Surviving the Improbable Quest (10 page)

Chapter
16

Cornered

   Allan watches thousands of pincher beetles skitter towards him. Their shells are shiny and sleek, and their antennas search, feel for Allan. Jibbawk moves into the room like a mudslide. Only its body, face and eyes remain in their shape. Those hideous red eyes glow hot and are slit vertically like a cat’s. Allan can’t watch anymore. He closes his eyes, but he can hear the beetles come for him like the clicking of tumbling glass marbles. The ceiling of the house cracks. Dust rains down. As the crack widens, large chunks of ceiling break open and lift away. The night sky is in full bloom. Three moons stare down at him. Something leans over the hole in the roof. It’s a Lithic Fury!

This is it. Game over. He won’t get another chance. He braces himself and says over and over, “Please, no. I don’t want to die...”

Rocks pinch Allan around the waist and lift him up and out of the room. The air is squeezed out of his chest.

Allan is gently set upon a rock that protrudes from the Lithic Fury’s neck. The ground is thirty feet below. Allan looks down to see Jibbawk and his legion of bugs break for the doorway, but not before the Lithic Fury topples the rest of the house on Jibbawk and his beetle crew.

Allan considers leaping off the Lithic Fury and running away. His mechanical legs should handle the jump.

“You don’t have to go,” says the Lithic Fury. Allan doesn’t hear the voice with his ears. He hears the Lithic Fury’s voice inside his head. “I won’t hurt you,” it says.

“But I stole the key from the Baroon’s mouth. You were all sworn to protect it. Don’t you want it back?” Allan says.

“We have guarded the key for a long time. But Jibbawk is still around. Even under the rocks it is not gone. It is the spirit of its elder self. Alas, we see now that while we kept Jibbawk from its body, it was not defeated. We hope you have a better solution.”

“Mizzi does. He wants to set a trap for Jibbawk. Get its body and its ghost together again then confine them both forever. He says he has the power to do that now.”

“Goooood.” The Lithic Fury’s voice vibrates Allan’s ribs like they are tuning forks.

“I thought you all were dead,” Allan says as he and the Lithic Fury head down a road through the ruins of homes and buildings. The Lithic Fury stomps along, shaking the ground under each step. It moves slowly but covers a lot of ground with long strides. In time the Lithic Fury gets to the end of the charred ruins.

“We did lose our purpose. So we started to fall apart. It is hard because we cannot do the thing we were meant to do. But we don’t want to fade into nothing. The only choice we have is to find another purpose. We can remake ourselves into anything we wish.”

Allan looks at his legs, feeling the Lithic Fury’s words reverberate throughout his mind and echo in his chest. “I have to do the same.”

The two travel through the countryside of Lan Darr toward the city of Dantia and toward Mizzi’s tree house that lies in the heart of the mushroom forest. It is dark, but lights on the horizon guide the way.

“I don’t recognize this area. Are we going the way I came?” Allan asks.

“This is the fastest way to the mushroom forest.”

At the top of a grassy hill is a crowd of people. They are cheering next to a pathway of hot coals. The area is lit up with bright torches. The Lithic Fury steps away from the crowd. “They will fear me. I do not want to disturb the Testing.”

Allan looks more closely. “That is the Testing?” The children and young creatures being tested wear toga-like robes lined with golden patterns and intricate symbols. Though the horses are walking on the coals, they don’t seem to be bothered by them. They are thin and bony and their hooves are a foot tall or more. Definitely not a horse, but more of a nightmare version of one.

“They balance on a horse and race each other.” The Lithic Fury says. “This is the first and most benign test the children will go through.”

The crowd surrounding the finish line waves torches and whoops and hollers, but the kids are still and focused.

Allan watches them as they pass. “I never thought what they’re doing was possible.”

The Lithic Fury answers, “You see, the young ones compete for freedom. There are five tests in total, all are called the Testing. Some die in the games, some remain enslaved and some are set free.”

One contestant falls off his horse and into the hot coals. His robe catches fire, and he leaps up and runs into armed guards wearing chainmail. They snatch the boy and haul him away. Allan notices that the boy’s sleeve is pinned to the shoulder fabric. The boy has no arm. “Why are they slaves?”

“We are all slaves in some way,” The Lithic Fury answers. “I was a slave to protecting the key for decades. Some are slaves to their work and some are slaves to their fears. . . And there are some that still tie themselves up to the ghosts of their forefathers.”

