by Obert Skye
“Where?”
Farrow looked at Leven and wrinkled his brow. “Do all things from Reality ask so many boring questions?”
“Things?” Leven asked.
“There’s a surprise,” Farrow mocked. “Another question.”
“Well, I’d like to know where we’re headed.”
“How ’bout I show you where we’re going when we get there?” Farrow smiled unevenly.
“Last time I saw Geth, we were falling down a giant chasm. Do you think he might have escaped the gunt?” Leven asked.
“Too many questions. It would be best if you simply didn’t talk,” Farrow declared. He turned from Leven, using his bony hands to sweep his long gray bangs back behind his ears. “I said I, me, we’ll find Geth. You’re not a runner, are you?”
“I almost made the school track team a year ago,” Leven answered naively, still picking bits of tree from off his arms.
Farrow growled. “No, is your gift running?”
“I don’t think so,” Leven replied.
“Good,” Farrow said. “I hate trying to keep up.”
Farrow twisted and began walking away. After ten steps, he turned to look back at Leven. “Aren’t you coming?” he barked. “We’ll have to walk and hope we find Geth before anyone . . . well, let’s just hope we find Geth in time.”
Leven looked to the sky as if there might be an answer written in stars. A huge yellow moon shifted, passing in front of a much smaller blue orb and hiding it. A ribbon of green light danced across the horizon.
“I only have one shoe,” Leven hollered after the old man.
Farrow just kept walking.
Clover appeared and pulled a used shoe from his void. “I’ve been saving all the ones you grew out of,” he whispered. “I can’t believe you guys in Reality just throw these away.”
Leven recognized his old shoe. It was from a year ago and had been well worn.
“Thanks,” Leven said, taking the shoe. Hopping on one leg, he crammed his foot into it, then leaned down to lace it up. Shod, Leven took a few giant strides to catch up to Farrow. As he came up beside the grizzled old man, Farrow glanced at Leven and shook his head.
“Leven Thumps,” he sneered, the tone of his voice turning cold. “‘Look at me, I lived in Reality.’ Then Geth abandons Foo and brings you back. His stone has been vacant far too long, if you ask us.”
“Us?”
“Another boring question.”
“Well, what do you mean by his stone?” Leven asked.
“That’s not a question you should be asking,” Farrow snapped, wobbling as he did so. “Try to remember who you are and who you are talking to.”
“I was just curious because—”
Farrow wheeled to face Leven. His old gray eyes were swirling—and not the good kind of swirling like when you twist chocolate syrup into a dish of ice cream. No, the swirling in Farrow’s eyes was more like the maddening kind of dizziness and confusion you feel right before you throw up or lose control of your emotions.
Farrow grabbed Leven by the neck of his shirt and steadied himself. His hands were old and rough and smelled rank.
“Curious?” Farrow rumbled, sounding like a different person than he had been moments before. “Curious gets you trapped in a seed and sent to Reality to wait while everyone else is left here to suffer and fight a losing battle.”
“But I thought—” Leven tried to explain.
“You thought,” Farrow spat. “I wish I had a medal to give you. Listen, Leven Thumps, the sooner you realize that you understand nothing, the better off you will be. Nothing is the same here as in Reality. All that you have known is now different. The air you are breathing is different. You think the sun will rise tomorrow?” Farrow challenged.
Leven nodded cautiously.
“Ha!” Farrow scoffed, letting go of Leven’s shirt. He wobbled and grabbed onto Leven’s sleeve. “The sun might rise tomorrow, and it might not. Maybe you’ll grow older, and maybe not. Either way, you would be better off to forget what you know.”
Leven’s face burned red with frustration. “I know Geth would never—”
“Don’t say Geth!” Farrow ordered. “He might be the heir, but he has done more to disrupt Foo than help. In my opinion this is no longer his battle. He should step down and leave the future to Morfit. I will help you find . . . Geth. But on the day that your need is met, I will feel nothing but pleasure as I turn and walk the opposite direction.”
