Follow the card? Trey replayed his comment in his head. I'm so full of it.

Because there was no following the card for Trey—he already knew the way to Ruby's. And these were one of those moments where he started to wish he didn't. He missed Clayhearth, his home, his heart and soul.

He'd come to the city out of curiosity for the reputation of its prolific straw. The crop required little, if any, maintenance, and the reports of its healing properties were widespread and consistent. Straw City was on the rise, having only existed for the last 25 years. Its magic straw gave the city health, longevity, trade leverage, and growth. And that growth ushered in a come-one-come-all era. Warm, laboring bodies were more than welcome to help expand the settlement.

Back home in Clayhearth, Trey Dimes was a star student, a researching apprentice, and one of many talented young folks who were sent to intern in other settlements as part of trade and barter agreements. In this divided world sectioned off by plains and altar-based settlements, travel opportunities were rare. Luckily for Trey, Clayhearth was rich in minerals and metalworks, and it had twenty years ago established Straw City's electrical framework. The trade was simple: gold-wiring and light-switches for magic straw and future jobs for Clayhearth-kind, which inevitably became Trey-kind.

A year ago Trey showed up expecting straw—which he'd thankfully found and consumed and loved—but also encountered overt darkness. His boss-mystic Ruby and her stranglehold on the city went beyond the norm for him. Through Ruby's leadership, an exceptionally blessed village immediately transformed into one of the region's largest cities—bustling with people, bustling with curses.

But in the interest of learning, of accepting this altar-obsessed Cearth, Trey resolved to ride it out.

Now here he was, babysitting a scarecrow. He stared at this odd, mysteriously autonomous golem, impressed with its adaptability but worried by its glaring carelessness.

Swishy, on the other hand, didn't know a thing of the city, the world, the vastness of the un-dark. That WITCH card floated off and he mindlessly followed it. He never considered the typical witch-wariness that folks tended to have. He simply pranced onward in the general direction of the card—while mostly focusing on the sky. The scarecrow locked onto the shadowclaw's rapid flight, blindly progressing as he grasped for Trey's back, feeling for his buddy.

"Now Swish," Trey said. "Eyes forward definitely isn't a lesson you need."

Swishy swung his arm, dramatically. The produced sounds were the same as ordinary ruffling, swishing, and hay-bale friction, but Trey still understood the language. The scarecrow's declaration rang out clear and true: "But bird!"

"Of course, my guy, of course." Trey held out his hand and Swishy took it.

Trey led the way as Swishy could fully focus on the impenetrable sky, his scarecrow head blown away in bird-brained wonder.

As if summoned—Probably are, knowing her—dozens of shadowclaws gathered overhead, fiercely circling. As Trey’s pulse quickened from rising apprehension, Swishy's excitement intensified. Trey felt the wheat prickle from beneath the mittens he'd gifted Swishy, and sensed the scarecrow's wonder charging up, needing release. Together, they executed a well-timed 360 turn, a synchronized dance of playfulness. The pair twirled and twirled, Trey in tune with Swishy, and Swishy in tune with the shadowclaws.

But Trey couldn't quell his worry. The sky was dreadful. Anyone could see that, anyone but Swishy. A dark veil had set upon them. No stars, no moon. A single distant chimney plume trailed upward from across town, but that was about it. Bro, Trey thought, What is she doing?

The pair turned into an alley, another alley, and then a street. No vendors either, just shuttered stalls and brown tarps covering the wares. How quickly the city had gone from bustle to shut-down, from commerce to camouflage, from openness and invitation to a sealed and reclusive spirit.

One more alley, one more dead street, before the unlit pathways finally let out into a courtyard. A thick cord of rope spanning two roofs held a wooden, splintered sign: THE CURSEWORKS.

The pair entered: Trey's head on a swivel and Swishy's gourd in the clouds. The scarecrow waited for feathers to fall onto his face.

The sign? Self-explanatory. The Curseworks was where the curses were put to work, where the human masters conspired to make the darkness do their bidding. Within this plaza the nature of the shops was specialized and cryptic: THE ANCIENT ART OF STRAW, OATS OF NIGHT AND DARKNESS, READ IT AND WHEAT SEER SHOP, DARK STRAW POTIONS, BANE-BREAD BAKERY. No one was here—you weren't supposed to be—but folks commonly strolled through here, seeking a mystic edge. Trey kept a mental log of all the locals he'd seen wander into the Curseworks, and from his last year of working in Straw City, he concluded that practically everyone visited at one point or another.

Money, foes, and woes are all these people know, Trey sang under his breath.

