Sunborn Rising (17 page)

17. Three

In her dream, Barra plunged through nothingness until the big black became an ocean. She thrashed about helplessly, struggling to swim, but she couldn’t find the surface. A voice echoed in the water, and a soft radiance followed it. She swam toward the light in fitful bursts and then broke through in a splash.

“Barra!”

She bolted up onto all fours, poised to strike. Water dripped from her whiskers and ears. She shook the remnants of her dream away, trying to make sense of things.

She heard laughter. It was Plicks. He rolled around, giggling fitfully, but Barra was still too lost to understand why. She saw Tory standing nearby holding a spongy-looking tuber as thick as his arm. Long, hair-like roots hung down in bunches from the tuber, dripping water from their ends.

Grinning widely, Tory asked, “Sleep well?” Barra looked a little like a drowned Kolalabat, at least around her face.

Brooding, Barra squinted and licked her piercing incisors, putting a point on her displeasure with each of them. “Sleeping was fine,” Barra said. “It’s the waking up part I could do without. Hey, that stuff tastes good!” she changed her attitude mid-sentence as she sampled the water on her lips.

“I know, right?” Tory handed her the tuber, and Plicks shuffled over to join them.

Sitting back on her haunches, Barra squeezed the root and droplets rained down. Thirsty, she licked at it while Plicks explained, “I couldn’t sleep much, and neither could Tory, so we paired up for your shift and looked for food at the same time.” He looked around and shrugged. “We didn’t find much, but I found that perennating organ. The root filters all the salt, and—”

“Perennating?” Barra winced. “Plicks, this tastes great. Don’t ruin it by teaching me about it.” She regretted her words, as she watched Plicks’ enthusiasm drain from him. He shuffled his feet, shoulders sagging.

Tory bailed her out. “I would’ve never found it on my own! He recognized the leaves sprouting from the floor bark over there.”

The scenery had changed overnight. The cirque was better lit, though still dusky, and Barra could see much farther. The surrounding woods had opened up, new flowers had blossomed, and high above her, water was streaming over petals and leaves. The falling water filled the cirque with pitter-patter like a pleasant conversation among splashes, plops, and kerplunks.

Tory pointed to a small opening in the Root where bunches of long red leaves sprouted in ordered rows. He said, “Plicks spotted them right away, you should have seen him go! Dove in face first, talons clicking! Then he tricked the whole thing out at once. Pretty good, huh? I’ve had five already.”

“Thank you,” Barra said, making sure Plicks heard her sincerity. She drank again from the tuber, spilling more of the water on her face.

Plicks walked over to the remaining bunches. Scratching at the white tuft on his chest like a much older Kolalabat might, he said, “I’ve never seen them growing like this. Usually, they’re farther apart. These taste better too. The sponges at home are just sorta bland.”

“I
bet
they are.” The unfamiliar voice was silky clear, and too close for comfort. The bups spun around, and Barra instinctively jumped out in front of her friends to protect them. But protect them from whom? There was no one there.

“Does the rotting thing know you’re here?” the voice asked with passing curiosity.

Barra was sure she was staring right at the source, but she couldn’t see anything there that could possibly talk. There came a sound like a Rattlebark moving slowly, like tree bark slapping softly against wood. Barra spoke over her shoulder to her friends, “I don’t see anything.”

“You’re staring directly at me!” the voice exclaimed brightly. He went on, talking to himself out loud, “The rotting thing doesn’t know you’re
here
, but he knows you’re here. Just like you know I’m
here
, but you don’t know
where
I am. Interesting.” He held the ‘ng’ for far too long, and then chuckled, a round, playful sound.

Standing where the owner of the voice should be was a tall broken bough thicker than Tory. That bough, where it leaned back into the bramble thickets, began to move. The stumped top bent around and down toward the bups. A twist of a knot curled in its bark and then puckered like lips preparing to kiss. The pucker whistled. The notes belonged to a song not one of them knew.

The bups were enthralled, unable to move.

Arms and legs unfurled from the animated bough, and three distinct tails snaked around its base. The tails rippled without rhythm as the whistling knot continued its hypnotizing dirge. The outline of an Arboreal-like body became clear as the woody camouflage dissolved into mottled, auburn fur.

