The Fourth World Read online

THE FOURTH WORLD

  By

  Laurence Moroney

  Book One of “The Legend of the Locust”

  Copyright 2009 Laurence Moroney

  This book is dedicated to my family: Rebecca Moroney, my wife and confidant; Claudia Moroney, the first person ever to read this book, and a seriously wonderful daughter, and my Son, Christopher, who is just an awesome dude.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotes embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover Art by: Bradley Wind

  Special Thanks to: Liz Tipping who backed this book right from the beginning

  Chapter 1: Fintan

  Are you sure it’s the right time to take him? He’s immature.

  He’s more insecure than immature, and you know that is one of the side effects of-

  You think they are involved?

  I’m sure of it. And if we put him in the school, we’ll be able to watch him closely.

  But so will they.

  They’re doing that already.

  Poor kid.

  “Cough it up space boy, or I’ll put my fist down your throat,” growled Brian Delaney. It probably wasn’t possible to do, but Fintan figured Delaney would still try, so he didn’t argue. Besides, with his arm twisted painfully behind his back, and remembering prior times with the bully, he decided it was best not to fight back.

  “Right coat pocket,” he croaked.

  Delaney threw him to the ground and pushed his knee into Fintan’s back while rummaging through his pockets. He pulled his hand out and inspected his prize.

  “Only 3 Euro? Mommy’s getting cheap with lunch money for her precious boy, isn’t she?”

  “It’s all I have.”

  The response was Delaney’s knee driven harder into his back. Lights blinked in Fintan’s eyes and a hot flash of pain burned through his back.

  “Speak when you are spoken to, you little maggot,” said Delaney. “It’ll have to do.” Roughly, he stood up, causing another bolt of pain to shoot down Fintan’s back. He sneered, and as Fintan tried to get up, Delaney kicked him in the arm, dropping him to the ground again.

  “You can stay here until I’m gone. Little maggot. Little worm can crawl on the ground.”

  When he was safely gone, Fintan got up and dusted himself off. He inspected his school uniform. Nothing ripped or pulled. He sighed with relief. There was no visible evidence of the incident he would have to explain to teachers or parents. They said he should always report bullying and they said he would be protected, but they had no idea what the repercussions of snitching would be. It was easier to lose the money and leave things as they were.

  Afternoon classes were miserable for Fintan. He wasn’t sure which was worst between the pain in his back, the hunger in his stomach or the smug grin from Delaney who licked his lips and patted his belly thanking Fintan for the free lunch. After what seemed like an eternity, the bell rang, and Fintan grabbed his backpack and ran for the door. If he wasn’t quick the bullies might find him again.

  He ran all the way home.

  *

  Fintan always loved late summer and early autumn in Ireland. The nights were cool with clear skies, and if he stayed up late enough, he could see the stars in all their glory. He had just finished dinner and came out to sit in the fields behind his house. He watched the sky darken and change through its brilliant colors, from dark blue, through rusty reds and finally to black. His favorite part was when he got to watch the stars twinkle into view one by one.

  His back still hurt, but he decided not to let it bother him.

  His chest tightened as looked at the sky. Only the brightest stars were visible now. Polaris to the North was bright as always. He imagined generations of sailors looking up to it, comforted by its presence and its stability, always showing them the way home. A feeling welled up in his chest. It was like he was inflating and the sky was lifting him up. He couldn’t name the feeling but he loved it. It was like the stars were calling to him. Like he belonged there, but was stuck here on Earth.

  Stuck in a miserable life, in a miserable town, with a miserable family.

  He shook his head. No point in worrying too much about it. It would only depress him.

  Someday. Someday I won’t feel so helpless. Someday I’ll be my own man, setting my own path in my own life. Someday I won’t have to put up with bullies, and school, and a brother who hates me and parents who don’t care for me despite what they say.

  *

  On Sundays, Fintan usually helped his mother with shopping for groceries at the local market. Fintan Senior, his father, would usually sleep off his hangover from the night before. For the afternoon, Fintan would stay out of the house, wanting to avoid Father’s temper, and would take a walk down to the cliff tops nearby.

  It was a land of bleak beauty, with the roar of waves crashing below, and the bare limestone rocks peeking out of a deep green covering. He always liked to come here to sit and think. To the west he could see the sun setting, and the growl in his stomach told him it was getting late.

  He returned home to find dinner in the microwave.

  An empty package stood on the dinner table. It was addressed to him, but his parents had opened it. He sighed, not surprised. Of course they would disrespect his privacy. Of course.

  Mother came into the kitchen. She ran to hug him. “Oh here you are,” she said.

  Fintan held up the empty package. “What’s this?”

  “Great news!” she said. “It’s a school for gifted children. They want to talk to you in Dublin, tomorrow, all expenses paid!”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Oh they sent a check with it. Your Father took it out to cash it.”

  “And the letter?”

  “He took it too.”

  “It was addressed to me,” said Fintan.

  “Sorry, we thought it was for your father, so we opened it.”

