by Obert Skye
“We need to find her,” Leven said.
“She’ll be all right,” Clover insisted. “She’s a whisp. She can drift off whenever she wants, and they can’t do a thing about it.”
“So why did you wake me up?” Leven complained.
“Gates open in five minutes,” Clover said casually.
Leven suddenly remembered why they were here. “Geth didn’t come, did he?” he asked, glancing around.
“Not yet,” Clover said, as though it were just a matter of time.
Leven’s stomach lurched again. “Why is it still so dark?” he asked, turning to face the sun.
The sun was covered by a stippled black cloud.
“Maybe it’s going to rain,” Clover said.
“I don’t think those are rain clouds,” Leven said, watching the dark, grainy splotches move closer.
“Well, then what—” Clover stopped talking and his pointed ears began to twitch, to better listen to the distant buzzing in the air.
As the cloud drifted closer, it began breaking apart. Long ribbons of darkness hurtled down from the cloud like stringy, wet noodles. To avoid the approaching storm, Leven and Clover hurried up onto the porch of the gatehouse, taking cover under its roof.
The cloud moved overhead, showing off its belly. It was a cloud, but not in the normal sense. Leven could now see that the darkness was caused by a dense swarm of locusts. All at once thousands descended, flying wildly, filling the air with the buzz of their wings.
Leven leaped for the knob on the gatehouse door, but it was locked. Locusts in plaguelike proportions whipped and tore across the sky in a boiling mass.
“What are they?” Leven yelled above the din.
“Locusts!” Clover shouted. “They communicate news from Morfit.”
The locusts began to settle, roosting on any rail or structure they could find. As soon as they landed, they dried up into small husks. Leven looked beyond the porch, and as far as he could see there was nothing but a blanket of light brown, dead locusts covering the ground. He took a step, and the husks beneath his feet disintegrated into a fine dust that drifted in the air, carrying in it the words of an unspoken message.
“There is little life left in Winter. She draws her last breath at the top of Morfit. When the morning arrives she will be no more. Neither the Waves of the Lime Sea nor the Want can prevent what will soon happen when the Ring returns.”
For the first time in his life, Leven understood the adage, “No news is good news.”
Winter was in trouble.
“What does it say?” Clover asked, refusing to touch any of the locusts.
“Winter’s in trouble,” Leven said. “We’ll have to hope fate gets Geth here because we’ve got to get to Morfit, and fast. I’ve seen people fly here in Foo. How is that possible?”
“Only with the help of dreams, unless it’s your gift,” Clover said.
Leven shook his head, knowing those were not possibilities.
“There has to be another way besides simply running there,” Leven said to himself, pacing the porch and rubbing his uneasy stomach. Desperate for a solution, Leven closed his eyes. When he opened them back up they were burning gold.
Leven looked around, light from his eyes sweeping the porch like a searchlight. He saw nothing but the images in his head. Stars streaked across his view. He saw strange, red-cloaked beings reading the locusts and hopping onto the backs of huge, lizard-looking creatures and racing across the ground. Leven shook his head and stared at Clover. His eyes were luminous.
“Wow,” Clover said, “you must really see a clear view of fate.”
“I saw some red-robed beings riding on giant lizards,” Leven said. “They were heading our direction.”
“The lizards are probably onicks,” Clover said. “I don’t—”
“Are onicks fast?” Leven interrupted.
“Not many things are faster,” Clover said. “And they’re loyal only to the rider on their back.”
“Do you have any rope in your void?” Leven asked urgently.
Clover looked at Leven like he was crazy for even questioning.
“Get it out fast,” Leven said. “And give it to me.”
“All right!” Clover cheered, reaching into his void. “This should be fun.”
Leven dashed off the porch and down the stairs, pulverizing thousands more of the dry locusts as he did so. He ran toward the edge of the locust-covered lawn. Clover was following behind him, yelling something about how real friends fill friends in.
