For the most part it was smooth and shiny. However, it had an embossed design on one side which had an uncanny similarity to the piece the little summer breeze had called the Key to Underearth. Her mouth dropped open. "How could this be?" was all she could think.
"Come on, Brindle. For veget's sake, what's taking you so long? They’re in there somewhere."
Brindle tried to answer, but all she heard was air escaping over her vocal cords. She squeezed the object in her hand and felt a slight click. Slowly, re-opening her fingers, she discovered the object was, in fact, a locket. One half was covered with a soft, pillowy material. At its center was a small circular indentation about the circumference of a female's tiniest finger.
Inside the other half were several etchings which looked very much like the Nuttinnewian letters, but were arranged in a strange order which made no words she’d ever seen before. Dispersed among these were a smattering of other symbols which she didn’t recognize at all.
"Are you coming?" Tyter called even more excitedly. Brindle feared that in his impatience, he would charge toward the well and end up in the Great Gorge. So she quickly retrieved the piecechip, which she had failed to return to Tyter’s pocket, and placed it in the locket, then slipped its chain over her head. As the ornament fell between her totes, she felt a combination of peace and power come over her. She darted towards the door, stopped, ran back and collected Tyter's sandals, then she dashed out the door.
"Well, it’s about time,” Tyter snorted. He had wandered toward the north in his impatience.
"Here. And I think we'd better go south of the well.”
"Why?" Tyter asked, somewhat perturbed that he had already gained a head start to the north.
"For one thing, look! They’re almost to the well. If we go south we can get there about the same time as they do - if we hurry. Come on, now, put your sandals on. I'll run ahead and find the southern end so you won't fall in."
"Ah, you think you're so smart. You just don't want me to get there first,” Tyter complained, as he ran to the spot where she had laid down his sandals. He bent down to pick them up. But when he looked up and saw how far ahead of him she was, he sprang to his feet and raced off with sandals still in hand.
Tyter had become so accustomed to conversing normally with Brindle, in all the excitement, he never once thought about the piecechip or questioned how it was he could still understand her even though she was apparently no longer touching it.
***** ***** *****
"Hurry! Hurry! It’ll be dawn soon,” Loden admonished and encouraged his rebels as they dragged toward the well the last section of the Center House porch roof.
"Should have torn these apart - first,” Joudlier grumbled.
"Yeah, why didn't we?" Dampy jumped in, taking the lead from his friend. "It sure would have been a lot easier. Why are we being so secretive, anyway? It's not like nobody's going to notice the entire porch roof is missing come morning. And when they do, it won’t be too hard to figure out where it went.”
Loden frowned down at Dampy. Then he noticed that all the males had stopped pulling on the structure and were waiting for his answer, as they rested from their strenuous labors.
Loden studied the structure in question. Its flat roof boards were strung across long supports about thirty rods in length. Although the corner supports had given way during the last tremor, the inner beams remained firm. Thus it was necessary to remove the whole eastern side of the porch, roof and floor. As they pushed and pulled the structure through the soft sand, one end stretched upward about twenty rods off the ground. The other end, with its collapsed supports, arched down, touching the floor boards. In the dim light of the fleeting moon, it appeared to be some kind of giant creature lumbering its way down the center of the town.
Loden had many reasons for not wanting to arouse the town’s curiosity as to what they were doing. The least of these was that many people have a tendency to become very upset if they are informed of an event before it takes place. They fret and worry, and argue and basically make the task unmanageable. However, if the event is already accomplished when they become aware of it, they are more likely to accept it with only a modicum of grumbling.
Loden could have tried to explain this to his fellow rebels, but he didn't. He merely said, "Because that's the way I want it done." This was followed by a long silence as the other rebels considered his answer. Ultimately, they decided it was reason enough, so once again the wooden creature slowly crept southward along the eastern edge of the giant fissure which had torn the town in two.
