by Obert Skye
Winter jumped from the tree and crouched back behind a boulder. She smashed the first egg against the top of her head.
Deep red dye bled down her hair.
She pushed the thick dye back from her forehead and smoothed it into the two pigtails she had created. Then Winter cracked the other two eggs on the sides of her head and massaged the red dye deep into her white-blonde hair. It was messy, but it was working. In a few minutes, Winter had brilliantly red hair.
It still wasn’t enough of a disguise.
Winter washed her hands off in a small stream and worked herself back out to the trail. A couple of people passed her, each carrying rocks to drop off. Behind them a single cog in a black cloak was making his way down the path, carrying a rock in his cold blue hands. He was mumbling something about how he would never lie to his wife again once he set that rock down.
Winter stepped out in front of him, holding her kilve in her right hand.
“Ah!” the cog screamed, his orange forehead wrinkling.
“Heading to Morfit?” Winter asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Drop your burden and cover it with your cloak,” Winter insisted, waving the kilve.
“But I need—”
“The rules have changed,” she snapped. “Drop it here!”
“But—”
Winter didn’t want to, but she swung her kilve and struck the cog behind his right knee. His leg buckled, and he fell to the ground, dropping his rock. He struggled to get to his feet. Winter thrust her kilve down, pinning the back of his robe to the ground. The poor cog pulled and screamed his way out of his cloak, then took off running as fast as he could, yelling something about his wife and waving his blue hands in the air.
“It’s so much easier when they just obey,” Winter said, wondering where she had learned to use a kilve like that.
She slipped the cloak on and pulled the hood up over her head. Then she picked up the rock, held it in front of her, and began to shuffle toward Morfit, moaning. A small shadow passed over her. Winter looked up. Way overhead she saw the sickly rant she had left in the ice cave. He was riding on the back of a large roven. The roven screamed and swooped toward Morfit.
Winter pulled her hood even tighter around her head, hoping not to be spotted.
Near the gate she met up with two other travelers and tried to make it look as if she were moving with them. One was carrying a rock; the other had a bundle of fabric. Winter could clearly see the rants that were guarding the door—both were as tall as the actual gate. One rant stopped the nit carrying the fabric.
“Business, or the result of pleasure?” the rant questioned, bending down.
“I’m to see the Council of Whisps,” the nit said.
The rant laughed. “The Council is gone.”
“Gone?” the nit panicked. “My cause was up for review. I’ve brought them fabric. When will they be back?”
“Never,” the other rant growled.
The poor nit just stood there, looking as though his life was over. “What’s happening?” Winter heard him whisper to himself as she shuffled past.
“Stop!” the taller rant commanded Winter.
“Business, or the result of pleasure?” he demanded.
“Business,” Winter said. “I have dreams to trade.”
“Where did you get that?” he asked, referring to the kilve she carried.
“It was given to me by a rant much bigger than you,” she said with authority. “Now, may I pass? Or would you like to explain to him why I was held up?”
Rants were not great under pressure.
“On your way,” he waved.
Winter walked through the gate. Her heart felt like it was in her throat, as if with one good cough she could expel it. She moved farther into Morfit and stopped to compose herself.
Winter knew she shouldn’t be here; if Jamoon spotted her, there would be more trouble. But she wanted to know what Morfit held for her and what Jamoon meant by her knowing the plan. She needed to see if she could discover who she really was. She tossed aside the rock she was carrying and listened to it hiss and groan as it became part of the mountain.
Winter worked her way through the lower slums of Morfit where those who were frightened by light lived.
“Hello, pretty,” someone yelled out to Winter.
She kept going as if she hadn’t heard. He moved toward her to better make his point, and Winter pictured him in ice.
She climbed up a long, dark, twisted spiral of stone stairs. From heights all over Morfit water fell in thick streams and misty veils, the water originating in the many springs Morfit had been built around. At the top of the stairs was a round pit filled with the bones of sheep. The bones rattled as a large rat scurried through them, searching for some small scrap of leftover meat. The rat hissed at Winter and called her a spy.
Winter moved on.
She made her way along a narrow, jagged ledge that led to an archway opening up into the grand chambers. All around her were the sounds of laughter and fighting. Winter couldn’t remember Morfit being this dirty or this dark.
Above the base of Morfit was a large, roofed courtyard, ringed by small rock caves and burning torches. Gathered in that chamber were hundreds of dark-cloaked rants. Winter pulled her hood more closely around her head and entered, working her way along the back wall of the courtyard, keeping to the shadows cast by the torches.
Amazed by the vastness of the gathering, Winter began counting. She stopped at around four hundred, estimating that there must be at least two thousand rants packed into the hall. Each was standing still, as if awaiting something or someone.
Then those gathered began to chant rhythmically:
“Whole again once more.”
“Whole again forever.”
“Whole again with power.”
“Whole again.”
“Whole again.”
Winter could feel the darkness in the words. Swaying in unison, the gathered beings chanted louder, the words taking form as they mixed with the torchlight. Winter could see letters and meanings rising above the chanting crowd.
“Whole again once more.”
“Whole again forever.”
“Whole again with power.”
“Whole again!”