“I’ll tell you in a second,” Leven shouted back, continuing to run. His stomach lurched and he stumbled a couple of steps before he could get his stride back.
The path they were on shifted, and Leven followed the new direction to the edge of a grove of trees. Beyond the trees was a broad, open valley. Leven could see for miles. The ground was covered in every direction with dried locusts, and in the far distance Leven could see the string of riders coming his way. Leven’s chest now burned, and he stepped back, remaining hidden in the trees. His stomach bubbled.
“Is that what you saw?” Clover asked, handing Leven a coil of white rope.
Leven let the rope uncoil. On each end was a pink, plastic handle with pink tassels.
Leven rolled his eyes. “Is this the only rope you have?” He was having a difficult time breathing. “It’s a jump rope, and it’s pink.”
Clover’s face was its own special shade of red. “Um . . . it belonged to my sister,” he tried. “And it’s all I have. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Leven, his face turning pale. He tightened his grasp on the end of the jump rope.
Leven peered out of the trees at the riders, who were still a long way off. Even so, the red-robed beings looked huge.
Another small decoy secret hopped out from behind a tree and flitted in front of Leven.
“Look out!” Clover yelled.
Leven saw it too late. The secret grabbed onto Leven’s nose, looked him in the eyes, and spoke: “I took the last life jacket on the sinking boat.”
The secret laughed and laughed and then floated away.
“It must have followed you across the gorge,” Clover said. “We should get out of here before the big one finds you.”
Leven held the jump rope in his hands and hoped what he had manipulated in his head a few minutes earlier would come to pass. He could see the red-cloaked beings more clearly now. There were eleven of them, each clinging to the back of a huge lizard. The lizards had flat, iguana-like heads and long, lean bodies, with thin, spiky tails. All the lizards’ legs were a blur, and the scaly beasts were running single file, moving at an astonishing speed, on a path that led right past the grove where Leven was hiding.
“Who are they?” Leven asked, willing his stomach to settle.
“Like I said, they’re onicks, and you don’t—”
“Not the lizards. The riders. Who are they?” Leven pressed.
“They are members of one of Sabine’s Rings of Plague,” Clover answered. “They must have been searching for you and Geth. The locusts have probably asked for them to return.”
“So they’re bad?” Leven asked.
“The worst,” Clover replied, turning invisible. “Listen, Leven, maybe we should give up on getting to Morfit.”
“What?” Leven asked, shocked, putting his hand to his mouth to hold back a burp.
“The Ring is dangerous,” Clover said. “We should get to Cork. We’ll be safe there. That is the job of a sycophant, keeping his burn mentally stable and safe.”
Leven didn’t reply. He knew they were not too far from Cork. He also knew that Cork was paradise, untouched by the wickedness of Sabine’s plan. Cork was supposedly the most peaceful place in Foo.
The onicks and their riders were getting closer.
Leven thought about eating real food in Cork and getting some real sleep. He thought about resting and feeling better away from fear and the secret that was stalking him. He thought
of Geth and hoped that somehow fate would help him and Winter.
“What do you think?” Clover asked. “Let the riders go, and we’ll get to Cork. It’s too dangerous out here. Winter’s tough, and Geth will be fine.”
Leven looked at Clover with disappointed eyes. “No way,” he said. “Cork would be nothing without Winter and Geth.”
Clover smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. I was just trying to be a real sycophant.”
“I could never—” Leven’s stomach cramped up. He bent over and reached for his throat, his face was as white as bleached cotton.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Clover asked.
“I . . .” Leven gagged. “My stomach . . . and my throat . . .”
Leven leaned over, holding his stomach with one hand and his throat with the other.
The onicks were getting closer.
“Seriously,” Clover said, “are you all right?”
Leven answered by opening his mouth and projecting a stream of white foam. The foam ran from his mouth and puddled on the ground. Leven instantly felt better. He put his hands on his knees and breathed in deeply. His throat had quit burning, and his stomach no longer ached. He wiped his mouth and then his forehead.
