Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo by Obert Skye
The crowd cheered as the Dearth and two cogs pulled the door all the way open. The Dearth then stood with his right hand raised and his eyes on the long line of refugees.
“This is it,” he said. “I am not a sentimental being, but this is a step that so few thought would ever be taken.”
The cheer was much louder.
“Come,” the Dearth waved. He walked through the large door. In the distance, a shimmering square of weak light seemed to mark the way.
The Dearth walked quickly, consulting the map in his hands whenever tunnels branched off. There was not much talking, but the sound of feet scraping the trail and shoes clomping down gave the air an urgent and bustling feel.
“The light,” the Dearth said. “It’s water.”
The trail became an invisible cavern running right through water. The liquid flowed in waves above and beside them. The path glowed where the Dearth moved.
“Don’t touch the sides, and follow carefully,” the Dearth said.
The Dearth shuffled speedily through the tunnel of water, following the path that the map of glass had pointed out. If he had possessed a heart, it might have jumped right out of his chest. But he had no heart. And if he’d had a brain he might have been too giddy to think straight. But he had no brain. In fact, all he really had under his facade was an unending, wicked desire to see everything but the soil obliterated. He couldn’t wait. He was growing sick of pretending that he cared, and he longed with all his non-heart for the day when not a single nit, cog, human, rant, or any other being existed.
He was a simple man, with a simple wish that was about to come true.
Chapter Fourteen
Drained
Sometimes people are so clueless. Yes, sadly, many spend their days oblivious to half the things going on around them. For example, there are those who don’t notice when someone gets a new shirt or a new pair of trousers. And there are those who pay no attention to the fact that someone might have gotten braces put on his or her teeth, or switched from glasses to contacts. Some people are clueless that others have gotten a haircut or are now parting their hair on the other side.
What does it take? I wonder.
I mean, how hard is it to simply say, “Nice haircut,” or “Your new shoes are smashing”? I met a man once with a large facial tattoo who was still bothered that his mother had never said anything about it. I guess we get so caught up in our own lives that we fail to notice some of the amazing things going on right around us.
Well, in an effort to be less clueless, I suggest we give a young private with freckles and big ears a nice congratulations for noticing that the small body of water he was standing near was now beginning to drain.
“The water’s lowering!” the private hollered.
Every eye and camera focused intently on Blue Hole and its water level. The small spring running from it had stopped flowing and was now beginning to recede.
The military had taken over the white stucco scuba shop at the edge of the lake. It was now filled with a select group of important people—generals, majors, presidents, congressmen, Dennis, and Ezra. Circling the scuba shop were hundreds and hundreds of military troops, all organized and waiting for something exciting to happen. Mixed in with the chaos were people from the media, and behind all of that were large sections of civilians in RVs and cars hoping to get a peek at what was going on. There were also massive numbers of protesters protesting the arrival of any being from any other place other than Reality.
“The water’s lowering,” Elton Thumps said.
“Finally,” Ezra yelled. “Move me closer.”
Dennis pushed past two large soldiers and right up to the short wall surrounding the small lake. The water vibrated and the uncomfortable sound of something big being shoved through something small could be heard gurgling in the water.
“Brilliant,” Ezra laughed.
“So, what exactly is happening?” Elton asked.
“The entrance is opening,” Ezra said. “And if Dennis’s head was right, in a short while thousands of beings will come flowing through the bottom of there and climbing up and out into your world.”
“And we shouldn’t shoot them?” General Lank asked.
“Not at first.”
“They’re allies?” General Lank asked.
“Maybe—of course, it has been a while since I’ve read Dennis’s head,” Ezra growled. “But the last time I read, they were allies. So, now if you could shut your gaping mouth and try using your brain for something other than an ear-and-nose spacer, that would be appreciated.”
General Lank’s eyes bulged and his ears turned the color of cherries. It was one thing to have a civilian telling a high-ranking military leader what to do, but it was a whole other thing when that civilian was a toothpick.
“Watch yourself,” Lank said, steaming.
“Slap him, Dennis,” Ezra ordered.
Dennis ignored Ezra, shaking his head slightly.
“Fine.” Ezra stood up tall on Dennis’s right ear. He extended his hands and shot visible waves of electricity directly at the general. The electricity created two tiny black craters on General Lank’s face and filled the air with the smell of burning flesh. General Lank jumped back screaming and swearing and holding his cheeks with his hands.
“Does anybody else wanna tell me to watch myself?” Ezra asked. “I have told your president that it is best to let those who are coming just flow through. Then we will have them on our soil, and if their intentions have changed we will be able to easily take them.”
“But what about—” a young private started to ask.
Ezra didn’t allow the poor kid to even finish the question. He put his small arms forward and the unlucky private began to fold into himself. His head flopped down into his neck and his arms and legs retracted like telescopes. In a couple of seconds he was just an odd-looking torso with fingers at the shoulders and toes at the corners. His frightened eyes peered out of the folds of his neck where his head had been shoved. Ezra counted to three and the young private sprang back into his normal form.
