until he found a blue sweat suit, a pair of boxer shorts, two mismatched socks, and some underarm deodorant. Even though the clothes smelled clean, he tried to decide how many others had used these items and whether or not it they were sanitary. Then he shook his head when he realized that he was worried about germs when he was probably going to die soon anyway, and he laughed so hard his sides hurt. When he stopped, he shucked his dirty clothes, washed himself off with a damp rag and changed.
Roger was retying his shoes when he heard the door open. He turned just as Tigaffo ducked through the door, the two large Obawok Roger had seen earlier flanking him like bodyguards. Just like the day before, Tigaffo began shifting his weight from one foot to the other while staring at the well-worn dirt floor and his lumpy green feet as they moved up and down.
Roger stifled his urge to laugh. “Hi, our introductions were cut short yesterday.”
He was careful to extend his hand in a manner that could only be interpreted as a simple handshake. Tigaffo flinched before reaching out his hand, mimicking Roger ’ s gesture. Roger saw that Tigaffo was coated in a greasy substance and managed to refrain from pulling back his hand, but when their hands touched, Roger almost
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wished he had. Tigaffo ’ s hesitant flesh was cold, slimy, and impersonal to the touch, like he was grasping a handful of room temperature liver. The thought of touching liver made the bile rise in his throat, just when he thought he might actually retch the handshake was over.
“Follow me. We ’ re going to the council,” Tigaffo ordered.
Nothing else was said on their journey through the winding tunnels to the entrance to the council chamber. There was a beautiful, intricately carved picture of a meadow with the sun ’ s rays touching down on the surface of the wooden doors. The picture was meant to be warm, welcoming even, but Roger ’ s insides clinched in an icy, suffocating fear when he saw them.
They stood in front of the doors, motionless. The fear had almost driven him into a panic state: his eyes were watering, his hands were clammy, and his skin itched. He looked at Tigaffo, but he wasn ’ t moving.
“Why aren ’ t we goin ’ in?” Roger questioned, his pulse pounding so loud in his ears it had become a thunder that raced through his veins, driving him, commanding him to run, to flee. Somehow he managed to keep his feet steady even as the drumming reached a crescendo behind his eyes.
“When they ’ re ready, the doors will be opened by the servant gnomes.” Tigaffo ’ s voice was flat.
Roger glanced down and noticed a pair of gnomes standing on either side of the entryway. He absently ran his finger over the painful welt in the palm of his hand. There was a small click as the doors were unlatched, and both of them swung outward in unison. When they were fully opened, Roger bit down on his tongue and followed Tigaffo inside.
Inside there were close to thirty Obawok, and at least fourteen of the ugly little creatures were seated in a blockish semi-circle around very large desk. The one in the center had shockingly silver hair and wore thick satin-lined velvet robes. Those seated around him had deep blue hair, directly contrasting with the dark maroon hair of the nine others that stood in the back of the room. As Roger was pushed to the front of the group he sucked in a lungful of cold air and started to cough when he was suddenly confronted with another human not ten feet away.
Then, as quickly as they had led him in, a group of Obawok led the other man out. The man was obviously in his early twenties with a short crop of stark blonde hair, crystal clear eyes, and a tan that made his teeth stand out in stark contrast. Beads of sweat stood out on his dark brow, and the smile that played across the stranger ’ s lips was so tightly wound that Roger thought it might actually break and fall off the young man ’ s
Roger was retying his shoes when he heard the door open. He turned just as Tigaffo ducked through the door, the two large Obawok Roger had seen earlier flanking him like bodyguards. Just like the day before, Tigaffo began shifting his weight from one foot to the other while staring at the well-worn dirt floor and his lumpy green feet as they moved up and down.
Roger stifled his urge to laugh. “Hi, our introductions were cut short yesterday.”
He was careful to extend his hand in a manner that could only be interpreted as a simple handshake. Tigaffo flinched before reaching out his hand, mimicking Roger ’ s gesture. Roger saw that Tigaffo was coated in a greasy substance and managed to refrain from pulling back his hand, but when their hands touched, Roger almost
207
Kristi Brooks
wished he had. Tigaffo ’ s hesitant flesh was cold, slimy, and impersonal to the touch, like he was grasping a handful of room temperature liver. The thought of touching liver made the bile rise in his throat, just when he thought he might actually retch the handshake was over.
“Follow me. We ’ re going to the council,” Tigaffo ordered.
Nothing else was said on their journey through the winding tunnels to the entrance to the council chamber. There was a beautiful, intricately carved picture of a meadow with the sun ’ s rays touching down on the surface of the wooden doors. The picture was meant to be warm, welcoming even, but Roger ’ s insides clinched in an icy, suffocating fear when he saw them.
They stood in front of the doors, motionless. The fear had almost driven him into a panic state: his eyes were watering, his hands were clammy, and his skin itched. He looked at Tigaffo, but he wasn ’ t moving.
“Why aren ’ t we goin ’ in?” Roger questioned, his pulse pounding so loud in his ears it had become a thunder that raced through his veins, driving him, commanding him to run, to flee. Somehow he managed to keep his feet steady even as the drumming reached a crescendo behind his eyes.
“When they ’ re ready, the doors will be opened by the servant gnomes.” Tigaffo ’ s voice was flat.
Roger glanced down and noticed a pair of gnomes standing on either side of the entryway. He absently ran his finger over the painful welt in the palm of his hand. There was a small click as the doors were unlatched, and both of them swung outward in unison. When they were fully opened, Roger bit down on his tongue and followed Tigaffo inside.
Inside there were close to thirty Obawok, and at least fourteen of the ugly little creatures were seated in a blockish semi-circle around very large desk. The one in the center had shockingly silver hair and wore thick satin-lined velvet robes. Those seated around him had deep blue hair, directly contrasting with the dark maroon hair of the nine others that stood in the back of the room. As Roger was pushed to the front of the group he sucked in a lungful of cold air and started to cough when he was suddenly confronted with another human not ten feet away.
Then, as quickly as they had led him in, a group of Obawok led the other man out. The man was obviously in his early twenties with a short crop of stark blonde hair, crystal clear eyes, and a tan that made his teeth stand out in stark contrast. Beads of sweat stood out on his dark brow, and the smile that played across the stranger ’ s lips was so tightly wound that Roger thought it might actually break and fall off the young man ’ s
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