by Obert Skye
“It’s installed,” Dennis sniffed.
“Good,” Ezra said. “That was our goal. I remember sitting down and saying, ’Let’s take some time to build and install a complicated home for a few lucky fish.’”
“The temperature’s not right yet,” Dennis insisted. “Now stay quiet while I think.”
Ezra hopped to a higher branch in the tree. “I’ll speak all I want,” he yelled down. “The last thing we have time for is for you to think.”
“Quiet. You will do as I say,” Dennis said slowly, trying to contain his rage.
Ezra jumped up onto the next limb.
“You know,” he yelled, “you’re even balder than I thought.”
“Come down this instant,” Dennis said, the black markings spelling out the word hate across his face.
“No,” Ezra insisted. “Not with a face like that.”
“I will give you one last chance,” Dennis ordered.
“And I will give you a dozen hand gestures,” Ezra said, following up his verbal threat with action.
“Come down,” Dennis seethed, his face now reading Severely Hate.
Dennis grabbed ahold of the tree trunk and tried to shake the tree. The tree was far too tall and sturdy to push around.
“Looks like the trees are safe,” Ezra said, making fun of Dennis’s puny strength.
Dennis turned around angrily, the black marks moving across his skin like jittery leeches. He spotted Tim standing there like an unlit lamppost.
“Climb after him,” Dennis ordered Tim.
Tim looked the tree up and down.
“Now!” Dennis ordered.
Tim sighed, but moved slowly to the trunk of the tree. There was a small knot protruding out of one side. Tim stepped up on it and pulled himself to the next branch.
“Faster!” Dennis ordered.
Tim moved higher, climbing like a child who had been told his whole life he couldn’t climb.
“Higher!”
Tim worked himself up onto the branch right below Ezra. Ezra hopped up to the next branch and smiled.
“I once saw a dead bird stuck up under a bridge,” Ezra yelled to Tim. “And I’m pretty sure he could climb twice as fast as you.”
Tim was too busy scaling the tree to have the insult register.
“Get that toothpick,” Dennis ordered from the ground. “Toss him to me.”
Tim pulled himself through the pine needles and up into the top half of the tree. His clouded mind made it hard for him to move with any real agility.
Ezra bounded up to the next branch and then shot farther up to the crown of the tree.
“I’d worry about running out of places to escape to,” Ezra hollered to Tim, “but by the time you get here I’ll probably have already naturally decayed.”
Tim was breathing hard, moving his arms in a straightforward and calculated manner. He placed each foot carefully on the next branch and then extended his legs to raise himself up.
Ezra stood on the top of the tree, his purple hair twisting in the light wind and the last bits of sunlight reflecting off of his green enamel body. He laughed loudly enough to send birds from other trees flapping off into the air.
Tim moved up another branch. He was now only two limbs below Ezra. Ezra squatted and began talking loudly enough that Tim could hear but quietly enough that Dennis couldn’t.
“Look what he’s done to you,” Ezra scoffed. “Next you’ll be wiping his chin when he spits.”
Tim looked directly at Ezra, his eyes blinking slowly. He stopped climbing so as to be able to comprehend what Ezra was saying.
“Go ahead, garbage boy,” Ezra said. “Come and get me. Do what your master tells you.”
Tim reached out, but Ezra was a good six inches too far away to grab. Tim put his foot on the next branch and struggled to pull himself up. He pulled and then twisted so his face was even with Ezra. Down below, Dennis stepped closer to get a better look at what was going on way up above him.
“What are you doing? Bring him to me!” Dennis seethed. “I want him now.”
Ezra shifted so as to better position himself on the crown of the tree. Tim looked more confused than Ezra had ever seen him.
“Grab me,” Ezra challenged. “You’re nothing but the weak thought of a pathetic being. See that down there?”
Tim looked down. Dennis was right below him, raising his fist to the air in anger.
“That’s your fate,” Ezra raged. “I gave you the chance to make a choice and you failed.”
