Leven Thumps: The Complete Series

by Obert Skye

  “It depends on how far west we have to go,” Dennis answered.

  “I don’t know,” Ezra snapped. “I just know that it’s that way.”

  “So we’ll take a boat?”

  “I guess,” Ezra said, bothered that his rage never garnered more respect.

  “How far can you drive us?” Dennis asked the driver.

  “Us?” he questioned.

  “Me.”

  “As far as you have money.”

  “Take us to where there’s water,” Dennis said.

  “To the shore?” the driver asked. “That’s hours away.”

  “We have money.”

  “I’ll need to see some of that now.”

  Dennis pulled out some money and promised the driver plenty if he would take them to the water.

  “Will you be talking to yourself the whole time?” the driver asked.

  “I was on the phone,” Dennis insisted.

  The cab driver rolled his eyes and signaled to get onto the autobahn.

  “To be honest with you, I haven’t been to the watery edge of Germany in some time,” the cab driver announced. “It might be nice to see the shore. How about Cuxhaven?”

  Ezra and Dennis didn’t answer.

  “I have an uncle there, and I think it’s one of Germany’s most beautiful vacation destinations,” the cab driver explained.

  Ezra sighed with disgust. “Don’t people know that we don’t care what they think?” he whispered into Dennis’s ear.

  Dennis sat back and said nothing, his bald head wondering what he was doing.

  “Stop thinking,” Ezra insisted. “Your eyes make that funny motion whenever you attempt to think.”

  “Sorry,” Dennis said.

  “There you go, stating the obvious again.” Ezra looked around. “Are we still going west?” he whispered.

  “No,” Dennis said. “We’ll have to go north to get to the sea.”

  “You know, you could talk to me,” the cab driver butted in. “I hear you whispering to yourself and you remind me of my brother Ronald. I enjoy having conversation.”

  Ezra tucked himself back behind Dennis’s ear, his purple fringe showing over the top.

  “I guess I could talk to you,” Dennis said awkwardly.

  “Sir gut,” the cab driver said. “Let’s start with what you are doing in Germany.”

  Dennis looked around at the world as it sped by. He could see a river in the distance and row after row of gray buildings. He glanced down at the cab’s dirty seats and dull windows. He looked at his own arms and traced the faint gray lines on his right arm with his left hand. His pants still were not wrinkled.

  “What are you doing here in Germany?” the cab driver asked again.

  “I have no idea.”

  The cab driver cleared his throat. “Just like Ronald. Maybe I begin. I have been driving a cab . . .”

  Ezra jabbed his hands into his ear holes and cursed. In the history of angry toothpicks, none had ever had to endure such lazy and boring opposition. Where was the sword, the gun? Where was a true nemesis or at least a task wicked enough to cackle about?

  There was nothing to cackle about!

  He was in a taxi with Mr. Blandness traveling at one mile above the speed limit to a vacation spot.

  Ezra jumped down from Dennis’s shoulder and shoved himself into the crack at the back of the seat. He positioned himself just so that if Dennis shifted he would most likely prick his backside.

  It was the most sinister thing Ezra could find to participate in at the moment.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sharing Is Not Always

  a Good Thing

  I have seen bad things happen. It’s no fun. Most humans try to avoid pain and sadness, but eventually the puddle of misery is too large to hop over or sidestep, and everyone’s feet end up wet.

  Leven knew the feeling of bad things happening.

  When he was eleven, he had been picked as co-student of the week at Pinchworthy Elementary. On the surface, this sounds like a happy occasion, but in truth it was one of Leven’s worst days.

  He was in a small class, and everyone else had already been picked and had had their pictures on the wall. To make matters worse, Sally Dimp had been student of the week twice. But during one of the last weeks of school Leven’s teacher was so busy grading tests that she didn’t have time to review who had been student of the week before and who hadn’t. So she made everyone write down his or her name and put it in an empty box she had lying around labeled “Future Tests.” She then drew a name.

  “Sally Dimp.”

  A number of the students complained that Sally had already been student of the week twice. So Leven’s teacher drew again.

  “Leven Thumps.”

  “Who’s that?” the boy who had sat next to Leven all year asked.

  “He must have moved away,” the overworked teacher said, putting her hand back into the box.

  Leven then tried to point out that he was Leven, and that if he had moved, he would not have been able to write his name down and put it in the box.

  His classmates just stared at him.

  “Well, I can’t waste time arguing this,” the teacher said, frazzled from all the tests she was constantly having to grade. “Let’s draw a second name, and that way if you have moved we will still have a student of the week.”

  “I haven’t moved,” Leven had said again.

  “Still, better safe than sorry.”

  Leven had never felt sorrier. As he looked around at everyone he had gone to school with for so many years, he felt his soul give up. He could think of no reason to argue his existence any longer. He had known the second his name was picked that it would end up badly. Things always did for him. The misery he had felt every day of his life was so raw and painful that he decided to switch it off and hope that when he was grown up and on his own he would be happy and appreciated.

  Well, Leven was growing up. He was at least two inches taller now than when he had stepped into Foo. His clothes were tighter and his hair was in need of cutting. He pushed back that long hair from his eyes and stared at the Want.

