Read Online The Pure: Book Three of the Oz Chronicles by R.W. Ridley - Free Book Online Page B

times. More.”
    A slash of light reveals a portion of
his face. It is... purple. His eyes are milky white. He is Délon. I ready
myself for an attack.
    “You are the key to the Source! I must
have the Source!” It steps into the full light. His body is as feeble as his
silhouette hinted. His face is cracked and wrinkled. When he talks, I can hear
his blackened tongue rubbing against his mandibles.
    “The Source?”
    “Yes. The Source!” He groans. “I cannot
take this endless loop. The Source. Bring me the Source.”
    “I don’t...”
    “You don’t know what it is. I know that.
You’ve told me more times than I can count.”
    “Why would I help you?”
    He pounds the clay wall next to him. He
is on the verge of a fit, but restrains himself. He points to the corner of the
cavern where the purple faces are peering out at me. “I’m too tired to escort
you over there. See for yourself.”
    I hesitate. I take a step in that
direction and then pause. I wipe my muddy hand across my face. I resume my
journey to the darkened corner. As I get closer, I discover the purple faces
are attached to disembodied heads crammed into the clay walls of the cavern. I
am so mesmerized by them that I don’t see the body on the gurney until I nearly
run into it.
    I look at it closely. The face is hidden
beneath a shunter. It is a young boy, fifteen... sixteen. It’s me. A young
curly headed boy of the same age, so caked with mud that he blends in with the
cave wall, steps out of the black corner. Gordy.
    “I’m watching him for you,” he says.
    “You’re real,” I say not knowing if it’s
true.
    He looks at me strangely. “Well, duh.”
    “I don’t understand. Why am I here?”
    “To help us decorate the place, why do
you think, you moron. C’mon, we can’t keep doing this.” He directs his
attention to the old Délon. “Can’t you give him some kind of memory jolt or zap
or whatever? We go through this every time.”
    “I’m not a magician!” The Délon shouts.
    Back to me. “Listen,” Gordy says. “The
purple pile of puss needs the Source to get his power back. You are the key to
the Source. He knows it. I know it. General Roy knows it. Every Destroyer on
the planet knows it.”
    “Destroyer?”
    “Monsters, freaks... the things the
Storytellers created to get back at the world for treating them like a pile of
dog crap. Understand?”
    I look at myself lying on the gurney. I
shake my head.
    “It’s not important.” He puts his hand
on my shoulder. “Focus. The Source. You have to find it. The Délons have got
you trapped in here.” He taps the shunter, and it squeals. “This little guy is
drilling out your brain and replacing it with purple mush. Everything you think
is real ain’t real. You got to find a way out and get back to finding the
Source, and you got to do it soon because I am bored out of my ever-lovin’ mind
down here.”
    I turn and watch as the old Délon begins
to wheeze and cough. “Why is he helping us?” I ask.
    Gordy stifles a frustrated scream. “Oz
Griffin meet the Pure. Pure meet Oz Griffin.”
    “The Pure?” I say. I examine his twisted
body. “Canter wasn’t lying.”
    “He was,” the Pure croaks. “He always
lies.”
    “He said you were alive.”
    “He had no idea it was true. No one
knows I’m alive.”
    “What am I?” Gordy snaps. “Chopped
liver?”
    “Pardon,” The Pure moans. “No one of
real consequence knows.”
    “Nice,” Gordy says shaking his head.
“After all I’ve done for you, and this is the thanks I get? Insults? You ugly
bag of bones.”
    With that, the Pure leaps across the
cavern and lands on Gordy forcing him to the ground. “I should tear open your
skull and dine on your useless gray matter.” The Pure is indeed not as feeble
as he looks.
    Gordy screams.
    I push the Pure off of him. The old
Délon snaps his mandibles in anger and frustration.
    “What is our deal?” I ask the Pure.
    He looks at me. He is breathing heavily
and