Evil Jester Digest Volume One Page 17

  The Forestkeeper plucked a fruit and held it in his hands, turning it repeatedly. “This is funny,” he said, laughing a merry laugh. “You can’t trick me!” And he bit into the fruit. But it was ripe, a taste he was not accustomed to.

  “And now, my friend,” the Shadow said, “you’ll wonder whether or not each fruit will be ripe, and you’ll have to think about that, too.”

  “Please! Stop it!” the Forestkeeper cried.

  The tree branch he was sitting on broke and he fell to the ground, breaking both arms and both legs with sharp cracks. All around, the forest changed. The trees turned to deep reds and oranges. Huge pale worms wiggled out of the soil and danced in the rotting foliage, basking in the moistness of the dying land.

  The Timekeeper knelt over the wounded sprite and put one cold hand on his forehead. “I am sorry, but autumn has caught up with you, my friend. Do not fear. It was meant to be.”

  The Timekeeper took the sprite’s coin and thumbed it up in the air. “Heads or tails,” it said, grabbing it in mid-flight. “If you can guess which one it is, you will remain in spring. But if not, you’ll perish with your forest. It’s up to you. Choose your fate.”

  The Timekeeper inserted the coin into the Forestkeeper’s mouth, placing it on his tongue, then it chose a logical path and disappeared into the woods.

  *****

  “What’s wrong with it?” Chris said, kneeling next to Sarah. She was on her knees, holding the robin in her hand. It had fallen out of the sky and toppled to the rocky slope.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It just fell.”

  The bird went cold in her hands.

  “It’s dead,” she said, sobbing. “The bird is dead.”

  Mitch and Chris helped Sarah bury the bird that had helped them through the woods and up the mountain cliff. They nestled its body in a limestone hole and put rocks over it. Then they all said their goodbyes.

  Behind them, the woods changed from lush greens to bright reds.

  “The Forestkeeper has failed,” Mitch said, sadly.

  They continued down the mountain pass and came to a lake. The water was glass. Mist swirled underneath in lavender and emerald. In the center was an island with a single purple spire that twisted toward the heavens. Everything was still and hushed.

  They were finally at the Dreamkeeper’s lair.

  Chapter 5

  The Dreamkeeper

  Chris hopped out of the little rowboat and tied it to a peg. Then he helped Mitch and Sarah out and they set out on foot, slicing through the dense fog.

  Soon, they were lost, groping and feeling their way through the mist. They weren’t aware of walking, only weaving amongst the clouds, feeling the vapors stick to their skin, the prickly goose bumps rising on their arms, the cold air forcing breath out in gasps.

  Then their feet struck ground and the mist dissipated.

  They were at the front door. It creaked open and light splashed on their faces.

  Inside the room was glass. Mirrors on all four walls, floor and ceiling. Rows of bookshelves spread in every direction like a maze. In the center was a woman with dark hair and a long black dress. Her skin sparkled silver in the moonlight. She sat on a glass chair and read a book.

  They halted in front of her.

  “And the three kids came to the Dreamkeeper,” she said, “on the morning of the sun’s ascent in the west.”

  She flipped a page, glanced up. Her eyes were white. “You’ve made it,” she said to them, “but you still have to pass the Test of Mirrors. Only then can you break the spell of your hometown by reversing the reversal of time.”

  She motioned toward the far wall. It shifted and turned into three doors.

  She read from her book: Three doors awaited them…

  One for the Child of Wisdom.

  One for the Child of Travel.

  One for the Child of Mirth.

  And the Dreamkeeper motioned for them to go inside, and one by one, they did, not knowing what was ahead.

  *****

  Leaves crunched under Chris’s feet.

  He was in the lonely graveyard.

  The Groundskeeper stared up at the stars. He didn’t move. A teardrop had frozen to the side of his face.

  Chris knelt down.

  A grave that defies time? he thought. What do I do? How can I save him?

  *****

  Sarah stood before a vacant carnival.

