Leven Thumps: The Complete Series

by Obert Skye

  “So?” Leven asked, wondering when something would actually happen.

  “Now blow a bubble,” Clover instructed.

  Leven blew a great big bubble. The gum pushed out beautifully, creating a perfect sphere. Leven kept blowing and the bubble grew even greater, dwarfing the size of his head.

  Leven blew more, and the bubble popped.

  Instinctively, Leven closed his eyes as it burst, and when he opened them back up he was surprised to find he wasn’t covered in the remains of his popped bubble. Not only was there no trace of gum on his face, but it was no longer in his mouth. Leven looked around on the ground, but there was no sign of any chewed gum. It was as if it had disappeared completely.

  “Where’d it go?” Leven asked Clover.

  “It didn’t go anywhere,” Clover said. “As it popped outside it also popped in you.”

  “Popped in me? So my eyes are black?” Leven asked.

  Clover looked closely at Leven. “Yes . . . yes they are.”

  Leven leaned over the puddle again.

  He had thought he looked different before. There, staring back at him, was some person with light gray skin, black lips, completely black hair except for one gray streak, black eyes, and black freckles. Leven dropped his rock and lifted his one visible hand to his face, noticing that his fingernails were as black as night. He looked like a poster boy for Goth coal miners.

  Geth tried to look sympathetic, but he was still too spooked about spending time in Clover’s void. Leven felt his own face and grumbled.

  “It wears off,” Clover insisted.

  “So when you crossed your heart and said it would change my eye color, you left out a few things,” Leven accused.

  “I was going to say more but, again, where’s the fun in that?”

  Leven shook his head.

  “I could have given you pink,” Clover said defensively.

  “I suppose I should be happy then,” Leven joked.

  “See, Mister—”

  Leven stopped Clover with his dark eyes.

  “Right,” Clover said. “Maybe we should just go.”

  Leven smiled weakly, retrieved his stone, and began walking forward. They soon joined others on the path who were carrying stones and making their way closer to the mountain of Morfit.

  The wall surrounding Morfit was impressive in size but not in condition. Everything in Foo looked as if it had been built hundreds of years ago and had been crumbling ever since.

  The gate Leven was moving toward was manned by four tall rants in orange robes. One was currently turned away from the travelers coming in. The way he was shaking and buzzing, it was obvious he was taking on the shape of a dream and trying to hide from the eyes of others looking on. Leven stared at all the rants in amazement.

  “Business, or the result of pleasure?” one of the rants asked Leven.

  “I’ve got a stone to place,” Leven answered.

  The rant grabbed Leven by the shoulder. “Where’s your arm?” he growled, glancing at Leven’s invisible limb.

  “I lost it in Reality,” Leven answered.

  The rant looked at Leven’s dark eyes and skin, then impatiently waved him through the gate.

  Leven stayed silent until he was well within the walls.

  “So, they are looking for you,” Clover whispered from the top of Leven’s head. “You’re lucky I thought to spray your arm.”

  “I’m pretty fortunate,” Leven joked, slipping close to the base of Morfit and moving cautiously around those souls who were dropping or throwing their stones. The air was filled with the click and scratch of clattering rocks.

  Morfit was as imposing as any mountain, town, structure, or person Leven had ever seen. He would have felt less threatened with Terry standing over him, tearing into him as he had so many times before. Up close, Morfit was like a jigsaw puzzle that had been haphazardly put together—rocks and bricks and materials of all kinds had been fused into one massive maze and mountain.

  Around its base was a fringe of thick, dry moss and steep trails leading upward that penitents could climb to deposit their stones. The sound of clicking rock was everywhere, along with harsh laughter and agonized screaming.

  “I’m not sure I like this place,” Leven whispered.

  “The wise stay away,” Geth whispered back.

  The dark night sky seemed to mesh with Morfit, but the burning lights scattered across it gave its shape some definition. From where Leven stood he could see thousands of dimly lit holes and dwellings stacked upon each other. In the circle of each light there were people or beings, talking or fighting or eating.