Chapter 15
If the quaking earth didn’t awaken the inhabitants of Nuttinnew on the following morning, the chilling, creaking, ripping sounds surely did. Center House was being rent asunder.
In the Center House basement Mardrith was roughly shaken into consciousness. She just had begun to remember where she was when the boards forming the floor of the cubby in which she was sleeping, groaned, then cracked. Instinctively, she jumped from her perch. The cellar walls ripped, splintered and twisted from floor to ceiling, filling the air with crackling and popping sounds. These were followed by a deep, yawning groan, as the quaking floor boards at the southern end of the room began to break apart and cave inward, forming a giant mouth which first tasted, then devoured her fleeting footsteps as she ran toward the stairway.
Overhead, the first floor support beams snapped like dried veget twigs. Two legs of the small table, normally situated beside the sitting room sofa, fell into the crack. The grey light of dawn shone through like a skylight, and Mardrith was drawn into an incomprehensible reality: Center House was collapsing.
Through the cracks in the ceiling, Mardrith could hear voices. First, Pentalope's shrill pierced the air above all other sounds. Next, a female, whom she didn’t recognize, bellowed in a low, mournful tone. Then, as if completing a triad of discordant harmony, a strained, but familiar voice, touched her ears and gripped her heart.
"Fleetra!” Mardrith cried, as she came out of her fright.
At that moment the door at the top of the cellar stairs popped from its hinges under the twisted strain of the surrounding walls. Mardrith sprinted across the shivering basement floor, dashed up the short, writhing, flight of stairs. Then bursting through the entryway door where, finding herself standing at the edge of the floor and staring into a wide crevice, she came to an abrupt halt. Center House had been rent in two.
More screams from the upper floor filled the air. The staircase, the only way up or down, was on the other side of the rip, but Mardrith didn’t stop to ponder the apparent danger. Her love for Fleetra had transformed into courage (or, perhaps, foolishness). With a sudden burst of expedient energy, she sprang across the gaping crotch, just landing on the lower steps. Then, without pause, she scrambled upward.
However, just before she reached the second floor landing, another fierce tremor tore the top of the staircase from its anchor, allowing it to rear back like a beast on its hind legs. Frantically, Mardrith looked about for something to grab onto, but found nothing within reach. She considered jumping back down to the first floor, but before she could evaluate her likelihood of success, she was stunned by a loud, metallic clang that pounded in her ears and rattled her brain.
At the same instant the staircase reared back, pulling the steps out from under her. Reaching up at the last moment, she managed to grab onto top step as it arched backwards overhead. Holding fast with her fingers to its worn boards, she wildly swung her bare legs upward, clawing with her toes for a foothold on something - anything. But the weight of her body overpowered the strength of her hands and she pummeled backward into the deep, dark crack.
"Fleetra!" she cried as she fell. High overhead she could see the light of the dawn gleaming off the shiny, silver bell as it peeled its discontent at being disturbed once again from its aged slumber.
***** ***** *****
This quake was the worst that had struck the little town of Nuttinnew. On both the east and w
est, the huts of sand cracked and many rooms caved in. Those who were asleep were hurled from their cots. Those who were standing, fell unwillingly to the ground. If the instability of the earth beneath one's feet didn't fill one with fright, the ominous clanking of the Center House bell surely did. As it hammered out its discontent, the throbbing ears of the inhabitants failed to hear the fearful screech of a young male, sliding helplessly over the vibrating edge of the Great Gorge, which was rapidly becoming even greater.
"Brindle!” Tyter squealed in a voice which could barely be heard. Perhaps, it was more intuition than hearing that made Brindle snap her head around just in time to see Tyter disappear over the edge.
"Blast!" she cursed as she spun around and raced toward him. "Oh, Veget! Oh, Veget!" she kept saying over and over. As she ran, she could feel the locket, stinging each tote as it whipped back and forth beneath her pullover. This only made her run faster. However, before she got to her goal, the ground engaged in a half dozen more aftershocks, knocking her to the ground. When she managed to get back to her feet, she realized she’d lost sight of the spot where her friend had disappeared.
