BAD VIBES—AND THEY CAME FROM SWISHY.
The boy didn’t want to be this way. But he couldn’t help it.
Swishy had his friend back, but felt responsible for their separation, their split battles. There were tough conflicts to overcome and his initial flight had made it tougher. He couldn’t control himself once the curses infected his mind. But he was in a decent place with the shadows now, a heightened state of shadow communication and shadow wielding.
He would apologize to Trey. He just needed to find the words, he just needed to stifle the brewing feelings of GUILT and REMORSE and SHAME…
Calm down. It’s only Trey. Is the heartlessness making me like this?
But he missed the gold, though. And these were golden moments that he’d experienced. The straw-bound had changed their tune, choosing to create a village instead of rely on Swishy. The kid-crows were safe. Bristles was fulfilled and non-violent. Trey was back. It’d cost him his heart but that was the price of doing business. Using heart for an outcome like this was exactly what hearts were for. And now that things were good, unabashedly positive, he expected his body to produce a golden feedback. So what was the hold up? Why did the light not come?
Swishy knew how his body should function by now—or at least he thought he knew. But the insides withheld his vibrant due.
Thank goodness, thank goodness, my friend is whole! He repeated this happy thought again and again on the inside, hoping to trick his body into coughing up the gold. Denied again, though. No gold would grow inside. Yet the chasm swirled on, comfortable in the deadness.
“Hey, Swish!” Trey called. “You gonna help me out of this straw prison or what?”
“Yessir!” Swishy excitedly swished, but he couldn’t get into the feeling. Still, he ran toward Trey and held his palms outward. Through his natural magic, he unwound the scarecrow cast, splitting the front open like double-lidded doors.
Trey rushed out emphatically. “Free, baby! Your boy is free!” He did tremendous jumps in the air, knees to his chest, feet powerfully landing with size-12 Timberland impacts.
Swishy jumped around his friend, celebrating his full-bodied, full-souled return. The golden feelings hadn’t stirred but he forced himself to join in. His mind lingered on the first impulse to do nothing, triggering the GUILT and USELESSNESS to creep through his veiny blackwheat.
The scarecrows jumped around as well. They could feel the excitement. It’d been a while since blessings rained down. Several scarecrows closed around Trey—who flinched at first—until the [Weave] intents grew from their raised hands, producing straw letters. One scarecrow per letter, the group of them forming: WELCOME BACK!
“Thank you,” Trey nervously said, before gathering himself and speaking more confidently. “Thanks, everyone! I’m happy for this…this party! I would’ve changed clothes if I knew you’d all be here.”
Swishy nudged Trey—who noticed his faux pas. The scarecrows were in tatters, though their smiles hadn’t faltered from Trey’s comment.
“Well!” Trey smiled. “Come as you are, am I right?”
Everyone cheered.
Swishy swished in a scarecrow-ing dance, flapping, jumping, spinning, doing anything he could to move the needle on his joy, on the gold inside.
Within his chest, a mild bloom, a few strands sprouting inside like a pre-teen’s first arm hair.
“I did it!” Swishy swished loudly.
Trey cocked an eyebrow, confused, then suspicious. “Did what?”
“My dance,” Swishy tried to cover.
“Yeah, no, let’s talk!” Trey said through a smile, careful not to alarm the scarecrows.
“Okay,” Swishy said, knowing he was in trouble.
Together, they danced away, leaving the boisterous scarecrow party in the woods.
(…)
From one clearing to the next, Swishy could tell Trey expected a change of scenery, fewer scarecrows and more emptiness—but what they encountered instead was the full village of inhabitants, structures, hammocks. Though the hammock situation had upgraded swiftly as one nearby hut was full of [Weave] created beds. The pillows, sheets, and comforter were all [Weave] conjured as well. The potent creativity of the village was on vibrant display.
“Now…” Trey said. “By ‘I did it’, did you mean get the scarecrows under control?”
