Page 97 of Search for the Lost

Leo had no clue what valuable mineral deposits, if any, were present in this part of Kansas, but he doubted that was the cause. “A lot of little farming towns have died out too. Or—” They’d reached the next block by then, and Leo came to a sudden halt and pointed. “Or it could be a natural disaster.” Every house on this block was gone, reduced to nothing but a jumble of wood, cement, and metal, most of which was buried under weeds.

“Was it a three-horned hoodah attack?” Crispin asked. “Those beasts are horrible.”

“I doubt it,” Leo replied gently, hoping very much that he never met a three-horned hoodah.

They wandered around a bit more, but it was clear that Damascus had been tiny even in its heyday, and they soon reached the town limits. Now there was nothing but vast fields, all of them probably owned by mega-agrocorps, and a few little creeks lined with stubby trees. Except for the slight depressions formed by the creek beds, it was all incredibly, absolutely flat, like a rug that stretched from one horizon to another.

At some point, Minkis muttered something unintelligible and scampered up Crispin’s shoulder. Aspin just sighed theatrically. “There’s no sign of Mother here. What if Dorothy lied to us?”

Crispin shook his head. “She didn’t lie.”

A few minutes later they reached a crossroads with a little grassy park. There was a pole with tattered US and Kansas flags, a picnic shelter with a couple of tables, and a few wooden benches. A handful of trees provided some shade. It would have been an absolutely unremarkable park if it hadn’t been in the middle of nowhere.

Minkis hopped off Crispin’s shoulder and ran up one of the trees, maybe in search of acorns. Meanwhile, Crispin strode over to the sign at the base of the flagpole. “Geographic center of the United States,” he read out loud. “Is that important, Leo?”

“Not that I know of. But⁠—”

From a tall branch, Minkis began chittering loudly. The rest of them ran over to see what he was looking at. There on the grass, previously hidden by the tree trunk, was…. “That looks like the world’s tiniest tornado,” said Leo. It was three or four feet tall and swirling wildly. He’d never seen one in person before, but he had seen them on TV. Although watching it made him a little dizzy, he also had a strong urge to reach out and pet it. It was literally very attractive.

“Leo, don’t!” Crispin grabbed Leo’s arm and hauled him back, away from the tornado. Which turned out to be very fortunate, because the thing started to grow. They all scrambled back—Minkis joined them too—until they were across the road from the park, wind whipping bits of debris around them, the tornado roaring like a speeding train. It must have been a couple of hundred feet tall by then, although it was hard to gauge for sure. It’s way taller than us.

“She’s in there!” Crispin shouted over the howl of the wind. “I’m certain of it.”

Leo was done doubting Crispin, so he nodded firmly. “I’ll get her!” he bellowed. He figured he might come out of it okay, seeing as the tornado was a lot like his Chaos essence. Unless, of course, the similarity proved to be a problem and the thing tore him apart. Or maybe it was Red Duke magick, immune to both him and Crispin?

He wasn’t going to think about either thing. Crispin was a hero; Leo was determined to be one too.

He started to run toward the whirling cloud, but Crispin hauled him back again, screaming, “I’ll do it!” When Leo tried to break away, Crispin tackled him and they rolled around on the ground in a not very fun way, each of them trying to get free and enter the tornado while also preventing the other from doing the same.

Aspin stood over them, hands on hips. “Together, idiots!” He aimed a kick at them, connecting with Leo’s hip.

Which was fair enough—a kick in the ass, or close to it, was what he’d needed. Aspin was right: Leo and Crispin needed to combine their strengths for this.

Apparently Crispin had come to the same conclusion. The two of them got back to their feet, brushed each other off, and linked arms. Minkis came tearing up and ended up on Crispin’s head, all four claws digging into his hair. Then Aspin sighed—audible even over the din—and grabbed Crispin’s other arm.

Even with their combined effort, it wasn’t easy to get close to the funnel cloud. They had to tuck down their heads and push forward with all of their might. Leo’s lungs couldn’t get enough air, his eyes squeezed shut against flying debris, and the sound was so deafening that it rattled his bones. But they kept going, step by torturous step, until they reached the edge of the cloud… and it swallowed them.

They clutched one another desperately as they spun round and round and head over heels, until Leo had no concept of what was up and what was down. He thought about that scene in the movie, with the pre-CGI special effects and the cow and Mrs. Gulch on her bicycle—duh-da-duh-duh-duh, da—and the house lifting up and up. The house! he thought. They needed to find the house.

He tried to summon his magical skills, which wasn’t easy while also hanging onto his companion and getting thrown around like a tennis shoe in a dryer. He felt his own personal Chaos spin begin, but it was going in a different direction than the tornado, threatening to tear him apart from the inside.

Until Crispin chipped in. His influence made Chaos and the funnel cloud align, and just when Leo was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, a house came hurtling toward them. He reached out and grabbed a porch bannister with his free hand. The strain on his shoulder made him shriek with pain, but he couldn’t hear his own cries.

Suddenly, as if Fromlith the Giant had booted them all in the butts, they went flying into the house through an open door and collapsed onto the floor in a tangled heap.

It took several seconds for them to separate and find their feet. The door had shut behind them, and the inside of the house was almost eerily quiet, with no sensation of being hurled around in the tornado.

It was a single room, with a worn wooden floor, unpainted wooden walls, and a few very basic pieces of furniture. One of which was a rocking chair, where an old woman sat and knitted what looked like an enormous afghan. She had a wizened face and a mane of wild gray hair, and she wore a lavender sweatsuit and a pair of red-and-white-striped socks.

There was a very long, very pregnant pause, until Crispin spoke in a whisper. “Mother?”

“Well,” said Her Majesty, the Mother of Fae, Cerillia Ailedrin Moss’caladin. “Nice to see the two of you, and your little rat Minkis. Now you’re stuck here too.”

33

Crispin

Minkis was curled up on a threadbare old pillow that sat on a chair in the corner. Crispin stood at the window—framed with white linen curtains tied back with frayed golden cords—and stared at the storm.