“I will not be talked to by just anyone,” Ezra declared. He turned to look at Elton. “Is the preparation complete?”
“Of course,” Elton said, signaling to a couple of huge tractors that were still moving fences.
“Good,” Ezra sniffed. “Tell me when the water’s only a few feet deep.”
“Yes,” Elton said coolly. He smoothed back his dark hair and tightened the cloth belt on his trench coat. He too did not enjoy taking orders from a toothpick, but he was smart enough to act as if it were no big deal.
“Take me to my new trailer,” Ezra ordered Dennis.
Dennis didn’t move.
“What, did you not hear me?” Ezra raged. “I’m standing on your deaf ear?”
Dennis just stood there calmly.
Ezra slapped his own forehead with his right hand and sighed—civility didn’t come easy. And here Dennis was standing his ground and demanding he be treated right.
“Please,” Ezra said, defeated.
Dennis turned away from Elton and walked confidently toward the new RV the U.S. government had brought in for Ezra.
“Some people and their inflated egos,” Ezra sniffed.
Dennis just smiled.
ii
There has been much debate and discussion concerning just how long the tunnels under Blue Hole Lake really are. Some people say the tunnels run as far as the Atlantic Ocean, or to the Gulf of Mexico. A popular story is told of a diver who swam into the tunnels and never came back out. Weeks later, however, his body was discovered in Lake Erie. Other divers and explorers have tried to map the tunnels out many times in the past. But the few maps that were made were crude and incomplete. Then, in the early seventies, a couple of divers got lost down in the tunnels and one of them died. After that the government locked up the tunnels and forbade anyone to explore them further.
Of course, that didn’t keep people from speculating
Foo.
And nobody could have ever predicted that someday those same tunnels would provide a way for thousands of beings to invade our world. Of course, the list of things nobody could have ever predicted is longer than the tunnels themselves.
The Dearth moved easily through the watery passage. The map of glass had worked perfectly, exposing a complex dry and safe way through the caves. The Dearth dragged his feet along the wet soil beneath him, marking the route with a dark streak for those to follow.
The torches everyone carried lit the water in a surreal and ethereal way. Light swirled off of the water and drifted around like colorful nymphs. If the Dearth hadn’t been so evil and his purpose so selfish, the scene would have almost felt reverent. But the Dearth was completely evil and cared for nobody but himself, so the scene felt confusing.
The cavern turned and the water overhead changed from purple to blue.
“There!” a rant yelled. “Up ahead.”
A pinpoint of light shone through the tunnel like a third eye. It blinked and then shone even brighter. The Dearth moved quickly toward it, and as he got closer the water overhead tapered off and he could feel air filling the space around him. Ten steps later he was standing at the bottom of Blue Hole looking up eighty feet at the ring of faces and weapons pointed down at him. He turned to those behind him and announced, “I believe we’ve made it.”
A great cheer rose from the ranks and snaked back deep into the watery caverns. In fact, it continued all the way until it burst out of the opening in Sycophant Run.
Come what may, Foo and Reality were finally joined.
Chapter Fifteen
Somewhere There’s a Place Where We Belong
Have you ever gotten rid of something bothersome only to have it pop back up at some other point in your life? Don’t answer that—it’s probably not wise to talk to strangers. If you know me personally, however, go ahead and shout it out. Have you ever? Have you ever thrown out an ugly, itchy sweater some cruel relative knitted for you, only to have your mom pull it from the trash and present it to you to wear on school picture day? Or have you ever hidden a pile of mushy, rubbery brussels sprouts in your napkin, only to have your mother find them as she was cleaning up, and she made you eat them even though they were now mushy, rubbery, cold, and dirty? Some things are just better left lost or gone. Certain things should never resurface.
Things like Sabine.
Leven gasped and pulled his kilve out. Clover fell from the top of Leven’s head and couldn’t catch himself until he was down by Leven’s left knee. It had been many weeks since Leven had last seen Sabine whole. Now here he was again, looking at Leven from across the decaying room. There were bits and pieces of him missing, but from a distance he looked almost complete.
Sabine coughed, and chunks of him splattered down to the floor.
“That’s really, really unbecoming,” Clover whispered, now back on Leven’s right shoulder.
Sabine’s thin weasel eyes glared at Clover.
“I don’t understand,” Leven said. He moved closer to take a better look. “You’re dead.”
“I suppose it does me no good to lie now,” Sabine said. “I’m as surprised as you are to find myself here. This is the island of Alder?”
“I think so,” Leven answered, his kilve still drawn.
“You must be nearing the last of it,” Sabine wheezed. “I am just a marker on your path to the end.”
“End of what?”
“Or the beginning,” Sabine coughed.
“Of what?” Leven asked impatiently.
“I would have walked the path you are now upon,” Sabine swore. “I would have been the one to tie the two realms together.”