  She walked up to the last remaining wagon and withdrew the curtain.

  The Fatekeeper sat on the floor, head in her hands. The frail woman glanced around the spherical room. On the floor was the shattered orb.

  “I can’t see,” the witch whispered. “I need to travel.”

  Sarah knelt down and put her hand on the fortuneteller’s shoulder. How can I help her? she thought.

  *****

  Mitch pushed a branch out of his way.

  He was in the dying forest.

  The Forestkeeper was on the ground. His legs and arms were bent at strange angles, and the forest was full of bright autumn colors.

  How can I help him? he thought, kneeling down next to his friend. Why doesn’t he say something?

  *****

  The Timekeeper stepped through the doorway and slipped on the ice and fell. The sound of a thousand clock springs chimed in the hall, receded.

  “Watch your step,” the Dreamkeeper said. “Time doesn’t work properly here.”

  “So I noticed.” The Timekeeper stood and walked to the Dreamkeeper. “Where are they?”

  “Leave them be,” she warned. “They don’t need your offer.”

  “Don’t tell me what they need. They are just too young to realize. Now, I need them back in town so all can benefit from my power.”

  The Dreamkeeper put down her book. “You are a fool. You know nothing of life or death. You have no soul, and therefore, no capacity to dream.”

  “What have dreams done for anyone, besides give false hope? No, they will live in despair and disappointment and right before the end is near, wish it all back. Correct their mistakes. Get it perfect.”

  “Can’t you see how you’ve already failed? That they’ve already turned you away? They have won. Now they just have to realize it for themselves.”

  And just then, a winter wind blew from the lake and rocketed through the doorway and around the Dreamkeeper. She smiled demurely and closed her book. “Just a reminder, in case they get lost.” It blasted down the Hall of Mirrors and split into three tendrils. One for each room.

  *****

  The wind sliced against Chris’s face.

  He peered up at the trees and watched the remaining leaves fall. He laughed and held his hands up to the heavens, smelled the familiar aroma of wet leaves and grass and the aged smell of wood and all the fragrances of a thousand graveyards. He was in the eye of a hurricane, the world speeding around him. He was in control like a sorcerer blasting the countryside with ancient invocations.

  Suddenly, the wind died and all the leaves went motionless.

  Now that’s how one should live! Chris thought. Powerful and poetic!

  And then he had an idea.

  He crept up the hill, over to the aged tree, and extracted the hourglass from its tree-grave. He pulled out the glass vial from his pocket and dumped the dirt inside.

  This should give him enough time to put things right, Chris thought.

  Crossing his fingers, he tipped the hourglass upright.

  Sand flowed through the concave tributary, once again.

  Chris ran back and knelt down next to his fallen friend.

  The Groundskeeper blinked. “Chris,” he said through parched lips. “You’ve come back?”

  “I’ve come back to save you. I’ve given you more time. See? The hourglass has some grains left.”

  “My shovel,” the Groundskeeper said. “Start digging.”

  “But, I have your hourglass. The Timekeeper made it for you. You can turn it over and become young again!”

/>   “No, Chris.”

  “No? But why?”

  “Because everything that begins must have an end.” He smiled sadly. “Life is about experiences. About making mistakes and living passionately. About making friends and falling in love. It’s about finding peace in the end. I want my ending to be right, like in a story. I want you to see that all who come here get a proper ending. Promise me?”

  Chris nodded, slowly.

  “Thank you. And now I will live my last few minutes looking up at the autumn sky.” The Groundskeeper’s brow creased in deep thought for a moment. “Funny. The Timekeeper told me no one could pull the hourglass out, except…” He trailed off.

  “Except who?” Chris asked.

  And then the Groundskeeper knew.

  But December had caressed his aged heart. Vacant eyes stared up at the moon as his last breath dissipated up to the heavens and into the void beyond.

  Chris wept at the passing of his friend. But he kept his promise. He dug the old man his grave and lifted him into the dark hole. He even nestled the hourglass in his hands. He climbed out of the grave and noticed something peculiar at the top of the hill.

