As the intruders marched toward the mud treatment room, they were intercepted by two spa attendants who had rushed out to see what all the commotion was about. Immediately, several of the intruders demanded to see the mayor, at once. “It is a matter of substantial substance and emerging emergency,” they informed the attendants who tried to explain to the uninvited visitors that Pentalope was currently baking in a plaster bath of hot veget mud and that an audience with her, at this particular time, was quite out of the question.
However the intruders, spurred on by the widow Forbal, would not be put off their self-appointed task. Marching right past the attendants, they swung open the treatment room doors and were treated to quite a bizarre sight. There before them, stretched out on a beautifully carved slab of white stone, reclined the angular figure of a slender, nude, female sculpted entirely in mud.
The application of this particular form of beauty treatment required the victim . . . er, patient to receive a mild, veget sedative so their voluntary and involuntary movements would be minuscule. Next, tubes made from the thin reeds of the veget plant were placed into the patient's mouth and nostrils to allow breathing. Finally, every inch of the patient was carefully coated with a secretly formulated mixture of revitalizing mud made from veget pulp mixed with soil, water, and the proverbial secret ingredient.
The latter was nothing more than double boiled veget sap left over from the pulverizing process, but keeping that a secret lent an aura of magic to the whole miserable ordeal. From start to finish the process took about three hours. During this time the mud was left to slowly dry from the outer layer to the skin. Upon total dessication, the mud took on an elastic quality which allowed it to be peeled safely and completely away with only a minimum of painful discomfort to the patient. Of course, a larger dose of sedative would have made the entire process completely painless, but as everyone knows, if a beauty treatment doesn’t hurt, it couldn’t possibly be beneficial.
In this instance the benefit was this: when the veget-mud was removed from the body, so was the patient’s "ugliness" - at least, this was the claim. So it had always been, as far back as anyone could remember, the primary beauty treatments among Nuttinnewian females. Unfortunately, as Fate would have it, these veget mud baths worked best on those females considered by most to need it the least.
Pentalope Pulpitt had been submitting herself to these grueling treatments everyday since - well, who could remember - and everyone agreed, it was a very good thing she had remained so faithful, considering the way she still looked after so many of them. One shuddered to think what she might have looked like without them. However, this was just so much talk-over-the-stalk, as gossip was called in Nuttinnew.
Although the frontal orifices of the face are not normally considered to be listening organs, it was through the breathing tubes Pentalope first became aware of the sounds of a gathering hoard. She first thought these were just the auditory illusions of a dreamlike state induced by the mild sedative. She was not dissuaded from this interpretation even when she began to recognize the voices of certain of the more prominent town folks, calling her name and shouting such things as, “Urgent! Well! Boy! Dead! Help!”
None of this made any sense to her. But, after all, dreams have a way of not making much sense. Then she had an alternative thought: what if she wasn’t dreaming at all? What if her naked, mud covered body actually was surrounded by people whose voices she thought she was dreaming she heard?
"Oh, what shall we do? She can't hear us. What shall we do?" came the plaintive cries from several familiar voices.
"I think we should ask Wud..., er, Mr. Pulpitt what to do. He’s really such a remarkable, intelligent fellow,” offered a female voice.
"That voice! That irascibly unpleasant, irritatingly calm voice! That is the voice of the widow Forbal!” The recognition gave Pentalope such a shock of utter disgust her entire body began to tremble, causing hairline cracks to form throughout her mud cast. “This is no dream!” she mentally declare. “It will be a cold day in a Nuttinnewian summer before the widow Forbal ever gets into one of my dreams, sedated or not.”
Pentalope sat up with such a shriek everyone in the room jumped back with a start. Instantly, the outer layer of dried mud cracked like shattered pottery, revealing the oozing, gooey, slimy mud which was smeared and blobbed over every pore of her otherwise naked flesh. Several of the younger males in the group became instantly ill at the sight of her and had to leave the room at once. The remaining males were quickly chased out after them by their wives - for modesty's sake, no doubt.
All the females, however, stayed with poor Pentalope. For none of them would have missed this sight for the world. No not one, especially the widow Forbal.
***** ***** *****
In the midst of the midday heat with a ground temperature of well over a hundred degrees, those who still remained clustered about the well were surprised when a shadow suddenly fell upon them. As one, they slowly raised their eyes and were utterly shocked to find the noon sun to be little more than a thin yellow ring encompassing a large black, star-studded circle.
It appeared as if the very center of the sun, had become a huge portal opening a passageway into the dark splendor of the night sky. Then, even as they watched, the abundance of stars seen therein began to rapidly descend, showering down upon their town like an autumn rain.
Believing that seeing is believing, it was believed without exception that the sky was falling. Accordingly, the spectators cried out in fear as they scattered to the nearest huts, seeking shelter from the heavenly debris. As far back as anyone could remember, nothing like this had ever before happened in Nuttinnew. And in fact, it hadn't.
***** ***** *****
Had the fall rains already come, there would have been plenty of water for the attendants to wash the slime from Pentalope’s body, but the current rationing prevented any such extravagance. So, with only a few slightly dampened towels, the two spa attendants, assisted by the female intruders, slowly, carefully, wiped, rubbed, scoured and scrubbed the mud from the mayor’s tender skin, while she directed their efforts with a seamless volley of screams and curses.
