She leaned against the boulder. Sunlight pushed right through her and heated the stone. Janet could almost feel the warmth against her back and a slight breath in her lungs.
She was a pretty good actor.
Chapter Seven
Question Everything
Geth rode up to the shore of Cherry Lake and stopped. Winter was already there, sitting on her onick and looking out at the settling body of water. Geth jumped from his onick and looked out over the dark lake. He was drenched from the water that had fallen like rain along the shore as the lake had hurled itself back down. Nearby trees shivered and shook, dripping and shaking water off.
Choppy moonlight covered the red settling lake like patchy frosting applied by an uncoordinated left foot.
The moonlight illuminated Winter’s green eyes like new coins. Her long blonde hair was plastered to her pale face. She grabbed the front of her hair and wrung water from it. She tried to tuck it back behind her ear, but it was so wet and heavy it wouldn’t stay.
“What happened?” Winter asked. “Where’s Lev?”
“Interesting,” was all Geth said.
Green streaks of faint light danced across the water in the far distance.
“As I rode up, I saw the lake in the air,” Winter said. “It looked as if it shot up and then dropped back into itself.”
“I saw the same thing,” Geth agreed. He knelt down to feel the water at its edge. “It’s warm.”
“How can that be?” Winter asked, blowing out cold breath.
“I can think of only one thing that would warm it,” Geth said. “See those streaks of green?”
Winter looked to where Geth was pointing and nodded.
“The Waves of the Lime Sea were here,” Geth said with excitement.
“But I thought they stayed near the island of Alder,” Winter spoke.
“Usually,” Geth said. “But the Want has some control over them.”
“So why are they here?” Winter asked. “And where’s Lev?”
“I’m not sure,” Geth said quietly. “We should search the lake. Though I’ve got a feeling the Waves were here for him.”
Geth swung back onto his onick and nudged it with his knees. The beast spread its wings and cried into the cold night. Winter nudged hers, and it repeated the act. Geth leaned forward, and his ride leapt out over the water.
Winter followed.
The water was settling. Small ripples played themselves out, creating large spots of glassy red water. Moonlight covered the top and illuminated what was beneath the surface. The flapping of the onicks’ wings created thin wakes of moving liquid that spread across the water like misguided snakes.
Aside from the settling water, the scene was silent.
“I wish I had my gift,” Winter yelled. “Then I could freeze it to clear ice and see better.”
“All I can see are tracers,” Geth replied. “The Waves have come and gone.”
“Gone where?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say they are heading to the Want.”
“This lake doesn’t get anywhere near Lith,” Winter hollered, her green eyes still searching the water for any sign of Leven. “Come to think of it, how did the Waves get here? The Lime Sea’s a long way away.”
“They have their underground tunnels and caverns,” Geth said. “They can move where they need to.”
“So what do we do?”
Geth didn’t answer. Instead he kept his eyes to the water and let the soft swing of his onick’s wings calm Winter’s concerns. The lake was almost completely settled, fish and other life forms deep below getting back into their routine.
“I can’t see much,” Winter finally said.
“It’s a deep lake,” Geth replied. “It grows shallow as the seasons warm up. The trees of the Red Grove drink a lot.”
“So the water lowers?”
“No,” Geth smiled. “The bottom rises. The Children of the Sewn think it’s much more aesthetically pleasing that way. This lake is their life. It wets the roots that give them shelter and grows the wood they use to frame dreams. They, like so many, are also concerned with appearance. Nobody likes a half-empty lake. It can be depressing.”
“I suppose,” Winter said, still searching the water.
“I’ve seen seasons so warm that the lake’s floor has literally lifted up above the surface, creating small, jagged islands. It looks like it had a good wet season this year. This is as much water as I’ve ever seen in it.”
“I wish it was shallower now.”
“Don’t wish for things you don’t understand,” Geth said kindly.
“Thanks, Professor. I’m only thinking of Leven,” Winter said defensively. “He could be down there.”
“I don’t think he is,” Geth said. “The Waves must have come for him, and if they did, they will take care of him. I don’t think what we want is in this lake any longer. Are you up for a long ride?”
“Always,” Winter replied, steadying her fidgeting onick as it flapped its wings over the lake.
Chapter Eight
A Blanket of Twinkling Stars
There are varying degrees of comfort. Pants that fit right can be comfortable. I’ve slept in beds that were very agreeable and offered plenty of comfort. Warm slippers can be a nice comfort on a cold night.
Situations can be comfortable as well.
A gathering with your family and friends in a room with enough soft chairs for everyone to sit on sounds comfortable. Or maybe you have a favorite place to hike to, with no one around, and cool grass, and large shade trees near a babbling brook, and a well-worn hammock to lie in.
That sounds comfortable.
Well, forget it all. In fact, if you consider any of those previously described things to be comfortable, then the English language will be forced to cough up a new word to describe Sycophant Run.