“I don’t have any choice and that makes me feel like a slave. I have to go to school. I have to do chores. Now I’m still a slave to that stuff and also to my wheelchair.”

The crowd starts chanting. There are only two more balancers left on the course. The horse behind the leader leaps into a gallop. The boy remains on its back. It startles the lead rider and he falls into the coals. The boy gets to the finish line and is lifted off the horse by the crowd. Some cheer, others boo and the fallen boy is carried off.

Someone notices the Lithic Fury.

A man pulls off his top hat exposing wild frizzy hair. He points and yells. The crowd turns. Everyone flees in terror.

“We must go now,” the Lithic Fury says as he starts to move quickly into the Mushroom forest. “I do not want them to fear me.”

“You know, it’s weird. I sometimes get the feeling people fear me, too,” Allan says. “Not because I could hurt them, but it’s like they don’t know what to say around me.” He leans against the rough stone of the Lithic Fury’s long neck and rests his head. 

After a dozen long and careful steps, they arrive at Mizzi’s tree. It lifts a rocky arm up to the window and lets Allan crawl into it. “Good bye, Allan.”

“Thank you. . . What should I call you?”

“I’m Bink. At your service.” Bink moves off and Allan worries what it will do. What will it be good at? What will any of them do now that they have no chains holding them down?

Inside Mizzi’s home there’s a note on the table. ‘Allan, I’ve begun preparations for Jibbawk’s confinement. I couldn’t wait for you. Follow the map and meet me at the Field of Marrow next to the Tower of Stepps and the Lichen Lake. I’ve drawn a map on the back of the note. Be careful. You must not fail.’

Chapter
17

Time Won’t Last

Allan looks at his legs. He has less than two hours of battery life remaining. Time. All he feels is the passing of time. Time is his constant companion, and like a parasite, it feeds off his beating heart.

              Allan looks at the ground below Mizzi’s door. It’s far, but not for his mechanical legs. Allan leaps from the tree and lands on his feet. He runs through the mushroom forest, leaving a trail of oil drips behind.

              Deep shadows are everywhere and Allan can’t see very well. If not for the three moons, he’d be blind. Fireflies leap away when Allan pushes through the bushes; butts burn bright then fade like dying sparks. Allan tries to retrace his steps to the city by following the obvious drag marks. The path dredged by Allan when Mizzi pulled him to safety flattened and uprooted tons of baby mushrooms and small plants. It’s only when Allan comes to a couple different trails that he gets confused.

Allan tries to read Mizzi’s map, but it isn’t as specific as it needs it to be. Mizzi designated the mushroom forest by drawing squiggly lines, and the line to the city is an arrow. But which way is the arrow pointing?

“Come on, Mizzi. Ever thought of inventing a compass?” Allan says, frustrated and tired of being alone in the dark. He knows, just knows, that something is going to jump out of the shadows and eat him alive.

As Allan continues, the forest becomes increasingly dense, forcing Allan to zigzag around stalks that tower over him and thick, spike-covered bushes. There are more bugs now. Allan smacks them away as they incessantly nag his face and eyes.

He walks for a long time.

A beep alerts him to the belt. The mechanical legs have an hour left. Allan starts to jog. Panic sits underneath his skin like lava in a fissure. If he starts to panic, he’ll shut down. What did his dad used to say? “I count.” Warren had said at Allan’s first swim competition. “You swim hard and you swim fast. Exercise engages the mind in something other than the cycle of fear. Your brain actually likes to focus on your movement. It drowns out everything else.” Allan’s dad was so smart. At that swim meet Allan had won his first trophy.

Allan moves faster. His pulse rises and his breathing increases. He pushes through tall furry bushes and past fallen branches that are covered in scales. Faster, he moves. Soon, his mind isn’t focusing on anything but movement.

Allan reaches Dantia’s tall and forbidding outer wall. It is still a welcome site. He forces himself to catch his breath so he can creep to the river, expecting guards. There are none.

The water is as still as glass and reflects the moon and starlight with perfection. There are flowers on either side that he’d not noticed before. They are deep purples and light blues. Some are round and large and some are soft and small. Some lean toward the moons and the others are heart-shaped buds. They might be the same shooting buds Allan ran across when the balloon creatures dropped him in the river. He’ll stay clear of them. He’s getting the hang of traveling through dangerous places.

