62. Forgotten

Is the government selling us out…or just selling us?

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Wendell woke up to find a group of discarded gnome citizens surviving…and being abused…in the underbelly of Clockworks City.

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Chapter 62

It’s sad how much time we spend helping people in distant lands, when so many in need sit right at our doorsteps.

I tried another step with the help of the makeshift crutches.

Mal and Enid watched me in complete awe, while Simon stood between them, clapping like I’d just won the Trench finals.

“He shouldn’t be able to do that, ya’know,” Mal mumbled under his breath.

“So we keep tellin’ him,” Enid smirked, “but he keeps doin’ it just the same.”

It had taken me three days before I could put substantial weight on my legs. I was going stir crazy, laying on the greasy cot day after day, until Simon showed up with what looked like some form of crayons and a handful of crusty newspapers. The papers had occasional mazes and crossword puzzles in them, and we’d sit there all day, trying to figure out the impossible.

Simon couldn’t read, and me…well, I wasn’t really a gnome, so none of the questions made much sense to me.

What’s the most popular seafood dish in District Three? Who’s the top mystery writer of all time? Who received the double-donkey alchemist award this year?

I scratched my head.

How the crud am I supposed to know this stuff?

So we made paper airplanes.

I did read more than just the crosswords, though. Simon had brought several magazines, and one had caught my attention: Dare Magazine. We ask the questions the rest of the media is too scared to ask. The covers all had someone yelling at the photographer or taking a swing at the reporter just out of frame.

Reminded me of the trash tabloid junk back home.

There wasn’t much else to do, so I read. One article stopped me in my tracks:

Is the government selling us out…or just selling us?

While Simon went off to help Enid find more food, I pulled the magazine out again and read it.

Suspicions.

The forgotten of the city, known as muddles.

Rumors of drug corporations buying the homeless as test subjects for drug trials too dangerous to use on normals.

There were two fuzzy pictures of transports unloading gnomes and forcing them single-file into a warehouse.

I gulped.

Centurions in the picture meant the finger was being pointed straight at the government—and in turn, at the President.

What kind of place have I gotten myself into?

These sweet little people weren’t turning out to be much different from the power-grabbing, money-hungry people on Earth.

It disappointed me.

I wondered if Chuck knew about this side of his favorite little race and its shiny, advanced civilization. The wizard was so fond of the gnomes, but I was now walking proof they were capable of some serious mean streaks.

I sighed, my head falling forward.

How am I ever going to get out of this place?

I wondered if the Centurions saw my face, would they take me back up top? Take me home?

I sighed again.

Wherever home is.

Tearing the article from the magazine, I folded it up and slid it into my back pocket. I figured the guys might want to see—

Something jabbed my fingers.

I pulled out a folded envelope…with the red seal.

"What the…?"

Had this been with me the whole time?

Like a cool breeze, a wave of hope washed over me. Looking around cautiously to make sure I was alone, I slipped the letter out and unfolded the paper. For weeks, all I could see was the word WIN in the center of the magical parchment. Obviously, the encouragement and focus are for the games. But that’s not what looked up at me.

With trembling hands, I read.

My Beloved Son,

If you’re reading this, then you have made it to the island of Pävärios, homeland of the gnomes. It will mean that you have discovered the seal in Til-Thorin and, if my calculations are correct, all is well and going according to plan.

That made me cringe. If this was according to plan, then the plan was a seriously screwed up one.

By now you have discovered some of the properties of this letter. A substantial amount of time, planning and extraordinary magic was used to craft these words—providing you with what guidance I could, knowing you would have to make vital decisions on your own.

I coughed, almost choking on the words. It was almost too much, being yanked back into the personal life of the hero I was expected to be. The hero I wasn’t.

Something pushed against my heart—and for a split second…I winced. My brows crunched together, a pain piercing the center of my skull.

My mind raced, trying to place the powerful ache inside me. It all felt familiar…too familiar…but I didn’t understand why. Images flashed in my mind, and I winced again.

I’d awoken in Clockworks. Surrounded by gnomes, I’d recognized Deloris. She looked so familiar…but why? We’d never met before. I was sure of it.