In the history of time, both in Reality and in Foo, there has never been a place as beautiful as Sycophant Run. The lush trees sway in harmony—the taller ones reaching down to pull the young ones up. The mountains and valleys are both breathtaking and plentiful, giving every view more to see than a dozen eyes could properly take in. Roads and lanes are tree lined or run underground in clean, perfectly constructed tunnels that open up through tree stumps or onto flowery knolls. The homes and buildings mesh with nature, growing out of trees and boulders, the roofs covered with thick thatch and walls camouflaged in ivy and stone. Fields bustle with wheat and corn and tavel and are tilled and cared for by sycophant families. The soil is so dark and rich that a person could make a half-decent hot drink simply by placing a fistful in a cup of boiling water. There is always laughter: Like oxygen, it fills the clear air as invisible and visible sycophants run through trees and over open fields.
Foo may struggle with ever-bigger issues and crises, but Sycophant Run remains untouched. There, hidden behind the mists of the Veil Sea; there, like a family home full of warm memories and experiences; there, one will always find a light left on, an open front door, smoke lifting from the chimney, and a red carpet rolled out to remind every sycophant who is coming home that he or she is always welcome.
Always welcome.
An old sycophant named Rast shuffled through the tavel field. The yellow bloom caused him to stop and sneeze seven times.
“You’re lucky you taste as delicious as you do,” he teased the vegetation. “Otherwise we would mow you down and be done with you.”
Out of the field Rast pushed a stone to the side and walked into a long, tight tunnel. He moved quickly, turning when he came to a thick wall of tree roots and climbing a stone trail that opened up behind a thin waterfall near the back end of Sycophant Run.
Rast stepped out from behind the water and breathed in deep. He looked out over the Veil Sea. This was one of his favorite views in all of Foo.
“Lovely,” he sighed.
The sight was even more amazing because of what he couldn’t see. Rast knew that at that very moment there were thousand
s of sycophants guarding the shore. He just couldn’t see a single one.
Rast had been alive hundreds of years, served four burns, fought in the metal wars, and now sat as the brightest point in the sycophant Chamber of Stars—a select and powerful group of sycophants who dictated and directed almost everything that took place on Sycophant Run.
The group had been summoned by Reed, a fat sycophant who had been a member of the Chamber for the last twenty or so years. Rast would have very much preferred spending the day in the highest floors of his home listening to the sounds of the Veil Sea and Sycophant Run, but Reed had stressed how utterly important it was that they gather—and now.
Rast was a tall sycophant. He stood about fifteen inches from foot to ear. He had black feet and hands, but the rest of him, including his robe, was bright white. After his fourth burn, he had come back to Sycophant Run to stay. He had married a beautiful sycophant named Ribbon and they had had a dozen children, most of whom were currently serving burns in various parts of Foo.
Rast strolled across a bark field and then used a heavy vine to climb to the top of a rocky plateau. In the middle of the plateau stood a single tree. Unlike all the other trees and vegetation on Sycophant Run, this one had only bare branches.
Rast entered the small door at the base of the huge, barren tree. He took two steps down and entered the Chamber room. Four sycophants sat quietly around a star-shaped table—Reed, Brindle, Goat, and Mule—each positioned at a separate point.
The room was dark, lit only by the thousands of stars above them. The tree they sat in was barren to the tip of every branch, where a small pinhole of light could be seen. The effect made it seem as if they were sitting in a stream of swaying stars. The thousands of tiny lights shifted and blinked as clouds moved outside.
A thin, whistling wind sounded as air squeezed in and out of the little holes. If a sycophant were blindfolded and taken into the Chamber, when his blindfold was removed he might very well feel like he was sitting in the center of the universe. It was an amazing effect—and a very sacred place, where only a few sycophants had ever trod.
Rast took a seat at the top point of the table and nodded. “Reed, Brindle, Goat, Mule.”
The four other sycophants nodded back. “Rast,” they greeted in unison.
“I was told it was urgent,” Rast said.
“Most,” Reed sighed.
“Well,” Rast said almost impatiently, “I’ve not known any urgent issues that were best when ignored. What is it?”
Reed looked around at the others. He shifted in his seat and glanced over at Brindle, a fat, happy, furry red sycophant.
“Go on,” Brindle encouraged Reed. “Go on.”
“There’s word floating on one of the stronger Lore Coils saying that the secret’s loose,” Reed whispered.
Rast sat up straight, the hair on his leaflike ears twitching. “What secret?”
“Of our mortality,” Goat whimpered.
Goat was a runt sycophant. He stood about seven inches tall and had thick, gray hair.
“Impossible,” Rast said. “Absolutely impossible.”
“Please say that it is,” Mule begged. “Comfort me with what you know.”
“I know it’s impossible.”
“There’s word that a boy found the secret,” Brindle spoke. “Leven Thumps.”
Rast gasped. “Leven Thumps?”
“Yes, Rast.”
“Hector’s blood? He’s here in Foo?” Rast asked in disbelief, surprised that the Lore Coils had escaped his attention.
Brindle nodded.
“And is there word of Clover Ernest?”
“The cloistered sycophants think so. They have heard that a sycophant was released by the tharms a week or so past—a sycophant claiming to belong to Leven.”
“Clover Ernest,” Rast said almost to himself. “And Geth?”
“There are echoes and words throughout all of Foo that he has returned,” Goat said.
“And that he’s been restored,” Mule added. “From the form Sabine cursed him with.”