The stars above pack the sky. There are so many other solar systems out there.
Is Earth up there? Did the balloon creatures travel through some kind of worm hole? Maybe.
The chill of the air prompts him to cross his arms. It’s beautiful here, but a long ways from home.

Allan follows the water and thinks about Rubic. Is he alive? If the cruelty of fate comes bashing through his life again then his uncle will be dead. He’ll have only his grandmother and some cousins left, but he doesn’t know them very well.

The river is diverted under the wall in places, but not here. Here the wall and the river do not intersect. The mechanical legs beep. Thirty minutes left on the clock. In desperation, Allan swims across the river to the wall. He searches the stone. There are gaps at every brick and long trailing vines that might hold his weight. Allan starts to climb. His shoes fit into the small cracks, and the vines are indeed thick and strong. He climbs and climbs and climbs. As he nears the top he looks down. Dizziness overwhelms him and forces him to squeeze his eyes shut. He’s so high up. Too high up and with no way to turn back, he continues on.

At the top Allan reaches for the top of the wall. He can’t quite reach the last stone. Allan reaches again. No good. He’s too short.

Allan bends his knees, his feet crammed in a gap in the stones, and he’s holding tight to a vine. He leaps, trying to jump to the top of the wall. The mechanical legs overpower his jump and he goes over the top. Allan panics and tries to turn, but can’t. He falls feet first into the darkness below.

His feet touch down easily in a soft mound of moss, and his hand lands on the ground, keeping him from falling forward. The moss is as cushy as a foam mattress. Allan rolls back on his butt and laughs. Clearly he has nine lives.

Now inside the wall, the brightness of Dantia’s lanterns welcomes him. Allan stands and brushes off mud and clumps of moss. Movement catches his eyes. It’s a dog standing across the canal. It has long matted fur and long ears that point straight up like a rabbit’s ears. The dog’s head turns to the side in a curious manner, and then it barks.

Behind the dog is a tall building with lots of windows and doors and stairways leading to other levels. The dog spins in circles while barking ferociously and flinging foam from its jowls. Torches are lit and lights flip on. People come to their windows and yell and point.

Everyone has heard of the Boy from the Waiting Place, and now the alarms have been triggered. Allan turns to the left. The canal makes a hard right and heads into the city. At the turn, there’s a building built against the wall. People and strange-looking creatures come out of the ground level door. To the right is another building, and the dog is across the canal in front of him. He has nowhere to run to. From the left comes a boat. It has a motor of some kind. A spotlight turns on him. A garbled voice, projected from a crude cone, orders him to stay where he is. The last thing he needs is to be taken into custody. But even if he had a direction to run, his legs are going to give out at any minute. He might as well give up. Maybe Mizzi can come bail him out of jail. But will they take him to jail? He might be sold, tried like a criminal, or beaten. They’ll take the key from him and who knows what else. He can’t give up. There has to be somewhere to go.

A snail, the size of a baseball, crawls up the side of the wall. Its body glows from bioluminescence. The shell is thick and spiral and black with white stripes. The snail’s slimy body and sticky optical tentacles turn to Allan. Then it shrieks and snaps its head into its shell. It falls off the wall and rolls into the canal with a splash. Allan jumps into the water, grabs the glowing snail and swims down as hard as he can. He used to be a fast swimmer, the best in his age group. His brain awakens that dormant part of his brain and he powers through the water. He coordinates his arms and legs, maximizing his speed, like it was only yesterday he was competing at the Local Swimming Committee. Chills erupt from his skin.

The snail lights Allan’s way in the dark water. He sees pipes leading every direction. The streets and buildings aren’t built on solid ground, but on dark, algae-covered columns. The water flows in many directions, all of which are bad options.

Something spears into the water. It looks like an arrow, but has hooks on the back of the point. If it hits Allan he will be pulled out of the water like a fish. Allan grabs onto a pipe to keep himself still. He can’t breathe, but he can’t surface. They’ll get him. His lungs pull on his mouth and throat as they try to force him to breathe.

He looks at the pipe and sees a small bubble rise from a seam in the pipe. A bubble! Allan pulls on the pipe then kicks it. The seam widens. Large bubbles rise to the surface. Allan puts his head into a bubble and sucks it in. It’s air. He expected it to be stinky or even gassy, but it’s just air.