"Tyter! Tyter!" she called in desperation as she crawled along the edge of the gorge. Loose sand broke away beneath her fingers and cascaded into the unseen below. Brindle tried hard not to follow it. In some areas the edge was bare of top soil, exposing the sharp edges of jagged rocks which tore at the flesh on her knees. Although, it hurt her terribly, the pain subsided rapidly. A ventured look in the moonlight, revealed her legs weren’t even scratched - just, extremely dirty.
Despite the urgency of the moment, she felt as though she were wrapped in a cloak of comfort. It was as if the piecechip had spread its warmth through her totes and enveloped her heart in a placidity of peace. But she did not want peace. She wanted to find her lost friend.
"Tyter! Tyter! Hang on! I’ll save you!" she screamed, fighting against the power between her totes by forcing herself into a sense of urgency. As grateful as she was for the healing, this was not a time for serenity. Tyter had fallen into the Great Gorge and she was determined to save him - if she could.
“Where is he? Where?” She forced her mind to an even higher level of anxiety, sending it spinning, out of control. However, with her thoughts scattered in every direction, the piece took advantage of her confusion, inundating her with a tranquility one might have only imagine possible. Exasperated, she gave in to it.
The tumultuous tornado of thoughts and anxiety hurling through her mind, exploded into undetectable particles which seeped through the cells of her skull and escaped freely into the universe. Nothing was left but the seemingly barren waste of a vast wilderness. From the center of this wasteland came the barely audible whimpering of a frightened young male.
"Tyter? Tyter, is that you?” Brindle asked calmly. Crawling southward another ten yards to the source of the sound, she stopped and looked over the side. Eighteen hands down, clinging to the edge of the crevice wall, she could discern a shadowy blob among the lighter mist. "Tyter? Is that you?" she repeated. The shadow emitted a hoarse grunt in response. "Hold on!” Brindle commanded, not nearly so calmly. "Just, hold on!"
"I ca - can't h - hold on 'ny more,” came a weak, fatigued response.
"By Veget! You'd better hold on! I'm going to get help.”
"I ca-can't. I'm to - too tired. I’ll - just' let - go."
"No!” Brindle screamed with no hint of lingering calm. Her eyes instantly adjusted to the darkness and although Tyter was still concealed in an eerie grey mist, she could see exactly where he was. She could also see a path leading to him which was more a series of hand and footholds than a path. Nonetheless, it couldn’t have appeared clearer if someone had painted each spot along the pitch of the slope.
Sprightly, she plunged herself over the edge onto the steep grade. Her movements were swift and nimble. Foot, hand, hand, foot, she almost danced down the jagged slope, until she reached a ledge just above the place where Tyter was hanging on in desperation. Reaching down, she grabbed his wrist.
"If you can't hang on any more, then let go,” she mused, as Tyter could feel her fingers grip his forearm like a vise. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought he was in the clutches of his giant guardian.
Although, he wasn’t amused by her attempted humor, the truth was, he couldn’t hold on any longer. His hands and arms were beyond pain. The tension of his grip eased, although his fingers remained in the gripping position. He slipped downward about six inches and gasped.
"Relax. I've got you,” Brindle assured him, as with relative ease, she yanked him up onto the ledge beside her, then into a nearby alcove which held promise of protecting them from the continual avalanche of debris falling from above. While Tyter rested and waited for full awareness to replace his temporary state of shock, Brindle massaged his hands, carefully, working each finger open, filling them with a new life of maneuverability. Even as she did so, the torn flesh miraculously began to heal at her touch.
"Where are we?” Tyter asked, having recuperated enough to be curious about his strange surroundings.
Brindle looked at Tyter's face. He looked as if he had just awakened from a long, peaceful sleep. "Are you okay?" she asked, amazed at what she saw. He nodded in the affirmative. "We're in a crack in the slope of the Great Gorge."