Farrow shook his head, let go of Leven, and flung the hood of his orange robe up. He twisted awkwardly again and began walking quickly down the path they were on.
“That guy should write greeting cards,” Clover whispered softly into Leven’s ear.
A low buzzing filled the air as bit bugs began moving into the night air from the branches of trees where they spent their days. Leven waved them away, irritated by their swarming. The bit bugs were ugly little things, nothing more than small bits of actual bugs that had escaped from dreams. Some were just legs, or antennae, or body segments, and they flew about erratically. Leven began walking again and after a few moments he had caught back up to Farrow.
“So we’re heading to where Geth might be?” Leven asked.
Farrow stopped and looked at Leven with a scowl. “Who cuts your hair?” he snapped.
“What?” Leven questioned.
“Whoever did it, they did a bad job,” Farrow said, starting to walk again.
Leven ran his fingers through his hair.
“Nice guy,” Leven whispered to Clover. “This is ridiculous. We’d better be heading toward Geth. What time do you think it is, anyway?”
“What does that matter?” Clover asked. “Time is different here. No one ever really knows for sure.”
“You don’t keep track of time here?”
“Well, not like in Reality,” Clover replied. “It’s a bit more relaxed in Foo. Say you’re enjoying a beautiful sunset, and you want it to last longer. Or it’s three more days to Winsnicker Day, and you just can’t wait, so you need time to speed up.”
“Winsnicker Day?”
“One of my favorite days,” Clover said happily. “There’s a lot of skipping and decorations and singing about Professor Philip Winsnicker and his heroics.”
“So when is Winsnicker Day?” Leven asked.
“It comes at a different time and day each year. I wish I had my schoolbook with the schedule. I hope I didn’t lose it.”
Leven shook his head, totally confused by his surroundings and the order of things in Foo. It was like nothing he had experienced in Reality, and he wondered if he might not be dreaming. But he still felt an urgency to find Geth.
“Well, even if time is working for us, we should be going faster,” Leven said. “Do they have cars or airplanes here?
Clover laughed. “Airplanes? Those big metal things that used to fly over your house in Oklahoma?”
Leven nodded.
“There are none of those things here,” Clover said, as if surprised that Leven would even suggest such a thing. “No cars or airplanes, or anything made out of metal.”
“You don’t have metal here?” Leven asked.
“We do, but it’s . . . well, sacred.”
“Metal is sacred?” Leven laughed.
“That might not be the perfect word,” Clover admitted, “but metal is something only those who occupy the Thirteen Stones are permitted to possess. It used to be that everyone used metal, but then there were abuses and trouble with it. All the great wars have been fought over metal.”
“How does a realm with no killing have wars?” Leven asked.
“They fight blindfolded,” Clover answered, as though it were the most natural thing that could be imagined.
“Seriously?”
“Both sides cover their eyes so that any strong blow is an accident.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Leven scoffed. “You said Foo was a place of possibilities. But I keep hearing about more and more restrictions.�
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“The wonder and beauty are what we are fighting to restore,” Clover explained. “The privilege of working with metal is not a restriction. It’s an art that belongs only to the Council of Wonder.”
Leven drew in a deep breath, wondering at what he was learning. He scanned the landscape and took a good look at where he was.
Despite its strangeness, Foo was absolutely beautiful. The green-tinted moon was smearing itself down toward the horizon and radiating long strands of light that wiggled like wet noodles up into the purple sky. Under that light, the white streak in Leven’s hair had a phosphoric glow to it.
The trail Farrow was leading them down was dark and paved with narrow, rectangular stones. It looked like a billion sticks of multicolored gum had been used to lay it out.
Leven took everything in and breathed deeply again. Despite the surrounding beauty, Leven felt like he didn’t belong here. He was scared to death and wished the gateway still existed. He wished that Winter and Geth and Amelia were back by his side—that they had not been separated. He wished he had more faith in fate and knew more clearly what part he was supposed to play.
