Surviving the Improbable Quest (8 page)

Chapter
12

The Inventor and the Lie

Allan feels panic rising from the pit of his stomach as Killian Crow moves closer to his hiding spot. He contemplates calling out, giving himself up to get it over with. It doesn’t seem like the elephants can distract Killian and the ratty-bird any longer. They’re good creatures, like the balloon creatures, but they’re no match for the ruthlessness of everyone and everything around them.

Then the Queen elephant flops her trunk in agitation. “I’m telling you, the Chicubs clambered down from the side of the building like vampire bats and took the boy. We could not move fast enough to catch them. They are fast like fleas, you know.”

“Move aside.” Killian orders the baby elephant. It doesn’t move. Allan feels a tickle on his arm. He looks down and sees a rope that twitches. But it isn’t a rope, it’s a tail covered in bright orange fur. It twitches again. Horton points his trunk at the building. “Look. I see the Chicubs. They mean to get into your building and steal your gold, too.”

Killian Crow turns as slow as a ticking clock and looks up. Something hangs on to the side of the building a few stories up. It’s dark and small and upside down. It notices everyone looking at it.

“Grab on and hold tight.” The baby elephant hisses. Allan grabs the tail with both hands. All the elephants make a trumpet sound to cover the noise of Allan being dragged away at high speed.

Killian Crow raises his shock pole. It fires a bolt of electricity at the little thing hanging onto the building. The thing darts away and the bolt hits the building, darkening the brick with a burn marks. “Damn those Chicubs. They are nothing but snipping snappers. I hate them. We must kill them all!” Killian pivots to face the ratty-bird. “You have lost your fare and cost me my precious time. Leave at once or else.” Killian points the shock pole at the ratty-bird but rethinks his aggression. “You will go and try to find this boy and bring him to me, do you understand?” Killian steps back toward the elevator with deliberate steps.

“Yes I will. Bu. . .but. I will need some money to get this done. I’ve already spent my coin to get him here. Just a little coin or two,” the ratty-bird asks, its filthy fingers clasped together over its belly. Killian ignores its plea and steps into his rickety elevator.

Allan holds the tail in a vice grip as he slides over the rough bricks, around and through elephant legs and over a curb of rough stone. His shirt tears under the friction. Pain stings from his ribs where the ground scrapes his skin. The tail is connected to a small creature that is driving an odd vehicle the size of a go-kart. It looks like some kind of rat. The vehicle has large back tires and skids on the front. Its motor belches black smoke from pipes on the back.             

The creature speeds up the small hill, and when Allan hits the top, his body lifts off the grass for a moment.

He lands hard. A moan escapes his lips and his bones vibrate like tuning forks. He is pulled under large shapes. They loom over him and resemble mushrooms. Some are taller than him, some are not, but the biggest of the big have caps as large as cars.

Through the mushroom field Allan races. His fingers weaken until he has to let go of the tail. When he does, he scrapes to a stop. The tail stops, too, and the vehicle turns around. Allan looks up to the canopy of a large blue mushroom. Its insides are pink slots that resemble the turbine of a jet engine. Around the mushrooms are tall grasses and ball-capped bushes that look like peas on sticks. The air is even thicker and bugs are everywhere.

The long-tailed creature hops out of his vehicle and walks up to Allan. Its nose is long and round and it has small round ears. It wears a long robe with large buttons. The creature coils its tail neatly.

“Thank you.” Allan sits up on his elbows. His shirt is ripped and threadbare and his scratches sting, but they aren’t bleeding badly.     

“We shouldn’t stop here long, but you can rest. You’re mostly safe now,” It says with a voice that is nasally. “My name is Mizzi.”

“Hi.” Allan wads a clump of his shirt in his hand and presses it on one of the bigger scrapes. “Why are you helping me?” He asks, grimacing in pain.

“You need it. Is there any other reason?”

Allan isn’t sure he should trust this creature yet. “I’m supposed to be helping my uncle. He’s hurt.”