  Right thought Fintan. Like I am stupid enough to believe everything you tell me.

  Mother took his silence as an accusation. “Oh don’t be like that! He’ll be home in half an hour.”

  Half an hour passed, then an hour, and then two hours. Mother was high and excited, but Fintan was too angry to even think, much less hang out with the family. His older brother Dermot was smirking at Fintan’s unease. By midnight Father still wasn’t home, and Fintan went to bed.

  *

  Father finally turned up in the small hours, and his drunken singing and clumsy banging of doors woke Fintan. Finally, when all was quiet, Fintan crept downstairs.

  Father was asleep, snoring loudly on the sofa. The stale, sour smell of alcohol filled the room. His jacket lay sprawled on the floor where he had dropped it. Some crumpled papers were sticking out of the inside pocket. Fintan grabbed them and retreated upstairs before Mother or Dermot came down.

  He straightened the papers out carefully. There was a letter, addressed to Fintan.

  Dear Mr Reilly,

  I am pleased to inform you that have passed the selection process for entry into the ‘Young Boys Elite School of Ireland’.

  Our entry requirements are strict, you are one of only a handful of students from around the country who is eligible to test for entry.

  In order to enter the school you will be required to pass an interview and admissions test.

  Please present yourself at our administrative offices o
n September 19 at 10:00AM. Directions and address may be found on the other side of this page.

  Enclosed are expenses for travel and accommodation for you and your family. An overnight stay may be necessary.

  Punctuality is expected.

  Yours,

  Mr Smith, BOE.

  September 19 was tomorrow. To get there by 10AM, he’d have to leave his house by 7AM, which would mean getting up in just a few hours. How was he going to sleep? Worse, how was he going to wake Father?

  Chapter 2: Mister Smith

  The poor kid has a wretched life, doesn’t he?

  And yet he tests off the scales. So much for nurture being greater than nature.

  But how? I mean the rest of the family isn’t too sharp, and the father is downright nasty.

  That’s evolution, isn’t it? Sometimes a random mutation can change the direction of a species. Or a family.

  But what happens when the mutation isn’t random?

  Groggy and hung over, Father somehow dragged himself out of bed and got them on their way. They made it to the station just in time to catch the train to Dublin. The cheap tickets were sold out, and Father had argued noisily with the ticket officer, but there was nothing he could do.

  Had they gotten there earlier, there may have been a chance, but for now it was either pay the higher fare, or wait for the next train.

  Again, Fintan could feel the frustration ready to boil over within him. They had been sent more than enough money for the whole family to travel first class, with hotel accommodations and meals. Despite this, Father was considering missing this train and being late for the interview just so they could save some money, which would be spent at the nearest bar later.

  Reluctantly, he agreed, but only after yelling at Fintan for ‘dragging your feet’ and being late, lazy and every other cliché he could think of. He was still telling Fintan off loudly as the train departed. He finally stopped as the drinks cart arrived and he helped himself to some beer.

  Finally, with some peace and quiet, Fintan was able to catch up on some sleep.

  *

  They arrived in Dublin without further incident, and made their way to the given address.

  They were greeted at the entrance by a prim-looking secretary. They showed her the invitation letter and she discreetly ignored how crumpled it was. “Please take a seat,” she said. “Someone will see you shortly.”

  It was a plain office, but Father looked around it, impressed. As a factory worker, any place where people sat to work impressed him.

  The secretary’s phone rang. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ll send them in.”

  She brought them to a back-office where a man was waiting. He was tall and slim with thinning gray hair and sharp blue eyes.

  Introducing himself as “Mister Smith”, he shook Father’s hand vigorously before turning to Fintan. He held Fintan’s gaze a moment.

  “I’ll get right down to business,” he said, addressing Father. “Fintan junior is here to be tested for a very special and very exclusive school. Needless to say it’s only for the best and brightest.”

  He glanced briefly at Fintan before continuing, while Father beamed with pride. “We’ve been following his progress through primary school, and feel he has the right stuff, not just to enter, but also to succeed.”

  Before Father could say anything, Smith spoke again, in a firm tone. “Do note there are tests, and Fintan will have to pass these tests before he is admitted.”

  He passed a permission slip across the table to Father.

  “Please be clear Mister Reilly, this school is expensive. If he enters, we want him to complete his education. He’ll be away from home, out in the country. Should Fintan junior pass the tests, and accept entry, you will have sign a document legally passing parental rights for him over to the state. We will care for him until he becomes of adult age.”

  Father looked to Fintan. His eyes glazed over, calculating.

  “Of course,” said Mister Smith “that is why the whole family was invited, so it could be a family decision. But, as the only parent present, and head of the household, you have the authority to decide.”

  “Where is the school?”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose the location,” said Mister Smith flatly.

  “You want me to sign my kid over to you, but you won’t tell me where the school is?” Father asked. His voice was getting louder. “What if I say no?”

  “Then you will never find out where the school is, and Fintan junior will no longer be invited to attend.”

  “So he’ll just go to school back at home then,” said Father, dropping the pen.

