by Steven Novak
Thirty minutes later Tommy found himself staring at something vaguely resembling his mother, lying eerily silent in an enormous wooden coffin. Whatever this was, this painted, primed, and stretched out thing before him – was not his mother – at least, not anymore. Whoever had applied her make-up had done a terrible job. She looked clownish. The colors were totally wrong, shades she would never have chosen. The eye shadow was a pale, powdery baby blue – she hated blue.
No, this was not his mother – his mother was gone.
This had been the best guesstimate of a stranger, an art project - an approximation and nothing more. Standing on the tips of his toes, Tommy reached timidly into the coffin, letting the tip of his index finger gently touch her face. Her skin felt like ice, like chilly plastic, like a mannequin that spent the night in the freezer. It was not human and most definitely was not his mother.
His father stood stoically next to him. His younger brother, Nicky leaned against the large man’s leg, the fabric gripped tightly between his fingers. The nine-year-old’s thumb moved back and forth gently inside his mouth. The soft sound of his sucking echoed throughout the silent room. For years Nicky’s mother had tried to convince him to stop sucking his thumb, but the boy had refused. The thumb was soothing, the thumb was safe, and the thumb was constant. The thumb would always be there when he needed it and Nicky needed the thumb now more than ever.
Farther down the line stood Uncle Bill, Aunt Jenny, and Grandpa Joseph; there were also a few people Tommy had never seen before. Each waited patiently in line for the opportunity to say goodbye. Aunt Jenny glanced briefly at Tommy with teary eyes. A confused expression covered her face, when she noticed that Tommy was dry-eyed. For reasons he had not fully understood, Tommy found it impossible to cry. He had wanted to cry – to cry badly - so that the entire town drowned in his tears and was swept into sea. It simply had not happened, not today, tomorrow, and maybe never again.
No longer able to look at the shell of his mother laid out in such a disgustingly painted, strangely pristine fashion, Tommy ran down the center aisle and left through the large double-doors. No one made the slightest attempt to stop him. Even if they had, such an act would have resulted in failure. Tommy wanted nothing to do with this any longer. The air in the room had become so thick that it coagulated in his lungs, making breathing a chore. The smell of disinfectant mixed with too much cologne and perfume had caused the inside of his nose to feel itchy and sore. There was something unnatural about the whole situation, something fake, disingenuous and just plain wrong. He had to get away from it all and nothing was going to stop him.
Through the doors, down a long, dark hallway and into the lobby he sprinted past family members, neighbors and strangers, ignoring the pity and whispers.
A chilling burst of cold hit Tommy in the chest the moment that he stepped outside the mortuary. The sudden coupling of warm flesh and icy breeze sent a much needed twinge of pain throughout his body, causing every follicle of hair to stand at attention. Almost instantly, the crisp freshness of winter cleared his lungs, while gently soothing away the frustrating itch inside his nose.
The snow had fallen hard over the course of the previous night. Thick, tall drifts twisting into beautifully smooth, delicate curves pressed against the sides of houses, cars, and all things created by man and nature. Translucent icicles dancing with the reflection of the afternoon sun suspended from the branches of trees barely clinging to life.
Finally outside, finally away from his family, finally alone, Tommy could breathe again. A gentle tide of relief washed over him. Walking to the rear of the building, Tommy’s feet crunched deeply into the un-shoveled snow covering the grass. No longer able to hear the whispers or the quiet sobs of the people inside, he at last stopped. He leaned against the brick wall until he could no longer stand. He sat upon the frozen ground and watched his steamy breath rise toward the sky. Swaying softly in the air for a moment, it hung like a delicate fog, eventually swallowed by the unrelenting chill, evaporating into nothing. From above, more snow fell upon the earth, slowly covering Tommy’s head and shoulders. It occurred to Tommy that if were to stay there long enough, the snow would bury him alive. The idea did not frighten him one bit.
“Tommy?”
The quiet, timid voice belonged to his neighbor, Staci Alexander. She stood next to him, her hands buried in the pockets of her heavy maroon-colored winter jacket.