He takes a deep breath and follows the pipe. It leads him deep under the buildings where it is dark. Allan grips the snail that peaks out of its shell. It looks more at ease and even curious because it had not been eaten. Then Allan’s legs stop kicking as the battery dies. He pulls on the pipe again until it cracks. He sucks from the crack, filling his lungs full of air. He pulls himself along the pipe, slower now that his legs can’t kick. And now the leg harness threatens to drag him down. Allan pulls on the belt. It won’t unlatch. He tugs on the leg straps, but they’re too tight.

He needs another breath so he pulls on the pipe to crack it. He can’t get a bubble. Below him is darkness and death. The snail doesn’t even want to go there.

Allan tugs on a metal pole that frames his left leg. The motors and shock absorbers are all connected by tubes and wires. He finds a thick tube and yanks it from the left ankle piece. Air pressure is unleashed and Allan is propelled through the water. He uses his free hand to guide himself further and further under the building. Just as the pressure spewing from the mechanical legs gives out, Allan sees a light filtering through the water. He pulls himself the rest of the way and finds the surface of the water. His head breaks into the air, and he opens his mouth to suck in much-needed air.

The weight of Allan’s mechanical legs pulls him down. He grabs the metal bar attached to his leg and pulls it up and out. The weight seems heavier than a brick of gold, and Allan’s arms are so tired. Suddenly, his other leg twitches at the knee. The belt is registering more power. Disconnecting one of the legs gave the other more time. He lifts that leg easily out of the water and finds himself at the bottom of a narrow stairwell. The railing looks more like a sculpture. It goes up and down and splits and converges, but it is still a railing, and it will help him up the stairs. A single lantern at the top illuminates the steps. Water trickles down, feeding algae and moss. Spider webs span the stairwell making it obvious these stairs have been abandoned.

“This is better than being speared by one of those hooks
,
” Allan mutters. He uses his working leg to step up, dragging the leg that doesn’t work behind him. The crazy railing is sturdy and it braces him. One step at a time, Allan ascends.

When he gets to the spider web, Allan looks around. The web is thick. Water drops that hang on its silky thread reflect the light and bend it making the drops look like diamonds. The spider crawls out from under the ornate metal hand railing. It’s larger than his fist and has thin legs three times its body length. Its little eyes look at Allan and study him.

“Come on! Get outta my way!” Allan blurts out. His voice echoes in the narrow stairwell. Responding to Allan’s obvious advantages, it scuttles back into the shadow of the railing. Allan takes off the jacket he’d stolen and throws it over the web, knocking it down. He continues upward. The stars become visible, and there are only about three stories more to go. Every time he has to lift the unusable leg he wants to scream out. His arm shakes and his lower back throbs.
Keep going, just keep going.

At the top, the fresh air fills his lungs. He’s conquered the steps and is now on the roof of one of the tallest buildings. He can see most of Dantia and it is big. Hundreds of tall buildings line the horizon. They are intermingled with smaller ones, pointy ones and some very crooked ones. Lights fill some windows, but most are dark. Allan hobbles to the edge of the roof. He can see the intersection three blocks away where he ditched the authorities. Spotlights illuminate the roads as they search desperately for Allan.

Then, as if prompted by some twisted cue, his usable leg dies. He crumples to the roof of the building. Allan’s brain feels like a beaten lump of play dough. It occurs to him how impossible it will be to find Mizzi. He couldn’t read his map at the mushroom forest, and now he’s so far from where he should be that Mizzi won’t be able to find
him
. This city is definitely not handicapped accessible, and maybe he should have stayed in the water where it was easier to move.

Allan takes the pin-up girl pin from his pocket. When his uncle gave it to him, it had reminded him of his father. But as he touches the smooth surface, it reminds him of Rubic. Tears come to his eyes. He doesn’t want Rubic to die. He did all he could to get back to him, to get help, but he failed. Now Rubic continues suffering because of him.
Why am I being punished?

Allan listens to the night. All he hears is the drip of the water that runs off him. He wants to sleep, rest up, and then seek an answer. He takes the glowing snail out of his pocket. It’s as bright as ever. He sets it down and watches it slowly make its way down the steps. “You’ve got a long way to go, but thanks for the help.”