“Did you eat too much filler crisp?” Clover asked.
“I guess so, but I only had—” Leven stopped talking because something in the white foam was wiggling.
“What’s that?” Clover asked.
Leven looked at the foam on the ground. Clover leaned in close and smiled. He turned back to Leven.
“I told you Geth would find us,” Clover said proudly, pulling Geth from the goo.
Geth was shuddering, spitting, and wiping foam off himself.
“How?” Leven asked, completely amazed. He took Geth from Clover. “You were in my stomach?”
“You swallowed me when that beast bit open the gaze,” Geth sputtered. “I tried to climb out, but I couldn’t do it. After you ate that filler crisp, I ran around for hours, working the contents of your stomach into a lather.”
“I’m so sorry,” Leven said.
“Fate’s not always attractive,” Geth admitted.
“Apparently, sometimes it’s disgusting,” Clover added.
The approaching onicks could now be heard, breathing hard, their scaly feet making a loud scratching sound on the stones of the path.
Geth looked out between the trees and saw the red-robed riders.
“The Ring of Plague,” he whispered in awe. “The Ring is here, now?”
“Um, the turrets are back that way,” Clover pointed out.
“But the Ring,” Geth said excitedly, hope flowing back into him.
“We were going to hop on one of those lizards and try to save Winter,” Leven explained. “But shouldn’t we get you to the turrets first?”
Geth wiped the last bit of froth off of himself. He was still hardening and could feel himself growing closer to being nothing but a dead sliver of wood. But Geth understood fate. And it simply felt too fateful to have been thrown up just as the Ring of Plague was arriving. Geth had defeated the other Ring, and to die helping Leven knock off the last remaining one was just too significant to ignore. Plus, Geth cared for Winter too much to think only of himself.
“Leven,” Geth said boldly, “this is your decision. You are an offing, and it’s time you began trusting fate. It will be much harder to defeat the last Ring if we let them get to Morfit.”
“But you’re dying,” Leven reasoned.
“What is death if not everyone’s fate?” Geth said calmly. “I’m a lithen. I don’t think now is the time to start making decisions based solely on my own understanding. And you, you are an offing who has made it through the Swollen Forest, escaped a gaze, survived a roven’s rip, and traveled unharmed over Fissure Gorge.”
The sound of the thundering onicks was growing louder.
“You are the grandson of Hector Thumps and essential to Foo and the dreams of all mankind,” Geth continued. “And now fate has put you right here, right now, with the Ring approaching. Can you not feel the fate?”
Clover looked at Leven with anticipation, recognizing the importance of Geth’s words.
“You are Leven Thumps,” Geth said solemnly.
The onicks were almost there.
Leven closed his eyes. He could feel fate settling over him. He knew it would take some time to get Geth to the turrets despite how close they now were. He knew that Winter was in need and that the Ring of Plague had to be stopped. But he believed that fate had set him right where he was and that it was up to him to seal that fate and work on the Ring. He hoped time would stretch to accommodate everything.
“I’ve got a lizard to catch,” Leven said, swinging the end of the jump rope and feeling much better with an empty stomach.
“Fantastic,” Geth cheered, even as his body hardened further.
Leven smiled, happy just to have Geth back with them. Not that he had truly been gone, but it was nicer to have him out of his stomach and visibly along for the ride.
The onicks had arrived. They began racing by, just outside the trees Leven and Geth and Clover were hiding in. The onicks were amazing creatures. Their eyes were thin, blue slits, and their skin was green, streaked with red and pink that seemed to bleed backward in the wind as they hurtled along.
On the back of each thundering lizard rode a single being. All of the riders were wearing long, red robes with black rings around the cuffs.
“ . . . eight, nine, ten,” Leven counted to himself.
Leven leaped from behind the tree and whipped his rope toward the last rider and its onick.