I shook it off and tried to focus on the words.

The gnomes are vital to the survival of our world, my son. With all their inventions and unbridled genius, they have yet to realize their true potential. The role they are to play in the confrontation with evil. In time they will be given the chance to blossom as a desert rose…or forever shrink into the shadows.

I can see it, even now.

You must lead them into the light. Lead them, my son, back into the loving embrace of the world they were once a part of.

I gripped the parchment tightly in my shaking hands.

There was so much to do.

I’m just one guy! How am I supposed to change the course of history—the course of a people—when I can’t even control my own life!?

My hand went to the invisible bump on my chest, finding the Ithari with my fingers.

"Have you considered that you might have made a mistake?" I whispered. "Even with Chuck and Dax…this is too big."

There is a need within every gnome to be seen. To be recognized by a world that thinks little of them. Even as I write these words, I can see this crippling their tiny souls. They have forgotten who they really are!

In the end, their weakness will become their salvation…and yours.

One of the seals has been sent into their midst. Their natural fear of the bigger races will grant you time. This seal must be protected at all costs.

Find it.

It is the last chain binding Mahan to his prison. Once it is discovered, you must remove it from Clockworks forever.

I know the mantle weighs heavily upon you. It has been thus for every one of us before you. Remember to be patient with others, my son, for few will understand the path you will be forced to walk.

Trust no one but the Gem.

Through her, you will learn the truth of all things. This is your only true protection. Listen to the inner voice that whispers to you. Not your own, but that voice which prompts you to do only what is right, what is true and just. Ithari cannot lie, and she will not falter, so long as you serve her with a pure heart.

At this moment I can reveal another key.

Trust yourself…and let go.

I scoffed out loud.

Let go? Let go of what? I’m not even one of you! You have no idea how hard and insane this is for me…

For a moment, I held the letter against my chest, ready to throw it into the sea of garbage around me. But I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Getting rid of the only true instruction I had wouldn’t release me from the duties I’d committed to.

I’d made that choice of my own free will.

Let go of your anger and frustration and trust in the path before you.

Let go of your fears, my son.

You will make mistakes.

You will fall. You will even fail.

But you must learn to let it all go. Instead, trust your heart and in your relationship with the gem. When your hearts become one, so will your power.

Accept who you are, my son, for only then will you be free.

…and when you are finally free, the answers will be within your grasp.

Through Ithari, my heart is always with you.

Your Father.

“Interesting read?”

The voice made me jump so hard I nearly fell off the cot.

“Woah boy, just me,” Mal laughed. “Don’t want to break another bone, now do we?”

Heart pounding, I let the magazine slide off my lap as I tried to steady myself. Mal turned his back, looking for somewhere to sit, and I quickly folded the letter and shoved it into my pocket.

“No, definitely not.”

Grabbing a bucket, he plopped it down next to the cot and eased himself onto it. “I thought you might like to meet the community. Since you’re one of us now, that is.”

He paused, clearly waiting for a reaction.

“You’ve been here long enough, and some of the folks want to meet you, you know. To say hello. Hear your story. It’s not often we get to hear about the outside.” He noticed the magazine on the ground, leaned over, and picked it up. “Not the important stuff, anyway.”

“I’m not staying,” I said coolly. I regretted it the second the words left my lips—it came out sounding pompous. Truth was, I was stressed and didn’t exactly have a plan for how I was going to escape. But I couldn’t let myself relax and pretend this was where I belonged. “I have to get back to my friends.”

Mal frowned at me. “You do realize there ain’t no way back up, Wendell. ‘Cept in the back of the wagons, of course. You want to get beaten, zapped, and carted off to who knows where? Not wise. Best make the most of what you have. Be grateful if you want my advice.” He took a deep breath. “I know it ain’t paradise, but we’re all alive and safe, and, well…getting along well enough.”

I looked up at him under heavy brows. “Until the Centurions round you up and take you away. Right? Until what—there’s no one left to cart off?”

The old gnome looked like I’d slapped him. His mouth hung slightly open, but he didn’t answer.