The shadowclaws were perched on every awning, every rooftop, every streetlight and signpost and mailbox. The birds were patient and unbothered. The emboldened flock didn't give two flaps about the featherphile on Trey's hip. Trey reached into his inside jacket pocket and put a straw-chew in his mouth, gnawing away his anxiety. A shot of magic coursed through him. He gained courage. He gained heart—very little, but enough.

Trey tossed a small pile of straw onto the ground. The shadowclaws lowered their eyes at Trey in pure condescension and jerked their heads away. Firstly, Trey felt the shock of irritation. Secondly, he experienced a sudden longing to see a simple pigeon. He couldn't stand the shadowclaws and the gaudy purple sheen contained within their layers of black feathers, their obscenely long talons that he could've sworn they'd gotten from a birdy nail shop, their contemptuous and uppity glares. Within the Curseworks, Ruby's special birds even wore clothes: scarves, ascots, ties, vests—mostly in deep indigos and raven blacks to match their feathers.

[https://imgur.com/Tl10RK3.jpeg]

One bird, perched upon a lamppost, inspected Trey with a monocled eye. Trey was expressly tired of these mean, tremendously bougie shadowclaws. Coo, Trey thought, What I'd give for a bird that coos—

[https://imgur.com/02DFvan][https://imgur.com/02DFvan.jpeg]

"Look!" Swishy shot a stiff finger to a roof across the plaza. Trey's gaze landed upon a shadowclaw perched atop a shop awning. Within the bird's beak, the WITCH card. The feathered thief then began walking across the wooden frame of the shop sign: THE LAST STRAW.

This was it—Ruby's home and spell shop.

A sudden squeeze; Swishy had tightened his grip on Trey's hand for attention.

"Hey, Swish? What's good?"

"The curses are talking."

"You mean the darkness?"

"Yes, they're crying harder. It's annoying."

"Oh Swish, we all have pet peeves." Trey sensed the impending head-tilt and continued. "A pet peeve is an annoyance. But they're really annoying."

"Ah, yes—the peeves." Swishy glared at the trashcan, a nearby alley, and Ruby's windows. "I want to quiet them."

A sudden wind blew open the doors to THE LAST STRAW. Wind? From the inside? What in the horror flick is this bitch on? Trey used everything in him not to flinch, trying to hide his fear from Swishy. He faced the strong gust and concentrated on its traces of magic. He hoped a spell word would reveal itself, Ruby making herself obvious—just for his knowledge and peace of mind. But no word appeared, only flowing shadows.

Both of them stepped forward, slowly approaching the house. As they got closer to the entrance, the perched shadowclaws angled their necks like owls. The boys got closer still, and the birds then spread their wings outward in a mocking scarecrow pose. But Swishy didn't care: he stopped before the open door and performed the stiffest, most severe scarecrowing of his very short life. Trey swore he could see Swishy's straw fitting tightly within a blue outline of soul. No frays, no loose bits of straw, just a perfect "T."

Trey laughed but stifled it so he could urge Swishy inside. "Come on bro, we ain't got time for that."

But Swishy refused to move. He'd become stone, stubborn stone, playing-too-much stone.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Fine." And so Trey spread his arms out, staring into the sky. Black hopelessness pressed flush against the soul of the city. The idea hit him that maybe that's what Swishy's altar portal looked like. The shadows were heavy—the Swishy was calm. Yeah, Trey thought, This is portal darkness for sure.

Swishy's eyes formed to hearts and then he skipped into Ruby's shop. Thankfully, Trey calmed down. "You're a good kid, Swish!" And then he followed the scarecrow inside.

(...)

THE LAST STRAW was simply a showroom, a single circular room of arcane trinkets in clear cases.

Ruby had a street-like aesthetic: she'd thrown all her altar trophies in the same stacks of plexiglass shoe cubes Trey had in his room. But that brief amusement couldn't distract him from the disconcerting black dust orbiting each object, trophies drawn from the Cearthen shadows. Ruby and Ruby alone was allowed to use the altar, and she somehow managed to use it repeatedly without incurring crippling costs to herself. No matter how many times Trey had visited, he always reverted to a healthy, profound fear of the place.

After The Curse, the altars were discovered, each altar containing a dimension of darkness that hoarded local resources. The darkness was demanding. The darkness strongly, viciously, advocated for the planet. The common knowledge was that anything gained—seeds, unsealed watering holes, breakable soil, favorable weather—had a cost.

For Straw City, the rewards were wheat. For Trey's hometown of Clayhearth, it was precious metals.

