Chapter 4 -
05/28/2017
I stared at the residential structures ahead of us. They resembled bread loaves from a commercial bakery production line. My stomach growled at the thought of bread and I darted a quick glance at Bulkee, hoping that he hadn’t heard it.
“We should get some food.” Bulkee strolled up, hands behind his back.
“You are flying,” I was stunned to see him rise up. I fastened my pace, but a surge of windf rom the ground prodded my feet. I stumbled, almost driven off the road.
Bulkee swirled around and remained poised in midair. Pointing down he said, “This Pocket is special. There is cool air shooting up from the ground. It’s so dense that it lifts you up. You see, I’m just walking on air.”
I was quick to absorb his words and grasp the concept. It would be like floating in a swimming pool, I assumed.
“What happens when you go up so high that you can’t return to the ground?” I asked cautiously.
“No. No. No. That shall not happen,” he raised an index finger and waved it like a dog's waggling tail. “Around you, you might not see the airstream with your naked eyes. But picture an invisible dome covering this place like a round basket placed upside down. It is made up of unbearably hot air.”
An image of a scorching dome etched in my head, as he continued. “It emits heat to warm up this Pocket. The more elevated it is, the hotter the air gets. And the hotter it is, the less dense it becomes.” He stopped abruptly and asked, “When the air becomes so sparse, it will no longer be able to support you. You will then what?”
“I will fall.” I answered without hesitation.
“Precisely. The air isn’t compressed enough to carry anyone when it reaches high temperature. So nobody can ever break out of the invisible dome,” his voice deepened, as he emphasized the authenticity of the statement.
“But if no one can ever fly out, how did we get into this Pocket?”
“Obviously using my Imajigo trade,” he paused for effect, “I created a MindShape glider that got us transported here.”
Oh really? I slit a glance sideways at him over my shoulder. I was not buying the whole Imajigo thing. Even though he seemed well-informed and indeed had led me out of the forest, I had an acute feeling that he was keeping something from me. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I just reminded myself to take his words with a grain of salt.
It was possible that he detected my disbelief. The wagging finger went up again. Bulkee spoke like a judge dismissing a case, “I’m not surprised that you can’t understand. The comprehension will eventually arrive. But for now, you should give it a try?”
“At what?”
“Flying, of course.”
I blinked without responding. Flying? Me? No way. I waved off the suggestion. Was he crazy?
But then a tingle of excitement spread from my chest. More than once I had entertained with the idea of moving freely and being unrestricted by any boundary. Riding the wind would be it. Why don’t I give it a try? I finally decided to take a shot at it.
Raising my arms and bending my knees I leaped forward. Fly. I craved. But my efforts quickly resulted in my wobbling back down. Gosh. I must have looked ridiculous! I was so embarrassed that I wanted to burry my face in a corner.
“Ears. You are too heavy.” Bulkee said flatly.
My ears turned hot at his crude comment. I was sure that he had tricked me just to poke fun at my foolishness. But I didn’t understand why he had considered me heavy. At five feet and seven inches I was slim, weighing only one hundred and twenty-eight pounds. I was, for lack of a better term, a lanky figure. Adding my strikingly alien look, I certainly had my fair share of unwanted glances and remarks growing up. The unsolicited expression of interest had always made me feel awkward. But it also meant that I had learned some tricks to deflect attention.
I would look away, hold my tongue and pretend that I didn’t notice the stares or the comments. I would freeze my face so that my expression betrayed nothing. I would pluck loose ends on my shirt to hide my displeasure. I would remind myself to pick my battles and try very hard to not care. But now, being stamped with this new descriptive – “too heavy” – I caught a tiny pang of anxiety creeping up my chest.
Perhaps reading the sullenness on my face, Bulkee added, “Not you. It’s your thoughts that are making you heavy and weighing you down. You overthink.”
His words stunned me. I didn’t like how he was able to read me. “Maybe,” I said and gave him a shrug. Being as casual as I could, I asked. “So how do I get rid of them?”
“Just sweep them off your head.”