“Why are
you
helping
him
?”

“He’s all I have. I . . . guess I love him.”

“It is easier for some to love than for others,” Mizzi says, licking the fur on his arms and cleaning himself like a cat.

“Not too many people around here love anything but themselves or money.”

“It may seem that way at first, but the longer you look the more love you’ll find.” Something rustles the bushes nearby. Mizzi studies the terrain for a moment. “We should go. My home is nearby.” Mizzi hands his tail to Allan then turns and runs back to his vehicle. Its engine rumbles but is surprisingly quiet for something that goes so fast.

“Ah, come on. Is there a better way for me to get around?” Allan does not like being dragged.

The mushroom in the distance topples with a crash. Something comes toward Allan.

“Hurry!”

The crashing in the bushes gets closer. Whatever it is, it’s big. Allan closes his eyes. The tail finally snaps taut and yanks Allan. He slides through the path made by Mizzi. The creature zigs and zags through the mushroom stalks. Allan whacks a smaller mushroom, but it’s foamy and soft. He bounces off unhurt then laughs as fear releases him. The mushrooms thin, replaced by towering trees with thick trunks and wide, dense canopies.

Mizzi parks next to a large tree trunk and leaps up like a squirrel. Allan stops at the base. At the top of the tall tree is a house made of woven grasses and twigs tucked between thick tree trunks and branches. When Mizzi gets to the tree house, he sits on a platform outside a small doorway. He wraps the part of his tail that is closest to his body around a wheel mounted to the tree trunk. “Keep holding my tail. Wrap your arm around it if you have to. Don’t worry, my tail is as strong as Mythheather,” he calls from above. Mizzi cranks a lever and the wheel winds up his long tail. Allan is pulled off the ground in one easy motion. The tree trunk is smooth on this side, obviously having pulled up many objects before. The higher Allan gets off the ground the tighter his grip gets. When Allan is within reach, Mizzi grabs him by the elbow and pulls him inside.

The tree house is huge though the ceiling is low and the windows small. Allan pulls himself onto a long couch. A table is in the center of the room and is covered in metal bars, gears and wires. A clock on the wall ticks. The kitchen is a single tub nested inside a narrow counter. Candelabras line the walls and flicker light throughout the home.

Mizzi opens a cabinet made of the same interwoven grass that the walls are made of and pulls out a cup. The waterspout above the kitchen tub is a metal faucet that protrudes out of a thick tree branch. Mizzi turns the spout handle and waits. A moment later a thick substance comes out. It takes a while for the cup to fill. When it’s filled, Mizzi hands it to Allan who takes the glass and smells the liquid.

“You’ll love it. Tastes sweet.”

Allan tentatively sips the liquid and then slurps it up. It tastes like watery maple syrup.

“I’ll get you more. You just have to wait for it. It teaches you patience, drinking from a tree.”

Allan looks at all the stuff on the table. “Are you building something?”

“I’m an inventor.”

“Your house isn’t filled with inventions. Shouldn’t there be little gadgets everywhere?” Allan points out the primitive candles, the tap stuck into the tree trunk and the woven grass walls.

Mizzi sits in a chair at his table. “I don’t make things for myself, other than my car. I make things for others. I can’t think of a better thing to do with my time.”

Allan smiles and leans his head back. Finally, he’s found someone who will help him. He’s going to go home now. He can feel it. “Where am I anyway? I mean, I’m a long way from where I should be.”

Mizzi shrugs. “Where are you from?”

“Earth,” Allan replies staring at the woven grass roof.

“We are far from Earth.” Mizzi laughs. “But I do know a way that will get you home.”

Chapter
13

The Improbable Quest

The word ‘home’ reverberates inside Allan’s head. He feels so far from home he’d almost forgotten it existed. He has a mission to save his uncle’s life though he’s fighting for his own. “I need to get back soon. Faster the better.”

Mizzi pulls a metal bar and a screwdriver off the table and starts tinkering. “Okay then. I will help you get there as fast as I can. Though you will have to do one thing for me in return, and that one thing will be hard.”