  Lith was shaking and dropping slowly.

  The Want was standing in front of Leven turning in a circle and talking in multiple tongues. They were in the foyer off of the grand hall in the castle—the Want shifting in place on bare feet. An upside-down fire was burning on the ceiling above, the firelight making the room dance with shadows.

  The Want had been saying something about Leven’s burden when, as before, he had become overwhelmed with incoming dreams. All Leven could do was watch as white strands of light vibrated in and out from the Want’s body, his robe moving in and puffing out in small circular waves. Leven had seen the Want like this many times by now and figured it was best to let him be. It felt as if he were warming up to give the world’s final sermon.

  “Do you think he can hear us when he’s like that?” an invisible Clover asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Leven said. “If he wants to, he probably can.”

  “I think we should get out of here.”

  “Not yet,” Leven said, feeling oddly comfortable.

  “You don’t have to stay.”

  “I need to see what is required of me,” Leven spoke.

  “Still, something doesn’t feel right.”

  Leven wanted to argue that point. Whereas the moment his name had been picked to be student of the week he had known something bad was coming, the opposite had happened here. The moment he was returned to his full size, he felt as if something good were approaching. His desire had been to get away, but now his head was filled with warm thoughts toward the Want, and strong images of Phoebe being freed. A terrific surge of possibility filled his being. He could see Winter and Geth, and he felt hopeful. The feeling was so unusual and surprising that Leven had to stop himself from smiling.

  He let one slip.

  “Are you smiling?” Clover asked in confusion.

 
Leven stood there smiling, unaware that he was gaining strength from the wake of emotions Winter’s Lore Coil had created.

  “I can’t help it,” Leven said. “There’s something about this place.”

  “Like the fact that it’s sinking? Or that your gift doesn’t seem to work on this island?”

  “This is the Want’s home,” Leven said. “He sets the rules.”

  “What about what he wants you to do?”

  “I don’t like to think about it,” Leven admitted, the warm feeling fading just a bit. “But at the moment I can feel nothing but happiness.”

  “I’m worried about you,” Clover whispered.

  The Want stopped rambling and turned to face Leven. He whimpered just a bit and then stood tall.

  “Are you okay?” Leven finally asked him.

  “Fine,” the Want replied kindly. “Are you ready?”

  Leven nodded.

  “Such a large weight to place on your shoulders,” the Want grieved, stepping out across the room.

  The happiness Leven felt dropped like a falling roller coaster. The Want scared him, but Leven also cared for him. He wanted desperately to make him proud and to restore Foo. He wanted to feel all the time the sense of peace and happiness he had recently been experiencing. He wanted to live in a place where beauty and dreams were powerful and vast.

  Leven thought of Winter. She had been on his mind so strongly ever since he had seen the longing locked in a cage underground.

  “You’re warm,” Clover whispered from on top of his head.

  “Sorry,” Leven said.

  “It’s kind of nice.”

  “This robe’s so itchy,” Leven complained, tugging at his sleeve.

  “But it makes you look like you’re a lithen or something,” Clover said. “I wish I had a mirror.”

  “No, thanks,” Leven said. “I don’t want my reflection giving me grief again.”

  “Your reflection?” Clover asked.

  “Last time I looked in a mirror, the way my reflection acted made me nervous.”

  “Your reflection acted?” Clover said, confused.

  “Yeah,” Leven said. “You know, how it speaks to you.”

  Clover laughed. “Reflections don’t speak.”

  “Mirrors don’t talk?”

  “I think someone was messing with you.”

  The Want stepped back in, halting their conversation. His robe was billowing as wide as possible.

  “The crowds have gathered,” the Want said. “It is time for your sycophant to go. You must tell him to leave.”

  “Why?” Leven asked.

  “This is not a place for alternate voices,” the Want said. “You must listen only to the ones fate places in your head.”

  “Clover can be quiet.”

  “I know that,” the Want said. “But we can’t take the risk. Tell him to go.”

  “Go, Clover,” Leven said firmly into the air.

  “He’s probably still there, isn’t he?” the Want said.

  “Probably,” Leven agreed.

  The Want sighed. “I can’t stand the breed.”

  The Want clapped his hands and the entire room lit up like an undeveloped negative, revealing the outline of Clover clinging to the back of Leven’s right leg. The Want’s hands swooped like frantic ravens to wrap around Clover’s neck and pull him off of Leven. It all happened so fast that Leven could barely register what had taken place.

  Clover materialized, dangling from the Want’s grip.

  “It’s a little tight,” Clover complained. “I was just leaving.”

  “Let go of him,” Leven insisted.

  “I’m only assisting him in his exit,” the Want said. “Now, leave us.”

  Clover looked at Leven sadly. The Want opened his grip, and Clover dropped to the bare dirt floor. He dusted off his palms as if disgusted and walked back toward the direction they had just come from. “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” Clover said bravely.

  The Want clapped again.

  “Okay, I’m leaving.”

  Clover reluctantly walked out.

  “He wouldn’t have ruined anything,” Leven said.

  “Your eyes are too young to see the hurt I am saving you from.”