I pursed my lips together. Clearing my thoughts was definitely as not as easy as he had put it. Too many times to count I’d find myself lost in thought. And certain ones, especially self-doubts, always found ways to pitch camp in my head. The more I wanted to force them out, the more I mulled over them. Quelling the qualms could be so frustrating sometimes that I’d rather stay quiet about it. In school, those who didn’t know me might say that I was reserved or maybe even distant and standoffish. They just didn’t understand. All that I wanted was to deal with my scruples in private.
Did I Seriously think that I can fly? Not wanting to look like an idiot again, I strolled beside Bulkee in silence and redirected my attention elsewhere.
I was startled when I glanced up at the sight of strange markings over my head. “What is that?” I asked, pointing to a line of circles scored against the ragged clouds.
“That’s the Belt of Sunpath,” Bulkee replied.
I counted a total of thirteen disks that formed an arch across the dull sky. The two ends of the arch stretched into the edges of horizon. On the end closest to us, the first disk appeared flaming red and the rest hallow. I spotted the sun right in between the eighth and ninth circles from us.
“Watch where the sun is moving to. We’d have to follow it to reach the Endless Sea,” Bulkee said.
My gaze traveled along the Sun, noting it drift almost imperceptibly toward the other end of the arch.
“At the end of the Belt, the Sun dips into the Endless Sea which marks the beginning of a new cycle,” he went on.
“Why are there thirteen circles in the Belt of Sunpath?” I asked.
“They are not circles,” Bulkee cut a glance at me. “They are the Grits of the Belt. And because the Belt of Sunpath only appears during the Period of Chaos, these Grits coincide with the thirteen cycles of the Period of Chaos. Whenever we dispense a Cycle, the Grit changes color to red.”
I studied the red Grit over my head. One gone and twelve more to go. I noted. Had to hurry. A pang of anxiety crept up my chest, when I spotted a change to the ambiance.
The road appeared beneath my feet like a milky paste. Along the path small cottages popped into the view. Despite their unvarying doughy texture, the residential structures were of different sizes and shapes. They stood neatly abreast as if someone had placed them with painstaking precision. But strangely there was no one moving in or out of the villas or anywhere.
I caught a fragrance in the air. I inhaled deeply, the muscles around the rims of my nostrils flexed. The air smelt pleasant with the scent of a hearty meal. Aromas of buttery bread, fried-bacon and oven-baked potatoes filled my lung. My stomach growled louder.
The scent came from a large house ahead of us at the end of the road, about one hundred yards away. The mansion towered over the rest of the cottages. Its exterior appeared crunchy with a fluffy quality similar to bread crumbs.
Bulkee and I walked toward it. When we were about fifty feet away, a series of loud thuds came through like someone had fired multiple cannonballs. The clamor pierced into my ears from all directions and grew louder with each thud. Traveling fast, the noise seemed to shake everything along its invisible path. I stood terrorized as the vibration amplified with the blows. One. Two. Three. Four. I counted and held my breaths wanting it to be over. At the ninth ring, I thought of the sound brushing by me and I tumbled in reaction. At the tenth ring I was trembling and I could barely stand on the ground. At the eleventh ring, I felt as though the noise had tossed me up in the air and I lost my balance completely.
Taken by the velocity of the uproar the giant house juddered. I glanced over and caught a figure by the door. That’s when the street quivered like an earthquake had broken out.
“Hurry!” The figure shouted at us, “Get in before—”
Her sentence broke off at the twelfth ring when the roof of the manor crumbled like a set of explosives had detonated. With the bang, small rocks ejected out from the chimney, showering down from the top.
“Run!” Bulkee burst out.
We darted toward the house. The distance of less than twenty steps suddenly seemed like twenty miles when we had to dodge and maneuver through the blasting rocks. Barely missing the hits I finally leaped into the house. My ears were still ringing when I shut the door behind me. Spinning around, I gasped.
Facing me were two egg-like creatures, about half my height with tiny wings on their sides. The one on the left sported a yellow apron with mittens over the wings. The one on the right wore a chef hat and a matching suit. Wide-eyed, they gazed up at me with the same look of shock.