“Tommy…are…are you okay?” She asked, the cold making her nose redder with each passing moment.
Tommy did not respond. He had no interest in talking to her. He could not stand to hear her voice. He wanted her to leave. He wanted her to go away and never come back. Staci had been his friend for as far back as he was able to form memories; it did not make any sense to ignore her, and yet at this moment, it was exactly what he felt that he needed to do.
Irrational annoyance rapidly grew as Tommy grumbled through cracked lips, “Go away, Staci.”
“Tommy, I just wan…”
He clearly restated, “Please…please just go away.”
A heavy breeze blew from the west, lifting the snow off the ground, tossing it wildly into the air, enveloping the children in a tornado of dancing white flakes. The sudden flurry covered Tommy, leaving him partially buried.
From the front of the building, Staci’s mother searched for her daughter. “Staci? Staci, where are you sweetie? It’s freezing out here! It’s time to come inside, honey!”
Staci glanced at the pile of snow where Tommy Jarvis sat. She was not mad at him – she could not be mad at him – she simply wanted to see her friend smile again.
“Staci, come on! Get in here, young lady! You’ll catch your death in this cold!” This time, her mother’s voice made it an order rather than a request.
Realizing that her mother was not going to stop yelling until she came inside, Staci reluctantly turned to walk away.
Before leaving she softly whispered to the nearly buried form of her friend, “You’ll always be my friend, Tommy…no matter what.”
In a moment she was gone.
After the viewing had concluded and the guests all returned home, an annoyed Chris Jarvis dug his icy, shivering son from underneath the snow pile on the side of the building. He had been outside for more than forty minutes. His fingers were blue and his teeth chattered. During the car ride home, Chris admonished his eldest son for walking out on his mother’s funeral. He screamed at him, letting the boy know in no uncertain terms that he was disappointed, that he would never forgive him for it. Once inside the warm safety of the house, a frustrated Chris Jarvis slapped his son on the back of the head, screaming at him to get upstairs and stay there. It was not a hard slap, yet it was not playful, either. It was a beginning, a hint of things to come.
That afternoon, while he had been buried underneath the snow, Tommy Jarvis’ face froze in time. The expression was a result of his mother’s passing and would be the face he would wear for the rest of his life. It would be the face he would see in the mirror every morning and the face he would take with him to bed at night. Without even realizing it, this new face would become his only face - the face he hated to love and the face he loved to hate.
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CHAPTER 57
A SINGLE WORD
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Nicky Jarvis’ word was so loud that the moment it had escaped from his young lips, it changed into something much more than a single, simple word. Born from years of silence, the word took shape, absorbed the particles that made up the universe around it and ultimately grew in mass. This single word ceased to be a word the moment it had passed his teeth and ventured forward into a great new world. With its newfound weight quadrupling in size every fraction of every passing second, the word expanded across the interior of the massive circular room. When it came into contact with the solidly constructed walls of Prince Valkea’s fortress, it effortlessly shattered them to pieces. As if a bomb had gone off inside the tower, the solid rock was
blown to bits with violent ease, ripped apart as if made of paper. Shards of wall in all shapes and sizes were thrown violently through the air, some landing as far as three miles away. A thick cloud of partially disintegrated rock rose into the sky, rapidly spreading across the land, swallowing the courtyard below.
The word took on life and folded around the dangling body of Nicky’s older brother. Carefully avoiding Tommy, this destructive new life form slammed into Prince Valkea with a force unlike anything this little world had ever seen. The blow was delivered with such strength and speed that Prince Valkea’s ribs shattered on impact, folded inward and crushed his vital organs. In a fraction of a second, the bones in the Ochan’s arms and legs were broken in so many places that they ceased to resemble bones at all. His face collapsed into itself and the floppy mess of what remained of the Prince’s body was launched into the cloud-covered sky. Spinning like a whirly-bird, it arced just below the clouds before falling back on the ground. With a disgusting wet thud, the useless mess of broken bone and disfigured flesh that once resembled the Prince of Ocha at last came to rest amidst the throes of war spread out across courtyard. When it was done, the word traveled into the dark sky where it was devoured by the thick clouds.
