World's End (22 page)

"You think Dad's going to try and escape?" asked Alfonso.

Hill nodded.

"You seem pretty certain," remarked Alfonso.

His uncle shook his head. "Leif won't accept staying in that cottage for the rest of his life, especially when he has a wife and son waiting for him."

Alfonso looked worried. He had just remembered something.

"I forgot to show this to you," said Alfonso. "My sleeping-self stole it back in Marseilles." Alfonso reached into his backpack and pulled out the tin containing the Polyvalent Crotalid Antivenin and two syringes.

"Hmm," said Hill with a worried look. "Antivenin—it's what you take to counteract the venom from a spider or a snake."

"Do you suppose..."

"Hush!" said Hill.

"What is it?" whispered Alfonso.

"Turn around and have a look," said Hill.

Very slowly, Alfonso turned around. At first, he saw nothing. Then he noticed that the road behind them was now blocked by several dozen giant, gnarled boulders that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

"Where did those boulders come from?" asked Alfonso.

"I have no idea," whispered Hill hoarsely. "Quickly now, let's build up the fire."

Alfonso felt a shiver run up his spine. He shoved the tin back into his backpack, double-checked that his sphere was readily available, and turned to work on the fire. He and Hill worked together for several minutes, throwing scraps of wood onto the fire, until the flames roared to life and crackled greedily. Alfonso rubbed his eyes wearily. He felt tired.

"It's the strangest thing," said Alfonso, as he stared into the now roaring fire. "Every time I start to feel sleepy, I almost feel like some force is pulling me deeper into the Fault Roads."

"Hmm, that is very curious," said Hill. "I've had the exact same feeling—like something is tugging on me—almost as if I were a puppet."

This conversation was interrupted by a slight rustling noise.

"What is it?" asked Alfonso.

"Those boulders," said Hill nervously. "Am I going crazy, or did one of them just move?"

M
ANY MILES AWAY
—at this exact moment in time—fifty-one-year-old Leif Perplexon struggled forward into the maw of a howling snowstorm. Visibility was so bad that he could barely see ten feet off into the distance. Miniature cyclones of snow crystals roared across the icy surface of the ground. The shrieking of the wind was punctuated only by the sound of Leif's feet chafing against and cracking the ice. Instead of boots, blankets were bound around his feet with ropes. This jury-rigged footwear made him prone to slipping. He proceeded slowly down a narrow corridor hemmed in on both sides by hundred-foot-high hedges. Razor-sharp thorns, some as long as two feet, stuck out from every branch. Some were covered with long icicles, and on occasion the gusting wind caused the icicles to fall and shatter into glasslike shards.

Leif was a tall, lanky man with heavily freckled cheeks, a flat nose, and a broad, sweeping forehead beneath an unkempt shock of black hair. He was quite slender, but what he lacked in muscle mass he made up in endurance. When he lived in World's End, Minnesota, he regularly made day trips of fifty and even sixty miles on his cross-country skis. Once he made the two-hundred-mile trip to Minneapolis-St.Paul on skis. During the summer, he could swim for hours at a time. It was this stamina that allowed him to make the journey from Alexandria, Egypt, to the High Peaks of the Urals mostly on foot. However, the journey had taken its toll. He was now terribly fatigued, and the reserves of strength he had enjoyed his entire life were ebbing away. Only one desire kept him moving: to see his wife and son again.

As he plodded onward, Leif's woozy mind returned again to the events that had uprooted him from World's End and landed him here in this godforsaken maze. On the day that he supposedly drowned in the lake near his home in Minnesota, Leif Perplexon did in fact go for a swim. As usual, he slept while swimming, although when he woke up he found himself in the oddest of places. He was sitting in front of a television monitor at the international departures wing of the Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport, dressed in a suit and hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses. In his hands were two carry-on bags, a passport, and an envelope stuffed with $3,000 in cash.

Leif looked around and saw a copy of the
Minneapolis Star Tribune
sitting next to him. After glancing at the date, his jaw dropped. He had been asleep for three days straight. Leif had done many crazy and bizarre things in his sleep, but never anything remotely like this. As he flipped through the paper, he came upon an article in the regional news section that caught his attention...