No one had ever tried to break out of a partially cured mud cast before, so no one was quite sure if it was being removed correctly. All the while Pentalope's incessant cursing and screaming assured them it wasn’t. And despite their efforts to placate her into some measure of silence, she never did shut up. That is, not until... Kur-plop!
A mysterious object sliced through the roof thatching and landed on its edge just between Pentalope’s thighs in a glob of excess goo. The sudden invader had just missed striking several of her attendants, causing everyone to freeze in frightened silence. Even Pentalope fell still. But the quiet didn’t last long, for she let out such a shrill scream it sent shivers up and down the trembling spines of all those within hearing distance.
Immediately, the other female joined in chorus as they dashed from the spa in a panic driven mass exodus out of the room and from spa, leaving poor Pentalope to fend for herself. Unfortunately, as she rather painfully discovered, the quick drying mud had already glued her scrawny buttocks to the beautifully carved smooth stone slab upon which she sat.
By the time her singular, long scream ceased, the last heavenly object had fallen on Nuttinnew, and the black spot from whence they came had disappeared, leaving the sun looking nothing less than normal. One by one, the Nuttinnewians found their courage and came out of their hiding places to gawk at the multitude of mysterious pieces scattered all about the town.
Still glued to the stone slab, Pentalope screeched out another scream. This time for help. But no one came to her aid, not even the spa attendants. Furious, she attempted several more screams, but these were not her normal nerve-shattering screams. Her earlier vocalizations had pretty well ruptured her vocal chords, leaving her with an oral arsenal of little more than a whisper. So with little to do but wait for her cowering husband to emerge from his hiding place a
nd help free her, she began to study the strange, irregularly-shaped, gleaming object, glistening erectly between her thighs.
Although she was unsure just what it was, she was incomprehensibly overcome with an uncontrollable covetousness toward it. For reasons unknown even to herself, she admired it compulsively and desired it religiously. Reaching out, she eagerly wrapped her long, spindly fingers about it, jerked it out of the goo, and clutched it to her slime covered chest.
Like a flash of lighting she felt herself filled with a personal power she had always desired, but never quite experienced before. In that singular moment, she felt herself transcend the meager existence that had once been her life.
***** ***** *****
While the others who were gathered at the well ran for cover from the falling pieces, Bourg and Loden simply threw themselves to the ground beside the well wall. Although this offered no real protection for them, Bourg was unwilling to leave the well as long as Tyter remained in it. For unlike the others, he believed his son was still alive and that at any moment he would receive a signal to withdraw him from the bowels of the well.
Loden, too, was unwilling to leave the well out of his personal sense of duty toward his position as wellkeeper of the east. Besides, he felt obliged to stay with his distraught comrade, even though he was fairly certain the young wellwalker would never again be in need of their assistance. And so, throughout the entirety of the unusual event, the two wellwalkers remained huddled head to head beside the well wall. Then quicker than one might have predicted, the last object fell from the sky and all became still.
Each wellkeeper slowly raised his head and looked toward the other, only to discover their line of sight was obscured by one of those heavenly pieces which had stabbed into the soft sand directly between their heads. Their initial astonishment quickly turned to awe as they watched it glisten like a prism in the noonday sun.
The piece they saw was smooth and polished to such a degree that it marvelously reflect the colors of all objects about it, both near and far. Being barely a seed thick, the shape of its flat surface was most peculiar. It measured six to eight puffs across at the widest and narrowest edges which consisted of alternating protrusions and indentations of diverse proportiones.
Had this not been the little town of Nuttinnew, and had these two ever been anywhere beyond the surrounding rolling hills, they might have likened this strange object to a piece of an oversized jigsaw puzzle. However, they hadn’t, so they didn’t. For no one, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, had ever even considered the possibility that human communities, like their own, might actually exist in the region they solemnly referred to as Nocomback.
If anyone had had such knowledge, the unforeseen, life-altering events to follow, might never have occurred. Then again, knowledge has never guaranteed goodness, any more than laws have guaranteed justice.
Like Mayor Pentalope, Loden was instantly obsessed with possessing the unusual piece which lay within his grasp. Reaching out he snatched it from the sand at the very instant Pentalope’s long, spindly fingers were wrapping around the similar object which had come to rest between her thighs in the Veget Health Spa. In that instant the desire for power had never been greater in either of them. For at the moment of contact, both were impregnated with the overwhelming desire to experience the pure, insatiable pleasure which only the attainment of absolute power can give.
Bourg considered Loden's behavior to be quite obtrusive, as if his fellow wellkeeper was afraid he would snatch up the piece first. The wellkeeper of the west would have gladly assured him he had absolutely no interest in the weird thing. However, he said nothing for already his thoughts had returned to Tyter and the emergency at hand. Springing to his feet, he quickly discovered that the locking pin which held the gears in place had been dislodged, possibly by that same fallen piece which Loden now possessed. As a result, all three ropes hung slack. Bourg grabbed the crank handle and began turning it like a wild man and the slack ropes rapidly coiled about the crank shaft.