The Clayhearth clan were a people blessed with fertile, mineral-rich lands—but relentlessly attacked and exploited for their gold and diamond altars. Their legends said the souls of the killed went to the altar, forever residing within the local darkness as protectors. But nobody knew the truth as their tribute sites were seldom used, Clayhearth's harsh history causing their people to be pragmatic, conservative, and highly averse to sorcery. Resilient and clay-colored, they were pleased with the non-altar resources, determined to get it up out of the mud as was commonly said. They became known worldwide for a host of different industries and commerce. For settlements the world over, all their business exports were labeled in their ancient namesake: Clayborne.

But don't mess too hard with curses, Trey's family warned. His momma, his daddy, his grandpa, his fleet of aunties and uncles and neighborhood shop owners. Those curses are bad news but enjoy your internship. Ruby Caster is a reputable lady. Learn lots and have fun! And remember, the world is one way but try to be our way, the easy-on-the-magic way, okay?

"Our way," Trey mumbled to himself for grounding, for calm. "Our way, our way, our way..."

And as Swishy started touching everything, shaking up the cases, pounding the glass, Trey let it happen. His annoyance at Ruby's production warranted a fair handful of unchained Swishy moments. "Ruby? Are you home?" He finally called out. "I have a surprise! Well, not a surprise, but just what you asked for."

Swishy ran around with his arms outstretched, circling the shape of the room. Trey smirked at Swishy's affinity for mining glee at a moment's notice. Swish-speak, his divinely understood straw language, echoed in joyous waves. Trey's translation: "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Thud!

Swishy was on the ground, and Ruby, his sudden obstruction, stood above him.

Trey quietly sighed: Ruby had clearly spent all that time ignoring Trey's texts to ready herself for this meeting. She wore a black dress with white polka dots (again with the dots!) because she said they were good luck. Her curly perm was neat and well-kept—because she claimed curled hair kept the luck in. She'd hit her head with the box dye, too, a red-orange flame all over with minor brownish-gray roots because homegirl was in a rush. A pearl necklace, big and bold and glossy, pristine clam-shell whites which, once again, attracted fortune. A pair of yellow banana-bunch earrings graced her ears, a shout-out to her tropical island upbringing, and an anti-starvation charm. Her outfit was punctuated with red lipstick—for drama. And red Louboutins—because a fashion magazine instructed her in what she called "power-woman footwear".

Everything—absolutely everything—was a spell with her.

Nothing less could be expected of Ruby Caster, Straw City's reputable sorceress and beloved founder.

And now Ruby towered over the scarecrow, his shadowclaw feathers drifting in the air. Swishy eased himself back up and brushed himself off, straw-shavings falling off and making a bit of a mess. Ruby stared down at Swishy and his floored Swish-bits, taking the whole of him in, watching the dislodged feathers finally land upon his head.

"Did you catch a bird, my child?" Ruby kindly said.

Swishy shook his head.

"My dear, you've got to go faster!"

Swishy nodded.

"You've got to fly!"

Swishy flapped.

Ruby smoothed the hay on his pumpkin head. "Good boy. It's so nice to meet you!"

Swishy nuzzled, staining the white polka dots of Ruby's dress with crushed wheat.

"You're a well-dressed child, aren't you?" She said, referencing the Trey fashion.

"Stylish, right?" Trey said, relaxing slightly now that Ruby was accounted for—but only slightly. He still felt the shadowclaw eyes outside, bearing through the walls.

"Be reliable like your older brother," Ruby continued. "Be the best little helper. Can you do that?"

Swishy lost himself in the brown eyes of his newest heroine. "Brother?"

"A brother is a boy who'll do anything for you. A boy who always offers love. A boy who will feed your heart with care and attention."

Swishy stared at Trey, studying his flesh and bones and teeth. No straw, no outward similarities, but he felt their bond throughout the day. It was a bond he’d now come to crave.

Trey shrank, a bit embarrassed. "Jeez, we’ve only known each other for three hours—but yes Swish, let’s be brothers."

Swishy held out his fist.

Trey bumped it and added Clayhearth flourishes which Swishy's instinctual choreography readily executed. Ruby sighed. They laughed. He only wished there was a flashcard for DAP. He instead felt a warmth in his pocket, and he knew that the flashcard for BROTHER was glowing.

"Now come to the kitchen," Ruby said. "Let's eat."

"I ate—"

"I don't care about your glizzies, Trey. I cooked all day!"

"Yes, ma'am."

They followed her up the three short steps out of the showroom which led to the kitchen. There was a round table, smaller than you'd expect for the Straw City star, but Ruby lived alone and rarely hosted. The table was already set, and its spread was tremendous: sliced mangos, chocolate-covered strawberries, chocolate chip cookies, fried plantains, fried eggplant, white rice, brown rice, sticky rice (Damn her people love the rice!), baked rotisserie chicken, these reddened and lengthy sausages she called longanisa (Ha! Island glizzies!) and a platter of sunny-side-up eggs. Man, I should've eaten less.