Tim’s eyes filled with tears. His dark pupils bounced back and forth as he tried to connect one clear thought in his head.
“You’ve forgotten everything,” Ezra barked. “What about your wife?”
Tim flinched.
“And I believe you had a couple of snotty kids.”
Tim twitched.
“And now all you have is a rotted hand that plays servant to the scattered remains of a dead being.”
Tim shook slightly, and then choked as if trying to get some words out.
“What is it?” Ezra challenged. “Speak.”
“I’m in here,” Tim pleaded, his mind tired of fighting the evil he had absorbed.
“Well, let’s get you out,” Ezra smiled wickedly.
Ezra screamed wildly and shot forward with his legs tucked together. He planted himself deep into Tim’s forehead. Tim screamed and let go of the branches he was clinging to. His feet slipped, and in one swift movement his body flew backwards and dropped swiftly down, landing right on top of a very startled Dennis.
Tim landed on Dennis with a whump that sounded loudly through the valley. The hit was so hard it knocked the dark bits of Sabine completely out of Dennis’s body and Tim’s arm.
Sabine’s remnants blew like buckshot into the surrounding forest. Dennis weakly struggled to push an unconscious Tim off of him, as Ezra extracted himself from Tim’s forehead and made a run for it.
The dark bits of Sabine sprang back from all directions like rubber balls attached to a wooden paddle—every bit of Sabine thirsting for Ezra. Ezra moved through the long grass looking for something to touch. He spotted a big rock and jumped up on it. He kneeled down and touched it with both hands.
The rock didn’t move.
“Limp gimpy figs,” he screamed, not comprehending why his touch was having no effect.
The information that Ezra might have appreciated knowing was that, although he had plenty of imagination himself, the power of dreams was already eroding in Reality. People’s dreams around the world had degenerated into steady, repetitive, unoriginal, manufactured motion pictures of moving buildings, racing dirt, biting bugs, cloud-bullying airplanes, and windy monsters.
The war against dreams had already begun, and in its infancy it had taken most of the power of Foo from those who had once been there. In the recent past, Ezra had touched buildings and made them walk. Now, with the decline of the world’s dreams, there was not even enough power left in his imagination to move a boulder.
“Move!” Ezra yelled at the boulder as dark pieces of leftover Sabine closed in on him.
The rotten bits of Sabine hissed and cried like poison air.
Ezra looked around frantically. He needed an army, and if the trees and rocks weren’t going to cooperate, he would have to think smaller. Ezra jumped to the ground, tumbling through the grass.
Sabine’s pieces followed.
Ezra reached to touch a pebble, but Sabine’s bits snagged the end of him and dragged him back.
“No!” Ezra screamed. “Get your filthy rot off of me.”
The black pieces of Sabine swarmed over Ezra like ants on a French fry. They pushed into his tiny mouth and pinned down his legs and arms.
Ezra gagged and spat. He reached out for anything that might help him. Sadly, there was nothing but grass. Ezra wrapped his left hand around a thin blade of grass. It was such a small thing, but the imagination of mankind seemed to still have room to move it.
The gras
s stood at attention.
Instantly, blades sprang up all over, ripping themselves from the soil that gave them life and bounding toward Sabine as he swarmed Ezra.
The individual blades of grass pulled Sabine from Ezra and began to choke the minute bits by twisting themselves like nooses around each piece. A fistful of grass scraped drops of Sabine from Ezra’s mouth.
“Finally,” Ezra screamed. “Kill Sabine.”
The small bits of Sabine attacked the grass, but the blades kept coming, moving down from the mountain slopes and piling up on Sabine. The grass blades took the bits of Sabine and twisted themselves around them, choking the half-life right out of them. Sabine’s leftovers tore at the grass, splitting the blades into thinner stalks and ripping pieces off until the air was filled with confetti-sized pieces of green and black.
The grass grew angry, wrapping its blades even tighter around the wearying bits of Sabine. Sabine’s blackness bit into the grass, trying desperately to overtake the mountains and mountains of freed sod.
