bit of sour flowing back into his veins. “Let me free her.”

  Phoebe moved to the bars, her face changing as a glimmer of hope brightened her expression. The Want smiled.

  “Isn’t the fight for metal over?” Leven reasoned. “You won. She should be freed.”

  “No!” the Want snapped.

  Phoebe sobbed.

  “I’ve done what I needed,” the Want said. “I’ve told you of your task, Leven, and shown you the longing. Fate will not let you forget. Now we must go.”

  “I won’t leave her,” Leven said, closing his eyes and wishing his gift into action.

  “There’s no future to change,” the Want laughed, picking up on what Leven was trying to do. “Fate has yet to pick a course of action. Your gift is useless here. Now, follow me.”

  Leven’s heart boiled. His eyes were reluctant to glow, but he could feel a pull inside himself, shifting his soul around. He couldn’t tell if it was the sour that had been extracted from him or if he really cared for Phoebe. Either way, Phoebe’s cries were so sincere and so mournful that Leven couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

  “She’ll be here when you return,” the Want insisted. “Now come.”

  “No.”

  The Want turned to Leven. His eyes were still covered by the hem of his hood, but Leven could feel him looking right at him.

  “I’m not leaving her.”

  Phoebe began to shine.

  “Dim your luster,” the Want said to Phoebe. “You’ll not be freed today.”

  “Then I’ll remain here,” Leven insisted. “She needs me.”

  “That’s just the snake talking,” the Want growled. “I should have done this sooner.”

  He raised his right hand, and Leven was lifted from the ground. The Want flexed his fingers, and Leven began to shrink.

  “What’s . . .” Leven tried to say, but his mouth was shrinking so rapidly he couldn’t get the words out.

  The Want’s right hand moved in a circular motion as his left hand extracted a small wooden box from his robe. Leven shrank even further as Phoebe cried violently. Leven became two feet tall, then a foot, and then only a few inches. He was floating in the air like a giant dust mite.

  The Want willed him closer, and Leven flew across the room directly toward the Want. Leven’s arms and legs were kicking and flailing. The Want placed him into the small wooden box. He snapped the lid shut and commanded Phoebe to hush.

  She didn’t listen, choosing instead to cry louder.

  “Your emotions will be the death of many,” the Want cried.

  He turned and moved back down the tunnel with the box in hand. He had one last place he needed to take Leven.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Waking Up on the Wrong Side of the World

  Headaches are a funny thing. Not funny like people-who-buy-the-wrong-size-of-shoes-and-try-to-run funny, but funny like toothaches and jammed toes. Some headaches are the result of something. For instance, maybe your neighbors just bought a new stereo and they enjoy playing it all night. And when you talk to them about it the next day, they tell you that they’re moving and you get a headache because you cry for hours thinking about how much you’ll miss them and their music. Some headaches come from hitting your noggin too hard against something immovable or stubborn. And some headaches are the consequence of having something dark and evil control your mind and then having that dark and evil thing die, leaving you confused and wounded.

  That was the kind of headache Tim had.

  After he had fallen on Dennis and knocked himself out, he had lain on the forest floor for hours before finally coming to. When he did regain consciousness, his head felt like a piñata that thousands of energetic children had vigorously beaten upon.

  “Owwww,” he moaned, sitting up.

  He looked around. The sun was rising and he was covered in cold morning dew. He couldn’t remember anything about the last couple of weeks. He remembered meeting someone and beginning to build something, but he couldn’t clearly recall why.

  Tim stood up slowly, leaning against a tall pine tree. He stepped like a person who had just been given someone else’s legs to try out.

  Slowly.

  He stumbled out of the trees and looked at the lake. The water was calm, and a small boat was moving across the surface like a boxy swan.

  “I think I’m in Germany,” Tim said, unsure of so many things.

  He walked carefully through the trees and around the lake. His body felt sore and his hands and arms were scratched and bruised. A small footpath lay between the trees like a frayed ribbon. Tim walked the trail, feeling his strength build. The sound of a trumpet playing on the water echoed off the surrounding mountains.

  Tim’s soul was stirred and shaken.

  “Wendy,” he said, remembering his family and realizing that it had been some time since he had talked to them.

  Tim began to run. At first his knees protested, but with each stride his legs relaxed and let him move as fast as he wanted to. Soon he reached the outskirts of Berchtesgaden. His head throbbed.

  Tim entered the first gasthaus he saw.

  “Phone?” he asked the woman waiting tables, his breath short and labored. “Phone I can use?”

  The woman looked at Tim like he was a walking pile of trash. With disgust she pointed to a pay phone near the back door. Tim stepped up to it and picked up the receiver. He suddenly had no idea what to do. He couldn’t remember the number to dial to reach his family. The operator came on, speaking in German, and asked if she could help him.

  Speaking in English, Tim said he couldn’t understand her.