“Uh, kind of.” Swish wanted openness with his best friend, his brother, but every time an urge for the truth happened his chasm roared. The hollow inside released any word it could to close Swishy’s mouth. Lately, SHAME was a favorite. SECRECY was another. SOLITUDE was the killer. Entire flowers of it released sharp petals within his chest. The scarecrow had taken to a lonely nature that wasn’t originally there. But that penchant was prominent in him now.
The boy wanted with everything to say he lost heart again. Admit it…just admit it…But why is it so hard?
SHAME and STUPIDITY laughed at him. And Swishy was sickened that he agreed with the words. That he was unworthy for losing heart. And that he was stupid for doing so. EMBARRASSMENT made a guest appearance as well—and danced upon his shoulders, slumping them.
“I know something happened,” Trey said. “Talk to me. You can tell me anything, you know?”
“I can’t say.”
“Then start small.”
“I don’t know what’s small. Everything is a big deal. It’s overwhelming.”
“Look, I’ll help—so you can help me.” Trey laughed and rubbed Swishy’s shoulder. “Question one: where am I?”
An easy question. A softball. Not that Swishy could endure a direct question, but the community made it easy. The nearest scarecrows were murmuring—they’d overheard the question. They looked toward a teepee labeled THE NEW WONDERWEAVE—Swishy was surprised that they’d already created signs. A man with a frayed body but perfect, unmarred hands infused magic into a pile of wheat. The [Weave] intent evolved into [Craft], the emotions behind which were INSPIRATION, VISION, ART, CARE. The straw arranged and wrapped around itself and found its proper path to construct large-sized signage.
The braided letters were gloriously bound. The nearest scarecrows gathered around to see. Murmurs, shouts, awed gasps. A few grabbed the sign and lifted it above their heads. “Come look! Come see!”
STRAW VILLAGE. A little humbler than a city, a metropolis, a fast-growing train wreck. They were proud to be quaint and lowkey.
“We’re named again! We’re a people! We are people! It’s only been a day since losing our homes, but it feels like years! Thank the Lord! Thank Swish-Swish! He has given us magic. He’s shown us how to live with intent!”
They held their hands up in a thousand [Weave]s, straw hearts and Swish-dolls raised skyward.
Elation, relief, graciousness—the straw-bound were all of these things.
“Oh wow,” Trey said. “They’re really ride hard for you now, huh?”
Swishy longingly gazed at the gorgeous energy emitted from the straw-bound. Their hopes lifted from their bodies in harvestable dots. He hadn’t seen these before but had consumed them since his arrival to Straw City. He naturally took to goodness—but not today, not the way he was now.
He shrugged and kept walking.
Trey sighed and followed along. “Okay, next question.”
“No more questions. I’m trying to make gold.”
“You mean you can’t.”
“I just need a second. My body usually makes it.”
“Why won’t it?”
“It just won’t…” Swishy walked faster. He was getting nervous. Trey’s attention was supposed to be a blessing and the chasm inverted everything. Attention felt like smothering. Honesty felt like manipulation. Acts of love, feelings of love, were accepted as a lie. Swishy was going through the motions and everyone else must’ve done the same. The scarecrows had weaved him hearts—but they knew nothing about hearts. They had them before, but not anymore.
CRUELTY spread through Swishy’s blackwheat as he felt GUILT and FAULT for his train of thought. The boy shrank from his WEAKNESS as he blamed his woes on the chasm.
And without noticing, without a full sense of control, the blackwheat spread to the surface of his hands. He turned around and was glad that he’d gone some distance from the village. Perfect. As it should be. Swishy was almost relieved to be gone but Trey was right on his heels, mouth agape, arms outstretched toward him.
“I don’t deserve their goodness,” Swishy said. “I don’t deserve anything. I’m just a dark boy. I should just go away…” He held his hands toward Trey. The anguish fissured through his face, cracking his rind. “Who would want me like this? Do you want me like this? Don’t lie to me, Trey.”
“I love you, homie, don’t be like that.”
“You hate me. Everyone hates me.”
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong. I’m just dark!” Swishy screamed, double-voiced, the chasm bold enough to reveal itself. “Is it wrong? To be me? Is it wrong to carry shadows? What about to being one? Answer me, Trey.”