Two molasses eyes opened beneath the knot of a mouth, and the whistling stopped. He winked one eye—apparently at Plicks—as a third eye opened between and beneath the other two. “I know where
you
are,” he said.

Lowering itself head over heels to the ground, he put his hands on the floor and flipped over backwards in a flourish. His tails flowed up around him as he spun and stood up in one graceful motion. Melodramatic, poised, serious, the stranger said, “I’m proud to meet all of you.” He closed his eyes—all three of them—and bowed slightly. His third eye opened first and took a shifty look around.

Unbowed the creature stood taller than Tory. Long flat fingers and toes like a Rattlebark’s extended from his hands and feet, and fur similar to a Listlespur’s covered his body. Similar, but not the same. His fur shifted often, blurring between patterns that hinted at familiar shapes. His somewhat flattened snout held many tiny sharp teeth. As creepy-looking as he was, Barra was relieved his eyes were finally above his mouth.

“I see you’ve helped yourselves to my garden?” he asked with a quirky twitch. He bounded over to the sprouted bunches where the tubers were growing. The bups circled, never taking their eyes off the strange creature.

Light from the small pool sparked in the rich molasses of his eyes, but the irises emitted their own light as well. The odd creature picked at the floor bark where Plicks had carefully dug up the spongy roots. Rather absentmindedly, he said, “Now that we’re all here, we should figure out where this is.”

Several heavy moments passed. The strange creature picked at his plants, meticulously rearranging tiny bits and licking his fingers. Feeling less threatened than she did at first, Barra looked to her friends to see if they felt the same. They shared a group shrug. Ending the silence, Barra shook her head while asking, “What are you?”

The creatures peeled back his lips and licked his teeth. With his head projected forward from his body, farther than Barra would have thought possible, he mirrored her shaking her head and said, “I’m Fizzit. What are you?” He pointed all three of his tails and a finger at her.

Barra squinted and leaned toward the Fizzit. She answered stiltedly, “I’m. A. Listlespur.” If he didn’t recognize a common Listlespur, she thought he might be challenged in other ways. When the Fizzit said nothing more, Barra settled back a bit. She tilted her head, deciding whether or not to trust the weird creature. Not able to make up her mind yet, she began introductions, “I’m Barra. This is…”

But the creature interjected, “Barra? Never heard of it.”

“No,
I’m
Barra,” she restated, pointing to herself, her patience worn thin from the journey.

He looked up from what he was doing, and observed Barra methodically. Each eye blinked, one after another in a circle. “No,” he said clearly. With even greater impatience than Barra, he continued, “I’m positive this isn’t
Barra
. I’ve been here a long time… if
you
were
here
I would have known it.”

She wrinkled up her nose, unable to make heads or tails of his statement. “Well, who are you then?” she asked, a point on the end of the question.

“I told you already… not all of us are here, so we haven’t all been introduced.” He shrugged and went back to tending his plants.

“
You’re
not all here,” Tory said sarcastically under his breath, unable to stop himself from voicing the thought.

Plicks shot Tory a reproachful look, pleading for Tory not to rile the eccentric creature.

Barra decided she was done with pleasantries, and attempted to advance the conversation, “We fell, you know, from the Loft?” She pointed up. “The top of the Umberwood? We’re trying to go home.”

The stranger turned and sat, his tails dancing mysteriously behind him. His shiny teeth glistened as he spoke, “Aha! Now! Now, we’re getting to somewhere. This must be the crossroads!” He saw how confused the bups were, and his face sagged, disappointed. Each eye focused on a different bup, and he said gently, “Come here. Sit with me.” He even had three tones to his voice—an echo for each of them.

Tentatively, Barra and Tory made their way toward him. Plicks was apprehensive, but he joined the others where they sat across the small pool from Fizzit. Each of Fizzit’s eyes followed a specific bup, though they traded from time to time. He braided his tails masterfully and curled the result around his bottom, covering his feet.

“I didn’t know this was the crossroads,” Fizzit said. “I’ve been here for so long… so long. The pathwoods all went to no where—to the same no place—as far as I followed them.” It was hard to tell to whom he was speaking exactly. He might have been talking to himself. His subtle echoes faded away, and then he said, “The pathwood home is the hardest to find sometimes. And sometimes it’s the hardest to travel.”