  She asked again in English, and Tim told her that he needed to get ahold of his wife, Wendy.

  “Could you be a bit more specific?” the operator questioned.

  “She has long, dark hair,” Tim tried desperately. “And we live in Iowa. I’m sorry, but my head is so confused.”

  “Well, we’re getting closer,” the operator said kindly. “Dark hair and in Iowa. Does she live in a certain city?”

  It all began coming back to Tim, except for the address and telephone number. He told the operator how tall Wendy was, what she was wearing when he had seen her last, how old his boys were, and what they both liked to do in their spare time. He described their house and their cars and his job. The operator, tired of the same boring conversations she usually had with other people, just let Tim talk. And by the time he had said it all, he finally remembered the street he lived on.

  “I’ve got the number right here,” the operator said. “Have a nice day.”

  Tim thanked her and waited.

  The phone finally rang.

  It rang again, and again, and again and again. After ten rings, a slightly less kind and much less human computer operator came on the line and informed Tim that the party he was trying to reach was n
ot available. The computerized voice suggested that he call back another time.

  Tim hung up.

  The top of the phone box was metal, and as Tim put the receiver back he could see his reflection in it. He had a black eye and four deep scratches across his left cheek. There was a bruise on his neck, and the small amount of hair he had was sticking straight up. A patch of it was missing from above his left ear. He looked down at his beat-up arms and hands.

  “What happened to me?” he wondered.

  Tim’s question was drowned out by the worried voice of a woman nearby. “Three hours,” she wailed.

  The woman was sitting at a table with a man and three children. Tim could tell they were U.S. citizens by the American flag shirts they were wearing and their loud, English-speaking voices. Plus, their little boy was holding a cupcake with a small plastic American flag sticking out of the top of it.

  “Maybe they’re all done,” the man said with unease. “Maybe it’s over.”

  “I hope so,” the woman quivered.

  Tim looked at them. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  The man looked Tim up and down. The woman didn’t even look up.

  “We’re just talking about the War on Normalism,” the man said, referencing the name a large news media outlet had given the strange occurrences going on around the globe.

  “War on Normalism?” Tim asked.

  “Bugs, walking buildings, flying dirt, clouds,” the woman practically screamed. “They’re even in people’s dreams. I just want to get back home.”

  She pulled the plastic flag out of her son’s cupcake and halfheartedly waved it.

  “The president is getting troops together,” the man said. “And an army in Africa captured a bunch of bugs.”

  The woman cried.

  Tim looked at his hands. His head was still pounding and his body ached, but he was beginning to recall his part in all of this.

  “Thanks,” Tim said, stepping away.

  Unfortunately for Tim, it was all coming back to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A Chance to Stretch

  Azure sat comfortably in a small weld as giftless nits pulled him along the winding road. Behind his weld stretched two long ropes. At the end of one of the ropes Geth was tethered; the other one dragged Winter. The road was made of stone, with deep black trenches running along the sides of it. Moss wove itself like netting up the cliff walls and overhead like a great green shade.

  Azure threw a couple of sharp stones at the backs of the nits pulling him, prompting them to move faster. “Make haste,” he yelled. “The time’s coming quickly.”

  The giftless nits pulled harder, causing the weld to roll faster and forcing Geth and Winter to pick up their pace.

  “So this is Lith?” Winter asked Geth. “I expected it to be friendlier.”

  “The Want will straighten things out,” Geth said. “Azure will pay for this.”

  Geth whispered his threat so casually that Winter felt doomed.

  They had reached the shore of Lith hours ago. Azure had bound them both to the back of a small, carriagelike craft called a weld. The weld was round and rolled on one spongy ball that balanced itself with each rotation. The wind was blowing up and down. Geth could feel air hit him from above and then bounce back up to hit him under the chin.

  “Are you doing all right?” Geth asked Winter.

  “Perfect,” she said. “Nothing like being dragged to your death.”

  “It’s cold here,” Geth said reflectively.

  “Is that a problem?” Winter asked. “Is there some sort of rule in Foo that you can’t take the life of someone who has traveled to Reality and back on a particularly cold day?”

  “You need to rest your fears,” Geth said kindly. “All that lies ahead is what’s meant to be. The temperature is an issue due to the fact that each of the thirteen stones’ climates is contingent upon the state of mind of its master. The Want must be in a chilly mood.”

  “Great,” Winter said. “Let’s knit him a sweater.”

  Geth smiled.

  “How can you do that?” Winter asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Smile.”

  Geth looked at Winter and seemed to be trying not to smile as he stepped over a small pile of loose red rocks. Winter looked away from Geth and placed her gaze on her own footing.

  “You know,” Geth said. “You’ve aged.”

  “Nice,” Winter replied. “Just what every girl wants to hear. Well, you’re shorter.”