“We all have shadows. I told you this.”
“But not like me.”
“No, not like you.” Trey brandished his hands, flexing and un-flexing his fingers, kneading magic.
“I’m alone no matter what. My insides tell me all I need to know.” The blues of Swishy’s eyes and mouth had subsumed into a charcoal smoke. His black breath danced around his head like a ghost. The voodoo was back, ready to claim anyone who came close, anyone who dared threaten the boy’s SOLITUDE. The dead were to be left alone—the dead inside as well.
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“Boy, oh, boy…you’re cursed, aren’t you?” Trey’s tone and posture was mournful. The shadows gathered in his hands clarified in gold. Swishy’s eyes briefly widened at the glow, oh how he missed it. He stared at the golden aura like campfire flames, relaxing, reminding him of why he loved his friends so much. Trey was a friend of darkness, a friend of Swishy, a man who’d bring anyone illumination if given the chance.
“If we could go back to the start, I wouldn’t feel this way.”
“You’re here now. And I can help.” Trey’s golden hands molded into recognizable words. [Heart Strings] swirled around Trey’s individual fingers. The heart-healthy spell rings hypnotized the boy. The tranquil energy of its circling couldn’t be ignored.
“Okay, Trey…please help.”
“Beautiful,” Trey smiled, all 32 teeth present and accounted for. “I’m proud of you for saying it.” The [Heart Strings] unraveled and shot toward Swishy’s chest.
Swishy opened his arms, more hug-like than scarecrow, and allowed the spell to hit him.
PRIDE shot through him.
And SELF-ESTEEM too.
(…)
While Trey’s spell explored around his body, navigating the chasm inside, the scarecrows gathered around.
They were curious. Anyone would be. They wanted to know what’d become of their god.
And the scarecrows weren’t oblivious by any means. They’d seen everything that Swishy had gone through. And they’d suffered tremendous loss as well. Swishy was relieved that there were dark denizens who understood—but also felt a little guilty about it.
It’s okay. Swishy told himself, words he hadn’t said in a while. I can do this. Making things right means helping them too.
Swishy groaned. The exploratory [Heart Strings] traveled within his body like gold-straw and blackwheat. The texture of the soulful spell exerted the same pressure as his other internal changes. The familiarity soothed him, grounded him, and returned him to his natural level of trust.
“This feels good!” Swishy said, a hint of his ocular blues returning.
“First person to ever say that during surgery.” Trey laughed.
“They’re not built like me.”
“Like a magically reconstructing scarecrow?” Trey strolled up the scarecrow. The golden threads unraveled from his fingers and spooled within Swishy.
“Young god would be less of a mouthful.” Swishy winced in anticipation of a punishing maneuver but Trey didn’t have Myst’s abilities.
“Hmm…” Trey stood over Swishy, staring down at the magic threads. His fingers swayed in an orchestral rhythm that Swishy found hypnotic and funny—hypnotic for the elegance, and funny because the rough-edged Trey had committed said elegance.
“You got pretty fingers,” Swishy joked but Trey was deep in the soulscape now.
Swishy felt his every move. The [Heart Strings] gravitated around the chasm, blown in irregular gusts. But the boy soon detected a pattern to Trey’s spell. The cardiac threads circled in repeated layers much like Swishy’s own spells. With each cycle of elongated aura, a discernible shape became prominent. There were tighter thread circles near the base of the hollow. A longer, elliptical arrangement of strings wrapped around the upper zone.
The scarecrow was entranced and found himself drawing the [Heart Strings] path with his fingers. The image was lovely. Every person—every curse, even—knew the shape of a heart. Swishy’s fingers drew the shape over and over, mirroring Trey’s elegant digits.
Swishy would’ve laughed at himself, too, if he wasn’t so immersed in his healing.
Hearts were for giving—that’s what he’d decided during his Myst deal—and he was glad that Trey was proving him right. This wasn’t a heart but the sizzle of gold felt the same. Anything he’d experienced of a heart had been given to him—this ongoing act of kindness included.