“Whole again!”
“Whole again!”
Winter put her hand to her heart and was surprised to find how fast it was racing. The words of the chant sizzled like drops of water in a hot pan—each word dancing on the surface and hissing into nothing but steam.
“Whole again!”
“Whole again!”
Suddenly the chanting stopped. As the words drifted downward, settling on the heads of those in attendance like ash, a tall, dark-robed figure ascended to a podium and raised his right hand.
It was Jamoon.
He stood at the front of the gathering. The bottom half of his robe billowed and swayed, filled with shadowy nihils. Every few seconds a couple of the dead birds would slip out, only to turn and work themselves back beneath his robe.
At his appearance, the crowd fell silent.
“The Sochemists have studied the Lore Coil,” Jamoon declared. “They speak of bits of Sabine still in Reality—pieces that will work to create another gateway.”
The crowd murmured.
“Shortly they will rebuild what was destroyed,” Jamoon shouted, his voice ringing through the hall. “When the gateway is reconstructed we will have complete access and will be made whole. Our armies gather at the Guarded Border waiting to spread the message of Morfit to all parts of Foo.”
“What of Geth?” a short rant near the front yelled.
Jamoon’s right eye burned.
“Geth will be found,” Jamoon seethed. “That is why we are gathered. You are to search every bit of Foo, until you have recovered him and Leven. Dig up the gunt, tear down the trees, bury any who stand in your way, but find them—and when you do, kill them instantly. Their dead bodies are all t
he proof I need. They cannot be allowed to live.”
Winter opened her mouth to gasp. Unfortunately, portions of the bickerwicks in her stomach were still fighting with each other, and their bickering could be heard.
“You digest!”
“No, you! I was here second.”
A couple of rants in front of Winter turned to see what the fuss was.
“Who are you?” one asked.
“I . . .” Winter tried to answer.
It was no use. Half the crowd had now turned and was staring at her.
“It’s the girl!” one yelled.
The hall erupted with angry cries. Even from where she was, Winter could see Jamoon begin to smile. Winter turned and ran toward the entryway. Three rants stepped in front of her, and she froze them. They fell against each other and became wedged in the opening. Winter quickly turned and bolted for another entrance.
“Seize her!” Jamoon yelled.
Winter looked back at the crowd of rants and froze them all—all of them half frozen, their other halves struggling and complaining about having to hold the frozen part up. The room was now full of a variety of half-dreams complaining. Even Jamoon was stiff, but as he stood there, Winter could see the dead, decaying nihils beginning to seep out from under his frozen robe. At first there were just a few, but in a couple of seconds there were whole flocks of them, out and racing toward her. She was not about to freeze them, fearing them more as ice than as simply dead.
Winter ran as fast as she could, slipping out of the archway and leaping up a stone stairwell. Behind her she could hear the shrill caw and hiss of the rank nihils overtaking her. Winter reached the top of the stairs to find a locked door. She pictured the wooden doorknob as ice and it froze. She then slammed the blunt end of the kilve into the knob, and it shattered into a million pieces.
“Thank you,” the door sighed, happy about being set free.
The nihils were getting closer, their caws filling her head with fear.
Winter pushed the thankful wooden door open and stepped into the room behind it, then quickly closed it and leaned against it, breathing hard.
The nihils were in the stairwell outside the door.
Winter moved a large chair up against the door, but her efforts were in vain. The black nihils began pulsing through the now-gaping knob hole like a geyser of oil. They flowed through the knob hole and under the small gap beneath the door, screaming and hissing like a cold, biting wind.
Winter did a little screaming of her own.
The nihils swarmed around her, biting and scratching her with their beaks and talons. Winter waved the kilve at them, but it was useless. As they closed about her, she had difficulty breathing and could see her vision fading. In a matter of moments she was unconscious and lying in a helpless heap on the floor.
The nihils turned and flew out of the room. They swept back down the stairs and over the half-frozen crowd. When they reached Jamoon they circled him tightly, warming him with their movements.
Jamoon soon thawed and headed up to Winter.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Snapped
The media had no idea what to make of it—a full-sized plane landing upside down in the middle of a busy freeway with no fatalities? Baffling. The only injuries reported were some scrapes and bruises and two broken arms, both belonging to the same person.
Some who witnessed the incredible episode claimed that fiery, demon clouds had softly set the plane down. Those who reported the story refused to even humor such a silly account. Regardless, traffic along Interstate 40 was backed up for hundreds of miles as everyone scratched their heads and wondered just how to move an upside-down 747.
Dennis sat on the edge of the freeway next to a number of other stunned passengers. He had a small, blue, airline blanket wrapped around his shoulders and was drinking some bottled water that a Red Cross volunteer had handed him. He really had no idea what had happened, but he was pretty sure he had something to do with it. He figured it would be best not to point that out to others.
After everyone had been evacuated from the plane, Dennis had noticed a small patch of black moving behind some foliage off to the side of the road. He watched it glide from one tree to another, almost as if it were stalking him. He could see it even now, lying beneath a large bush.
Dennis unzipped the fanny pack and looked down at Ezra.
“Did we do this?” Dennis whispered.