  “Age isn’t a punishment,” Geth said. “It’s a reward. You have changed from a child to a woman who has the power to correct all of this.”

  “If that were true, I would.”

  The ropes they were attached to pulled temporarily taut, jerking them three large steps forward until there was some slack again.

  “I have to say,” Winter continued, “I was sort of expecting a different welcome than the one we’ve gotten.”

  “Here in Lith?” Geth questioned.

  “I meant here in Foo.”

  “You have no memory,” Geth pointed out. “How could you expect anything?”

  “Is this how you thought it would be when you had Leven and me step in?”

  “To be frank, I didn’t know what to expect,” Geth said. “Foo was in turmoil when you and I left. In some ways I’m happy it has held together like it has because with Leven here we can bring balance and perhaps even growth.”

  “Growth?” Winter asked, stumbling slightly.

  “Foo stopped expanding years ago,” Geth said. “The borders keep us from knowing anything more. The only change we’ve had is due to the dreams coming in. If fate is kind, not only will Leven bring new life to our land, but dreams will reach a completely new level.”

  “And Leven will do all this?”

  “Yes,” Geth said with certainty.

  “How?”

  Azure turned around and looked down the length of the ropes to where Geth and Winter were tied. He threw a fistful of rocks at the backs of the giftless nits who were pulling him.

  “Run!” he screamed.

  The nits struggled to move faster. Geth’s and Winter’s arms were yanked violently forward.

  It may have been a rather powerful and painful moment, full of tension and risk, but they had been only a few hundred feet away from their destination when Azure had ordered them to hurry. So, as quickly as he had commanded them to hurry, he had to begin begging them to stop.

  The nits came to a dusty stop forty feet past the gate they needed to go through. Azure had to climb out and walk back forty paces before he could start acting superior again. He ordered two of the nits to follow him.

  The crumbling brick gateway opened into a maze of stone walls and tall trees. Azure touched the wall at a certain point, and a blue line warmed and moved along the walls showing the way to go.

  Azure looked at Geth sideways. Geth stood up as tall as he could.

  “I suggest you stay close,” Azure said, confused over Geth’s height. “Those beings that remain trapped in these walls are very hungry, and what with your mortal condition and all . . .”

  “I thought we were going to die anyway,” Winter said coolly, stealing the sting of Azure’s threat.

  “Well, stay close or I will beat you within an inch of your life and then drag your wounded body behind me. That includes you two.” Azure glared at the two nits who were unfortunate enough to have been chosen to tag along. He instructed both of them to hold fast to Geth and Winter.

  The nits obeyed.

  As they all stepped farther into the maze, the stone walls grew in height. Two turns later and Winter couldn’t see anything but towering black rock all around her. The stone was textured, and each section and direction looked identical. If someone had spun her around she would have been lost simply standing there.

  Winter looked carefully at the thin blue line. A current ran through it indicating the direction they should move. She did her
best to keep up, realizing that perhaps there really were things worse than death, like being trapped within stone walls with deranged beings looking for a way out.

  Geth didn’t speak, silently counting the footsteps he was taking.

  Azure looked at Geth. “If you are counting footsteps, it will do you no good,” he said. “These walls, like most stones in Foo, grow bored, and they will shift when they please. Without some help, it’s impossible to get out.”

  Azure pointed to the blue line on the wall, the whole half of his neck and shoulder covered in blood from his rancid ear.

  “Wouldn’t the blue line shift as well?” Winter asked sharply.

  “You’re a real joy to have around,” Azure mocked.

  “And you’ve added the word impossible to your vocabulary,” Geth said sadly.

  “The line shifts as needed,” Azure seethed. “And in your absence, Geth, we’ve discovered that there truly are some things that are impossible. Once again our ancestors were wrong. We fight now to change all of that.”

  “You don’t fight,” Geth laughed. “You’re too cowardly for that. Letting rants do your bidding and giftless nits carry you around. Your father would die of shame if he knew what his son was doing.”

  “My father?” Azure said, frothing at the mouth. “My father is buried in the Swollen Forest in a hole deeper than four of you. I know this to be a fact because I buried him.”

  Geth’s eyes darkened.

  “Don’t tell me about courage,” Azure screamed. “I have done things that you and your soft soul would never be able to dream up, let alone take care of. Now I will finish off the great Geth and the thorn of Winter. And I’ll soon sleep soundly in Reality with more power than I ever thought possible.”

  “The soil lies,” Geth said boldly.

  “What?” Azure barked, stepping up to look Geth directly in the face.

  “The soil lies,” Geth repeated. “Do you think I don’t know of what lies beneath it? I have watched every step I have ever taken in Foo for fear of standing still too long and being overtaken by the voices of those who have died before me. I saw firsthand what the Dearth could do with the soil, how he used it to control Sabine. And I wonder now if there are any in Foo who have not stood still too long and let this happen to them.”