“Where’s Simon’s parents?” I pressed. “How does a child—a tiny kid like that—find himself in a pit like this? Where’s his family, Mal—where’s his mother? Or are we just a substitute until we get carted off as well?”

Surprisingly, the gnome snatched up a small pipe from the ground and leaned in close. “You listen here…boy,” he said, jabbing me in the shoulder, “that child’s been through more suffering than either of us. So shut it! He don’t need some snot-nosed hotshot from topside who pissed off the wrong people messing with what life he’s got—ya hear me!?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” he snapped. “You arrogant little turd!”

He jabbed me hard with the pipe, and I winced. “His mother knocked a guard over so that boy could escape an unknown fate.” His breathing came in sharp hisses, saliva spraying from between his clenched teeth. “WE are his family now! Got it? The forgotten of this cursed city look after their own!”

He threw the pipe over my head and stood abruptly. “Now, you comin’ so I can introduce you to decent folk—or you gonna sit here with the rest of the garbage and rot?”

I rubbed my shoulder painfully as the smiley on my shirt whimpered silently, watching the old gnome walk away.

“The furnaces of Clockworks aren’t just used for waste management,” Mal told me as we walked. “They’re used to heat the city and create electricity. More than a dozen of the giant facilities line the outer rim of the city that houses the one-point-five billion population. Give or take a few million.”

“Wow.”

“They rotate the burning days, so there’s always two furnaces going at the same time. Keeps the boilers running for when they can’t use the hydro-plants to generate electricity.”

I frowned. “How do you know all this?”

Mal heaved his bad leg up onto a box and kneaded the stiff muscles in his calf. “Otger here worked the flow tunnels. Dangerous job. Slippin’ and slidin’ down those long tunnels, scrubbing the caked residue left by the seawater so it don’t jam the machines over time.”

Otger was overweight, full red beard and mustache, and wore bright yellow rags for clothing. His skin had the same oily gloss everyone down here had, but his eyes were clear and vibrant. They almost sparkled when he talked about the city’s machines. “I’m surprised you don’t know this yourself, Wendell,” he said. He looked around at the other gnomes. “Just proves the public school system’s gone down the crapper since the government took over.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

I couldn’t help staring. How could such smart people end up in a hole like this? Something was seriously wrong!

As the conversation went on, I looked around, taking in the small community these good gnomes had carved out of nothing. Against one section of the wall was a network of tents and huts—dozens of small buildings cobbled together from whatever junk they could find. Pieces of metal, cloth, thousands of shipping crates and pallets, all sewn or lashed together with wire, rope, twine…anything. It looked like a post-apocalyptic village.

At its center was a small solar still, collecting water from a saltwater leak in the furnace tank. The leak was captured, heated under a plastic tarp, the steam rising, collecting under the plastic, and dripping into bottles for drinking. Nothing went to waste.

Small children ran about, laughing and giggling like it was the best day in the world, playing tag and hide-and-seek as if the surrounding squalor didn’t exist.

I stared in amazement.

These were the harshest living conditions I’d ever seen, and yet they’d managed to create their own version of Eden.

Wow.

For nearly an hour I shook hands as Mal introduced me to the rest of the community as the “new arrival.”

After trying several times to correct him—telling him I wasn’t staying—he just ignored me. Eventually, I shut my mouth and smiled.

They think I’m crazy…or maybe desperate if I keep shooting my mouth off.

They didn’t believe escape was possible.

Better to keep my plans to myself for now.

Still, the lack of resolve around here was disturbing. I could see the weight of living in such conditions on the faces of the people. When I asked too many questions, most would politely excuse themselves and walk away.

They didn’t want to talk about it. They didn’t want to face it.

These weren’t slackers—they were productive members of society. Dayl had an engineering background. Otger had worked in city maintenance. Trigg was a restaurant owner, Blane a cab driver, Nichol a school teacher. Everyone of them was intelligent and kind…and yet, here they were.

It didn’t make sense to me.

There were hundreds of them—male and female, and more than two dozen children—three of whom had been born here in this filth.

All trapped behind doors that only opened from the outside.

How had they all ended up here?

It was almost too much to process, and the surrounding hopelessness began to dig into my gut. My clothes felt heavier, like someone had sewn stones into the pockets.

