Read Online The Smoking Mirror by David Bowles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Bowles
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reared up on his hind legs. Oh, crap, thought Carol. He’s going to attack Johnny to force a transformation .
But instead, Xolotl began to quiver and shrink, fingers emerging from the tips of his ever-smaller paws, his snout pulling back into his face, red hair falling about him like autumn pine needles. Within seconds a man stood before them. He had medium-length blond hair sweeping back from his lined forehead and blue eyes surrounded by a network of fine wrinkles and scars. Wrapped around him was a red-furred animal skin that covered most of his sun-toasted flesh.
“Let’s see how long you manage without my guidance,” he said in a cultured, old-fashioned voice. Spinning curtly on his heel, he stepped behind an outcropping and was gone from sight. Carol followed, but there was nothing. He had disappeared without a trace.
“Fantastic. He vanished.”
“Figures. Whatever. Who needs him? Here, give me a hand.”
Carol helped her brother to his feet. Wincing, he leaned on her and together they made their way up the winding, steep path that the passage of a million souls had only faintly carved into the obsidian mountain. Soon Johnny was leaving bloody footprints behind.
This is insane. You’d think that the Lord of Creation or whatever would have enough compassion to help us out. We’re twelve years old, Quetzalcoatl, in case you’d forgotten. Cut us some slack, okay?
Johnny had begun to whimper softly when they finally reached the top. A flat defile stretched before them, wide enough for three people to walk abreast, lined by glittering crags that loomed darkly above. A stiff, moaning wind blew toward them from beyond the passage. Thousands of years of erosion had worn the floor smooth and level, and a smile of relief spread across Johnny’s face as he took his first few steps.
“Oh, man, that feels good. Nice and cool, too. Like the Saltillo tile at home when mom mops. Mopped. You know what I mean.”
Carol nodded and rubbed her brother’s back. “Well, according to ‘Clifford the Big Red Dog’ the deserts start just beyond this. What did he say the first one was? Blackness, right? Doesn’t sound too bad.”
They walked another thirty feet or so when a horrible crashing sound made them draw up short.
“What the…” Johnny began. They walked a few more paces, and the sound came again, accompanied by a tremor beneath their feet. Johnny gingerly extended one reddened sock and CRASH!
They stood still for several minutes. There were no more explosions or tremors, so they started ambling down the defile. They’d crossed some fifty feet or so of passage that curved gradually toward the left when, without warning, the crags on either side not four yards ahead slammed into each other with a deafening smash and a hail of splintered rock and obsidian dust, then pulled back to their original positions.
“ ¡Hijo de su Pink Floyd!” Johnny screamed, using one of their mother’s favorite nonsense curses. “Dude! If we had been standing there…”
Carol’s heart pounded mercilessly. “Oh, Xolotl, you jerk. You couldn’t have mentioned the dangerous smashing rocks?”
As if in answer, the walls a little further ahead slammed into each other. Carol gripped her brother’s forearm.
“Johnny, I think that…”
SLAM! Less than a foot behind them, the crags collided, coating them both in fine black dust and leaving their ears ringing.
“Oh, my God, Johnny! We’re going to be killed!”
There was a weird expression on her brother’s face. He was counting on his fingers and mumbling to himself.
“What? What are you doing, Johnny?” Her voice was strained by panic.
“Hang on, Carol. Relax a second. It’s like…it’s like a video game.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah. There’s a pattern. You figure it out, and you can get through. One crash, followed a minute later by another and then one more just a few seconds after that. Then something like four minutes passes and the pattern starts
But instead, Xolotl began to quiver and shrink, fingers emerging from the tips of his ever-smaller paws, his snout pulling back into his face, red hair falling about him like autumn pine needles. Within seconds a man stood before them. He had medium-length blond hair sweeping back from his lined forehead and blue eyes surrounded by a network of fine wrinkles and scars. Wrapped around him was a red-furred animal skin that covered most of his sun-toasted flesh.
“Let’s see how long you manage without my guidance,” he said in a cultured, old-fashioned voice. Spinning curtly on his heel, he stepped behind an outcropping and was gone from sight. Carol followed, but there was nothing. He had disappeared without a trace.
“Fantastic. He vanished.”
“Figures. Whatever. Who needs him? Here, give me a hand.”
Carol helped her brother to his feet. Wincing, he leaned on her and together they made their way up the winding, steep path that the passage of a million souls had only faintly carved into the obsidian mountain. Soon Johnny was leaving bloody footprints behind.
This is insane. You’d think that the Lord of Creation or whatever would have enough compassion to help us out. We’re twelve years old, Quetzalcoatl, in case you’d forgotten. Cut us some slack, okay?
Johnny had begun to whimper softly when they finally reached the top. A flat defile stretched before them, wide enough for three people to walk abreast, lined by glittering crags that loomed darkly above. A stiff, moaning wind blew toward them from beyond the passage. Thousands of years of erosion had worn the floor smooth and level, and a smile of relief spread across Johnny’s face as he took his first few steps.
“Oh, man, that feels good. Nice and cool, too. Like the Saltillo tile at home when mom mops. Mopped. You know what I mean.”
Carol nodded and rubbed her brother’s back. “Well, according to ‘Clifford the Big Red Dog’ the deserts start just beyond this. What did he say the first one was? Blackness, right? Doesn’t sound too bad.”
They walked another thirty feet or so when a horrible crashing sound made them draw up short.
“What the…” Johnny began. They walked a few more paces, and the sound came again, accompanied by a tremor beneath their feet. Johnny gingerly extended one reddened sock and CRASH!
They stood still for several minutes. There were no more explosions or tremors, so they started ambling down the defile. They’d crossed some fifty feet or so of passage that curved gradually toward the left when, without warning, the crags on either side not four yards ahead slammed into each other with a deafening smash and a hail of splintered rock and obsidian dust, then pulled back to their original positions.
“ ¡Hijo de su Pink Floyd!” Johnny screamed, using one of their mother’s favorite nonsense curses. “Dude! If we had been standing there…”
Carol’s heart pounded mercilessly. “Oh, Xolotl, you jerk. You couldn’t have mentioned the dangerous smashing rocks?”
As if in answer, the walls a little further ahead slammed into each other. Carol gripped her brother’s forearm.
“Johnny, I think that…”
SLAM! Less than a foot behind them, the crags collided, coating them both in fine black dust and leaving their ears ringing.
“Oh, my God, Johnny! We’re going to be killed!”
There was a weird expression on her brother’s face. He was counting on his fingers and mumbling to himself.
“What? What are you doing, Johnny?” Her voice was strained by panic.
“Hang on, Carol. Relax a second. It’s like…it’s like a video game.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah. There’s a pattern. You figure it out, and you can get through. One crash, followed a minute later by another and then one more just a few seconds after that. Then something like four minutes passes and the pattern starts
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