  “Why would anyone come here?” Leven whispered. “It feels horrible.”

  “Morfit has long been a place of deceit and blackness,” Geth answered. “Since the early days of Foo, people have gathered here to argue about the fairness of such a place as Foo and how they can govern a world with so much instability and possibility. Morfit is also a safe place to get away from dreams, seeing how they can’t penetrate the mountain. Rants stay in their current form when they step in. Some rants stay here for years because they like the other half they are currently entertaining.”

  A stone door flew open near the base of Morfit, and a thick swarm of whisps streamed out, giving the appearance that Morfit was exhaling. The whisp swarm dipped and swooped into the dark night and disappeared.

  The stone door snapped shut.

  Leven could see a row of small shops, each offering to sell bags for carrying stones. Next to the shops were mounds and mounds of straw for sale, to feed the assorted beasts that transported so many to Morfit.

  “The rest of Foo is so beautiful,” Leven whispered. “This place even feels ugly.”

  “The dark dreams of men and those who controlled Sabine and probably now control Jamoon have great strength in Morfit,” Geth said.

  “Who controlled Sabine?” Leven asked.

  Geth didn’t answer, due to a large group of rants coming their way. The rants all wore robes and were holding kilves that glimmered under the moonlight.

  “We have to get out of here,” Geth whispered. “Don’t let them see you.”

  Leven spotted a small door. Above the door was a stone head with stone wings behind it. The stone head had a glowing ring in its mouth. Leven stepped up to the door and pushed it open with his hands—his invisible one leaving a sticky residue on the door. Inside was a narrow, dark hallway that sloped upward. Lining the wall were yellow claws, each holding a blue-burning candle. The lights ran along both sides and stretched on for what looked like miles. Leven felt like a plane coming in for a landing.

  “Where are we going?” Clover whispered.

  “Go up,” Geth said.

  The lights on the wall seemed to draw them in. Leven looked down and could see bits of feather and bone littering the dirt floor. The walls of the chamber were constructed of uneven stone, with the claw-held candles protruding every ten feet. In each claw was a fat, blue, glowing candle that whispered in insecure fear as it burned.

  “Look away.”

  “Let me burn.”

  “I’m trying.”

  Leven ignored them all, moving deeper into the belly of Morfit. There were no doors or windows or alternate chambers. Leven turned and realized that the candles gave the illusion of multiple directions. After he had gone a few feet, Leven had no idea where he had come from or where he was going. And, most distressingly, he could no longer feel the pull of Winter’s fear.

  “This isn’t right,” Leven whispered to Clover.

  “That’s true, we’re going left.”

  “No, something is foul.”

  “Sorry,” Clover apologized. “I may have held onto the vapor stick a little bit longer than I should have.”

  Leven wasn’t listening. He turned and began to make his way in the other direction. The candles were singing a different tune now.

  “Wrong way,” they mocked.

  “Turn around.”

  “Lost
?”

  Leven spun and looked behind him. It appeared to be one long tunnel, stretching endlessly in both directions. But he couldn’t tell if he was heading out or in. Even the floor was confusing. It seemed to slant in both directions.

  Clover sounded nervous. “Just pick a direction and go.”

  The candle flames had turned vicious now, calling out names so unpleasant it would be wrong to repeat them here.

  “Run!” Clover yelled.

  Leven took off running in the direction he had committed to, not knowing whether he was heading in or out.

  As Leven ran past them, the candles began spitting small wads of blue flame at Leven. He felt one land in his hair. Clover yelped in alarm, appeared, and began violently slapping Leven’s head in an effort to put out the flame. The candles were shooting so many little torches around, it looked as though Leven were running through a shower of fireworks. A ball of flame fell into his right front pocket and started his pants on fire. Leven beat on his pocket and put the flame out.