I felt weighed down…trapped…and I had to accept a truth.

Chuck and Dax likely didn't know where I was. There was no way to let them know.

I didn’t even know if they could get to me if they found out.

My hands trembled, and I forced my fingers together, interlacing them to keep myself steady.

One thing was for sure—I was on my own.

If there was any hope of getting away…of getting free, it was up to me.

"Looks like you’ll have to stretch, Wendell," Doubt said sternly. "No comfort zone or box for you today, buddy-boy."

Yeah. I know.

"Wow. That was easy…".

Looking at the gnomes sitting around me with pleasant smiles, chatting like old friends, I squeezed my fingers tighter and forced out a small chuckle. “So how did you all end up in a furnace?” I asked, feeling ridiculous the moment it left my mouth. “Not to sound too weird, but you’re all such likable people! I can understand one of you wandering off, maybe getting trapped down here during a job…maybe even a few of you—but this is a small town.”

“This ain’t everyone,” Mal said, his tone edging toward irritation. “We’re just a few in this particular machine.”

“Wait,” I said, startled. “There’s more? Than us, right here?”

They all nodded soberly.

“We discovered a series of notes blown in from the ventilation shaft one day,” Mal explained. “Discovered there was a way to send messages between us. Found out there’s three hundred and six in furnace eight and a hundred and twelve in furnace six.” He slapped Otger’s forearm. “This brilliant boy worked out the system and keeps track of the messages. We’re furnace seven. Two hundred and…” He stopped, swallowed, and said more softly, “We’ll…have to do a recount.”

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable. “How can a city like Clockworks allow its citizens to be trapped like this? It’s just—”

“It just is, Wendell,” Otger grunted. “You talk like a foreigner. You know the normals don’t care about muddles. You can walk down the street, and if someone’s in a higher position in the city, you’re lucky if they notice you even exist.”

He cocked his head, staring at the smiley face on my shirt—which had shifted from a dull yellow to a near-neon yellow with red cheeks above its frown. “If you’re not part of the system in place, you’re a freak. An outcast. No one likes variations from the norm. That’s why muddles are named after mud puddles. Pointless and useless, ‘cept to be stepped in.” He sighed. “Or on.”

“Don’t call me a muddle,” Mal grumbled. “I may be forgotten and discarded, but I ain’t nobody.” He jabbed his finger outward, pointing at everyone in the semicircle. “An’ neither are you!”

I stared at the red-faced gnome. I didn't have to see eye to eye with Mal, to admire him. He cared about these people. Really cared. It wasn’t hard to see how a downtrodden community could survive under such harsh conditions with a personality like Mal’s lifting them up. Giving them strength.

I wanted to fix my stupid outburst during our last conversation.

“What did you do up top, Mal?” I asked. The words sounded wrong the moment they came out—too casual, like I wasn’t taking him seriously. I tried to adjust. “I mean, what did you do as a profession?” I added, watching his expression carefully, “you know—before you found yourself here?”

His head snapped up, and he stared at me for a long moment, bold and unblinking. When he finally spoke, his tone was still sharp.

“I worked for fools and hypocrites,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “And I pray they and everyone else like ’em receive the same love and kindness they bestowed upon me.” He spat on the ground. “I didn’t find myself here!”

He stomped off.

We all watched him hobble away until he disappeared around a massive mound of trash.

I sighed.

"ShEEsh, Wendell. You’ve got to learn how to talk to people," Doubt sighed as well. "Or you’re going to make more enemies than friends…and that’s not going to help anyone. Some Wendellizer you are."

I shook my head.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Wendell,” Otger said quietly. “Mal’s like that with everyone. Takes some getting used to—but I think he’s mad a lot ’cause he cares.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, though it still stung.

“To answer your question,” he continued, lowering his voice like he was afraid Mal might be listening. “Mal was a preacher. For the Temple of TGII. He told us he worked for Father Noah.”

“Oh.” I nodded, pretending I knew who that was.

“He used to work with the poor in the city, right there in the spotlight with all the leaders. Charity programs, youth organizations. Said he saw a demonstration a few years back…a youth rally, I think it was. That right, Dayl?”