As a pleasant side effect to the aura-woven heart, the chasm calmed. The abyss crashed against the [Heart Strings] walls but Trey’s magic was unrelenting. Swishy could see the ethereal activity of his insides as if his torso were of plated glass. The hostile shadows zipped around in violent streams, barreling against Trey’s energy prosthetic. The heartless intents took their shot at infiltration, too, GUILT and SHAME making their returns. The parts of Swishy that felt bad about receiving help viciously attacked the golden magic.
UNWORTHINESS and VALUELESS darted into the walls with bouldering impacts. But the [Heart Strings] were undeterred. Not a thread shifted out of place.
Swishy gazed at Trey, who held his hands out, struggling to maintain the boundary. The chasm taxed his magic tremendously but he wasn’t in the same danger as during the Bristles fight. Trey’s soul was in healthy, full-structured form. The Clayborne strained and gritted his teeth as he fed an unending rush of energy into Swishy.
“I’m sorry, Trey!” Swishy called. “I traded my heart with Myst! I messed up!”
“You’re fine,” Trey grunted. “You protected me! I sent my body to you for help and here I am, whole.”
“I still feel bad.”
“That means you’re a thoughtful person. Don’t dwell on it.”
“I can’t help but dwell. That’s part of losing my heart.”
“Sad. You teach me harsh new things all the time. But I’m happy to help you through it.” Trey pulled Swishy into a hug and pressed his hands against his back, feeding him more string through his coat.
With the last infusion of gold, the active abyss had lost steam. The cursed words remained inside, hiding in the straw crevices, spring-loading themselves like emotional booby traps. But the banes had settled. The [Heart Strings] prosthetic, many-layered and luminous, had worked. Trey’s soul and Swishy’s soul had converged, their intimate wavelength deciding upon the technique’s name:
HEART ARMOR etched across the string layer’s surface in shimmering grooves.
Swishy expected the spell to stop but the threads continued to unspool. There was so much of Trey’s gold to shape, a heavenly abundance. The entire heart received another layer. And the left side began to receive concentrated activity, tight spirals that dipped and ascended, acquiring details. When Trey finished, feelings of awe exploded throughout Swishy, muting his blackwheat patches back to pale yellow.
On the left side of the heart, Trey had added a wing. Then he worked on the right side. His concentration ended then, the curse battle over. “A lot of people have hearts. But how many can say they got wings?”
“Thank you!” Swishy was overcome. The total doom of moments ago had sharply inverted toward happiness. He nuzzled into his friend’s chest, grateful, relieved, feeling exactly like the straw-bound.
Trey rubbed Swishy’s back, all flesh, no magic.
Somewhere in the depths of Swishy’s chest, a sprout of gold-straw sprung forth.
“You good?” Trey asked.
“Never better,” Swishy said, the blues of his gourd returning with brilliance and love.
(…)
The scarecrows understood Swishy and Trey’s magic interaction. In accordance with their old habits, they openly gossiped.
The curses are fiendish. The shadows won’t leave our god be. But look how he tamed them with the wrathravens. Look how his priest Trey supported him. We want to do that for him. We wish we could be that. If only we had power, if only we were more…
Again, their understanding was both a relief and a sorrow to Swishy. But their hopes were bare for all to see. With the lurking dangers, Swishy considered the honesty a good thing.
The boys decided to turn back to the newly minted Straw Village. Swishy kept patting his chest, impressed by the implant’s warmth. He could hear the sizzle of its glitter from inside him, an echoing song of care.
“Trey this is so cool…” Swishy distractedly pat-patted his heart.
“I’ve picked up some tricks since you dumbly ditched me.”
Swishy’s mouth opened wide. He knew he couldn’t escape that conversation.
“Oh yeah,” Trey scolded. “We’re going to talk about that one. Not now, though.”
“Yes, Trey. Buddy system forever.”
They laughed, passing through a grouping of scarecrows who then followed behind them. The straw-bound split off upon their return to the village, though. Everyone had their own things to do, their own homes to beautify with [Weave]. Swishy marveled at how much they suddenly had now. If Swishy could, he would’ve lived there forever. He just had to fight heartlessness to see it. CONTENTMENT flowed from within. He found the intent lodged inside him, something he possessed all along. Straw Village felt like the cozy darkness he was ripped from. Living in the moment had always been his thing. With his remembrance of the concept came a downer of a thought.
