Vision2 (11 page)

The memory of the poster faded, and there was nothing but waves of yellow and purple; then, the hard, cold touch of glass against his skin as he ran headfirst into the glass wall.

“Roger, are you okay?” Firturro
’
s asked.

“Umm, yeah…yeah, I
’
m okay. I just got a little distracted. The leaves, they were moving, swaying.” He a quick look at the other
’
s faces told him that he
’
d not imagined anything. “What kind of plant is it? Why does it look like its moving?
’’

Once again they all looked to Firturro.

“That
’
s what that particular plant does. It lures people and animals to it by moving its limbs in a way that hypnotizes its subjects. We call it the Harpus Bush. Its methods are very sophisticated, and it will be one of your greatest obstacles. You don
’
t always have to be looking straight at the plant for its trick to work. If you sense the movement out of the corner of your vision, it can still trap you.”

“If it
’
s going to be one of my biggest obstacles, why wasn
’
t I told about it before?”

None of them would look directly at Roger.

The second guide cleared his throat. “Umm, I believe that was on the lesson plan for later this afternoon, wasn
’
t it, Kiperro?”

“Yes, yes, of course it was, you just didn
’
t wait long enough to find out. We would have discussed it later.”

“Well, it looks like we
’
re discussing it now. So, tell me, what would a plant this size do to something as big as me?” Roger demanded as he stared them down individually, trying to force one of them to look him in the eyes.

“They don
’
t necessarily
do
anything to you. But they shoot small poisonous, hallucinogenic quills when the victim gets close enough. A large enough amount might kill you, but one or two quills just make you so weary and unfocused that it would be easy for any number of animals to kill you.”

“How do I avoid it then?”

“They live in the middle of the desert. Their tropical appearances will be the only vegetation you might see for miles around. So, when you make your way through the desert, you have to force yourself to be on the lookout for patches of plant life and detour around them.” A small, unified gasp issued from the rest of the room as Firturro spoke, making it obvious that this was something they had not intended to tell him.

Roger turned toward the two guides, his eyes narrowing into two tiny slits. “So, this is something I
’
m going to have to make a continual effort to deal with, and you weren
’
t going to mention its existence to me until today? I
’
m supposed to go up to the surface tomorrow, and we
’
ve sat in here for at least three days going over the same old shit, and I want to know why. I want to spend more time on these plants, what is dangerous and what isn
’
t. I want to know more than what I can eat and what I can
’
t. Can we do that, or is it forbidden by some stupid Obawok law I don
’
t know about?”

The orange tinted room was perfectly quiet. They were determined not to give him any more information than he needed, and now that he was demanding they do something about it, they were at a loss. Everyone except Firturro looked around, confused and temporarily wounded.

Kiperro raised his eyes to look directly into Roger
’
s, and as soon as their gazes locked, Roger knew this was a contest for control. There was a bright, glowing flare of anger and frustration mixing in Kiperro
’
s dark purple irises, and Roger felt the urge to meet that stare with one of his own.

As their eyes remained locked, Roger began to feel the icy grip of the Obawok
’
s collective fear. They didn
’
t believe he was anything like the others that had come before him. They may not have admitted it to themselves, but he could sense that they were terrified of him, and their fear gave him a resurgence of power he
’
d believed lost.

But their fear wasn
’
t the only thing clutching at his psychic sense. Its invigorating presence was swiftly followed by a steaming hot kiss of hatred, breathing against his collar and flushing his suntanned face, demanding to be noticed.

The rest of the room had fallen into another dimension, and for all Roger cared it might have even ceased to exist. Their fear and hatred was being funneled into a sharp electric charge, fueling his feelings of rebellion. A ball of intense anger had been gaining power inside him, and he could feel the monster rising out of that voltage, threatening to spill over.

“I don
’
t see why not,” Firturro
’
s voice broke into the blackness that Roger had thrust himself into. “After all, we
’
re supposed to be teaching you about the surface. It seems right that we should be doing some hands-on teaching.”

“Well, it
’
s not on the schedule that the President accepted, and I don
’
t think it would be appropriate to deviate from his original plan,” Kiperro piped up, sliding his gaze off of Roger and focusing on Firturro instead.

“Oh, I see,” Firturro began. “So we
’
re just supposed to send Roger out into the untamed surface with only a basic, and book taught, amount of knowledge? Aren
’
t we supposed to be making sure he is adequately prepared?”

No one answered him directly, but Roger felt the hostility in the room increase. Firturro stood as tall as his aging posture would allow and leaned on the cane in front of him with both hands, daring one of them to contradict him.

