Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo

by Obert Skye

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “I’m joking.”

  Swig laughed. “You have a nice sense of humor, Tim.”

  Tim rubbed his temples.

  “I think I’ve made an awful mistake,” Tim said. “I should be home with my family.”

  “I’m sorry,” Swig said softly. “It’s no secret how startling it is for nits to step into Foo. Only a few souls have ever stepped in and been instantly glad to be here.”

  “I just don’t understand why Winter was in Reality.”

  “According to all those you’ve talked to, she’s quite important,” Swig reminded Tim. “There must be a reason—a good reason—she was in Reality.”

  “I should have just let things be.”

  “Well,” Swig said, “if what we keep hearing is right, there might be a way to get back.”

  “I hope so,” Tim remarked.

  “If anyone will know it will be the armies of Azure,” Swig said cheerfully. “And we’ll be there momentarily.”

  “So they want to get to Reality, right?” Tim asked.

  “That’s what that large man with the dirty green hat said.”

  Swig jumped onto Tim’s right shoulder and started whistling. Tim walked faster, climbing up and over a small hill and down through a shrub-laden valley. At the top of the next hill Tim stopped.

  “Do you hear that?” Tim asked. “What is it, a river?”

  “There’s no river up ahead,” Swig answered.

  Tim began to walk faster. He ran down a grassy slope and hopped over a dry creek bed that was filled with goats and nervous, whining weeds.

  The noise up ahead was growing louder.

  “I think it’s people,” Swig said into Tim’s right ear. “Lots of people.”

  Tim ran faster and then slowed. He came to a complete stop under a large, leafy fantrum tree. He breathed into his hands for three breaths and spoke.

  “What if it’s people we don’t want to meet up with?” Tim huffed. “I’ve been here long enough to know that not everyone’s concerned with my well-being.”

  “Hold on,” Swig said. “Stick here.”

  Tim sat back against the tree and continued to calm his breathing. A large orange bickerwick skirted around the base of the tree. Having eaten one before, Tim knew how tasty they were. He picked it up, bit it in half, and swallowed. The strange fat bug tasted like toasted marshmallows.

  “Good?” Swig asked, appearing on Tim’s left knee.

  “Not bad.” Tim finished up his bite. “So what’d you see?”

  “There’s a lot of people,” Swig reported. “Most of them look nice. I saw a couple of men who looked mean, and a woman with a really awful scowl. But everyone else seemed to be excited.”

  “How many are there?”

  “A dozen? Maybe more,” Swig said. “I’m not good at counting.”

  “It’s not the most detailed scouting report, but it’ll have to do.”

  Tim finished his bickerwick and stood up. Swig patted him on the back and moved onto his right shoulder.

  “Feel better?” Swig asked.

  Tim smiled. “You really are a remarkable breed.”

  The noise of those gathered grew louder with each step Tim took. By the time he had crested the last hill he knew full well that there had to be more than a dozen people making so much noise.

  Tim took off his ball cap and whistled. The Sentinel Fields were larger than any open space he had seen. The fields stretched on for hundreds of miles in every direction. Light purple stalks of grain with glowing tops blew beautifully all around and the sky here was a different color from the sky over Cusp.

  “So, Swig,” Tim asked. “How many come in a dozen here?”

  “About half a batch?”

  “This is way more than half a batch of people.”

  As far as Tim’s eyes could see there were beings and creatures filling Sentinel Fields. They were all organized in large square groups. Each group had a small tent in the center with a flag and everyone was dressed in blue robes.

  “I told you I’m not very good at counting,” Swig apologized. “But see, there’s that lady with the scowl. Just like I said.”

  Tim patted Swig on the head and walked down the steep slope and directly into the crowd. Not a single person even turned to acknowledge him. A troop of black skeletons wearing black bandannas and led by two giant avalands pushed through the crowd in front of Tim like some sort of science fiction parade. Tim gawked appropriately.

  “I wish my boys could see this,” Tim said.