"Yeah, that's right Trey. I can feel your regrets. Behold! A masterpiece."

"I'll just take extra leftovers home."

"Yes, I already packed your to-go plate." A shadowclaw flew over to a tied-up Bane-bread Bakery bag on the kitchen counter.

Trey shuddered—he didn't see one inside.

The young man studied Swishy and his apparent confusion. The scarecrow’s malleable blue eyes shifted into the forms of whatever he studied at that moment, little mango slices, little rice grains, chicken legs, chicken thighs. Trey was just as perplexed as he was impressed. He’d never met a being whose eyes were practically mirrors.

Swishy reached his gloved hand straight into the eggs.

"Swishy!—"

"Let him be!" Ruby laughed.

Swishy tossed the egg whites into his gourd, then tilted the plate over his mouth as the runny yolk remains dribbled into him. Trey grabbed the napkins and started cleaning up the sides of Swishy's rind, which to him, reminded him of wiping down a bowling ball. All the while, Swishy went in on the food. The strawberries, the eggplants, and the plantains didn't stand a chance. He ate all the rice; he ate all the longanisa. Trey picked rice grains from Swishy’s straw, but the scarecrow laughed and offered the whole plate of cookies.

Trey took a cookie, broke half, and tossed one half into his own mouth and one into Swishy's. The chocolatey and buttery flavors instantly hit him, but he tried to restrain the joy—Ruby didn't need anything else to be smug about. Swishy, though likely lacking taste, did a little jig. For some reason, he was happy to consume.

"How are you, my child?" Ruby leaned across the table, clasping her hands like a proper lady. Her eyes were wide open, pupils expanding, absorbing the straw boy before her. What is she expecting, watching him digest, weird...

Swishy's eyes got big, real big, like flowing-outside-of-his-gourd-sockets big.

"All good?” Trey asked.

Swishy just stared ahead, his soul climbing out of his eyes, oozing, crawling. And then his soul climbed back inside and he perked up again.

"Wow," Ruby said. "That was exciting!"

"That was terrifying. What is that Ruby?"

"The boy having a good time! Show us, dear child."

Swishy paused for a second, shifting about in uncertainty. He took his hand and reached into his chest. His hand was working in deep, then he pulled his hand out, clutching a beating mound of straw. The ochre mass shined more luminously than Clayhearth gold.

"See Trey? This is what's going to take Straw City to the next level."

"Wait, Swishy put that back!" The fright skittered within Trey's throat like thousands of unruly spiders.

"He's fine, Trey, he's fine!" Ruby walked over to Swishy and presented her palm.

Swishy obediently handed over his heart.

Ruby reached into her pocket, her hand disappearing seamlessly into her dark portal of a dress. She pulled out a handful of tan seeds. One by one, she placed them into the extracted straw, the pulsating core of Swishy. The crunching sounds slammed against Trey's psyche as the straw mass absorbed the seeds, grinding and grounding them into dust. Buds sprouted from the heart, then sprouts.

“Look Swishy,” Ruby kindly said. “The growth is instant. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Swishy looked, but that’s all he did. The blue soul of his pumpkin receded like a dying candle.

Trey was choked with worry, captive and fearful. Swishy, what’s wrong? is what he wanted to say. The sentiment swelled on the tip of his tongue, but he felt stupid for it. The scarecrow was just a scarecrow—not a person or pet. But what was the day they’d had? What was their day of jokes and lessons? What were the scarecrow poses they’d done outside?

Something was coming, and Trey was dying to know what. He prayed for Ruby to make her next move—to allow Swishy freedom again, and to allow Trey his breath.

Ruby threw the heart out the window, an ominous thud resounding as it hit the grass.

A rumbling occurred—the thunderous groan of the soil tore open, splitting apart as the saplings emerged. Trey didn't have to stare out the window to know what came next.

Swishy walked over and grabbed his hand. They made eye contact, sort of. Trey stared into an empty gourd, the familiar soul-blues completely missing from the scarecrow's head. Swishy flung his free arm upward in a half-a-"T", his linguistic rustles giving Trey a vital message: "Buds into sprouts, sprouts into saplings, saplings into cloud tappers, cloud tappers into sky-piercers..."

"Sky piercers..." Trey watched the windows darken from the shadows of the immense, still-growing woods.

The rumbling went on and on—the fissuring, the Cearthquake. Around the perimeter of The Curseworks plaza, a brand-new version of Straw City shot up from the ground, wooded and golden and divinely prolific.

Trey pulled Swishy down to the floor and hunched over him.

Ruby stared out the window, admiring the strength of Swishy's heart.

"What a harvest!" She proudly declared. "And that, my dears, is without the altar!"