This time there was no shout, only the agonizing groan of despair. “Tyter.”
***** ***** *****
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Tyter was awakened and as if on cue, the object beneath his head put forth a brilliant display of multicolored brilliance, illuminating the entire cavern.
In the light Tyter could see that the ground upon which he was lying was a sloped stone shelf protruding into a rippling pool of water which covered nearly half the cavern floor. The surface of the water appeared calm enough as it sent gentle ripples towards him. Yet, despite its tranquil appearance, Tyter couldn’t help but remember the raging torrent which had twisted him into knots.
The sound which had awakened him turned out to be caused by the well seat as it bobbled on the rhythmic ripples of the pool. His heart jumped with joy at the sight of something so familiar. It was doubly joyful when he saw well ropes were still attached to it. In fact they were what was holding it place, so that as it bobbled it struck the far chamber wall with a steady cadence of thuds. His heart was triple joyed to discover that the ropes extended about two rod beneath the surface then disappeared through a small opening in the stone wall. Undoubtedly, this is how he had been forced into the chamber, and it was a pretty sure bet it was his only way back out. Although the ropes had enough slack to allow the seat to bob up and down on the pool’s ripples, they were still tight enough to keep it from drifting toward him. Surely this meant they were firmly attached to something on the other side of the opening, perhaps even to the well shaft.
If he could somehow get hold of the well seat, somehow propel himself underwater to the opening, and somehow make his way through the opening against a strong undercurrent, he would be back in the well shaft - possibly. Then all he would have to do is signal the wellkeepers - if he can locate the signal rope - somehow.
Had Tyter been an adult, he might have added up all these "somehows" and concluded they added up to a “no way!” But, Tyter wasn't quite an adult yet, even by Nuttinnewian standards. So, sticking the illuminated object into an inner pocket of his pullover, he jumped head first into the pool toward the well seat. As Fate, would have it, he was right on target and glided through the water just far enough to just grab hold of the seat and slide his body right onto it. Immediately, he and the seat sank below the surface of the water, where both were barraged and battered by the in-rushing current until they were plunged under and pinned beneath the very rock shelf which had previously saved his life. It didn’t take Tyter long to realize his foolhardy act had put him in a place devoid of breathable air. But, miraculously, the ropes snapped taut, pulling hard against the current.
Moments later, Tyter and the well seat were jerked back through the opening, yanked from the water, and rapidly ascending the dark, dank well shaft. Tyter coughed and gasped for air. Once obtained, he screamed upward to the top of his water-logged lungs.
"Bourg!” he gasped, forcing his voice up the hollow throat of the well. It’s sound barely reached the well’s rim -- but it was enough.
"Tyter? It’s Tyter!” Bourg ejaculated down the well shaft with unmistakable jubilation.
Loden, who was still sitting on the ground holding the shiny piece, quickly shoved it into his inner pullover pocket, then jumped up, and grabbed the other crank handle. Together they spun the shaft which reeled in the ropes, and together they resurrected the young wellwalker.
"Bourg,” Tyter rejoiced when he could first make out the silhouettes of the wellkeepers at the well opening toward which he was quickly ascending.
"Ty - ter!” Bourg called back as he began to make out the young male’s form through the shroud of darkness permeating the well. His voice choked with emotion as his eyes once again filled with tears. Only this time they were tears of joy.
***** ***** *****
"Wuderbutz! Wuderbutz! Where are you for Veget's sake?” Mayor Pulpitt screamed anxiously for her husband.
“Coming, my dear,” Mr. Pulpitt whined i
n his usual, whipped way.
“What is this thing? Where did it come from?” Pentalope demanded, as she help up the piece for him to see, then quickly returned it to her bosom.
“I - I don’t know,” he stammered. “I - I heard someone outside shouting something about pieces of the sky falling.”
“Pieces of the sky are falling? Get me a pitcher of water - no, a bucket - quickly!” Pentalope ordered.
“Water? But - but. . . . ”
"No 'buts,' Wuderbutz!” Pentalope demanded. "I'm stuck to this confounded chunk of stone. Now, go get some water! All the water you can find! And be quick about it! Hurry! Hurry!"
"Yes, yes dear,” Mr. Pulpitt groaned as he ran out through the attendants’ door.
Again, Pentalope stared at the oddly shaped, multicolored, piece of sky which she now held in her hand. The more attention she paid to it, the brighter it glowed. She was sure of it. "I must have more of these. I will have more!" she swore aloud to herself in a newly acquired, self-determined tone of voice. " Are there any more?” she wondered. “There must be more. There are more!" she assured herself with a growl. "That’s why everybody ran outside instead of helping me get unstuck from this blasted slab. They’re all out there gathering up my magnificent pieces of the sky, while I’m stuck in here. Wuderbutz! By Fate, I am cursed to be surrounded by fools!" she screamed toward the door. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" came her plaintive cry as she tested the durability of her own thin skin.
"Wuderbutz! If you don’t hurry up with that water, I swear I’ll.... ”
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 4