Leven was one off.
The rope curled around the tenth rider, the pink handle whacking him in the face. Leven yanked as hard as he could, and the rider flew backward off his onick and into the eleventh and last rider behind him. Both riders came hurtling toward Leven. He dodged out of their way and ran toward the two riderless onicks, which had stopped, confused over losing their passengers. Leven jumped on one and whistled as loudly as he could.
It didn’t move.
Clover materialized and slapped the confused lizard on the behind.
The onick took off racing down the path just as the two riders who had been knocked off staggered to their feet and began to compose themselves. Geth worked his way into the pocket on the front of Leven’s T-shirt.
“This is much better,” Geth shouted, feeling some life returning to him. It seemed as if Foo was suddenly filling up with hope.
Leven sped after those in the lead, who had not seen what had happened in the rear. He fit so perfectly on the lizard’s back, it was almost as if it had been made for him. The huge beast had large shoulder blades that rose up, and Leven tucked his head behind them to lessen any wind resistance. With its aerodynamically shaped head, the onick whizzed along at a breathtaking speed, drawing ever closer to the red-robed riders in front.
Leven was trying to decide what to do next when Clover screamed, “Watch out behind you!”
Leven looked back and spotted the two riders he had pulled off. They were riding double on the other onick and coming up quickly behind him. They pulled next to Leven, and the one on the back reached for him, his red robe flapping like flames. Leven lashed out with his foot, but the rider grabbed it and wouldn’t let go. Leven kicked until he lost a shoe, and the assailant flew off the onick and onto the ground.
“You have a hard time keeping your shoes on!” Clover yelled.
Leven would have said something in reply, but he was too astonished. The fallen rider had dived into the soil and was beginning to burrow after him. The mound of dirt was speeding toward him. It was not a comfortable sight.
Leven dug his knees into his ride and pleaded with it to speed up. The rider racing next to him tried to reach out and finish the job that his now burrowing passenger had been unable to accomplish. Leven leaned to his right, and the onick veered in that direction, racing off the path and into a thick field of cor
k and ivy.
Leven’s mounted pursuer was still right on his tail, both onicks thundering across the ground. The rider pulled close to Leven and, grabbing Leven’s shoulder, dragged himself onto Leven’s ride. As they wrestled for control of the racing lizard, the rider’s hood blew back and Leven could see the face of his assailant. He looked quite normal, like a math teacher or a doctor. His eyes, however, looked like they belonged to someone who made a habit of harming others.
“You have no idea what you are tampering with!” the rider yelled. “The Ring of Plague cannot be defeated!”
Leven’s onick had reached a thick growth of trees and was now wildly dodging through them. Leven’s heart raced with fear. He was having to fight to keep himself from pulling away and riding off somewhere safe. Leven closed his eyes and let fate settle over him again. He opened his eyes back up and threw his weight against the hooded foe, causing him to lose his balance and teeter to one side of the speeding onick. The cloaked assailant tried to right himself but suddenly disappeared when he was clipped by a passing tree trunk and violently snatched away.
“Nice move!” Clover cheered.
Leven’s right hand burned. It began to glow red and swell.
“My hand,” Leven yelled. “It’s glowing.”
“Interesting,” Geth said.
“Yeah, real interesting. But keep riding,” Clover urged. “We have to keep moving.”
Leven steered with his knees, turning his onick in a wide circle back through the trees and toward the path they had detoured from. When they broke from the trees, the ground in front of them suddenly erupted as the burrowing rider Leven had kicked off earlier popped up right in front of the plunging onick. Getting into the spirit of things, Leven’s mount didn’t miss a beat. It lowered its head and ran directly into the hapless being. The impact sent the astonished rider spinning into the air and out of the way.
Then Leven’s left hand began to burn, and a redness began to creep up his arms. Leven could feel the burning, but his mind was calm, as if it had been expecting this to happen.