Farrow had made no effort to shorten his stride, and he was now well ahead of them. Leven wasn’t sure that Farrow had the answers, but he began trotting to catch up to the crotchety old man again.
“So what’s this stone of Geth’s?” Leven asked Clover, who had gone invisible again.
“His stone is part of the Thirteen Stones. He . . . actually, it might just be easier to show you.” Clover suddenly appeared in front of Leven’s face. He had his feet planted on the sides of Leven’s neck and his hands were clutching Leven’s ears. Clover had materialized many different times and many different ways, but he had never gotten into Leven’s face before like he was now.
“What are you doing?” Leven asked, drawing his head back.
“Hold on,” Clover said. “Watch my eyes.”
“Can’t you just—”
“Watch,” Clover insisted.
Leven obeyed, and Clover closed his eyes. After a moment, wisps of gray fog began seeping out from the corners of his eyelids, and when Clover opened his eyes, a large cloud of fog drifted out and up. As the fog cleared, Clover’s blue eyes glowed bright and then darkened. Patterns of dancing, colored light moved from Clover’s right eye to his left, then disappeared.
In the blackness of the eyeballs, a map materialized with a legend that said Foo. Leven studied it. He could see that the land of Foo was all one mass. As he watched, a succession of brightly lit scenes burned up through the surface of the map. There were vivid images of people behaving strangely, fantastic landscapes, animals such as Leven had never imagined, and lots of colors and motion. Each little episode would appear for a moment, then dissolve as another took its place.
Leven could hear Clover’s voice explaining: “What you’re seeing are dreams as they enter Foo.”
Clover closed both eyes, and when he opened them again, Leven could see the towns and villages that were scattered across Foo. Clover blinked, and another image appeared. “These are scenes from Foo’s past,” he said.
Through a fine mist, Leven could see crowds of people coming out of their dwellings, gathering, then moving in waves toward the town of Cork. While he watched, one by one, large chunks of land broke off from the bottom of Foo and began drifting out into the Veil Sea toward the Wet Border. The images leapt from Clover’s right eye to his left, and a moment later Leven could see a series of islands forming off the shore of Foo, located in the Veil Sea, near the Hidden Border. There were thirteen of them, and each had its own distinctive shape. As Leven watched, a large, hand-shaped section of Foo reached out toward the islands.
Leven pushed his right hand through his hair and rubbed his own eyes.
Clover began to speak, “Those thirteen islands have great control over what happens in Foo. The land reaching toward them is controlled by the collective will of the dreams of Reality and the desires of the inhabitants of Foo.”
Clover blinked again, and Leven saw in Clover’s eyes the image of an old man with a long beard, wearing a dark cloak. The man was breathing heavily, kneeling down, bent over, seeming to stare not just at but into the ground. As the man pulled a seed from his robe, Clover suddenly sneezed, and the image instantly faded. The little sycophant shook his head, and his eyes were back to normal.
“Excuse me,” he said.
“Amazing,” Leven whispered. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Well, I can’t juggle. And according to my fourth-grade teacher, I can’t write poetry,” Clover said disgustedly, letting go of Leven’s ears. “What an elitist. So the word buddy doesn’t exactly rhyme with pretty. I was expressing myself. I wish she could have—”
Leven cleared his throat. “Who was that old man, and what happens when he looks into the dirt?”
Clover didn’t answer immediately. Instead he cleared his throat. When he did speak, he sounded choked up. “That was Antsel,” he explained. “He could look into the ground and see everything, as if he were standing on a bluff and looking out into the open sky. A real soil seer can see much farther underground than anyone can see above. Antsel could see across the world, or most of Foo.”
“What good does that do?” Leven asked.
“You’d be surprised,” Clover said. “He saw where to plant Geth, and his gifts were such that he could see dreams even before they reached the surface of Foo.”
Leven closed and opened his brown eyes slowly, revealing a small band of gold around his pupils. The band of gold flared and then cooled, blending into the brown.
“I haven’t seen a dream yet,” Leven admitted as though he were confessing a dark secret.