“Think so,” the engineer replied.

Otger went on. “He watched kids getting beaten just for opening their mouths. Said they weren’t doing anything wrong, just speaking their minds about how things weren’t right with our city or our leaders. Then the centurions came in and rounded them up. When Mal questioned the officers, it turned violent.”

Dayl nodded. “The moment Mal opened his mouth to defend the kids, Noah turned on him. Accused him of being in league with the Gnome Resistance, and he was put on trial.”

“Whoa, woah, back up.” I leaned forward. “As in the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries?”

The chubby gnome nodded.

Absentmindedly, Otger rubbed the back of his head. “I got clocked by my own shift manager over a similar conversation,” he chuckled. “We were just talking about liberty. You know, being able to choose for ourselves, eat our own bread, keep the credits we make…instead of having the government always poking its snout where it don’t belong. I quoted something I’d read from the G.R.R., and he got mad. I mean really mad.”

Looking upward as if recalling the words, he said, “The greatness of a people lies not in their wealth or achievements, but in their daily pursuit of excellence, founded upon the bedrock of liberty.”

A huge grin spread across his dirty face. The furnace behind us kicked on, washing the group in hot vapor and the rancid stench of burning garbage.

“I remember saying we should do like the G.R.R. says…make our own choices for our own lives. Shape the future for our kids. My manager started shouting, calling me a rebel and a troublemaker.” His head drooped, his shoulders rounding forward. “I didn’t want any trouble…but he jumped at me. Took a swing with his wrench and hit me in the head. Knocked me out cold. When I woke up, I was here.”

I stared at him, floored.

This wasn't a bunch of accidents. People were getting dumped here. Cast off and unwanted. The thought made my stomach turn, but it also sparked something.

Hope.

If people were being brought in, then there might be more than one way out.

“Not that it matters much,” Otger said shyly. “The wife took our kids and left me long before this happened.” He sniffed. “Never could make enough credits to keep her in comfort.” He looked away, embarrassed.

“Hey,” Dayl said, poking his larger friend, “You did what you could. Provided for your family’s needs. That’s saying a lot these days, little brother. Maybe her expectations were more than they should have been, eh?”

Otger shrugged but didn’t look up. “Sure.”

Pain shot through my leg, and I flinched, rubbing the top of my thigh with my thumbs to work out the knot.

Maybe I was looking at this all wrong. If these folks weren't here by accident, then someone had to know they existed.

But why?

Why would anyone want to cast someone off just because they disagreed on political or social issues? That was…stupid.

I thought for a moment, and an idea started to take shape.

“If you could get out of here, guys," I said, "where would you go?”

Otger scratched his head, but Dayl’s face lit up instantly.

“Easy,” he said. “I’d get my butt off-island. Get to the free zones.”

“Free zones?” I asked, careful not to reveal too much. Better to stick close to the truth. “I’ve never heard of a free zone.”

The engineer leaned back in his rickety, handmade recliner of pipes and cloth, lacing his fingers behind his neck. Two small children ran past, squealing and waving a frayed rope with a tattered imitation of a kite attached to it.

“I don’t think they teach about it in schools anymore, so I’m not surprised,” Dayl said. He watched the kite rise higher as the kids ran toward the furnace vent. “They’re the little islands surrounding Pävärios. Colonized when our people discovered this cluster of islands. The biggest one became Clockworks. But there are smaller groups who decided to moderate their advancements. Not so much dominating nature as working with it.”

His smile grew wider, and I could only imagine what he was picturing.

“So you’d go there?” I asked.

Dayl nodded vigorously. “Definitely! Live free and among people who actually wanted me? Who wouldn’t want to go there? I could share my talents and not have to pay a fee every time I stepped outside my front door…”

“Or so you hope,” Otger cut in sourly. “You don’t actually know if those places even exist…because we can’t get off the island to be sure. For all you know, you’d make the journey there and find a barren rock to starve on.” He shook his head. “No, I’ll deal with what I’ve got here. I just want a way to exist in Clockworks. Live my own life.”