A broad silence followed, and Barra took it as an opportunity to speak again, “Well, we have a plan. We just need to get to the base of the trunk of the Umberwood, or any Great Tree really. We think we can climb from there.”

“There are many ways from the crossroads.” Fizzit shrugged. “That is the nature of its existence… going up is one direction. Going down is another.” He spoke as though he was stating something obvious, trying hard not to be patronizing.

Barra was confused. She looked from Tory to Plicks, and neither seemed to understand more than she did. Trying to steer the conversation back to something she could use, she said, “Well, sure. There’re lots of ways to go, but we want to go home. We have to go up. So, if you could help us find the—”

“You have many homes,” Fizzit interrupted, toying with his braided tail. “One of them is at the end of every pathwood.”

The conversation caught Tory’s attention because he’d heard similar language used to describe the art of binding. Binders often described the process of shaping a branch as choosing a path for the growth. Allowing the intrinsic path to guide their choices, Binders invariably produced better, healthier structures. But there were many paths, never just one, to the right binding. But Tory didn’t want to end up somewhere that became home because that’s where he
happened
to be; he wanted to go to
his
home in the Loft. He tried to explain, “No, no. This is different. We’re not exploring. We’re not looking for a new place to live. We know where we want to go.”

The stranger’s three eyes blinked in unison, slowly, as he tilted his head. He whistled again to forestall the Rugosic. Smirking good-naturedly, he challenged, “Do you,
really
?” Then, to himself, he said, “Fascinating. I’m still finding my way… so many destinies. Each of us has so many destinies.” Addressing Tory again, he asked, “How did you choose yours?”

“I…” Tory groped for a reasonable reply to what he thought was an unreasonable question. Assuming the stranger meant destination not destiny, Tory eventually settled on an answer. “I didn’t have much to do with it. I was born there.”

“Ahhh, that makes more sense,” Fizzit said, nodding emphatically. One teasing eye winked at Tory. “You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t know where you’ve been.”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the company, and the fresh water,” Barra started in again, “But we’ve got to get back home. Can you help us?”

“You’ve left the nest. You should be proud. You can never go back,” he stated, not without kindness.

Plicks heard those last words, and echoed in despair, “We can never go back.”

Hearing the emptiness in his voice, Barra reached out with her tail, and put it around his shoulders. “Don’t listen to
him
,” she said. “He doesn’t know anything. We’re going home. I promise. We’ll find a way.”

The creature leaned over the pool, all his glinting eyes focused on Barra. “The way up is rotting and you know it. My brother’s creeping vine is devouring it… it’s eating at you too.” One eye glanced subtly down at her forearm. She felt the gash pulse under his scrutiny, and placed her hand over it to hide it from view. Undeterred, he continued, “Sometimes you choose the pathwood, and sometimes it chooses you.” Fizzit became preoccupied with his tail again.

Awkward silence stretched among them until Fizzit—satisfied with his tail—returned his roguish attention to the bups. “You’ve come a long way, but if you want to go home, to the home of your dreams, to a home bathed in light, you have to keep going. You have to look deeper.” With that, the bizarre creature dunked his face into the pool.

Barra looked at her friends, uncomprehending. Fizzit’s last words echoed the words of her dream-father, and goosebumps broke out beneath the fur all over Barra’s skin. A tickling rush went up her spine.

Tory whispered, “What’s he talking about? Choosing our own pathwood? Dreams and light?” He gestured around them. “It’s darker here than the top of the Umberwood, than anywhere I’ve ever been.”

But Barra wasn’t listening. Her dream was coming back in vivid, oily patterns. That bright treescape full of light could be real. It felt right. Something was wrong with the Loft. She knew it. Her friends knew it too, even if they wouldn’t admit it.

Her dream, her father, and this three-eyed oddity were linked to the solution, the way to the brighter world. She turned to her friends. “It’s true. It
is
dark everywhere. But what if it doesn’t have to be that way?” Plicks and Tory glared at her, incredulous, but they didn’t interrupt. “You read the journal. There’s, ‘a growth threatening to drown us all in darkness.’ Remember?”

The boys did remember. They’d had their own thoughts lately about the Loft, how even in their short lifetimes things had changed for the worse. They were hungry after they’d just eaten, thirsty right after a drink of water. Bindings weren’t always working the way they used to work. And it was dimmer, wasn’t it? Darker than usual? The flowers were growing faint.