For the rest of the day, Firturro led Roger through the greenhouse explaining each plant and flower. He made sure to give advice on how to avoid the dangerous ones and which parts of some of those harmful plants were edible in emergency situations. Roger assimilated the information with ease. It wasn
’
t hard to learn, he
’
d just needed someone to go through and explain it to him in an interactive setting.

By the end of the day, Roger knew that if he got in a jam and needed water, he could break off a pod on a Fryken Tree, which was only lethal if you ingested the leaves. He also knew how to avoid the more dangerous plants and what flowers he could not eat, no matter how hungry he got.

That night Roger sat in the orange chair, his elbows on his knees, staring at the hole under the bed, lost in thought. The rush of energy he
’
d felt earlier in the day had faded in the dark, and potentially haunted, room.

In an effort to forget about the horrible night before, he
’
d been thinking about Tigaffo. Earlier, when Firturro had stopped the planned lecture, Roger noticed the dark brown aura surrounding the apprentice had sunk in, turning his flesh a deep, corroded black.

While Roger couldn
’
t be sure, he even thought that he was starting to smell the sickly sweet smell of rot. It wasn
’
t as bad as the stench emanating from the President, but it was a sign of something important, and not a very good one. If Tigaffo wasn
’
t careful, this strange manifestation would consume him, turning him into a creature only capable of experiencing hatred.

The air whistled between Roger
’
s teeth in a heavy sigh as he lifted his head and looked at the bed longingly, but he knew that there would be little, or no, sleep tonight.

In a similar room down the hall, Trey sat in a beat up lazy boy, his legs crossed in front of him, and tried to picture the perfect surfing day. Last night he
’
d awoken in a panic, a harsh sweat coating every inch of his body.

Trey wasn
’
t used to fear. Most of his life had been dedicated to the theory that he could duck and weave when it was needed and just keep on moving when it wasn
’
t. But last night had shaken him more than he
’
d thought possible. He
’
d been stuck in a desert, unable to move as sand filtered in through his eyes, nose, and mouth. It moved into him as if his body were a black hole that sucked every particle of sand into its vortex. His skin began to be coated in its grainy texture, and eventually, there was nothing left of himself. He had become one with the sand, forever trapped there to stare at the two blazing suns overhead.

He woke up in a panic, his hands flying across his face and chest as he tried to brush the imaginary sand from his body. Instead of the grainy particles, he
’
d been confronted with an ice cold sweat. It had been the most vivid dream he
’
d ever had, and it had taken him two hours just to calm down.

When he
’
d first woken up in this strange place, he
’
d been disturbed, but this simple dream had brought him to an entirely new level of fear. This planet, reality, whatever, was manageable. He knew about things like
Roswell
and UFO sightings, but he
’
d never given it too much thought. When he
’
d first been pulled through the mirror in the small, beachside bathroom, he
’
d just gone with the flow. He could deal with ugly little troll-like aliens trying to impose their will on him because he knew that no matter what they did to him, he was still Trey.

However, part of the reason the dream had frightened him so much was because he hadn
’
t simply died, but had been turned into something else, absorbed into a sea of sand. Trey sighed and shook his head, determined not to let this dream get its wedge of panic into his psyche permanently. Turning his mind away from all thoughts of caves, Obawok, and puke green sand, Trey thought only of the steady rise and fall of the surf.

Before long, he could almost have believed he was back on earth, riding the perfect wave and focusing only on the moment.

He had eyes that could make blood run cold.

In his own room Firturro paced the floor with deliberate slowness, a cup of Kalika untouched and long cold sitting on the table near the chair. He stopped and stared at the wall. Earlier that day, he
’
d ran into Councilman Garette, and it had been one of the most unusual conversations Firturro could remember. It had started out normally enough. Garette had approached him and asked him how the preparation was coming along.

“Well enough, I suppose,” Firturro answered, his body tensing up. Some of the other council members passed by with nothing more than sneers, but those he was used to. Garette
’
s openness had startled him.

“I was looking over some of the incoming reports, and it would appear that your human is particularly willful.”

“It probably appears that way because he is not afraid to ask questions and assert himself.” Garette took a step back from Firturro, but Firturro pressed on. “But is that truly so strange? Wouldn
’
t you be assertive and concerned if it were your life?”

Garette opened his mouth and looked around to make sure that no one was listening to them before answering. “Sure, I guess so. I hadn
’
t ever thought about what I
’
d do in their situation because they
’
re lower than us. They wouldn
’
t be in this position if they weren
’
t lower beings.”

“Oh, so you don
’
t think that lower beings have the ability to perceive danger and protect themselves?” Firturro leaned forward until his face was only inches away from Garette
’
s. “And have you ever truly gone over the ancient texts and wondered what makes them so inferior to us? I mean, we
’
ve seen that they are capable of great works of art, compassion, love, and acceptance that seem completely outside our limited realm of experiences. But somehow, they
’
re beneath us.”

