Leven Thumps: The Complete Series

by Obert Skye

  “Don’t get all hopped up on your new ability to feel,” Ezra insisted. “Now, sit down and let me read your head. If I’m right, people will be coming back and you’ll need more information. I want a huge gathering to snuff out this Dearth character and make me king.”

  “The USA doesn’t have a king,” Dennis pointed out.

  “Foo S of A does,” Ezra said loudly.

  “Foo S of A? That’s horrible,” Dennis scoffed. “Have you been thinking of that for long?”

  “It came to me a couple of nights ago,” Ezra said, bothered. “It’s not bad.”

  “It’s awful.”

  Dennis sat down on a folding chair and let Ezra hop on top of his head.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got,” Ezra said excitedly.

  Dennis listened to Ezra as he read the top of his mind.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  One-Word Answers

  The power of a single word can be amazing. I suppose it’s not often thought about, seeing as how the world is filled with words and often their value can seem insignificant. Words are everywhere. They litter the sides of buildings, occupy armies of signs, and decorate millions of pithy T-shirts. Computers and magazines spit out more pointless words these days than at any other time in history. Sure, there are some good words in there somewhere, but it’s not always pleasant to dig around looking for them.

  That, to me, is the reason why a single word properly placed is so powerful. If you are down on a knee waiting for your soul mate to respond to your proposal of marriage, yes is a pretty fantastic three-letter word, whereas no with its two tiny letters could ruin your mood for months, if not years. The word fire is comforting if you’ve just come in from a long day of snow skiing. But it is far less

  enjoyable to hear if you are standing in front of a firing squad after being interrogated for hours about where you were on the night of October 13th and why there is blood on your shirt.

  For the last time, I was at the library and it was jam.

  Single words can be very powerful, and there was certainly great impact in the single word that Azure finally uttered from the candor box:

  “ . . . alive.”

  Leven felt his entire body drop two inches before catching itself. Winter smiled like it was Christmas and she was opening the cutest pony on the block. And Geth, well, he clapped his hands, which for a lithen is pretty out of control.

  “Clover’s alive?” Leven asked, wanting to make sure he had heard right.

  “Yes,” Azure said defeatedly, his ear bleeding badly.

  “He’s alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Leven jumped. “Where is he?”

  “Down below us,” Azure answered, his face scrunched and confused.

  “Who has him?” Leven asked.

  “He’s locked up.”

  “Where?”

  “In the infirmary storage cabinet.”

  “Why?”

  “We were going to run tests on him.”

  Leven wanted to dash around the room screaming with joy, but Geth cut him off.

  “We should go quickly. Leave Azure—with any luck, no one will ever free him.”

  “The nit,” Leven said, pointing towards the organist.

  Geth broke the nit’s shackles with Azure’s kilve, and the four of them left the room. Not surprising to any of them, the organist split from the pack and ran to find his own way out. The caves and caverns were much quieter now and had a deserted feeling to them.

  “How do we get down?” Leven asked.

  “There,” Winter pointed.

  A thin tunnel between two fatter ones sloped down steeply. They waited behind a stone archway as four rants approached.

  “If I took down the two biggest, could you and Winter get the others?” Geth whispered to Leven.

  “Is that a challenge?” Leven asked. “Because . . .”

  Winter was already charging into the largest rant. The element of surprise worked well. She knocked him over, slamming the back of his head up against the stone wall. He went down hard. One of the other rants grabbed Winter by her hair and yanked her head backwards. He let go the moment Geth connected the kilve to his gut and then spun it around to knock him out cold with the other end. Leven was wrestling a third one to the ground, and Geth finished him off by cracking the kilve over his skull. The last rant had Winter by the wrist and was flinging her sideways. Leven charged the rant and grabbed him around the neck. Winter twisted free and applied an amazingly solid kick to the rant’s right side while Geth hit his legs out from beneath him.

  They dragged all four of the rants to a trash hole near the

  archway. They stripped them out of their robes and shoved them into the trash hole. Leven had never seen a rant without its robe on. The sight was amazing and concerning. Two of the rants were half windy telt; one was half-monkey, half-man; and the other was half-man, half female president. The seams between the rants’ two sides looked like stretched-out scars.

  “If they get to Reality will they be made whole?” Leven asked.

  “They’ll die,” Geth said, slipping on a blue robe. “But the Dearth has promised them they’ll be fixed.”

  “This robe’s way too big,” Winter said, drowning in the robe she had put on.

  “It looks great,” Leven said, putting on his own.

  They flipped their hoods up and, dressed as part of Azure’s army, ran across the juncture and down the skinny tunnel Winter had previously pointed to. The path curved and descended even further, opening into a long cavern filled with empty beds.

  “This place is amazing,” Leven said. “Why would they leave it?”

  “Too much stone,” Geth replied. “The Dearth needs soil to sustain himself and control others. The cavern worked for Azure, but not for the Dearth.”

  “I have no idea where the infirmary is,” Leven admitted.

  “Just keep going down,” Geth said.

  They reached a hallway with tiled walls and a smooth, glassy floor and quickly followed it.

  “What are you doing?” Leven said suddenly. “We’ve got to get Clover.”