  Tim stopped a short man with a friendly face covered in moles.

  “Excuse me,” Tim asked. “Could you tell me who’s in charge here?”

  “We all fight for our own freedom,” the dotted man answered. “But the rants hold the most passion in their hearts and Azure leads us.”

  “Is Azure here?”

  “It would be a great honor to lead you to him,” the mole-covered man said. “A great honor indeed. But Azure is gathering fighters in Cusp. If you wish to join us the rants will assist you.”

  “Where are they?” Tim asked.

  “See all those in the dark blue robes?”

  Tim couldn’t miss them. There looked to be miles and miles of rants all organized in neat squares.

  “All those behind the flags are rants,” the man said. “Join us and dream your own dreams.”

  Tim thanked the man and then moved through groups of women cooking meals and men sharpening sticks. There was a large gathering of children sewing small pieces of blue cloth. Tim passed beings that looked to be on fire, beasts that he couldn’t have imagined if he had been forced to, and long green tents that were emitting sounds of snoring and chaos. Other tents were filled with piles of metal weapons.

  “Just so you know, rants are sort of unstable,” Swig said.

  “Unstable?” Tim asked.

  “Sort of. Half of them is always in flux,” Swig explained. “They are weak and always halfway entwined with a dream from Reality. And the state of dreams in Reality is making them even less stable.”

  “I’m just hoping their stable half will be able to help,” Tim said. “Maybe they know something that will . . .”

  Tim stopped. He turned around, surveying the crowd.

  “What?” Swig asked, invisible on Tim’s right shoulder. “You look startled.”

  “Did you hear something?” Tim asked.

  “I hear a lot of things,” Swig said. “What would you like me to hear?”

  The sound rang out again.

  “Like a screeching,” Tim said. “Someone screaming.”

  “There’s so much talking and festivity,” Swig said.

  Again Tim heard it and this time he could tell the direction it was coming from.

  “Over there.” He pointed.

  Tim stepped away from the rants and between two long tents.

  “It’s a woman’s voice,” Tim said.

  “Are you sure?” Swig asked. “It sounds like a goat.”

  Down past a crowded cook site Tim spotted a large swatch of muted yellow in the middle of fifty or so burning beings. Tim rubbed his eyes.

  “I must be wrong.”

  “I can’t imagine that ever happening,” Swig cooed, attempting to be a perfect sycophant. “Your opinion is just as valid as any other.”

  Tim’s stride became longer.

  “I know that person.”

  “The one with the goat scream?”

  Tim began to push aside anyone in his way. He jumped over a long row of fallen trees and right into the group of burning beings. Without any breath left he stopped just behind the large woman in yellow. He reached out to tap her on the shoulder but his hand went right through her.

  “Excuse me,” Tim coughed.

  She didn’t turn around, but one of the burning creatures speaking to her was watching Tim curiously and casually pointed him out to her.

  She turned, and right there, at that exact spot, Janet Fro
re received her fourth life-changing shock since being whisked into Foo.

  “You,” she gasped.

  “And you,” Tim gasped back.

  Janet collapsed.

  Nobody moved to help her, due to the fact that she was a whisp—but many gathered to watch. After all, it’s not every day you witness a whisp fainting.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Take Me There

  There are so many fantastic things about Foo. The Cinder Depression when the avalands are stampeding at sunset. The Devil’s Spiral during the wettest seasons when the water shoots so high the mountains of Morfit can see it. The Green Pond when the blue frogs come out in full force and feed on the bit bugs nesting near the Sun River. But—I can’t stress this enough—none of those things compare to the tranquil beauty and awe of any single part of Sycophant Run.

  Anyone who doubts the importance of saving true Foo need only spend an hour on Sycophant Run. Some say it has the feeling of how Foo once was and could still be. The kindness of the sycophants and the glorious feeling permeating the air are as powerful and contagious as any fatal disease.

  Now, even in a state of concern, and with the possibility of war breaking out, the glad hearts of the sycophants kept Sycophant Run a place of hope. There was fear in the wind, but their hearts were continually hopeful.