Seeing that she had their attention, Barra went on, “What if the Creepervine and the Kudmoths are the problem? What if it all starts here at the Root?”

Tory shook his head, and Plicks was dumbfounded, his jaw hanging open. They looked at each other, grasping for truth or excuses. Neither was interested in doing anything other than going home.

Tory began carefully, “Listen, Barra, I know the journal is important to you, and I know we’ve seen some crazy things, but we have to get home. We’ll tell the Council. We’ll tell everyone! But we’re going home.”

Plicks was nodding in agreement, but then he furrowed his brow and gestured at Fizzit. “Doesn’t he need air?”

His head was still submerged. In an elegant and unexpected flourish, his tail unbraided, and a tip waved to each of them. Fizzit was gesturing for them to join him. Without hesitation, Barra moved to the edge. She leaned over the pool and looked down at her dim reflection.

“Whoa, Barra,” Tory said, letting a little frustration surface as he spoke, “
what
are you doing?”

“I’m just taking a look,” she said, dismissing his concern. And with that, she took a deep breath, and pushed her face into the water. The water was warm, clear and bright, and she was blinded for several moments. When her vision adjusted, Barra was awed by how far down she could see. There was a forest beneath the surface, long fingers of roots stretching down all around her. Thickets more varied than they were in the Loft were woven together into dense walls. Intense floral bursts sprang up in abundance in every direction along with rough cylindrical tubes in groups of white, pink, and green. Dancing leaves waved to her and seemed to beckon her to join them.

Barra pulled her head out of the water. “You two have to see this!”

Tory and Plicks were dubious, and irritated. Water dripped from Barra’s whiskers, and there was a wild glint in her eyes. Plicks plopped down onto his rump and began chewing at his lower lip. Tory stepped forward. “Are you out of your mind?!” He pointed at Plicks and said, “We need to go home.” And then he gestured to include Barra as well, “We
all
need to go home. Now, come on. Let’s leave this insane creature alone with his dreams—thank you very much for the water and all that—and get to a trunk.”

“Come on.” Barra glared at Tory. “You don’t think there’s something wrong with the Loft? Look under the water. It’s supposed to be like that.” Tory only shook his head while Plicks clicked his talons. Disappointed, she begged them, “I’m not saying we’re going for a swim. Just take a look.”

Tory rolled his eyes. “If I look, can we go?” He was too tired to argue. He hoped if he gave in a little she’d be more willing to hear him out. Barra was always stubborn. He smiled halfheartedly at Plicks, and said, “I’m just going to take a look. Keep an eye on Crazy here for me.” He dunked his head into the pool.

Plicks sat there chewing and clicking. In his heart, he agreed with Barra about the Great Trees, the Umberwood anyway. But they were only bups! He didn’t care about Fizzit, his pool, or this place. He missed his family, and couldn’t imagine anything else he’d rather see. Barra was staring at him, waiting, and he didn’t care about that either. He wrinkled his nose and said, “I’ll look, but then I’m going home, with or without you.” He rolled himself toward the edge, got a good a grip, and poked his nose into the water. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and dunked his head. Barra did the same.

Under the surface, the bups found each other and looked around, fascinated. Even in the Mangrove Loft they’d never seen a watery world so diverse and vibrant. It was staggeringly beautiful. Far below them in the water, Barra saw a shape that reminded her of the tangerine creature she and Tory had tried to rescue. This one was sanguine, and it rose up through the water with elegant streaming tentacles. She stretched her neck and peered deeper, and thought she saw two more beside it, one azure and one the color of burnt wood.

Excited, Barra looked to her friends wondering if they saw the gelatinous glowing creatures swimming toward them. Instead of her friends, she found Fizzit. He still hadn’t lifted his head to breathe. Through the water his irises shone jubilant amber.

Barra was spellbound. She didn’t notice Fizzit’s tails looming above her, one tail poised over each of them.

They would find a way home first if that’s what her friends wanted, but Barra knew the answers were down there. Taking it all in, gazing at the underwater forest, Barra was resolute and confident. She was also ready to come up for air.

Before she could lift her head, Fizzit pushed her into the ocean.

He pushed all three into the sea.