The grass collectively contracted, strangling the minute bits of Sabine so forcefully that they popped.
The lawn was winning.
All over, tiny puffs of black burst like burnt corn as the grass grew even more aggressive. A few handfuls of Sabine recognized their defeat and tried desperately to get back to Dennis or Tim, but there was just too much grass. The lawn smothered and strangled and noisily suffocated and extinguished every last hissing bit.
The air was filled with the screech and wail of pain and conquest. The noise rebounded off the mountain walls and gave tourists in the town of Berchtesgaden an extra echo they had not known they would be hearing.
Ezra sat up, choking and spitting for breath. He looked around and clapped. The grass became instantly inanimate again, nothing more than lawn clippings.
“Nice,” Ezra laughed triumphantly. “Who knew grass was good for anything?”
Dennis sat up beneath the tree, rubbing his head. He was now Sabine-free. He pulled off the swim mask that hung around his neck.
“What happened?” he asked, confused.
“It’s amazing that someone with such thin hair can be so thick in the head,” Ezra bit. “This is what happened. I saved your neck, and now you owe me. Now, put that hose back in your mouth and swim me to the gateway.”
“The gateway’s done?” Dennis said with bewilderment.
Ezra slapped his own forehead, sick of working with such dim bulbs. Dennis looked over at Tim, who lay unconscious on the bare ground.
“What about him?” Dennis asked.
“What about him?” Ezra growled. “I can’t help it if he lacks team spirit. Take me to the gateway.” Ezra pointed to the lake.
Dennis opened his palm, and Ezra jumped into it. Dennis stood up and stretched as if it were a requirement. He then stepped off into the water, swimming toward the gateway, as Tim lay motionless on the bare ground.
The lights of St. Bartholomew seemed brighter.
It was the end of a day, but, more important, it was the end of a very dark life. There had been a point in Sabine’s existence when he could have leaned in one direction and done good, but instead he had jumped in another direction and found evil to be a fitting companion. Unfortunately for Sabine, he had become so concerned with his future that he had barely noticed the hissing and whispering of the present—whisperings from beneath the soil of Foo that had helped create the evil being he had ended up becoming.
It’s not unusual for people to point at the stars and say, “Make a wish.” In Foo, however, that would be considered not only rude but just plain foolish. The stars had no interest in the wishes of those who were born to walk on the soil. Likewise, in Reality the soil had no interest in those who lived above it. But it was different in Foo.
There was something up with the soil.
Sabine had been his own man to some extent, but it wasn’t until he had begun listening to the Dearth’s voice beneath the soil that he had become so evil that even his shadows couldn’t stand to be around him. Yet, at the zenith of his reign, Sabine was still nothing more than a puppet being maneuvered by a force he feared but never fully understood. Sort of like Dennis had once been.
Sabine was an evil, dark, misguided puppet whose life was now extinguished. And there was no soul in Foo or Reality who mourned the loss of him. But there were plenty who would soon mourn the fact that he had once lived.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Distance to Death
The binding on Geth’s wrists had worn his skin raw. He could feel thin streams of blood running down over his palms and fingers. Winter and he had been dragged back to the boat and tied up again, the same way as before. Azure had not spoken directly to them since they had left the council room, but they knew from the conversation they had heard that they were going to Lith.
They were hoodless and could see that Azure was up front reading the mist. The air was wet, with no audible or visual evidence of any mist eaters up above.
“At least we can see this trip,” Geth said quietly.
“I’m not sure it makes it any better,” Winter replied sadly, her green eyes weary. “I just don’t think I can do this anymore. I feel like I want to give up.”
“Don’t say that. We’ll make it,” Geth insisted. “It won’t be much longer until we’re on Lith.”
“What then?” Winter asked sharply. “Azure kills us? He obviously knows we can die.”