  “We’re not going to make it,” Leven screamed.

  “Make it where?” Clover asked, so confused by what was going on and where they were heading he couldn’t think straight. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Leven thought that would add perfectly to the situation. The language coming out of the candles was now so vulgar that Clover was tempted to stop and ask them if their mothers knew they spoke like that. But seeing how candles don’t have mothers, and Clover was scared for Leven’s life and trying to hold his lunch down, he refrained.

  “There’s a door!” Leven yelled.

  They reached a large, wooden door; it swung open upon Leven’s touch. He ran through it, turned, and slammed it, pushing his back up against it, shutting out the candles and their taunting. A few sparks sputtered through the keyhole and then died down.

  “What was that?” Leven asked, breathing hard.

  “Some people’s candles,” Clover huffed disgustedly, trying to catch his own breath.

  Leven looked around the room they were now in. It was hexagon-shaped with a high, domed ceiling. The walls were covered with large rugs that kept changing the patterns that were woven into them. In the center of the room was a huge, open fire pit. The flame was silent, but flickered gracefully in the warm air. Small furry balls that looked like circular mice rolled around on the floor, to and from the fire, stealing tiny bits of flame, which they carried out of the room through small holes at the base of the walls.

  “Is this a good room or a bad room?” Leven asked Clover.

  “I don’t know, but the fire has better manners than the stuff we just left,” Clover responded.

  “Well, I’ll tell you something I’m not doing,” Leven breathed. “I’m not going back out that door.”

  Leven stepped away from the door and began to walk around the room, looking closely at the floor and walls. The small furry balls scattered from in front of him. He looked up and could see an opening where the smoke from the fire was able to rise and exit the room. He couldn’t see another door, but the rugs were covering a fair portion of the walls of the six-sided room.

  Clover jumped from off Leven’s head and onto the floor.

  “Who lives in Morfit?” Leven asked, as he examined the rugs.

  “Anyone who has the stomach for it,” Geth answered. “And a lot of children.”

  “Children?” Leven questioned.

  “Of course,” Geth said. “Children who step into Foo had better hope they enter in Niteon or near Cusp. If not, they are usually rounded up and brought here for education. Some of the highest levels of Morfit are used for keeping and teaching children.”

  “What are they taught?” Leven asked, the idea of children living in such a dark place feeling perverse and depressing.

  “They are taught to manipulate dreams in a way that is pleasing to those in power.”

  “Like Sabine?” Leven asked.

  “Exactly,” Geth said.

  “Do you think we could fit through that hole?” Leven asked, pointing toward the opening in the ceiling.

  Clover smiled.

  He climbed into Leven’s hands and pulled his hairy ears down over his head, making it look as though he were wearing a swim cap.

  “What are you doing?” Leven smiled.

  “Throw me,” Clover said, nodding upward.

  “I was thinking of tying these rugs together and climbing out,” Leven explained.

  “There isn’t time,” Clover insisted. “Besides, how would you tie them together? Now, throw me.”

  Leven shrugged and held Clover in his two hands that looked like one. Leven pumped his arms and threw Clover as hard as he could up toward the opening. Clover missed the hole by at least three feet, slamming his head against the ceiling and falling back to the floor with a thud.

  Leven hurried to his side and kneeled down next to him. “I am so sorry,” he said, picking Clover up.

  “Don’t worry about it, Winter,” Clover slurred, calling Leven the wrong name while looking at him. “Hey, did you always have stars flying around your head?” he asked dizzily.

  “Great,” Leven said, shifting Clover in his hands. “Let’s try to tie the rugs.”

  “No,” Clover waved, shaking the cobwebs out of his head. “Maybe I’ll see if the fire is strong enough to climb.”

  “Climb?”

  Clover leapt up and jumped above the fire. Instead of falling, he hovered in mid-smoke. Then he grabbed onto the smoke and began to climb the warm air. There was barely enough smoke to hold Clover, but he eventually made it all the way to the hole.