We glared at one another till Bulkee broke the ice. “Just what is happening right now?” He asked. The manor continued trembling as the chimney coughed out the rocks.
Bulkee’s question eased the tension in the room. The egg in the apron responded at once. “Oh. Dear. We have guests just in time for lunch!” His finger-like feathers danced beneath the mittens.
The other egg flashed a grin. “Come on over,” she said, joining her partner in his dance.
I was amused watching them. The egg appeared much more interested in their celebration than offering an explanation.
With a roaring laughter, the eggs motioned. “Into the kitchen you two. You must be hungry from what just happened.”
I was still considering the invite when Bulkee strode ahead. Not wanting to be left out I followed him inside.
The kitchen was spacious and spectacular with a chimney so tall that from where I stood its far end appeared like a pin needle. About twenty feet from the chimney a giant teapot kettle hung from the ceiling, gurgling like a cat’s purr. Draping down from the teapot was a shiny plate attached to the spout by four beaded strings. Surrounding the teapot were what I could only assume as cheese balls threaded together in cords that slung across the room from every direction of the house. Below the teapot was an enormous round wooden table. On the table, there were piles after piles of delightful things looking like what would be lunch.
The commotions outside diminished. But the manor was still shaking from the effects of the eruption. Unfretted by the tremor, the eggs flew around the table swiftly setting up plates and utensils. “Come on over,” one of them said.
The hospitality of the eggs was apparent to say the least. Yet I fidgeted with distress when I suddenly remembered the story of Hansel and Gretel. I recalled the child-devouring witch, who lived in the forest and lured the two children with her house of candies. My heart was leaden with fear at the recollection. “It’s okay. I don’t want to intrude. I’m a just stranger to you,” I replied. “But thank you for taking us in,” I added to curb the offhandedness.
Spinning around the eggs glanced at each other. I was startled when they both burst into laughter. “You are afraid not because you are a stranger to us,” the one with the chef hat teased. “But because we are strangers to you. Isn’t that so?”
My ears burned and I twirled a strand of hair to cover my cheeks that must have turned red. I didn’t want them to notice my embarrassment.
“We should get some food.” Bulkee strolled up, hands behind his back.
“You are flying,” I was stunned to see him rise up. I fastened my pace, but a surge of windf rom the ground prodded my feet. I stumbled, almost driven off the road.
Bulkee swirled around and remained poised in midair. Pointing down he said, “This Pocket is special. There is cool air shooting up from the ground. It’s so dense that it lifts you up. You see, I’m just walking on air.”
I was quick to absorb his words and grasp the concept. It would be like floating in a swimming pool, I assumed.
“What happens when you go up so high that you can’t return to the ground?” I asked cautiously.
“No. No. No. That shall not happen,” he raised an index finger and waved it like a dog's waggling tail. “Around you, you might not see the airstream with your naked eyes. But picture an invisible dome covering this place like a round basket placed upside down. It is made up of unbearably hot air.”
An image of a scorching dome etched in my head, as he continued. “It emits heat to warm up this Pocket. The more elevated it is, the hotter the air gets. And the hotter it is, the less dense it becomes.” He stopped abruptly and asked, “When the air becomes so sparse, it will no longer be able to support you. You will then what?”
“I will fall.” I answered without hesitation.
“Precisely. The air isn’t compressed enough to carry anyone when it reaches high temperature. So nobody can ever break out of the invisible dome,” his voice deepened, as he emphasized the authenticity of the statement.
“But if no one can ever fly out, how did we get into this Pocket?”
“Obviously using my Imajigo trade,” he paused for effect, “I created a MindShape glider that got us transported here.”
Oh really? I slit a glance sideways at him over my shoulder. I was not buying the whole Imajigo thing. Even though he seemed well-informed and indeed had led me out of the forest, I had an acute feeling that he was keeping something from me. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I just reminded myself to take his words with a grain of salt.
It was possible that he detected my disbelief. The wagging finger went up again. Bulkee spoke like a judge dismissing a case, “I’m not surprised that you can’t understand. The comprehension will eventually arrive. But for now, you should give it a try?”