Kristi Brooks

Firturro reached out and placed a hand against Garette
’
s elbow, pulling himself even closer to the councilman before he could stop himself. Throwing away the caution he knew had kept him safe from the President and his supporters, he whispered into Garette
’
s ear, “I think the prophecies were written at different times. I think that we
’
re not allowed to question them because questions always lead to deeper thought. But most importantly I believe we might be meddling were we shouldn
’
t.” Firturro had suddenly been unable to keep his suspicions to himself. Things could not change if others refused to think about the texts. If everyone took them for truth, there would be no room for change or discussion.

Garette had nearly fallen over his own feet as he stumbled backward and flung himself down the corridor, but there had been a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes that let Firturro know he
’
d hit a nerve.

Now, Firturro sat in his small room and wondered exactly what it was he was gambling with. He
’
d become far too reckless to insure his own safety, but what right did he have in hoping Roger would instigate changes through the use of his life if he wasn
’
t willing to risk his own?

Firturro had always known that when the Obawok brought someone in, that was the end, but he was reluctant to sign off on Roger. Something was happening, changing, and he wasn
’
t sure how, but he knew they were both caught in its tide.

And it terrified him.

On the other side of the complex, Tigaffo and the President were deep in conversation. The President
’
s penetrating stare made Tigaffo twitch in his seat. He had just told him of Firturro
’
s demand that they teach the human what he wanted to know.

“Damn Firturro!” President Darelle slammed his fist on the mahogany desk as he spoke.

“Should I stop him?” Tigaffo asked, his head ducked slightly.

“Is he actually telling him anything forbidden?”

“No.”

“No, of course he isn
’
t. Firturro wouldn
’
t do anything to jeopardize his position as the primary watcher. It
’
s too important to him. He needs to be there so he can watch over the poor human, protect him while he can. That
’
s the goal for all watchers, but Firturro takes it as an all-consuming job. I don
’
t know how we
’
re going to get him away from this particular human, but it
’
s necessary.”

“If you say so.”

“Can
’
t you see what
’
s going on? He wants to uproot our whole system. Kill our way of life, and he
’
s using the human to do it. We can
’
t let him. It
’
ll change everything. And you don
’
t want change, do you?” The President leaned forward, his foul breath spilling across the ornate desk in an invisible wave, and Tigaffo flinched.

“N…No, I don
’
t guess so.”

“Oh, you don
’
t guess so, do you? Don
’
t you see change is exactly what people like you and me have to fight? We can
’
t allow disruption. It would desecrate the memory of our ancestors and ruin everything they established.” The President stood up, forcing his chair back so abruptly that it fell over with a loud thud that made Tigaffo jump out of his own chair. The only sound in the room was the President
’
s harsh breathing. “I need to know that you stand behind me and the council. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Tigaffo replied without hesitating

“Good.” The President picked up his chair, sat back down, and leaned across the desk again in one swift movement. Tigaffo perched himself on the edge of the chair, all of his muscles tense. “I need you to watch Firturro. If he makes even one mistake, I want to know about it before anyone else. Do you think you could handle turning him over if you had to?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Darelle waved his hand dismissively and leaned back over the paperwork on his desk.

Tigaffo nodded and backed to the door, knocking on the wood with his hands clasped behind his back. The yellow gnomes immediately began to open the door, and he backed out, his head lowered.

When the yellow gnomes secured the door, Darelle leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

After a few minutes, he unlocked the top right-hand drawer and pulled out a black pouch that contained a small vial of glowing purple liquid. He took a small sip before recapping the vial and staring at it as he twirled it around in his hands.

Roger Fulright was proving to be an enemy worth watching, and he was glad he
’
d secured Tigaffo
’
s loyalty early. If the treasonous thoughts harbored by renegades like Firturro contaminated the others, drastic measures would have to be taken. Every trick he
’
d tried so far just encouraged the damn human more. There was no broken look in his eyes or quiver in his voice. He took everything in and worked it to his advantage. This was not common among humans who rode the fence between fate and free will. Normally, the ones that did this were either too lazy or too scared to make a decision, but Darelle now realized that Firturro was right: Roger wasn
’
t like that. He had learned to walk the line between the two by utilizing parts of each.

According to the records, the hardest struggle in Roger
’
s life had been during the long illness and death of his mother. She had gotten sick when Roger was in high school, and he
’
d ignored the oncoming illness. At the same time his mother was undergoing chemotherapy, the young Roger had received a full scholarship to a good university. Out of fear of his mother
’
s approaching death, but yet not wanting to acknowledge the sickness, he had ignored both until the scholarship offer had lapsed and his mother had died. He had refrained from choosing fate and dealing with his mother
’
s illness while at the same time not taking the path of freewill and attending college.