Rast sighed. “It looks as if the time has finally arrived.”
“What about the secret?” Reed whined. “None of this will matter if that secret truly is loose.”
“Is there whispering as to what the secret actually is?” Rast asked.
“None yet,” Mule answered.
“Don’t worry over the secret, then,” Rast said. “It can’t be loosed without the key. And the key is safe.”
“You know this for a fact?” Mule said hopefully.
“It’s been many years since I’ve touched it,” Rast said. “But it is safe, hidden from all eyes and envy.”
“Are you sure?” Mule cried. “Say you are sure.”
“I am certain,” Rast said. “But I will check, if it reassures you.”
“Greatly,” Goat sighed. “There is trouble in Foo, but Sycophant Run will remain a harbor to our kind. Unless . . .”
“The secret is safe,” Rast assured them again. “We will increase the posted pegs guarding our shores and open our ears as wide as we can. But we will not adopt a stance of fear. If what you say about Leven and Geth is true, then Sycophant Run might be in for a spell of change and adjustment. And we must be ready. Keep your hearts light, my friends, and believe in fate. Remember, without us, Foo will fail.”
“But you’ll check?” Mule asked again. “For the key?”
“I’ll check for the key. I promise,” Rast said.
“I just worry,” Mule sighed.
“You always have,” Brindle smiled.
The mood lightened a bit as the stars pulsated.
“Meeting adjourned,” Rast said.
The four other sycophants got up and left the room, but not before Mule had asked one last time for Rast to check.
The door closed, and Rast was left alone to stare at the twinkling stars.
Chapter Nine
A Delivery to Lith
The Waves receded, leaving the rocky beach wet and littered with Leven. The high granite cliffs of the thirteenth, and by far the largest, stone stood like impenetrable reminders of how insignificant any and all who attempted to come ashore really were. The small beach area was deserted except for Leven, who lay unconscious on the sand, his back to the ground. It was considerably warmer than the Red Grove, and rovens filled the air, flying miles above.
Clover appeared next to Leven’s head.
“Wow, what a ride. I bet no other sycophant has ever traveled across the Veil Sea on the back of a Wave,” Clover bragged. “Am I right?”
Clover nudged Leven’s soggy head with his elbow.
“Leven?”
Leven lay still as small waves rolled up over his ankles and back into the sea.
“Lev?”
Clover sighed and then disappeared. There was some splashing down in the water, and in a couple of minutes a very confused fish appeared. It was flapping its head like a clicking tongue, looking as if it were being dragged up on shore.
“This will only take a second,” Clover’s voice said. “Stop your struggling.”
The fish moved awkwardly closer to Leven. It was angry but helpless. It lifted up, seemingly of its own accord, and then came down with a hard smack right against Leven’s face.
Leven bolted up, coughing and spitting, while the fish just flapped there. Clover appeared, holding its tail.
“That worked better than I thought it would,” he shrugged, returning the poor fish to the water. “Those things are so multi-purposeful.”
Leven rolled over, coughing up water and trying to catch his breath. Clover patted him on the back.
“That’s it. Spit it out.”
Leven glared at Clover. “You hit me with a fish?”
“Slapped,” Clover corrected.
Leven breathed in and pushed himself up onto his knees. He looked around at the high cliff walls. A waterflight ran up a nearby wall, and deep blue fantrum trees grew straight out of the cliff’s rock in a
couple of dozen spots.
Leven stood and stretched, lifting his right shoulder and rolling his neck. He put his hands up to his shoulders.
“I have no shirt,” Leven said needlessly. “Or robe.”
“Yeah, we got out of there just in time.”
“Out of where?” Leven asked. “And where are we now?”
“I think we are on the thirteenth stone,” Clover said, looking around. “The island of Lith. The Want lives here, and his movements and actions affect the whole of Foo. The Waves brought us here. I was going to ask them what was going on, but they looked like they weren’t having the best day. Some people just can’t shake themselves out of a foul mood.”
“Any sign of Geth or Winter?”
Clover looked at Leven like he wasn’t all there. He shaded his eyes with his right hand and looked around.
“Nope.”
“Not here,” Leven smiled. “My eyes work fine. I mean, did you see them with the Waves?”
“Still nope.” Clover picked up a small stick and began to write his name in the sand.
“It’s warmer here,” Leven observed, though he was shivering.
“Lith has its own climate,” Clover said, still drawing in the sand. “The weather depends upon the mood of the Want . . . there . . .”
Clover took a moment to stare at his own name in the sand.
“I always wished I was named Steven,” he said sadly. “You know, you could rename me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Leven insisted.
“Okay, Mr. Never-Change-My-Name.”
Leven stared at Clover. “Is that as good as you’ve got?”
“Maybe it’s not as catchy as some of the other nicknames I’ve tried,” Clover confessed. “But at least I’m still trying.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Leven stepped higher on the beach, out of reach of any water. He worked his way up onto a giant rock and took a couple of minutes to survey the landscape. The beach they were on was about two hundred feet long and a hundred feet wide. The cliff walls boxing it in seemed impossibly tall, and he could see no trail or path anywhere.