  Leven looked back to where Clover had gone. The ground rumbled beneath his feet, moving enough to make Leven reach out to steady himself. “Will Clover be okay?” he asked.

  “Sycophants always are,” the Want said gently.

  The Want faced Leven. There was still no visible sign of his eyes, but Leven had grown to be able to read his nods and gestures.

  “They’re waiting,” the Want said kindly, an odd tinge of hope in his voice.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready,” Leven admitted, the gold in his eyes pulsating.

  “Perhaps fate will spare you.”

  “Is that possible?” Leven said with hope.

  “I suppose, if fate’s design is for Foo to fall.”

  The Want faced the door and it opened. The grand hall was filled with thousands of dark robed beings. Everywhere there were hooded nits chanting and turning in circles. Groups of them were spinning together, creating swirling sections of moving blackness with white smoke ascending from them as they spun.

  The ground rumbled.

  The grand hall was oval shaped, with a tall, elaborately carved stage at the front end. A balcony ringed the entire oval except over the stage. Around the ceiling, the upper walls were lined with roven skulls, giving the place an uneasy crown molding. Firelight flickered behind every skull, causing those who looked up to feel as if they were being watched. Long, blood-red curtains ran from beneath the balconies to the floor, covering all the windows and blocking out any light the night might hold.

  Both balcony and floor were filled to capacity, robed nits crowding the aisles and walkways. Their chanting was infectious, filling Leven’s troubled mind with images of power and aggression.

  “I feel weird,” Leven said.

  “Don’t ignore it,” the Want said back.

  He opened his arms and the sea of nits parted, allowing him room to walk through. The crowd quieted like a scream covered by a thick pillow. Some touched the Want as he passed. Leven followed closely, letting the muted chanting fill his senses.

  The Want stepped to the stage and stood behind a tall, well-polished tree stump. The front of the stage was carved to be a map of Foo with images that moved as the eye followed. Behind the Want, ten nits sat playing instruments that Leven had never seen before. The music the instruments produced was intoxicating. Leven couldn’t tell if he should listen or leave.

  The room grunted as the ground shifted even more.

  The Want stood behind the polished trunk. He reached down and grabbed the hem of his robe, then bolted upright, pulling his robe up over his head and completely off. Leven felt compelled to look away, but the Want was wearing a sheer orange robe underneath. He looked thin and frail, his eyes still covered.

  The Want mumbled something.

  Leven looked around at the empty faces of those gazing at the Want. They looked like pictures a child had drawn, round mouths and white eyes. A feeling of invincibility and completeness ran through Leven’s veins like warm butter.

  The floor began to glow as a mass of dreams pushed slowly up into the hall. Leven couldn’t see the actual dreams, but he could feel the light. The floor bubbled like simmering white cheese. All around Leven, nits began to fall to the ground and roll in the light as brighter beams blasted up into the balconies.

  The chanting increased and the music became louder.

  Nits scattered nonsensical words around like bird feed. The Want shook and then without warning lifted his hood.

  Light shot from his eyes, filling the grand hall with blazing whiteness and billions of tiny images. He trembled and bowed. As he moved, the light crystallized and settled like snow over the heads and shoulders of all those in the building.

  Leven felt an intoxicating sensation settle ove
r him.

  Millions of dreams pushed in through the ground. Nits were lifted and flew about as they grasped to manipulate and participate in as many dreams as they could. Leven watched a group of nits float to the ceiling and hover in the substance of a hundred dreams.

  The sound of uncontrolled appetites gasping for more filled the air.

  Leven couldn’t see the dreams, but he could see telts and avalands and sarus floating around the room. He could see people’s homes and their aspirations. He wasn’t in the dreams, but he was being buffeted from side to side by their presence.

  He wished his gift would kick in. He wanted to be lifted to the ceiling and to feel the strength of manipulating a dream himself, as the others did. He reached out, hoping to hold onto a dream.

  The ground shook.

  No one paid it any mind, feasting on the dreams as quickly as they could. Two nits began to fight over a particularly dark dream coming in. The taller of the two held the dream and shook.

  Leven could feel images and creatures moving through the air. He watched the Want standing there with his eyes glowing. The Want was counting on his fingers as if he were working some math out in his head.

  The ground snarled and the music played on.

  The balcony on the up side of the castle tilted, the front of it bending down. Nits spilled like black beans down onto those below. Their peril didn’t slow the dream gorging at all. Voices grew louder and Leven fell to the floor. His palms burned against the soil.

  Something was under there. Leven pulled his hands back and looked at them as if they belonged to someone else.

  A big nit dropped from a dream and landed across Leven’s back. Leven rolled over and stood up. He reached down to help the nit who had fallen on him.

  The nit just rocked back and forth, moaning and talking to himself, wanting no help. Everywhere Leven looked there was chaos and darkness.

  The land rocked back and forth and dropped two feet rapidly. A second balcony fell as the wall behind it crumbled. Darkness from the outside plugged up the holes in the wall.

  Two laughing nits flew into Leven. Leven fell flat against the floor again. There was definitely something in the dirt. The floor felt comfortable and soothing.

  “Get up,” a deep voice sounded in Leven’s head.