  Geth and Winter turned to look at Leven. He was standing still and talking to himself.

  “What?” Geth asked.

  Leven looked up. “Winter was hugging me.”

  “I was not,” she said, baffled.

  “Yes you were,” Leven insisted.

  “Actually,” Geth said, “she wasn’t.”

  “Why would I say she was if she wasn’t?” Leven argued.

  “Wishful thinking,” Winter said, shaking her head. “Come on.”

  The hallway turned and they were now in a stone tunnel again.

  “Phoebe,” Leven said. “Where did you come from?”

  Geth and Winter stopped and turned to look at Leven again.

  “I guess you’re pretty happy, aren’t you, Geth?” Leven said. “Phoebe, how did you find us?”

  “What are you talking about?” Winter looked dumbfounded.

  “I’m talking about Phoebe,” Leven said. “She’s right . . . well, she was right next to Geth.”

  Geth turned around. There was nothing but empty tunnel in both directions.

  “Are you okay?” Geth asked.

  “I’m fine,” Leven insisted. “Phoebe was there.”

  “Maybe it’s some sort of tunnel mirage,” Winter joked. “Come on.”

  “I saw Phoebe.”

  “Was she hugging you?” Winter mocked.

  “I . . .”

  “Come on,” Geth said nicely.

  At the end of the tunnel they hid behind a small fountain while a few lone rants and cogs marched past carrying weapons and supplies.

  “Is that a picture of a Band-Aid?” Leven asked, pointing to a marking on the wall.

  “A Band-Aid or toilet paper,” Winter said.

  “Either way, couldn’t that be pointing to the infirmary?”


  The picture pointed to a row of wooden doors. Some were open and some were shut, but all led into the same large room. Metal tables with sharp instruments strewn across their tops encompassed the room. The walls were lined with glass canisters. All of the containers appeared to have something worrisome floating in them. The floor was one big mosaic of different-sized stains and splotches. Lamps hung from the ceiling on chains.

  “I don’t like this room,” Winter said quietly.

  “Don’t leave, Winter,” Leven pleaded. “We’ve got to get Clover.”

  “What are you taking about? I’m not going to leave.”

  “You were.”

  “No I wasn’t,” she insisted.

  “I saw you go back out the doors,” Leven said, trying to keep his voice down.

  “I’m worried about you,” Winter said. “You seem . . .”

  The sound of something shaking made them all jump.

  “What was that?” Geth said excitedly.

  They heard a noise—it sounded like a cat stuck in a closet, or a sycophant trapped in a cabinet.

  “Clover!” Leven exclaimed.

  They ran across the room. Leven knocked over a table, flinging devious-looking tools everywhere. Some of the instruments stuck into the wall and ceiling.

  There were six small cabinets against the wall, but only one was rattling. Leven grabbed for the handle and pulled. It was locked tight.

  “Clover, is that you?”

  There was a muffled reply.

  “That’s Clover’s muffle!” Winter cried.

  Leven grabbed one of the tools that had stuck in the wall and pulled it out. He jammed it into the edge of the cabinet door. Geth and Winter gripped it with him. With all the strength they had, they popped the door open and peered inside.

  Two glowing blue eyes slowly materialized.

  “It’s about time,” Clover said. “I’m starving. Hey, what are you guys wearing?”

  Winter grabbed him and he threw his small arms around her neck. “We thought you were dead.”

  “No,” Clover waved. “I think they were testing things, but I was pretty bored, and that cabinet stinks.”

  Leven pushed his hood down. Clover leapt to Leven and held onto his right ear as he leaned out to pat Geth on the shoulder.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Leven said, trying not to sound too emotional.

  “Me too,” Clover replied. “Now, let’s get out of here—if you heard some of the things that went on in this room . . .”

  Clover shivered.

  “Stick to the shadows and the stone,” Geth reminded them.

  They all followed him with quick steps and considerably lighter hearts than just moments before.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  A Very Fragile Pattern

  Rast and Reed scurried through the dark tunnel trying to calm their small hearts while still making good time.

  “We’re almost there,” Rast said. “I remember.”

  “Shouldn’t we see some light soon?”

  “Yes,” Rast answered.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Reed asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Rast replied.

  “You know you’re going to have to make a decision,” Reed said. “Because I’m not staying down here any longer than I have to.”

  “Oh, I see,” Rast said. “So the future of everyone is dependent on your comfort.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Reed insisted. “Usually I like underground tunnels, but this one just feels too serious.”

  “I know what you mean,” Rast whispered. “This is not an ordinary cave.”

  “Okay,” Reed said. “We’ll make sure it’s there, you’ll contemplate destroying it, and then we’ll get out.”

  “You’re a good soul,” Rast said kindly.

  “I see some light,” Reed said. “Quick.”

  The two small sycophants ran speedily down the dark path towards the faint light. The tunnel turned and the light became greater.

  “Hurry!” Rast said with excitement.

  “My legs are only four inches long,” Reed argued. “I’m moving as fast as I can.”

  “Leap more,” Rast suggested.

  “I don’t mind leaping,” Reed said. “It’s the landing that hurts my old knees.”