  “And be doomed to a life of mediocrity,” said Mister Smith. “He’ll likely go through secondary school, and do well, but, will there be money for University?”

  “He’ll get a scholarship,” said Father.

  “Will he?” Do you know how good you have to be to get a scholarship these days?”

  “He’s good enough,” said Father.

  “Maybe,” said Mister Smith, “but I noticed Fintan’s brother has had to take a part-time job to help out at home, and bring some money in. I assume Fintan junior will have to do the same when he’s 14?”

  Father said nothing.

  “And do you know how badly his grades will suffer? Studies have shown once a child starts working, they drop at least 2 grade points. So an ‘A’ student like Fintan will drop to be a ‘C’ student. Do you really want that for your Son?”

  “It’s none of your business,” said Father.

  “Correct, Mister Reilly, but it is Fintan’s business, and I want you to understand what you are passing up just because we will not tell you the location of the school. It suggests to me your pride is being dented, and you would sacrifice your son’s future for its sake. Am I wrong?”

  “No.” said Father, emphatically. Then, with a little less strength, he repeated, “No. This has nothing to do with my pride.”

  He picked up the pen.

  Fintan held his breath.

  Father put the pen to paper, and paused.

  “What are the chances of him going to University after this school of yours?”

  “We haven’t had anybody drop out yet,” said Mister Smith.

  Father signed the paper and threw it back at Mister Smith. Fintan finally breathed.

  Mister Smith said “Thank you,” sweetly, with just a little hint of sarcasm.

  He then put his professional face on and told Father the testing would likely take several hours. He took Father’s cell phone number and told him they would call when they were done.

  “And what should I do while I wait?”

  “There are several pubs within walking distance,” said Mister Smith, “I am sure you will enjoy them.”

  Father left, and Fintan was alone with the mysterious Mister Smith.

  Chapter 3: The Tests

  You’re good. You’re playing with his head already.

  I just did what I had to do to get him into the test.

  You think he’s worth it? He’s damaged goods.

  Nothing that I cannot repair.

  The first words that Fintan said to Mister Smith surprised even him.

  “I don’t like the way you spoke to my father.”

  “Really?” Mister Smith answered, a smile creeping onto his lean face. “I thought that you would enjoy seeing him put in his place.”

  Fintan’s silence was an answer in itself.

  “For the next few hours you will be tested,” said Smith, changing the subject. “And I will not entertain any questions until the end of the testing. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes,” said Fintan, and Smith led him through a door at the back of his office.

  Behind the door was a room with a simple computer terminal. Fintan sat at the terminal and Smith left the room.

  The screen was blank.

  Is this the test? Fintan wondered. Smith had not given him any ins
tructions other than not to ask any questions. Was that also a part of the test?

  Fintan figured that if he touched a key on the keyboard, he would be showing initiative, but he would also be showing curiosity, and perhaps a lack of respect. This was after all, their terminal, and they hadn’t given him permission to use it.

  But if he did nothing, it would show a lack of initiative, and the need to be led and instructed on everything.

  He reached to touch the space bar on the keyboard, hesitated a moment, and then pressed it.

  The screen came to life. It said: Welcome, Fintan Reilly, and then turned off.

  Mister Smith entered, holding a stopwatch.

  “Two minutes, thirty six seconds,” he said, and then harrumphed as he led Fintan to the next room.

  This one looked the same as the first, and again he showed Fintan where to sit before leaving. This time, without hesitation, Fintan reached out and touched the space bar. The screen came to life and said:

  What is the password

  Enter password here:

  They wanted Fintan to enter a password. But they had given him no sign of what it was.

  Fintan thought frantically. Could it be ‘Smith’, ‘Mister Smith’, or ‘Fintan’? He had no idea.

  Fintan looked around the room, guessing there must be a clue, but the walls were featureless and bare.

  He looked again at the screen. There had to be a clue.

  And then he noticed that something was missing -- there was no question mark at the end of the first statement. That made it a statement, instead of a question: What is the password.

  Fintan carefully typed it in, making sure that he capitalized it correctly. He pressed the ‘Enter’ key.

  A light came on, the door opened, and Mister Smith stood there applauding slowly and quietly, a mocking look on his face.

  “So, you’ve passed the first two tests. That gives you the right to go towards the real testing,” he said with vigor. He led Fintan out of the room and into a windowed corridor. Through the windows Fintan could see what looked like a video games arcade with each game station having at least one technician in a white coat standing nearby.

  “These are the real tests,” said Smith, “tests of dexterity, imagination, strength, stamina, and even intelligence. Don’t worry, and just relax. You may even enjoy them.”

  He was right. The first few tests looked like simple computer games, but once he started playing them, they weren’t as simple as they first appeared. They didn’t have any logical rules. One involved flipping tiles to reveal colors, a little bit like a child’s pair-matching game, but, the colors weren’t always consistent, so the first time Fintan flipped a tile it might be orange, and the next time it might be green. Every time he flipped, the score went down.