At last the pressure in Nicky’s head was gone. His muscles slowly released the built-up tension, his diminutive body relaxing once again. A refreshing coolness rolled across his skin, seeping into his still open mouth as Nicky reopened his eyes. The roof of the tower was gone. Above him only dark clouds sobbed tears of chilling rain. The formerly impenetrable walls no longer existed. The few solid pieces that managed to survive the blast had fallen back to earth miles away or were still airborne. The floor underneath him was covered in cracks as well, extending from his knees as if his body had been the epicenter of a massive explosion. Cracks of all shapes and sizes zigzagged across every stone in every square inch of the tower. The force of a single, solitary word had violently torn the structure’s foundations apart, leaving it unstable and dangerous. Every single gust of wind – even those barely moving the trees of the red forest - caused it to sway noticeably from side to side. The creaks, crackles, and pops tearing at once sturdy craftsmanship could be heard in every direction.
Across from Nicky, Staci sat motionless. The table had been tossed to the heavens like everything else in the room. The blank expression on her face was not quite shock, not quite awe. This was something else entirely, something more. A sharp pain ran up the right side of her body and back down to the tip of her toes. Crawling as quickly as she dared, Staci reached Tommy’s side at the same time as Nicky. The anxious and worried friends pawed at Tommy’s lifeless form, trying to reignite a spark of life.
“Tommy, no! Please, Tommy, NO!” Staci screamed as she attempted to coax him back to the world of the living. She slapped him gently while she whispered, “Wake up Tommy…please wake up Tommy, please…” She barely managed a stammer, her face steaming with salty thick tears.
Above the children the heavens roared. Flashes of lightning angrily tore across the sky. The far off, rolling crackle of thunder shook the foundations of the wobbly tower. Thick slabs of stone pulled away from its sides, splashing into the mud below.
Not far from the threesome, a woozy confused Pleebo breathed in the air of consciousness once again. Struggling to move, he lifted his weary head and saw the sobbing children. Vague memories of what had occurred after Prince Valkea’s assault flashed in the back of his mind. They were only snippets – brief bursts of light, color and shape - not one among them resembling a complete story. Painfully he managed to pull himself up. For the first time he noticed that the walls around him were gone. The floor underneath him was shaky, unstable and broken. Looking out over the horizon, Pleebo realized that the entire tower was swaying dangerously in the breeze. Though he had no idea what caused the destruction, he was aware that they were no longer in a safe place
He had to get the children out and he had to do it quickly.
His movements resembled that of a marionette being manipulated by an amateur puppeteer. Pleebo’s body awkwardly jerked as he stood. Every joint hurt. Every single muscle was bruised and sore in ways that gave new meaning to the word pain. Large gashes on his back were bleeding quite heavily. Precious blood poured down his legs.
Broken and wobbly, he stumbled toward the kids. “Children…we have to go…we have to go right now…”
“NO! WE CAN’T LEAVE WITHOUT TOMMY!” Staci screamed. She was angry, confused and frightened.
For the first time since awakening, Pleebo noticed the motionless body of Tommy Jarvis. Though it was impossible to tell without closer examination, it seemed as if the boy was not breathing – as if he were dead. The floor creaked and shifted underneath his feet, nearly causing him to fall on his rear. They needed to get down from the tower. It was not going to say upright much longer.
“We’re not leaving him,” Staci shouted. “We’ll take him with us!” Pleebo yelled. “We have to go now! It isn’t safe here! Everyone, grab him!”Just as Pleebo and Nicky reached for Tommy’s body, Staci shoved them aside. A very familiar, very otherworldly feeling of warmth had started to spread across her chest. Suddenly she knew why she was here. She could not and would not let Tommy die. She could save him.
The tingly warmth rolled from her chest and into her arm, melting across the contours of her hand, pouring like wonderfully warm syrup into the tip of her fingers. With a haunting glow of bright white light emanating from her body, she turned to Pleebo with pleading eyes.