  A single flower sprouted out of the ancient tree.

  *****

  Sarah felt the wind caress her shoulders.

  She shivered and knelt down close to the frail woman. The Fatekeeper’s eyes didn’t glow anymore. Nothing but dark pools stared back at Sarah. And sadness. Suddenly the wind gusted cool and sharp and shards of glass kicked up in the air like a snow globe.

  “Look!” Sarah said. “It looks like December morning!”

  “I can’t see anything,” said the Timekeeper. “My vision was taken.”

  “Try,” Sarah pleaded. “Maybe if you just try.”

  The Fatekeeper closed her eyes and concentrated hard.

  Soon, a green glow crept over the glass shards and lit the room like a small sun. The emanation came from Sarah’s pocket.

  Of course! Sarah thought. There must be a little bit of magic left.

  Sarah pulled out the glowing compass and handed it to the Fatekeeper. “Here. It has some of your magic in it. But the needle only points in one direction.”

  “North,” the Fatekeeper stated, taking the compass. “No matter where you go in life, there will always be one direction in the end.”

  The Fatekeeper stood.

  “Where are you going?” Sarah asked.

  “I have a long journey,” she said. “The final journey. It’s a road I’ve traveled close my whole life, into winter and beyond. Now is the time I must see it to the end. No more cheating. Everything I own is now yours. But you must hurry! The traveling show is miles away. You must catch summer, my dear.” She smiled for the first time and looked younger and prettier. “There is a whole beautiful world out there. Go see some of it.” And then she was out the door.

  Sarah walked outside and watched the old woman shuffle down the path. Suddenly she disappeared in a wisp of green mist, like a ghost.

  *****

  Mitch buttoned up his jacket from the autumn cold.

  The large worms crawled toward the fallen Forestkeeper. They were vicious worms, large and white, with rows of teeth spiraling down their dark throat cavities. But they were slow. Something Mitch put to his advantage.

  At first, he picked up rocks and knocked them away. He had a good arm. Mitch’s parents had a camp near a lake, so he spent his summers skipping rocks and playing catch with his dad. He stopped a few of the worms dead in their tracks, but more tunneled out of the earth—violent and frenzied.

  “Well, if you’re not going to say anything,” he said to the Forestkeeper, “then I’ll just have to save you myself. They’ll keep attacking unless we move.”

  Mitch grabbed the motionless sprite by his jacket and pulled him away from the burrowing worms, away from the ripe foliage and rotting leaves. He did it very carefully.

  “There,” he said, after a few minutes, bringing his friend to a small beach. He knelt down and realized there was something in the Forestkeeper’s mouth. “So that’s why you couldn’t talk!” he said, pulling out the coin.

  “Yes,” said the Forestkeeper. “A trick from the Timekeeper. Tell me, was it heads or tails?”

  “Tails,” Mitch responded. “Why?”

  “Interesting. I would have guessed heads.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter, my friend. What you have to do now is help me. Don’t leave me here alone. I want a better death than this.”

  “What can I do?” Mitch asked.

  “The lake. Let me drift along the currents. Let my body succumb to the fate of the water. Not the logic of the grave.”

  Mitch pulled the sprite into the lake. The water was cold and numbed Mitch in waves. The Forestkeeper floated on top like a piece of driftwood. A strong wind blew fiercely, trying to propel the sprite out amongst the waters. Mitch had to hold onto him with every ounce of strength. Soon the wind subsided.

  “I want you to watch these woods, Mitch. Protect those who dwell here.” The Forestkeeper coughed. “And now I die. Hopefully the Ferryman will find me. He will want passage, no doubt. My coin, Mitch?”

  Mitch rummaged in the Forestkeeper’s pockets and found the lucky coin. He placed it in his hand.

  “You need two, Mitch. One for each eye.”

  Mitch thought for a second. “I have the other coin you gave me!” he declared. “I can…”

  The Forestkeeper stared up at the open sky. His little arms flapped in the strong current. Lifeless.