 

Lake of the Woods Man, Known for
Swimming Skills, Dies in Lightning Storm

By Benjamin Soskis

World's End, MN–Leif Perplexon was known for his ability to swim longer and farther than most men could canoe, but three days ago, he met an untimely end when a freak lightning storm passed over the sleepy hamlet of World's End. After 72 hours of nonstop searching, authorities have stopped looking for a body and Mr. Perplexon has been presumed dead. He leaves behind a wife and son who...

 

Leif dropped the newspaper and headed directly for the nearest pay phone, but he had barely taken six steps when sleep overtook him. He didn't wake up again until his plane landed in Cairo, Egypt. Upon landing, he again made a dash for the nearest phone, and again sleep overtook him before he could call home. This is how it went for several days. Every time Leif Perplexon tried to alert anyone to his whereabouts, he was instantly overcome by sleep.

His memories from Egypt were fuzzy because he slept most of the time. Leif recalled flashes of being awake—diving into a turbulent sea, finding a box of seeds in a basement of some kind, and walking through a desert in the light of the moon.

Eventually, Leif realized that the key to staying awake was not fighting the plan that his sleeping-self had devised. First and foremost this plan involved safeguarding a curious plant that Leif had hatched in his sleep from the seeds he'd found in Alexandria. The plan also involved walking hundreds or even thousands of miles northward and not talking to
anyone
along the way. Leif had a strong suspicion about where he was headed. He knew that he and his brother hailed from a kingdom in the Ural Mountains known as Dormia. Now he was being drawn there by an almost gravitational pull. There was no resisting it. And so, gradually, Leif resigned himself to making the journey. He began staying awake for longer stretches and pushing himself to move as quickly as possible; after all, the sooner he made his delivery, the sooner he could return to his old life.

Or so he thought.

Leif gradually became aware that his sleeping-self was obsessed with traveling stealthily. In his sleep, Leif tended to travel at night, or through crowds, or over rocky terrain on which he left no footprints. Leif even wondered if his sleeping-self had deliberately faked his death back in World's End in order to ensure that nobody would follow him.

Leif soon realized that there was good reason for his stealth. Every so often, he noticed that he was being followed by a tall man who wore a wide-brimmed hat and a heavy fur cloak. The man followed him like an apparition through the deserts of Syria and Iran, over the Köpetdag Mountains and into Turkmenistan, down along the plains of Uzbekistan, and across the Aral Sea to the foothills of the Urals. Often the man was no more than a flickering speck on the horizon. This mysterious pursuer tended to keep his distance; but on one occasion, as Leif entered the Urals, he had a face-to-face encounter with the man. Leif had lost his way and was forced to turn around and backtrack along a series of steep cliffs. At one point, Leif rounded a corner and ran directly into the man. The man's hat fell off, revealing his eyes, which were entirely white.

"Who are you?" demanded Leif. "Why are you following me?"

"My name is Kiril," replied the man calmly. "I am your friend. If you let me help you, you'll return faster to World's End, where your wife and son grieve your loss."

"What makes you think I have a wife and son?" asked Leif.

"Dishonesty doesn't suit you," replied the man. "I know a great deal about Judy and Alfonso and you."

At the mention of his family, Leif stiffened. He knew on some deep, instinctual level that this man posed a danger—not just to himself, but to Judy and Alfonso. This realization stoked a fury that was smoldering deep within him. His life had been hijacked. What's more, he was powerless to alter the course of his own fate. And now, on top of everything else, Leif sensed that his wife and child could be in danger. Something inside of Leif snapped. He set down his plant very carefully, and then he charged Kiril.

Kiril quickly reached for his sword but then, rather mysteriously, he stopped himself as if he had forbidden himself from using it. A second later, Leif's body slammed into Kiril's and the two men toppled to the ground. It was icy—very icy—and Kiril slid and fell backwards off the edge of a cliff. Leif was stunned. Had he just killed this man? It had all happened so fast. Before he could think another thought, however, Leif fell into a deep and prolonged sleep.