“What is it? Anything.”

Mizzi speaks while he screws metal poles together, drilling holes and connecting wires. “You are from the Waiting Place, yes?” He doesn’t let Allan answer. “It is where we go when we can’t find ourselves. To succeed at this one thing for me you must not be Waiting. This will be your Testing.”

“Testing?” Allan’s heart knocks on his chest and he sits up. “The dog and the salamander-people at the tea party and Asantia said something about being Tested. Sounds dangerous, like it could kill me.”

Mizzi shakes his head. “The Testing Games are where some go to prove themselves. Our culture tests all young ones. It is the law. But I don’t believe that there is only one way to test someone. Some young ones thrive in unbalance created by the Games. They can fix the balance. Others freeze up, and in my opinion, should be tested in other ways. Maybe they should not be proving themselves to judges but only to themselves.
You
must test yourself.”

Mizzi measures the distance from Allan’s ankle to his knee with a fabric ruler then goes back to the table. “Some young ones succeed rather easily. Some do not and some give up all together. Those that give up go to the Waiting Place where they try to forget. They’re waiting for others to decide for them, or for others to be punished for things beyond our control, or maybe for just
another chance
.” Mizzi looks at Allan with wide eyes. “That is you, waiting for another chance.”

Allan lowers his head. “I killed my parents. If they weren’t yelling at me for doing something stupid, they’d be alive. My dad wouldn’t have been so mad and wouldn’t have crashed the car.” Sadness swells inside Allan like an inflating balloon.

“So when humans argue they cannot drive cars?”

“No, well, I mean. . .”

“Then you had never been yelled at while they were driving?” Mizzi probes.

“Yeah, they have yelled at me when driving before. That’s not what I was . . . “

“So how can yelling cause the crash?”

“My dad wasn’t paying attention because of me.”

“So no one else is able to cause crashes?”

Allan sighs, realizes what Mizzi is trying to prove. “Rubic told me the other driver was on pills.”

“Did you give the pills to the other driver?”

“No.”

“Then I’m flatly confused. How is the crash your fault? You must remember that Correlation does not imply causation.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that a connection between two things does not mean that one caused the other.” Mizzi gets up and goes to a box on the counter. “Was your mother a kind woman? Would she have forgiven you for whatever made them mad?”

“She always forgave me.” Allan’s tears roll down his cheeks.

“Then she already has.” Mizzi stares at Allan for a moment then gets up from the table. “You look a bit thin.” He opens a cabinet door and pulls out a plate made of wood and a round brown object the size of a hockey puck. He sets the puck on the plate, cuts it into small pieces then fiddles with another jar. A strong sausage smell fills the tree house. Mizzi hands the plate to Allan. The meat pieces are drizzled with a sky-blue sauce, and a purple tomato-looking object sits to the side. “Eat. You will need your strength.”

The meat is soft and salty. Its juices fill Allan’s mouth and change his entire mood. “Thank you,” he says with full cheeks. Suddenly he feels wide-awake, and his head stops swimming with exhaustion. He crams another bite in his mouth and savors the flavor. “This, this is so good.” Allan closes his eyes as the meat triggers warmth that flows from his mouth, down his throat and into his body. Like a balloon filling up with air, Allan feels solid again and less thin, frail and afraid. Even the “tomato” is good.

Mizzi smiles as he watches Allan eat. When Allan’s mind returns from the place of tranquil nourishment, Mizzi continues. “Once you have forgiven yourself you will find the strength that waits inside you.” Mizzi goes back to building some metal contraption on the table. “To get home you must go through one test. It will be difficult, but you can do it. I cannot.”

“What is it? Can a cripple do something you can’t? Your car moves like a speeder bike.”

“If you fail you might get killed. But they have never seen a boy like you before, whereas I would be recognized and attacked immediately.”

Allan stops chewing.

“Let me explain. Jibbawk needs a key that will bring it back to life.”