“We helped,” Ezra said, jumping out of the fanny pack and up onto Dennis’s shoulder.
“What is that blackness?” Dennis asked, motioning with his head to the bush at the bottom of the embankment.
“Not exactly sure,” Ezra said. “But it’s from Foo like me. It tried to talk to me—called me Geth,” Ezra spat.
Dennis put his head in his hands and sighed. “I should never have ordered a sandwich.”
The black shadow wriggled beneath the bush down below as trucks and cars drove by, people gawking and honking at the plane up above.
“Follow me,” Ezra said to Dennis.
Ezra jumped from Dennis’s shoulder and dropped down the side of the tree-lined embankment.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to . . .” Dennis slapped his forehead. “Ahhh,” he gasped, stumbling over the guardrail and rolling awkwardly down the embankment after Ezra.
As usual, nobody noticed Dennis.
When he stopped rolling, Dennis scrambled to his feet and ducked behind some trees near the bush where the black spot was lying. The blackness fluttered away, moving deeper into the growth, with Ezra right on its tail. Dennis limped along after them, rubbing his sore knees and elbows. In a few minutes they had moved into a forest, far enough away from the freeway that they could barely hear the noise of the traffic. To Dennis it felt as if they were miles away from civilization.
The black shadow stopped, hovering above a decaying tree that lay sprawled out on the forest floor.
“Who are you?” Ezra yelled.
The blackness pulsated and whipped itself into a more ghostlike form. It had two small hands, tiny eyes, and an oozing mouth.
“Who are you?” it hissed. “You’ve been touched by Foo.”
“‘Touched,’ my ankle,” Ezra raged. “I’ve been cheated by Geth. He lives, complete and free, while I am nothing but anger.”
“Geth,” Sabine hissed.
“We are heading to the gateway to make things right,” Ezra sneered. “If you wish, you can be my servant.”
Sabine laughed wickedly. “You fool,” he hissed. “The gateway is gone.”
Dennis knew Ezra well enough to know that he was going to have to hold him back. He grabbed onto Ezra’s legs and tiny tail as the furious toothpick swung with his arms and swore, trying to get at Sabine. Dennis could feel the anger raging through Ezra. It seemed to bleed out of the toothpick and into Dennis’s blood. The sensation was almost overpowering.
“Fool?” Ezra seethed at Sabine. “I’ll show you who the fool is.”
Sabine withdrew a couple of feet.
“Listen,” Dennis said, trying to calm things down and to understand the rage he himself was beginning to feel. “I think . . .” he stopped to soak in the rage. He opened and closed his eyes slowly. “I think . . .”
“Who are you?” Sabine hissed, drifting up to Dennis. “Who are you?”
“I’m Dennis,” he answered, his body trembling with gathering anger.
“He’s nobody!” Ezra yelled, his purple tassel writhing like a nest of snakes.
“Nobody?” Dennis whispered, his head beginning to pound.
“Nobody!” Ezra screamed. “I’m only using him to get me to the gateway.”
Dennis couldn’t remember feeling more agitated.
In the far distance the sound of sirens screamed. Dennis looked down at Ezra. He was holding the angry toothpick between his thumb and finger, and he studied the little monster’s ugly face. It was contorted with rage and hatred. Dennis fed off the anger. He thought of all the times his
father had been disappointed in him. He thought of how his mother had always wished he were taller or smarter. He thought about his employers and how they had always dismissed him as a nobody. He knew they weren’t even aware that he had left. And he thought of what he was doing. Sure, it was a ridiculous quest, but it was a purpose.
The anger Dennis felt was so strong he couldn’t stop shaking. He looked down again at Ezra, who was still screaming.
“Nobody!” Ezra repeated. “Didn’t you hear me? I said—”
Dennis couldn’t help himself. He grabbed the top of Ezra and in one angry motion bent him in half. It was so sudden and unexpected that Ezra had no time to react.
Dennis stared at the bent toothpick. Ezra’s upper half was connected to his lower half by only a thin splinter of wood. The top half of Ezra stared up at Dennis in total shock.
“You . . .” Ezra sputtered. “I . . .”
Dennis looked at Ezra in his palm and felt no pity. In the distance the sirens grew louder.
“I’ll be making the decisions now,” Dennis seethed, a look of determination on his face such as he had never had before.
Stunned into silence, Ezra blinked weakly, and Sabine withdrew a couple of inches.
Dennis looked up, his eyes red and wet, his blood filled with anger.
“Dennis,” Sabine hissed.
Dennis reached out with such surety that Sabine didn’t even flinch. He grabbed Sabine and twisted him around his forearm like a thick rope. Sabine responded by spreading up and around Dennis’s shoulders, forming a ragged, black cloak. Sabine’s eyes and mouth lay two-dimensionally at the neck of the cloak.
“I’ve never dreamed before,” Dennis said angrily.
“I can fix that,” Sabine hissed.
“I want to see this Foo,” Dennis demanded.
“Of course,” Sabine hissed. “Of course, Darrin.”
Dennis turned and lowered his head so that Sabine’s white eyes were directly in view of his. “My name is Dennis,” he spat angrily.