Maybe that was the key, I thought. It seemed simple enough—people wanting to live their own lives. They just needed to get out of here and off the main island. I lifted my sore leg up onto a bucket. “Did you ever try going to the free zone before you ended up down here, Dayl?”

“Naw. Too expensive. You get taxed anytime you want to do anything in Clockworks, but it’s even more expensive to get out than stay in. Cheaper to go down than up.” The words seemed to drain the life right out of him, and he slumped forward, his head hanging low. “So the poor get poorer and the rich…” He shrugged. “…well…”

“You don’t just throw people out like they’re garbage,” I whispered. It was meant for me, but they all heard it.

Otger and Dayl exchanged a glance, then both looked at me.

“But… isn’t that what happened to you?” Dayl asked. “You actually got thrown down the garbage chute, didn’t you?”

Though it was a sad fact, I almost laughed. That was exactly what my enemies had done to me. Thrown me away like useless, expendable junk.

My face flushed. “Well… yeah, but that’s not what I meant…”

“There he is!” Simon’s voice broke in, and I turned to see him running toward me.

Enid followed close behind, arms full of something. “This is our lucky day!” he grinned. “The rich have spoiled us from above, gentlegnomes.” With a grunt, he dropped his haul in the middle of the circle.

Three small plastic bags of bread…each slice topped with fuzzy mold…and four unopened cans of…

“SPIM!?” Otger squeaked. “You found whole, unopened cans of lunchmeat?! Well snap my suspenders and call me fat!”

“You are fat,” Dayl smirked.

“Shut up,” Otger said, sticking out his tongue.

“Sorry, gents,” Enid said, “Gotta feed the child first, then our new addition, so he keeps his strength up. But I’m more than happy to share after that.”

Otger’s eyes went wide. “Think there might be more where those came from? I’m not afraid to dig, you know!”

Enid chuckled. “You know where the primary clothesline is? The one attached to the upright washing unit?”

“Sure do.”

“Stand at the back of the washer, walk twenty paces—you’ll see my hole. Baby toys and a bent blue wagon nearby. This was all we could carry, but I think there’s at least another can or two.”

“YUMMY!” Otger squealed, bouncing away with Dayl right on his heels. They both waved their arms over their heads, not looking back. “Welcome to the family, Wendell!” they called out.

I laughed, shaking my head.

“So,” Enid said, stabbing the first can with an old pocketknife and working the blade around the edge, “been meetin’ and mixing with the folks of the community, have you?”

I took the open can from him and scooped out a clump of cold, blue meat with two fingers. Small speckles of fat…or at least I hoped it was fat…wobbled on my fingertips. I shoved it into my mouth before I could think too hard about it. The smell didn’t bother me as much as it used to. This was survival. The SPIM tasted grainy with a weird plastic aftertaste. “Yeah,” I said between chews, “nice people.”

I forced myself to swallow.

“They are at that,” Enid agreed. He opened another can and patted a small crate beside him. “Simon, you come sit and eat this ’til it’s gone, alright?”

“Yes, Uncle Enid.”

I almost choked.

Uncle Enid.

Simon sat down obediently, taking the can from him.

What’s going to happen to this little guy? Was he going to spend his whole life trapped down here, never knowing a real school, a warm bed… or a decent home-cooked meal? The people of Clockworks didn’t even know this sweet kid existed.

I watched Enid, who winked at the boy, grinning like this was nothing more than the ultimate camping trip.

He’ll never have a normal life.

That thought stopped me cold. 'Normal' didn’t feel like the right word anymore. Running around with a diamond in my chest wasn’t 'normal'. Fighting inside twenty-foot battle machines? Running from cannibals? Magic and tech colliding every other day?

Maybe these people…thoughtful, kind, and appreciative…had it more right than the rest of Clockworks.

Maybe there was no such thing as normal.

I finished my share of the blue meat in silence, my gaze drifting. The furnace gave warmth. Food fell from above in one form or another. The people here worked together. But it wasn’t where I belonged.

I had to get out of here.

Normal or not, staying here was not an option.

“Enid?”

“Yup?” He was licking blue flecks from his fingers.

“How often have those Centurions been doing their raids?”

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