Geth was wise enough to let Winter’s question hang in the air unanswered. The water sliding up against the side of the boat would have been calming under different circumstances, but as it stood, each rush of liquid was like a wicked odometer ticking off the distance to death.
“I wish I had the words to calm your spirit,” Geth finally whispered. “Remember when we were in Reality on the shore of the Konigsee and you doubted your part in this?”
Winter didn’t answer, but the sound of her soft crying carried above the motion of the water.
“You wondered if you were really a part of this,” Geth continued. “It was a thorny moment, but I wanted to laugh. This is as much about you as about any of us. Leven would not have made it here without you.”
A ship rat scurried in front of Winter. It ran over to the side, where it dove off into the water.
“Things look black,” Geth admitted. “But with the arrival of a single sun, all can be bright again. Leven’s in Foo, and they can do what they wish, but fate is pulling us toward him. And he’s walking the course that will lead him to the Want and to his fate. Don’t let Azure’s sickness seep into your hopes. We will win this, and Foo will stand as fate has always planned.”
A flock of mist eaters could now be heard up above. There was a loud thud followed by a big splash as two of them knocked heads and plummeted into the water.
“But we are sailing to our deaths,” Winter pointed out. “Light or dark, Azure will have won.”
“Nobody wins if Azure has his way,” Geth said. “Fate has set the course, and it’s up to us to appreciate the ride despite razors or rewards. I’ve been a seed and a toothpick. I can think of few things smaller, but those were some of the largest moments of my existence. And if fate can take a seed and work with that, then fate can do anything.”
“I hope so,” Winter said sadly.
“Good,” Geth replied. “We’re going to need a lot of that.”
“Do lithens ever buy sympathy cards?” Winter tried to joke.
“Only for the poor souls who don’t believe in fate,” Geth smiled. “We’ll make it. I promise. Just think how much better it will be when we stand there with Leven and remember that we not only did our part but had one fantastic journey.”
A low horn sounded as two more mist eaters knocked heads and fell into the water.
“What’s that horn?” Winter asked.
“The mist must be locking up.”
“Is that bad?”
“Well, we can’t go forward if it is locked,” Geth said.
“For how long?”
“Who knows,” Geth answered. “Sometimes it can lock up for weeks. If that’s the case, I’m certain Azure will steer us under.”
“Steer us under?”
Before Geth could answer, the ship violently lurched forward a few feet and then began to tilt downward.
“Under?” Winter said with considerably more panic in her voice.
“Don’t worry,” Geth insisted. “We’ll get wet, but we’ll be okay.”
“Okay?” Winter asked, dumbfounded. “I can’t breathe underwater!”
The ship lurched again and went farther under. Winter pulled at her hands, frantically trying to get free.
“Don’t worry,” Geth said calmly, but working to free his wrists as well. “Certainly Azure wouldn’t risk his own life. A fantastic journey, remember?”
“Don’t tell me not to worry,” Winter threatened. She shook her head in frustration, and her blonde hair brushed into the side of Geth’s face. “Maybe this is how he’s planning to kill us.”
Geth began working at his wrists a bit faster.
The ship lurched again and lowered even more. Water began to spill over the side rails of the ship. The seawater spilled in around Winter’s knees and feet.
“This can’t be good,” Winter yelled.
She twisted her head and whipped Geth with her hair again. Geth would have replied to her questions, but he was too busy spitting her hair out of his mouth.
“You still haven’t explained to me what he’s . . .” Winter tried to ask.
The ship thrust forward, its front rapidly dropping two feet. Winter’s stomach flopped inward like an undercooked cake. She was tied to a mast by her wrists and ankles and slipping down underwater. The ship tilted further and sunk a couple of feet more. Winter felt like she was on the top of the slope of some deadly amusement-park ride. The water was now up to her shoulders and pushing up under her chin.
“Help me, Geth!” she cried in desperation.
The ship dropped another two feet. Water rushed in over both Winter and Geth, burying them in the cold blue sea. Winter wanted to scream, but she held onto her last breath, hoping she would miraculously live to take another.