“At what?”
“Flying, of course.”
I blinked without responding. Flying? Me? No way. I waved off the suggestion. Was he crazy?
But then a tingle of excitement spread from my chest. More than once I had entertained with the idea of moving freely and being unrestricted by any boundary. Riding the wind would be it. Why don’t I give it a try? I finally decided to take a shot at it.
Raising my arms and bending my knees I leaped forward. Fly. I craved. But my efforts quickly resulted in my wobbling back down. Gosh. I must have looked ridiculous! I was so embarrassed that I wanted to burry my face in a corner.
“Ears. You are too heavy.” Bulkee said flatly.
My ears turned hot at his crude comment. I was sure that he had tricked me just to poke fun at my foolishness. But I didn’t understand why he had considered me heavy. At five feet and seven inches I was slim, weighing only one hundred and twenty-eight pounds. I was, for lack of a better term, a lanky figure. Adding my strikingly alien look, I certainly had my fair share of unwanted glances and remarks growing up. The unsolicited expression of interest had always made me feel awkward. But it also meant that I had learned some tricks to deflect attention.
I would look away, hold my tongue and pretend that I didn’t notice the stares or the comments. I would freeze my face so that my expression betrayed nothing. I would pluck loose ends on my shirt to hide my displeasure. I would remind myself to pick my battles and try very hard to not care. But now, being stamped with this new descriptive – “too heavy” – I caught a tiny pang of anxiety creeping up my chest.
Perhaps reading the sullenness on my face, Bulkee added, “Not you. It’s your thoughts that are making you heavy and weighing you down. You overthink.”
His words stunned me. I didn’t like how he was able to read me. “Maybe,” I said and gave him a shrug. Being as casual as I could, I asked. “So how do I get rid of them?”
“Just sweep them off your head.”
I pursed my lips together. Clearing my thoughts was definitely as not as easy as he had put it. Too many times to count I’d find myself lost in thought. And certain ones, especially self-doubts, always found ways to pitch camp in my head. The more I wanted to force them out, the more I mulled over them. Quelling the qualms could be so frustrating sometimes that I’d rather stay quiet about it. In school, those who didn’t know me might say that I was reserved or maybe even distant and standoffish. They just didn’t understand. All that I wanted was to deal with my scruples in private.
Did I Seriously think that I can fly? Not wanting to look like an idiot again, I strolled beside Bulkee in silence and redirected my attention elsewhere.
I was startled when I glanced up at the sight of strange markings over my head. “What is that?” I asked, pointing to a line of circles scored against the ragged clouds.
“That’s the Belt of Sunpath,” Bulkee replied.
I counted a total of thirteen disks that formed an arch across the dull sky. The two ends of the arch stretched into the edges of horizon. On the end closest to us, the first disk appeared flaming red and the rest hallow. I spotted the sun right in between the eighth and ninth circles from us.
“Watch where the sun is moving to. We’d have to follow it to reach the Endless Sea,” Bulkee said.
My gaze traveled along the Sun, noting it drift almost imperceptibly toward the other end of the arch.
“At the end of the Belt, the Sun dips into the Endless Sea which marks the beginning of a new cycle,” he went on.
“Why are there thirteen circles in the Belt of Sunpath?” I asked.
“They are not circles,” Bulkee cut a glance at me. “They are the Grits of the Belt. And because the Belt of Sunpath only appears during the Period of Chaos, these Grits coincide with the thirteen cycles of the Period of Chaos. Whenever we dispense a Cycle, the Grit changes color to red.”
I studied the red Grit over my head. One gone and twelve more to go. I noted. Had to hurry. A pang of anxiety crept up my chest, when I spotted a change to the ambiance.
The road appeared beneath my feet like a milky paste. Along the path small cottages popped into the view. Despite their unvarying doughy texture, the residential structures were of different sizes and shapes. They stood neatly abreast as if someone had placed them with painstaking precision. But strangely there was no one moving in or out of the villas or anywhere.