“That’s not unusual,” Clover said, jumping up onto Leven’s left shoulder and patting him on the top of his head. “Some people never see them. For most, it takes a few weeks for the first ones to appear. And usually the first dreams that nits pick up on are ones coming in from relatives. But since you don’t have any relatives, it might take you a bit longer. It will happen. One day you’ll be walking and suddenly you’ll see a shaft of light split through the soil. If you’re close enough, it will attach to you and you’ll begin to enhance it.”
“Attach to me?”
“Through the soles of your feet or the underside of your chin—maybe up through your palms,” Clover explained. “Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. It’s quite remarkable.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” Leven said. “More than a few of your stories have been wrong.”
Leven tried to walk faster, but Farrow was still hundreds of feet ahead of him.
“So, where’s the battle?” Leven asked Clover. “I’ve seen a number of odd things, but I see no war. Where’s the great fight Geth talked about?”
“You’ll see,” Clover said. “The day will come when each of your questions will be answered. That day’s just not now. Not everyone can be the Want.”
“The Want?” Leven questioned.
“He occupies the thirteenth stone and is pretty important—big house, all kinds of power. He can see every dream that enters Foo. Some say it’s made him a bit . . . well, eccentric.”
“Every dream?” Leven scoffed.
“Every dream,” Clover confirmed. “He alone possesses the power of the gifts. Some say he’s mad from all the images he sees, but he’s still the Want, and his power holds Foo together.”
“So he’s more powerful than Geth?”
“Of course,” Clover laughed. “But Geth has been in his presence. That’s not something most here could handle. I’m not really supposed to be telling you these things. I took a few liberties in Reality, but here sycophants are supposed to know their place and stay in it. So, it might be wise for you not to mention all this to Geth. The Thirteen Stones control everything here. Each member of the Council of Wonder occupies one of them. The largest is home to the Want. He used to visit other parts of Foo, but now he just remains there, watc
hing and shifting dreams.”
A giant, birdlike snake flithered overhead and hissed before settling into a thick patch of fantrum trees. Foo was unbelievable; Leven just wished he understood it better.
By now, Farrow had moved out of sight, and Leven jogged up the path looking for him. The fuzzy light from the moon dripped down, throwing dark shadows across the path from the fantrum trees that lined the way.
“Farrow?” Leven called, still not able to see him. “Farrow?”
There was no answer. A wind began to blow, rustling the leaves of the trees, softly at first but rapidly increasing in force. Soon the limbs were roaring with air and thrashing about wildly.
“Clover,” Leven said. “Something feels wrong.”
There was no answer.
“Clover?” Leven said a bit louder.
There was no sound but the howling of the wind in the trees.
“Farrow!” Leven shouted.
The moon shifted color from green to white, sizzling like a big Alka-Seltzer tablet. It glowed bright and then began to hiss and dim, and the wind suddenly quit blowing. Everything grew still and silent.
“Come on, Clover,” Leven said nervously. “You have to be here.”
“He’s not,” a voice said.
Leven turned to find Farrow standing only a couple of feet away. The old man stood with his arms crossed in front of him, the hood of his orange robe pulled up over his head. His eyes glowed a pale red.
“Where’d you—?” Leven began.
“Quiet!” Farrow ordered, his eyes pulsating.
Farrow uncrossed his arms and inserted two fingers of his right hand into his mouth. He created a high-pitched whistle that sounded out into the surrounding forest. Something began to rustle in the trees.
Leven looked around nervously. He glanced down at the trail in front of him and for a moment thought he saw Clover standing there, looking at him.
“Clover, thank—hey, you’re not Clover.”
Whatever it was, it was a few inches taller than Clover’s twelve inches. The creature had stubby ears that resembled swollen corks, and where its tail should have been there was a third arm with a hand that it was using to scratch its forehead vigorously. Its face was square with a round, wrinkly nose and narrow eyes. It opened its tiny mouth and cooed at Leven. The creature rocked and bounced back and forth like a monkey.