"Ah, now I remember. I fell. Veget! I was a deader, for sure, if you hadn’t saved me. But - how’d you get down here?"
"I climbed,” she answered still massaging his hand although it no longer needed it.
Tyter looked up. "Oh, I see, you came down that path.”
Brindle looked up. "You can see it, too?" she asked, surprised. For she was sure it could only be seen by the power of the piecechip.
"Sure. What's the big deal? It’s right ...” Tyter jerked his hand away from Brindle's grip to point. "Hey! It’s gone!" he exclaimed. Brindle, realizing Tyter was no longer touching her, asked curiously, “You can't see it at all?"
"No. Everything’s all dark and foggy. Oh, Brindle!" Fear made Tyter's voice quiver. "How are we going to get out of here? Help!" he shouted upward.
"Shush!” Brindle ordered and grabbed his hand.
"Hey! Look, there it is! Hurry! Let’s get out of here before it disappears again!” Tyter jumped to his feet and stood confidently on the only solid ledge around them. In his excitement he had again jerked his hand out of Brindle's grip and again the world around him was engulfed in a dark, dense fog of fear.
"Ooooh!” Tyter moaned as his knees buckled beneath him.
Brindle rose and caught him in her arms. Instantly, the fog cleared from his eyes.
"Oh, Brindle. I'm scared. What's happening to me? Do I have the Dreaded Drought Disease? That's it, isn't it? I - I’m dying.”
Brindle tried to explain what was happening without mentioning she had stolen the piecechip from him and hidden it in a locket hung about her neck. So, it wasn’t surprising that her explanation fell far short of explaining anything. However, Tyter did understand that as long as he kept contact with her, the world about him was shrouded in far less ambiguity.
"Can we, please, get out of here? Now!" he groaned.
No sooner had the words passed through his lips when the whole gorge belched with a violent shake. The ledge above them began to break away, causing sand rocks the size of a child’s fist to shower down upon them.
"Quickly! This way!” Brindle shouted as she grabbed Tyter's arm and jerked him from the ledge just as a head-sized chunk of rock crashed down upon it, knocking it loose from the side of the slope. Together the chunks of stone and earth plummeted into the black depth below.
Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the shaking stopped and once again, all was still, except for the loose debris trickling down upon the young pair, who had slid to a lower ledge where they remained crouched, staring into the black void beneath them.
"So, what do we do now?" Tyter was more than willing to yield the responsibility for their lives to Brindl
e. After all, she did seem to possess some kind of magical power.
As Tyter continued to stare into the black depth, Brindle searched the jagged slope. There were no visible paths leading upward. However, just behind them, was a hole just large enough for Brindle to squeeze through. Looking in, she discovered it was the opening to an underground crawl space which angled northward and ran parallel along the bank of the gorge.
"Follow me!” Brindle ordered as she squirmed, head first, through the small opening, breaking contact with Tyter.
"Brindle!" he cried, clutching the ledge on which he was kneeling. But no matter how tightly he gripped it, he felt as if it weren’t tight enough and that he would, at any moment, fall backward into the abyss.
"Just stay put until I can get turned around!"
"I - I can't! I'm falling,” Tyter stuttered.
"Just hang onto something."
"I can't! I'm trying, but I can't,” Tyter felt like he was being pulled over the edge of the ledge. He felt like he was in a dream. The tighter he gripped the stone ledge, the weaker his grip felt. His stomach churned about his insides. He was falling. He knew it. He couldn't stop it. It was Fate. Not even Brindle could save him now.
No sooner had the thought formed when he was jerked backwards by a hard tug on his pullover sash. Instantly, he could see his surroundings as his buttocks sank into the hole.
"Come on!” Brindle panted in frustration, annoyed at Tyter's wimpish attitude. "Quit acting like a child!" She wondered how her hero had suddenly become so immature.
"If you think I'm going to crawl through that hole, you really are crazy!” Tyter wailed as he tugged at his pullover to unstick his bottom and regain his balance.
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 51