  “Why didn’t you do that in the first place?” Leven yelled up.

  “I didn’t think the fire was strong enough to hold me,” Clover yelled back.

  “Should I try to climb it?” Leven asked.

  “No, you’re too heavy. Let me find something to throw down to you.”

  Leven waited a few minutes before he heard the sound of something loud scraping against the ceiling. A few moments later there was a large stick being lowered down. The wooden pole was long, with thick, twisted, bulging knots on it every two feet. It was cold and wet, but long enough to reach from the floor to the ceiling.

  Leven wasted no time scaling the stick and climbing up through the hole. It reminded him of the stiff ropes he’d been forced to climb in gym class.

  “Good job,” Geth said as he reached the top.

  “Where’d you find that stick?” Leven asked as he stood.

  “It was over behind that rock partition,” Clover explained. “I think they use it to push things through their pipes.”

  Leven wished he hadn’t asked.

  “Let’s go,” Leven said, reaching out for Clover.

  Clover looked at Leven’s hands and ewwed. “No offense,” Clover said, hopping onto Leven’s back.

  “None taken,” Leven replied, wiping his damp hands on his high-water pants.

  “Where to now?” Clover asked.

  “Up,” Leven answered.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Fuel of Feelings

  Leven climbed the stairs three at a time. He could feel the pull of Winter again; she was somewhere up above them.

  Leven climbed the stairs four at a time.

  He reached another floor and ran down a hallway with open arches toward another flight of stairs.

  “Do you know this place?” Leven asked Geth, the lighter streak in his hair glowing from the moonlight that seeped through the arched window.

  “Yes,” Geth said. “Behind that wall is a staircase. They must have Winter in the Want’s room at the top. But walk softly—the council room for the Sochemists is at the head of the stairs.”

  “The Sochemists?” Leven asked.

  “They do nothing but interpret and argue over information any Lore Coil might still be passing. They never agree on the warped and incomplete things they hear, but Foo takes their interpretations seriously.”

  Leven moved down
the open hallway and toward the stairs. Soon he could hear voices coming from the room next to them.

  “I’m telling you. He is alive and well,” a voice yelled.

  “Ridiculous,” a different voice yelled back.

  A third voice responded loudly, “The coil said nothing about him being well. Maybe you should open your ears next time, Fadium.”

  “Oh, you haven’t heard a coil correctly in years!” he argued back.

  Leven tiptoed past the door to the Sochemists’ room and then began running up the stairs, taking them three at a time. After the equivalent of five floors the stairwell ended, opening into a small alcove off a long hall. The alcove was dimly lit with candles that hummed softly, and the walls were lined with large paintings depicting the first age of Foo. Leven looked at the pictures and could feel emotion over each scene.

  “It was a dark time,” Geth said, sensing his interest in a picture of a large group of men and beasts gathered on a field.

  “I can see metal,” Leven said, touching the picture. He withdrew his hand quickly, not liking the uneasy feelings the painting generated.

  “Of course,” Geth said, “before the great battles, metal was widely used. Now metal only exists in dreams or on the Thirteen Stones.”

  Leven moved farther down the hall and stopped at a gigantic mural that depicted a great battle. All the combatants were depicted wearing blindfolds. Leven touched the mural and shuddered from the pain it produced. He pulled his hands away.

  “They fought blindfolded so that the killing wasn’t intentional and death could occur,” Geth explained softly. “Those days were as dark as the ones we have yet to go through.”

  The candles began to weep.

  There were paintings of the mangled bodies of Eggmen scattered along the shores of the Lime Sea. Next to that picture was one of the Waves of the Lime Sea retreating to guard Alder.

  “Is there any hope?” Leven asked reverently.

  “Of course,” Geth insisted. “There must be for you and Winter—for all those around us, and for those in Reality. Few understand how connected we all are, or how our happiness comes as much from the experiences of others as it does from our own.”