In a tired, hopeful voice she begged, “Please…I can save him.”
Even as the floor beneath his feet cracked, Pleebo let Tommy slide from his arms and backed away. Common sense told him to grab the three children and run, yet every ounce of his faith told him to do the exact opposite. Despite his better judgment, he chose to let the little girl do whatever it was that she thought she could do. If this decision meant the end of his life, then so be it. Pleebo wrapped the still sobbing Nicky in his arms, pulling the boy close.
Without an ounce of hesitation, Staci softly laid her delicate palms on Tommy’s chest and gazed into the his closed eyes. Tommy had come for them. He had no doubt crossed mountains and forests and faced obstacles so bizarre and dangerous that the mere thought of them would have sent the average fourteen-year old running in fear. He had come for them. Despite everything, he had come to save them.
The light from her fingertips slowly crept along Tommy’s body. Wonderful memories of the time they had spent together years ago tickled in her mind’s eye. Like warm butterflies, the images fluttered around her head, down her neck and into her chest. Once there, they folded themselves around her heart, molding their beautifully colored wings to meet its exact contours, enveloping the beating mass of life-giving muscle, ultimately becoming one and the same. Closing her eyes, Staci smiled. The light pouring from her fingertips not only devoured Tommy’s body but spread out in every direction. It quickly moved over Pleebo and Nicky, swallowing them in its transcendent glow. From there it moved forward like a beautiful liquid poured into a container. Across the floor, down the sides of the tower and into the courtyard, its journey continued. Seeping into every corner, every doorway, every nook and cranny, it eventually encompassed the castle, lighting the structure like a magnificent star.
For miles upon miles across the land of Fillagrou, the light could be seen and felt – bringing with it the greatest gift of all – the gift of life.
Enclosed completely by the wondrous glow, Tommy Jarvis slowly opened his eyes. The world around him suddenly seemed pure, warm, and white. His body floated atop the glow as if on water. It trickled into his every crevice, healed his wounds and gently cajoled him back into the world of the living. Above him, Staci’s smiling face parted the tranquil sea of light as she opened her eyes and looked at him.
For the first time in years, Tommy smiled back.
The moment shared between the two friends did not last long. The light around them b
egan to dim, hastening its retreat into Staci’s hands. As quickly as it had returned, it left. When it had diminished completely, Staci’s eyes rolled back into her head and she toppled into Tommy’s arms, completely and totally spent.
With the amazing light now gone, the reality of the world outside once again enveloped them. The pouring rain, the darkening night and the unsteady structure underneath their feet were things that now pushed their way to the forefront. Pleebo had only a second to come to terms with the fact that, like Tommy, his wounds as well as Nicky’s, were also healed. Somehow the tiny little girl had repaired them. It made no sense, yet somehow she had done it. Briefly an image of his grandfather’s words, of the prophecy and the end of the war that had taken so much from him poked its way into his head. Like the recently reanimated Tommy Jarvis, Pleebo afforded himself the briefest of smiles.
He was jarred back to reality when the floor underneath him began to give way. Like dominos, the failure of a single set of stones would cause to rest to crumble. The entire tower collapsed to the ground. The deep, awful sound of plummeting stone and mortar filled the night air. Before any of them could react to this new twist of circumstance, Pleebo and the children were falling. Gravity tugged them into a world of dirt, smoke and fractured rock. The thick, angry darkness greedily swallowed them whole.
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CHAPTER 58
ARMY OF THE DEAD
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Ochan reinforcements converged on the fortress like a swarm of angry insects. In stark contrast to the lackadaisical, bored and unprepared soldiers stationed inside its walls, this was a much more impressive, appropriate show of Ochan strength. It was not simply their massive numbers but their preparedness for battle and hunger for war that chilled the spirit. Every soldier was armed to the teeth. Each was energized by the first real opportunity for battle afforded them in years. A feeling of excitement moved from soldier to soldier, growing stronger with every passing moment.