  “I’ll meet you at the light, then,” Rast said. “I don’t mind sore knees.”

  Rast leapt from wall to wall, bouncing back and forth in a quick pattern that propelled him forward. The tunnel grew wider as the light grew brighter. The sound of an underwater river running strong filled his ears.

  “Do you hear that?” Rast stopped and yelled. “Water.”

  Reed caught up to him, breathing hard. “Yes, yes, I can hear the water and see the light.”

  “It’s just around the next bend,” Rast said.

  Reed put his hand out and held onto Rast’s arm.

  “You’re not nervous, are you?” Rast joked.

  “A bit,” Reed admitted. “What if it’s not there?”

  “Then my hard decision is made for me,” Rast said. “Come.”

  They walked together down the trail. The light up ahead looked like a bright ghost rapidly gaining weight.

  “There it is,” Reed whispered.

  “It’s still whole,” Rast said, half happy, half sad.

  They climbed three wide steps and walked onto a flat open path.

  “The map of glass,” Reed said reverently.

  Light from a single hole that tunneled hundreds of feet up to the top of the cavern dropped through and rested squarely on the back of the large piece of glass. It was ten feet tall and thirteen feet wide. It was framed in stone, and the images on it were brightly colored. The entire plate had a gold sheen to it, and some of the markings looked permanent, while other marks shifted as the light shone through. The trail to Reality was clearly marked on the glass. A heavy dotted line wound through intricate tunnels and up through watery rooms.

  “It looks so fragile and thin,” Reed said.

  “And yet it still stands.”

  “The trail winds through rooms of water,” Reed pointed. “How is that possible?”

  “That’s why the map is so crucial,” Rast explained. “Follow the guide and you will walk through the water without getting wet and with air to breathe. Go it on your own and you will surely drown. The path through the water also changes as the light through the map sees fit.”

  “How do you get back?”

  “Once you get through the maze, the water drains and the path remains open for three days,” Rast said.

  “Plenty of time for Azure to move thousands into Reality,” Reed said sadly.

  “If we break the map, then the way is lost,” Rast said.

  “But our role is not to destroy,” Reed whispered. “And would eliminating the map really guarantee our success?”

  “It stops the Dearth.”

  “For a time.”

  “What would you do?” Rast asked sincerely. “You heard the Lore Coils, even down here. If the secret has reached us here, who in Foo doesn’t know how to destroy us?”

  “Maybe our kind should move through the caves.”

  “Reality’s not fit for sycophants. Our role has changed,” Rast said sadly. “With the secret out, we are vulnerable. Our people will be forced to hide and keep away.”

  “Some will stand up for us,” Reed said. “Many nits would die for their sycophants.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Rast said. “If the Dearth gets through because we can no longer stop his armies at our shores, then we have failed all of Foo and all mankind. One rock though the map will at least stop them.”

  They were quiet, listening to the water run through the caves.

  “What a dark day,” Reed finally said soberly.

  Rast walked across the trail and over to the side of the underground river. He picked up the biggest rock he could lift. He carried it over and stood by Reed.

  “The Dearth will want our heads,
” Reed said. “Taking his exit will not sit well with him.”

  Rast lifted the rock above his head.

  “All this risk for the sake of dreams?” Reed asked. “We’re offering up our people so that those we don’t even know can continue to dream.”

  “We are simply doing what’s right,” Rast said. “There’s no other measurement to live by.”

  Rast swung his arms back and threw the rock directly at the bottom of the map. The rock arched slightly and then spun towards the glass. Before it got closer than six inches, it was batted back.

  It landed on the ground between Rast and Reed. They both just stared at the rock.

  “Try it again,” Reed said.

  Rast picked the rock up, spun around, and let it fly. The rock went higher this time, but before it hit, something darted in and batted it away. The rock landed behind Rast and Reed.

  “What was that?” Rast asked. “Something stopped it.”

  “Throw it again.”

  Rast picked the rock back up and threw it with all of his might. This time the rock shot straight towards the glass. A flicker of dark intercepted it and knocked it back.

  Reed picked up a small pebble and threw. Rast grabbed his rock and did the same. Both stones were swatted back.

  “Knock it off,” a small voice demanded. “What are you thinking?”

  “Who said that?” Rast asked.

  “I said that.”

  Rast blinked, and there flying above his nose was a small winged being. It was dark green with clear, fluttering wings, and no more than an inch tall. It had little horns on its green forehead and a fuzzy green body.

  It smirked at Rast.

  “Who are you?” it asked.

  “I’m Rast. I am . . .”

  “Throwing stones at the map?” it scolded. “What are you thinking?”

  “Not much,” a second, brown thing said.

  “Sorry,” Rast said. “Are you thorns? I haven’t seen your kind in ages.”

  “Well, maybe we haven’t seen your kind in ages either,” a third, black thorn said.

  “Yeah,” the green thorn said. “It’s your fault.”

  “I’m not blaming anyone,” Rast said.

  “Of course you aren’t,” the brown thorn mocked. “You’re too busy throwing stones at my map.”

  “Your map?” the green thorn argued. “I thought we agreed this month it’s mine.”