On the morning that he finally awoke, Leif found himself alone in a cottage, which was surrounded on all sides by towering walls of razor hedges. The plant that he had cared for was missing. His cottage was equipped with plenty of food, firewood, and warm clothing. It took a while before Leif realized that there were no socks or shoes anywhere in the house and this, he presumed, was to ensure that he didn't step outside.

There was also a note.

The note was written in Latin, French, English, and one or two other languages that Leif did not recognize. The note informed him that this cottage would serve as his new home. It explained that a "labyrinth sweeper" would visit him once every new moon to replenish his food, though it cautioned him not to converse with the sweeper. Above all, the note stressed that he was
not
to venture outside. The corridors of the surrounding maze were vast and dangerous, the note explained, and he would not last long if he tried to explore them.

Like clockwork, the labyrinth sweepers arrived once every month or so. They were mysterious figures who wore scarlet-red robes and carried strange-looking swords. They never spoke, except once, when Leif attempted to follow one of them out into the snow. The sweeper drew a line in the snow with his sword and mumbled a phrase in Latin: "Mors ultima linea re-rum est." Leif had taken Latin in college and he understood what the sweeper had said: "Death is everything's final limit." It was unclear whether the sweeper was threatening him directly, or simply warning him about the dangers that awaited him if he stepped outside, but the message was clear: don't cross this line.

A great deal of time passed. Many years, perhaps as many as five or even six, came and went. Occasionally, Leif ventured outside, but he never made it very far without shoes or any sense of where he was going. And so he waited. Gradually, Leif came to realize that there were fates worse than death, and staying forever in that lonely cottage was one of them. It was time to escape. He began hoarding his food, preparing for a long journey. He even made a pair of makeshift shoes. Then, one clear crisp day, he made a break for it. That was several weeks ago. He had been wandering the maze ever since.

As he plodded onward through the snowstorm, Leif tried to picture his son's face. He couldn't do it. Somehow the image had become lost, like a coin that falls through a hole in the pocket. His mind was softening and he knew it was the result of the cold and his fatigue. Leif had to stay focused. Truth be told, he wasn't exactly certain of which way he was headed. He knew only that he was in the middle of a vast labyrinth, and while he had no idea where the exit was, he was determined to find a way out—or die trying. He was almost out of food. He wouldn't last more than three or four days. He had to stay alert and look for...

Leif stopped in his tracks. Something had snagged his leg. He looked down at the ground and to his astonishment he saw a pale white hand grabbing his ankle. It was connected to a skinny arm that stuck out from underneath the razor hedges. Leif kicked his foot frantically, but in his weakened state the grip of the pale white hand was too firm to shake loose.

M
ORNING IN THE
F
AULT
R
OADS
came without any indication that somewhere, miles above, the sun had begun to rise over the horizon. Alfonso, Hill, Resuza, and Bilblox all sat around a campfire, gnawing on beef jerky, sipping tea, and staring in gloomy silence at the flames. No one had slept well. Hill and Alfonso seemed especially edgy, and they had good reason to be. The boulders that they had seen—the ones that had mysteriously appeared the night before—had since vanished.

"Are ya sure you really saw them boulders?" Bilblox had asked.

"Yes," replied both Hill and Alfonso at once. That was the extent of their morning conversation.

The group broke camp quickly and pressed forward. As they walked on, the road dipped downward and the chasm within the fault itself widened until it appeared to be at least half a mile across. The air also grew noticeably warmer and they all began to sweat. The sweat washed off the skelter sap and they had to reapply the green oil hourly.

An hour or so later, they came upon a bridge that spanned the chasm. It was, without a doubt, the most impressive architectural structure that Alfonso had ever seen. The bridge, which was made principally of chiseled black stone, spanned the fault and appeared to be nearly a mile long. Giant spiraling support beams carved into the forms of snakes rose from the depths of the fault and held up the bridge. The bridge was also lined with a dozen spindly stone towers topped with weathervanes that creaked and swiveled ominously. The path on the bridge itself was quite narrow—just wide enough for a single lane road. Halfway across the bridge sat an abandoned stagecoach. The road they had been following crossed the bridge and continued onto the other side of the fault.