  Rast sat alone in the Chamber of Stars. The hollow tree was empty up to the tips of each bare branch. For those who were lucky enough to ever sit at the five-pointed table in the empty tree’s belly it was a marvel to behold. Looking up you could see thousands of tiny pinpoints of light. It felt like the middle of the universe and you were just lucky enough to be standing in it. The wind outside of the tree blew lightly, making the points of light dance in a cosmic fashion.

  “Lilly,” Rast said to himself.

  Rast had been unable to sleep for days. He worried about his daughter who had gone so far astray. He worried about the secret of their mortality being out there. And he worried that if Azure continued his quest to mesh Foo with Reality, eventually, no matter how hard they tried, the fight would come to Sycophant Run.

  The light in the Chamber of Stars brightened and then dimmed as someone entered through the knothole.

  “Rast,” the visitor called.

  “Reed,” Rast said kindly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

  “I wasn’t either.” Reed laughed uncomfortably.

  “Are you ready?” Rast asked.

  “You really think this is necessary?” Reed said. “Perhaps more thought and consideration is needed.”

  “I have thought for many hours and days,” Rast answered softly. “I feel as if we are responsible to make sure.”

  “Of what?” Reed asked. “We know it’s there.”

  “The loss of our key weighs heavily on me,” Rast said. “It was our responsibility and we believed it was safe.”

  “Lilly has a mind of her own,” Reed said kindly. “We cannot forget that the will of others is as precious as our own.”

  “I feel it is our responsibility to make sure,” Rast said again. “We will travel there and back and sleep well because of it. We cannot have our people fight for something that might not be there any longer.”

  “I won’t deny my anxiety,” Reed admitted.

  “Nor mine,” Rast said. “You’ve told no one?”

  “No one,” Reed said. “Still, I feel my brain arguing with my heart.”

  “Opposition in all things,” Rast said. “How can we savor what we hold if we know we have no choice but to hold it?”

  Rast stood and stretched his small body.

  “Come, my friend.”

  “I am old,” Reed said. “But my mind is as worried as a child’s.”

  “Good,” Rast smiled. “It will keep us alert.”

  Rast stepped back from the table and walked out of the tree.

  Reed followed.

  Outside, the day was near its zenith. Clouds slid through the purple sky like thick cream, leaving intricate patterns of white behind them. As usual the sound of laughter rang out somewhere on Sycophant Run. The lush grass covering the hill stood as tall as it could and a cluster of large flowers opened and closed like hungry baby birds, filling the air with an intoxicating scent.

  They walked to a field of yellow boulders and stepped carefully into the center of the rock grouping. Rast bent over and shifted a stone. The rock moved, allowing Rast to extract a short loop of twine. Rast pulled and the ground opened up.

  “We’ll be to the marsh shortly.”

  Reed nodded and followed Rast into the tunnel, pulling the stones closed behind him. Rast tugged on a vine and the side of the tunnel pushed back, revealing a hidden cavern and two more tunnels.

  “I didn’t even know this was here,” Reed remarked. “So many secrets in Foo.”

  “This tunnel has never been a secret,” Rast said seriously. “It simply has been waiting to fulfill its purpose.”

  Reed hefted his satchel up onto his small shoulder and followed eight paces behind Rast as they descended lower into the tunnel.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hide-and-Eat

  I have always loved secret passageways. What good is a home without a few hidden hallways and a couple of forgotten rooms? Sure, it might provide a roof overhead and a warm place to sleep, but with no mystery or surprise those things are far less enjoyable. I think anyone building a house who doesn’t include a hidden pole sliding down into a secret room is just plain crazy. Of course, sometimes hidden rooms take on a far different meaning. Sometimes hidden rooms are necessary to keep people safe and alive. I know the secret tunnels in my current residence have saved my life on a half dozen occasions. There aren’t a lot of homes with as many secret passages and rooms as the safe house in Cusp. It was in that house that Leven, Geth, Winter, and Clover had finally found temporary reprieve.