I caught a fragrance in the air. I inhaled deeply, the muscles around the rims of my nostrils flexed. The air smelt pleasant with the scent of a hearty meal. Aromas of buttery bread, fried-bacon and oven-baked potatoes filled my lung. My stomach growled louder.
The scent came from a large house ahead of us at the end of the road, about one hundred yards away. The mansion towered over the rest of the cottages. Its exterior appeared crunchy with a fluffy quality similar to bread crumbs.
Bulkee and I walked toward it. When we were about fifty feet away, a series of loud thuds came through like someone had fired multiple cannonballs. The clamor pierced into my ears from all directions and grew louder with each thud. Traveling fast, the noise seemed to shake everything along its invisible path. I stood terrorized as the vibration amplified with the blows. One. Two. Three. Four. I counted and held my breaths wanting it to be over. At the ninth ring, I thought of the sound brushing by me and I tumbled in reaction. At the tenth ring I was trembling and I could barely stand on the ground. At the eleventh ring, I felt as though the noise had tossed me up in the air and I lost my balance completely.
Taken by the velocity of the uproar the giant house juddered. I glanced over and caught a figure by the door. That’s when the street quivered like an earthquake had broken out.
“Hurry!” The figure shouted at us, “Get in before—”
Her sentence broke off at the twelfth ring when the roof of the manor crumbled like a set of explosives had detonated. With the bang, small rocks ejected out from the chimney, showering down from the top.
“Run!” Bulkee burst out.
We darted toward the house. The distance of less than twenty steps suddenly seemed like twenty miles when we had to dodge and maneuver through the blasting rocks. Barely missing the hits I finally leaped into the house. My ears were still ringing when I shut the door behind me. Spinning around, I gasped.
Facing me were two egg-like creatures, about half my height with tiny wings on their sides. The one on the left sported a yellow apron with mittens over the wings. The one on the right wore a chef hat and a matching suit. Wide-eyed, they gazed up at me with the same look of shock.
We glared at one another till Bulkee broke the ice. “Just what is happening right now?” He asked. The manor continued trembling as the chimney coughed out the rocks.
Bulkee’s question eased the tension in the room. The egg in the apron responded at once. “Oh. Dear. We have guests just in time for lunch!” His finger-like feathers danced beneath the mittens.
The other egg flashed a grin. “Come on over,” she said, joining her partner in his dance.
I was amused watching them. The egg appeared much more interested in their celebration than offering an explanation.
With a roaring laughter, the eggs motioned. “Into the kitchen you two. You must be hungry from what just happened.”
I was still considering the invite when Bulkee strode ahead. Not wanting to be left out I followed him inside.
The kitchen was spacious and spectacular with a chimney so tall that from where I stood its far end appeared like a pin needle. About twenty feet from the chimney a giant teapot kettle hung from the ceiling, gurgling like a cat’s purr. Draping down from the teapot was a shiny plate attached to the spout by four beaded strings. Surrounding the teapot were what I could only assume as cheese balls threaded together in cords that slung across the room from every direction of the house. Below the teapot was an enormous round wooden table. On the table, there were piles after piles of delightful things looking like what would be lunch.
The commotions outside diminished. But the manor was still shaking from the effects of the eruption. Unfretted by the tremor, the eggs flew around the table swiftly setting up plates and utensils. “Come on over,” one of them said.
The hospitality of the eggs was apparent to say the least. Yet I fidgeted with distress when I suddenly remembered the story of Hansel and Gretel. I recalled the child-devouring witch, who lived in the forest and lured the two children with her house of candies. My heart was leaden with fear at the recollection. “It’s okay. I don’t want to intrude. I’m a just stranger to you,” I replied. “But thank you for taking us in,” I added to curb the offhandedness.
Spinning around the eggs glanced at each other. I was startled when they both burst into laughter. “You are afraid not because you are a stranger to us,” the one with the chef hat teased. “But because we are strangers to you. Isn’t that so?”
My ears burned and I twirled a strand of hair to cover my cheeks that must have turned red. I didn’t want them to notice my embarrassment.