Darelle had tried to turn this instance of fear into something that would consume Roger
’
s confidence, but so far, it had only seemed to increase the stubborn human
’
s resolve.

Without opening his eyes, Darelle reached out and grabbed the Kalika on the edge of his desk as he thought about another night a long time ago when a dying human had whispered a name to him. Then, he
’
d believed the man had been trying to call out to someone from his past, but now the face of the unknown boy in the ceiling and the situation in front of him made him wonder if he hadn
’
t been wrong all those years ago.

Down the hidden corridor and safely tucked away from prying eyes, Trulle was also feeling the restless surge of bad energy. Lately, his father had become more and more distant, which meant that he was practically living in another dimension. Trulle had had enough time alone to pour through his recent science fiction novel three times in the past five days and had even gone back to reading the history of Obawok and human interaction out of sheer boredom.

Usually, Darelle would force him to study the religion of the Obawok ancients. He would stand over Trulle and quiz him on what he was reading. If he got something wrong, Darelle was there with a few harsh words and the occasional light smack to the back of his head to correct it. But he hadn
’
t even seen his father for more than an hour over the past five days. The only time they saw each other was at their nightly prayer meetings where they sat in silence and observation to worship the ancient ones, but even then, Darelle was withdrawn and distracted.

Trulle put the worn paperback under the chair and picked up the even more worn ancient texts as he heard the latch tumble on the front door. Next week he would be able to set aside the ancient text studies when he began learning French. It was mandatory that all Obawok learn at least three earth languages, and those in the upper echelon of the class structure, like Trulle, were required to learn six. French was going to be his fourth.

Darelle glanced at Trulle.

“Are you still on track with your learning schedule?” he questioned.

“Yes, but next week, I
’
m starting on French, and I
’
m going to need help with my conversation and pronunciation.”

“You should be able to deal with that on your own. I have larger problems.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If that
’
s settled, I
’
ll see you tomorrow,” Darelle strode into his bedroom, ignoring their nightly prayer.

Trulle sighed and returned to his novel. It was the most recent installment of Stephen King
’
s
The Dark Tower
series that he could get his hands on, and he couldn
’
t wait to get to the end, even though he
’
d already read it. The travelers making their way through the many parallel dimensions and the trials that they encountered served to remind him of his belief that some select humans were allowed to see into their world. He hoped that he could read
Through the Looking Glass
soon, but even as he submerged himself in the words, he couldn
’
t keep the worry from seeping into his thoughts.

The restlessness didn
’
t stop with Trulle; even in the dead of night, the halls of Obawok were alive in a way they hadn
’
t been before. Everyone sensed the approaching change. Tendille and Predinne, the night watchmen posted in front of Roger
’
s door, played a card game to pass the time. They barely talked, but they didn
’
t need to. They could feel the difference. Something was changing, and they weren
’
t sure if they liked it.

Up a corridor and to the right, Councilman Garette looked over the ancient writings as he tried to squash the doubt Firturro
’
s ravings had stirred. Instead of finding comfort, he saw what Firturro was talking about for the first time. His mind was opening to a new realm of possibilities. He closed the first set of texts and opened the second, being sure to reread everything with close attention to the details he had always taken for granted.

Omiralle also sat back, the files of Trey and Roger side by side on his table. He knew he was backing the losing horse, but he still hoped Trey would make a strong stand in the Mezoglike. It was hard to continue watching and supporting these extraordinary creatures only to know that they would ultimately die.

He
’
d never told anyone, but there had been a couple of humans he
’
d not been able to bring into this world. They had been so close to choosing a path he had falsified his reports and let them be. It was a move that not even Firturro dared, and a secret he kept only with himself. In the encroaching darkness and worry, he found himself wondered what happened to their souls, and he hoped they had lived every moment he
’
d granted them.

In the barrens below, even the women felt the approaching changes. They shifted restlessly in their community dorms. The men that usually frequented their rooms hadn
’
t been around as much. The only excuse they could find was that a few of the men had mentioned that two humans were about to take the test, but that had never slowed down their routine visits before.

One woman, number 5287, called
Del
because she was the President
’
s favorite, sat in the dingy corner and dreamed of the possibility for a better life even though they had once told her it was dangerous to do so. Several women had gone insane thinking about things they could never have, but she had heard beautiful stories of earth from the watchers that had come to her before the President claimed her. Now, she knew nothing but hope.

The President favored her because he tried to beat the hope out of her. She had spawned him four children, but she still didn
’
t belong to him, and he hated her for that. Early on she
’
d learned how to emotionally detach herself during those horrible experiences. She usually left his company physically wounded, but her emotional self was somewhere safe, flying through beautiful blue skies she could only dream of.