  The house sat silhouetted against the large green moon, its high pitched roofline creating a gigantic “A.” Deep inside the house, in one of the many secret rooms, four tired Foo fighters were happy to finally be sitting down.

  A shaggy purple rug twisted and wriggled around their feet, carefully massaging their tired soles. Leven could feel the soft strands of fabric brush and polish his toes.

  “Nice rug,” Leven said.

  “Yeah,” Clover agreed, lying on his back as the carpet rolled in waves beneath him.

  “We were lucky,” Winter sighed. “To get out of there.”

  “Oh,” Clover said. “I thought you meant we were lucky that the chocolate finally stopped flowing.”

  “After two hours,” Leven complained. “My nostrils have never been this sore before.”

  A large fire in a tall stone fireplace burned high and wide. The fire hummed and sang as it danced.

  The foursome was safe in a warm house located in the middle of Cusp on the edge of the Canadian-influenced neighborhoods. It was a safe place that housed anyone who still believed and fought for the true Foo. The keeper of the large, three-story stone home was a man named Owen. The home looked relatively plain from outside, but on the inside all the walls and doors could shift and move as quickly and easily as the dreams coming in.

  It had taken a couple of hours for the chocolate to stop running and a good twenty minutes after that to wash it all off on the edge of the Veil Sea. From there, stepping carefully, they had made their way by rope to the safe house. They were now resting in soft, high-backed chairs in front of a happy fire, drinking warm pear cider and awaiting a hot meal. The song the fire was currently humming reminded Leven of his life before Foo.

  “Sometimes I really miss Reality,” Leven said.

  “Is this about that soda stuff?” Clover asked.

  “No,” Leven said. “I miss Oklahoma. You know, I used to wake up on our back porch and watch the sunrise. I mean, I like Foo’s, but there was something about the Oklahoma sun.”

  “Yeah,” Geth said softly. “I remember some of the rainstorms. When I was a tree the rain
would hit my higher branches and then bounce off and spatter against the lower ones. I know there was cold rain, but I remember it now as always being warm.”

  “At night when Janet and Terry had locked me out on the porch, and after they had turned off the TV inside, it was so quiet,” Leven said. “I would listen to your branches blow and believe that there was good in the world somewhere.”

  “I don’t know about Oklahoma,” Winter chimed in. “But in Iowa I used to love the way the day would settle on the horizon. It was like everything that had happened during the day would fall into the sunsets and disappear.”

  “I liked the sticks and leaves,” Clover said. “Everywhere you went there were sticks and leaves and weeds just sitting there. Here, look at this.”

  Clover pulled out a dead maple leaf from his void. He held it up and the fire backlit it, showing off every vein and detail. The fire began singing a song about trees. All three of them wanted to reach out and touch the leaf, but the scene was so serene that it felt wrong to do so.

  Clover looked at all of them and rolled his eyes. “It’s just a leaf.”

  “I don’t remember anything anymore,” Winter admitted. “Nothing, only my time in Reality waiting for you. When we first came back to Foo I could see bits and pieces of my other life here, but now, nothing.”

  “So where would you rather be?” Leven asked.

  “Careful,” Geth said. “That’s a dangerous thought.”

  “I love Foo,” Winter said. “There’s a feeling here that’s much more intense than Reality. I know that if we were in Reality reminiscing about Foo my feeling would be even stronger.”

  The fire harmonized.

  “How about you, Geth?” Winter asked.

  “Lithens aren’t big on reminiscing,” Geth reminded them. “But I remember wishing that every creature in Foo could feel and experience Reality so that they might better understand how important our task here is. As for where I would rather be, I know this is where fate has placed me. But I’ll tell you this: For the first time I believe that we will see Reality again.”

  Leven and Winter stared at Geth as Owen came in and refilled their mugs with more cider. The top of Leven’s mug foamed and crackled.