  Mitch held the Forestkeeper for a long time and wept. When he was done, he placed the coins over the Forestkeeper’s eyes and finally let go of his friend.

  The wind took the Forestkeeper far out on the horizon.

  *****

  And far away, the three doorways in the Dreamkeeper’s lair began to shift. Fog branched out in tendrils and blanketed the ice in the Hall of Mirrors as if a thousand fog-spirits were unleashed and haunted the barren wasteland.

  “They have returned,” the Dreamkeeper said to the Timekeeper. “I’m sorry, but you have lost. Not all want perfection in life.”

  The Timekeeper said nothing.

  And from out of the first door, the Groundskeeper exited. “Am I dead?” he asked, wiping dirt from his clothes.

  “Not yet, Chris,” the Dreamkeeper said. “You are in the void between worlds.” She took the hourglass from his hands, handed it back to the Timekeeper. “The path to the world of the dead,” she continued, “is through the mist. Your last journey. You will not be alone anymore in this life. Do you have any regrets before autumn is at an end?”

  “Plenty,” Chris said. “And they are mine. I wouldn’t trade them for the world!”

  And out of the second door, the Fatekeeper emerged. “I made it!” she exclaimed. “The world is much colder here. I must be in the right place.”

  “You’re in the right place, Sarah,” the Dreamkeeper said, taking the compass. She cracked the glass open and released the remaining magic. Sarah’s eyes burned in bright amber, then became a normal green. “You know the direction,” the Dreamkeeper said. “Go now and walk in winter with your true sight once again.”

  And finally, the Forestkeeper emerged. Soaking wet. He didn’t say anything, just smiled and placed two coins in the Dreamkeeper’s hand.

  “Mitch, do you accept your life?” the Dreamkeeper asked.

  “I do. Gladly.” He hugged his two friends who he hadn’t seen in ages. “But I missed my friends the most.”

  “But wait!” the Timekeeper shouted. “You can come back with me! I will let you. I have one hourglass here even! Who wants it?”

  But they didn’t hear.

  “Going once!” the Timekeeper said. “Twice!”

  They still didn’t hear.

  “Three times! Four!”

  The three ignored the Timekeeper.

  And as they walked through the void between worlds, ignoring the Shadow�
��s pleas, they entered the realm of the dead. They laughed and chatted about faraway lands and exotic foods and books of poetry. Stories upon stories. A whole lifetime full. They realized that friends pursued their own lives and interests, but in the end, they always found a way to come back together.

  And then they argued about whose stories were better.

  Epilogue

  Mr. Ridgecomb ended his quite unusual tale.

  The three kids clapped for at least a minute and then hugged him kindly and said their goodbyes. Mr. Ridgecomb walked them to the entryway. He opened the door just as a burst of wind rocketed through the streets and into the house, bringing with it the smell of jack-o’-lanterns and pine needles and moist leaves.

  “I’m glad you liked the story,” Mr. Ridgecomb said. “Now, hurry home! Your parents must be worried sick!”

  “They might,” Chris began, “but they know I’ll be out late. Last year I was out until midnight. I was grounded for two weeks.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mr. Ridgecomb said. “You’re going out for more candy?”

  “Of course!” Chris fitted his plastic teeth into his mouth and twirled his black cape around his body. “The night is still young for a vampire!”

  Sarah slipped on her gypsy cap and linen shawl. She regarded Mr. Ridgecomb with pretty eyes. “Why don’t you come with us? We have two more streets to hit before we go home. It’ll be fun.”

  “You want me to take you trick-or-treating?”

  “No, we want you to come trick-or-treating.”

  Mr. Ridgecomb laughed. “I couldn’t do that. I’m too old!”

  “How long has it been?” she asked.

  “Well, let’s see.” He thought for a moment. “My goodness! Over sixty years!”

  Sarah mouthed the word “sixty” in disbelief. She grabbed his hand. “That’s too long! Come on!”

  “I don’t think so, Sarah.”