“Wait, Jibbawk is freaking everyone out. It’s already here, hunting people. I’ve seen its mark on the bricks.”

“Jibbawk’s
spirit
is here. It’s a ghost. Years ago, the Warriors of Fifty hunted down Jibbawk and captured it. Its soul escaped, and it has been hunting for its body ever since. The key to the tomb that keeps Jibbawk's body was hidden in the Lithic Fury Baroon’s tooth.”

“What did Jibbawk do?”

“When it was alive, it captured animals and did brutal experiments on them. Many of us here are the offspring of the creatures it created. Though we are alive, our grandfathers and grandmothers were tortured to no end. Some of us still carry that misery in our lives. Some are like you, waiting. Some are not. That is why most in Lan Darr are so miserable. Jibbawk wants retribution for all the years it has lost. It wants to live again and believes it owns us all. Who knows what it will do if it finds its body. Jibbawk has already killed many. And it
will
kill again. In its body, it will be stronger. More able.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Retrieve the key for me.”

“Why not leave the key where it is? It’s been hidden all this time.”

“I’ve gotten word that Jibbawk has killed Mayor Mortimer. We believe the mayor has surrendered the location of the key. I, and many others, have been trying to find a way through the Lithic Furies, but cannot. They are taller and more protective than ever. They won’t recognize you, but they’ll attack anyone from Lan Darr.”

“What will you do with the key?”

“The key will let me open Jibbawk’s tomb. I need the key because there is no way to open the tomb otherwise. I’ve tried. So, with the tomb open, I will wait for Jibbawk to come and reenter its body. Only then can I banish the evil creature to a land ten thousand years away.”

“Okay. But one more question. How do you expect a cripple to do this?” Allan finishes the meat and licks the plate clean.

“With this.” Allan looks up. Mizzi holds up a contraption that looks somewhat like a wind chime entwined with the guts of a computer.

Mizzi kneels next to Allan and starts fitting the contraption to his legs. “I just have to get this right.” Mizzi straps a thick leather belt around Allan’s waist and cinches it tight. The buckle is a metal box with small dials and a glass screen. The belt is connected to shock-absorbing leg pieces. There are straps at the thigh, calf, ankle and foot. Each one is cinched as tight as they can go. Allan’s borrowed jacket and his jeans bunch under the pressure. Mizzi connects wires to the shocks and tests them with a gauge. The needle jumps, which Allan guesses is good.

Mizzi retrieves a box from the table and opens it. Blue light bursts from the box. Inside is a rough, asymmetric, clear stone that shines from its interior and spins in a million different ways. “This will power your new legs.” He puts the stone inside the waist buckle then screws the buckle closed.

“My new legs?” Allan’s voice quivers. He sits up and touches the metal, afraid he’ll break them.

“Yes, but these are temporary. I’m sorry they can’t be permanent. The power will last for only six hours. Then the legs will be useless. You must go to the Lithic Fury Baroon and steal his bottom tooth. And you must go now as the day sets.”

Mizzi hands Allan a hand drawn map. It has a sketch of what the Lithic Fury Baroon will look like and how to get to it. Mizzi loops a long rope over Allan’s head and under one arm. “You can do this. Success will set you free.”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t just hope. Make it so.”

Mizzi lowers Allan from the tree house with his tail and sets him on his feet. The mechanical legs hold Allan up. He’s standing! It has been so long since he has stood without someone holding on to him. He looks around, savoring the view, not wanting it to end. It’s good to be tall and then he realizes, even though he had to buy new pants a month ago, that he has grown taller. By maybe three inches. Maybe more.

Mizzi hollers from the tree house, “The back of the belt reads the signals from your spine. It will tell the legs how to work. All you have to do is walk.”

