Surviving the Improbable Quest Read online

  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, ankl
e 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.

  Baroon is next to him now. Allan slips the rope off his arm and ties one end into a loop. The rocks all around him shift and rumble. He’s about out of time, but how does he get Baroon’s mouth open?

  “Hey Baroon. Come get me.” Allan yells.

  The Lithic Fury Baroon turns its massive head to the side and considers Allan. It opens its long, wide mouth and thrusts toward Allan. Allan waits for only a moment. The mouth comes at him, fast. He’s only got a second, only one chance to do this right. No hesitation. Allan whirls the looped end of the rope like a lasso, holding onto the other end tightly.

  The loop lands perfectly around the Baroon’s tooth. Just before Allan is snapped up he jumps. The rope tightens, which cinches the loop tight around the tooth. Allan swings through the air. The Baroon turns just as its tooth snaps off. Allan falls, but his metal legs absorb the weight when he lands on his feet. He tugs on the rope and pulls the tooth toward him. He snatches the heavy stone tooth off the dusty ground and holds it tight to his chest. There is an impression inside the rock-tooth that holds the key. The key is rusty and old, has long crooked teeth and has the letter ‘J’ cut out of the round handle.

  Allan pockets the key as the stones all around him start to move. The sand under his feet rises. He’s hoisted in the air on a large arching stone. Allan slides down. When he lands on the dirt he runs. Rocks fall all around him. One hits his shoulder, knocking him down. Dust clouds his vision and makes him choke, but he runs faster. He sees sparks, shooting like miniature fireworks, popping from the gears of his mechanical knees.

  He finally reaches the end of the dusty field of rocks. The hundreds of Lithic Furies should be chasing him. They might be slow to think, but they were quick in their attack. However, none of the towering rock creatures pursue Allan. They must know they cannot keep up with him so they stand and stare
, defeated. The rock towers collapse one brick at a time. They’ve given up. Are they dying? Can a rock thing ever really die? Do they feel the defeat? Were they around before keeping the key or created solely to be guards? As the cloud of dust gets larger and comes toward Allan, he turns and runs. Allan feels a twinge of guilt and sadness.

  Is it worth it? If Mizzi’s plan works Jibbawk will be gone for good. A lot of people will be saved. It has to be worth it. The survivors that live in Lan Darr will surely think so.

  All Allan has to do now is get the key to Mizzi, and then he can go home. He runs for the pure pleasure of the wind in his face, which spreads joy throughout his body. He circles around the Lithic Fury territory and heads back toward the mushroom forest, hoping he’s heading in the right direction. There are more ruins out here, remnants of a much smaller town. The trees are crispy and burnt and the stones are black marked and crumbling. A fire tore through here a long time ago.

  Allan turns onto a street. His elation implodes in his chest like the popping of a balloon. There, in between more ruins, stands a creature with a large sharp beak. It has thin arms with pincers at the ends instead of hands. Allan recognizes it. It’s Jibbawk! It looks just like Rubic had described. How is this possible? How did Rubic know?

  Jibbawk comes at Allan, but Allan is frozen in fear. He’s not sure what he’s seeing is real. But it is real. It is the feared Jibbawk. There’s one difference from Rubic’s description. It doesn’t have quills like a clown fish. Something else covers its body, something that moves. Bugs. Jibbawk is covered with thousands of large black bugs.

  Chapter 14

  Beetles that Became One

  Allan can’t move or even think. In the fading light he sees not a huge bloody monster or a dagger-toothed beast adorned with muscles, but a thin figure that is already dead and just as terrifying. It has an entire city cowering in fear from its ruthlessness. It will kill Allan and enjoy it.