“I’m not sorry I stopped you,” Leven said boldly, stepping closer.
“Now this is where I’ll spend my days,” Sabine moaned. “Unless . . .”
“Unless?” Leven questioned.
“Unless I take your life.” Sabine stood up and reached forward.
Leven looked down at himself. His right hand and a chunk of his left shoulder were frozen. “What are you doing?” he asked.
Sabine closed his eyes, and a tiny bit of Leven’s left elbow froze. Leven shrugged his shoulders and straightened out his arm. Flakes of ice drifted off, giving him full range of motion.
“Are you doing that?” Leven asked.
Sabine dropped back down in his chair and coughed until it became uncomfortable for all of them.
“Come on,” Clover begged. “Could you at least cover your mouth?”
Sabine wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and moaned.
“Were you trying to freeze me?” Leven asked.
“I’m too weak.”
“And I can’t be killed,” Leven said. “A few things have changed since we last met. You are an incomplete mess, and I am the Want.”
Sabine reached into his tattered robe and pulled out a short knife. He lunged pathetically at Leven. The knife nicked Leven’s right forearm and fell to the ground.
Leven looked down at a small trickle of blood on his arm. “I’m bleeding,” he said in disbelief. “I thought . . .”
A strange noise filled the room. Leven looked around, confused until he realized the sound was Sabine’s laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Leven asked.
“You thought you were invincible,” Sabine wheezed. “Any unfinished business can still kill you. It’s only fair that you finish or be finished by what you started. Alder will do you in.”
Leven looked at the small knife on the ground and kicked it away.
“I can’t believe how pathetic you are,” Leven said softly.
“Don’t pity me,” Sabine snapped. “I want no pity.”
“Don’t worry,” Leven said. “I have no pity for you.”
“I was once the stronger one,” Sabine cried. “The Dearth needed me.”
“Not anymore,” Leven said.
Sabine looked at Leven and froze his right ear.
“Pathetic,” Leven repeated.
“You don’t understand,” Sabine wheezed. “I’ve been brought here to finish what we had between us. This castle is my coffin, unless I finish you.”
“I don’t see that happening,” Clover said.
“You’re walking a crooked trail to the oldest tree,” Sabine spat.
“That makes no sense.”
“You can’t reason with the tree unless the things you’ve touched in Foo are resolved,” Sabine whined. “He won’t even talk to you.”
“I’m not looking to reason with any tree.”
“You have no choice.” Sabine hacked, and dark chunks flew from his mouth and slapped down on the stone floor. “What you desire requires a conversation with the tree, and that conversation cannot happen if you have unresolved business.” Sabine’s shoulders raised a couple of inches—he growled like a wounded kitten, and the tips of Leven’s right thumb and pinkie froze.
Leven looked at his hand. “Are you still trying to freeze me?”
Sabine’s torn body slouched against the floor. His head hung back and his open mouth breathed deeply.
“So, if you were strong enough, would you really be able to kill me?” Leven asked.
Sabine’s head flopped to one side.
“Just because I’m unfinished business?”
More head flopping.
“So what do we do?” Clover said. “Do you have to kill him?”
“
Sabine moaned, looking like a pile of worn-out dirty rags.
“Maybe if you just pushed him or something,” Clover suggested. “He looks pretty weak.”
“Push him?”
“Actually,” Clover said, “he looks so weak that if you called him a few names he might keel over. Hey, dirty-towel boy!”
Sabine turned his head and snarled weakly at Clover. The tip of Clover’s nose froze. Clover looked cross-eyed at his nose and frowned.
“This isn’t a very dramatic final battle,” Clover complained.
Leven stepped up to Sabine and gently grabbed his shoulders. He pulled Sabine up and held him in front of him, staring directly into his beady, dark eyes. There was no soul there, no life, and, in the right eye, no pupil. Sabine was nothing but the few leftover pieces that had once possessed Tim, fought with Ezra, and spelled out things on Dennis’s head. He was an incomplete being who had been brought to this point to finally perish.
“You wanted this,” Leven said. “You listened to the Dearth and chose evil.”
Sabine breathed out, sounding like a raspy accordion.
“So much of what has happened is because of you,” Leven whispered.
The quiet words were more damaging than names. The truth swiped at Sabine like a saber, cutting the last few bits of his life from his rotting being.
“I’m . . .” Sabine started to say, but his thoughts never made it to fruition. The tiny remaining bits of his body slipped out of his tattered rags and splashed down against the floor.
Leven watched the dark bits puddle together. Then the puddle hissed, dried up, and disappeared.
“Eeew,” Clover said, disgusted. “He’s not a comfortable person to be around.”
Leven let go of the dirty bits of robe in his hands, and they fluttered to the floor like wounded bats.
“Do you think it’s because I called him ‘dirty-towel boy’?” Clover asked guiltily.
Leven reached up and patted Clover on the head. “I don’t think so,” he said.