Allan thinks about moving. His legs won’t budge. “Move, now.” he tells them. Still, they don’t move. He wonders about Mizzi’s plan and about his ability to use the legs efficiently. Maybe his brain had forgotten how to walk. He recalls that sometimes at night he could feel his legs. It was what the doctors called a ‘phantom leg’. He wasn’t feeling the actual nerves in his legs, but the sensations that his brain remembers. So somewhere in his skull, he knows how to walk.

“Heads up.” Mizzi calls out.

Allan looks up as a large pan falls from the tree house. It drops fast toward Allan’s head. At the last second, Allan leaps away. They worked! When he lands, he wobbles like a marionette but doesn’t fall. This time, when he orders his legs to move, they do. He takes a step and it’s more stable. The next step after that is fluid, natural. He’s walking again. Allan spins, his arms stretch outward. It’s so great. He hops over a small bush then does a little dance. Oil leaks from the shocks, but not much.

“Okay, now you must hurry.” Mizzi says from above. “Though it is good to see you dance.”

“I got this.” Allan runs through the thick mushroom forest. He’s breathing hard but not because his muscles are doing any work. The mechanical legs do all the work. The exhilaration Allan feels is similar to the moment a roller coaster races down the track. He smacks a soft mushroom cap as he passes it and laughs.

When Allan gets to the edge of the forest, he stops. In front of him is a wasteland. To the horizon are towers of rock, dead trees and broken buildings, miles and miles of desolation. But from Mizzi’s explanation, the towers of rock are not dead at all. They are the Lithic Furies, creatures that live in the rocks. They were sculpted by erosion and time and born out of the rubble of a ruined city. They keep building themselves taller and taller over the years and have become powerful. They don’t let anyone roam the ruins, no one.

At least, no one from Lan Darr. Allan was instructed to move quickly before the Lithic Furies realize he’s a threat.

“Good thing about rocks,” had said Mizzi when they were back at the tree house. “They think slowly. It’ll take them a while to recognize you as a threat, and once they do, you’d better be gone.”

Allan tells his legs to move like a cheetah and they do. The first Lithic Fury he passes towers over his head. Its rock body is thin and compiled of archways and square bricks. At the top is a cluster of stones that resemble pincers or sharp beaks. The rock tower bends its neck down to look at Allan, but doesn’t react. Allan continues right into the heart of the rock formations. Some have long necks, small heads with sharp teeth in their mouths and arms set in logical places, but most aren't recognizable as creatures at all. They’re simply thin towers built from the ruins that had once littered the dusty ground.

Allan inspects the drawing of Lithic Fury Baroon then searches the rock towers. A dozen heads turn and look at him. The shadows in the failing light are dark. Dust blows and dry thorny weeds tumble around. “Nothing lives there, except the rocks,” Mizzi had told him.

Allan sees a cluster of short rock formations looking at him. Were they baby Lithic Furies?
Mizzi said the rocks were dangerous, but how fast can a rock monster really be?
For a brief moment he thinks he’s not in any real danger and that Mizzi must be a scaredy-cat. Then one of the rock towers cracks and sheds dust and small stones as it bends toward him. A thousand pounds of rock comes crashing down. Allan’s mechanical legs launch him three times as far as any normal kid could jump. The rocks tumble to the ground then pick themselves up. Allan will be crushed like an egg stomped under a boot if the boulders or bricks fall on him.

Finally, he sees the Lithic Fury Baroon. It’s one of the larger stone beasts in the middle of all the others. Allan sprints toward it. They’re all watching and thinking about this strange boy and his squeaky, oil-leaking leg armature. There’s no way to climb up Baroon. Its neck is too thin and uneven. Then Allan sees another way.

He leaps onto a smaller stone arch that is shaped like the backbone of a dinosaur and runs up. There’s an arm that arches over to a neighboring rock monster. Allan jumps to the arm and scuttles up it. His own arms wobble back and forth, balancing him. When he gets to the end he stops. There’s a large gap between it and the other rocks. The rock moves. Allan jumps just as the head of the other rock swoops by, nearly decapitating him. Allan lands on a rock that sticks out of the neck, then climbs up the neck using the protruding stones like a ladder.