“What would I have done without you guys?” Swishy asked.
“Struggle, of course!” Trey maintained his bright mood, but his smile dropped a little as he sensed Swishy’s worries.
“What happens to people who are alone?”
“They have to find others—or be found themselves.”
And if they don’t find anybody? He wanted to ask so badly but didn’t. His anxiety was truthful with him this time—Swishy supplied the answer on his own. Swishy remembered why he’d invited the curses to stay in his wing, and why he’d offered [Straw Guardian] as a refuge to the wrathraven shadows.
“Sad…” was all Swishy said.
“Lift that gourd, young Swish. You can only deal with what’s on your plate.”
Unexpectedly—though Swishy should’ve expected this—the skies darkened. The boy experienced the flash of blackness like the first uncertain sprinkle before a rain. One shadow darted overhead, drawing Swishy and Trey’s eyes. Then a second streak passed across the clearing. Within a few seconds, a barrage of dark streaks slashed across the once-pink skies, infecting the static twilight with an intermittent night.
Snitchtalons. They wouldn’t be denied for long.
Both the boys froze where they stood. They knew that this didn’t bode well, knowing their separate crimes against bird-kind. Swishy’s wing awakened briefly, twitching, tapping the boy’s shoulder in a warning way.
CACAW! CACAW! The snitchtalons’ collected voices resounded like a spilled drawer of knives.
The communication was clear: they’d failed to locate their fallen soldiers.
Vengeance was on their docket. They shot through the treetops. They disappeared within the clouds. They landed atop the dismantled [Straw Guardian] and clawed at its face.
And it wasn’t just them. Curses surrounded the area, Ruby-controlled ones. Swishy knew this because their voices were so loud. They screamed out the cards used upon them. SEARCH! They cried. THREATEN! COERCE! KIDNAP! TRANSFORM!
“Did they say transform?” Trey asked.
Swishy pointed toward The High Chasm. With their eyes, you couldn’t see it. But the soul vision was clear as day, the molding of many smaller curses cohering into one larger cursed body. The six-winged silhouette was unmistakable. Wrathravens were forming in Ruby’s domain.
“I never fought one myself,” Trey said. “They can’t be that bad…can they?”
“If they weren’t, Trey, then you would’ve found me with a heart.”
“Touché…”
A tall shadow cast over them in skinny bars like Venetian blinds. It was the lanky Sling who appeared behind them. She was walking NEST intent. Her bandage wraps flew around the air as their own organisms, brushing the dust away, creating bird nests in the trees, and hanging weaved baskets of flowers on the branches. The mummified mistress was reaper-like in aesthetic but a homemaker through and through. And Swishy was scared. He knew she’d heard the disappointing news. Sling slumped her shoulders briefly and sighed.
“Life as a straw denizen is tough, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah…” Swishy and Trey said in unison.“I know this won’t last forever. Ruby won’t stand for it.”
“I can’t think of a lot she’d stand for,” Trey shrugged. “Truth be told.”
“Please Swishy,” Sling pleaded. “We need power. If you can’t give us the light, give us darkness.”
“I don’t think the others want darkness.” But the truth was that Swishy wanted his own break from the darkness. Yet the chasm kept calling him back. The blackwheat vibrated inside, eager for another chance to play.
“We have the darkness now.” Sling gestured toward her whole body, the straw poking beneath her bandages, the stark inhumanness of her body. “We have it all around. Do you not feel it? The night?”
“Oh boy,” Trey said, gazing into the sky.
POSTCARD had filled the sky. The beachy pinks disintegrated into papery flakes, the wallpaper sky crumbling in millions and trillions of pieces. A blizzard of coral-colored flakes fell upon the entire realm, topping the trees like cherry blossoms. The woods were bright but the skies were dark. Up above, the blackness swelled. The clouds oozed and bubbled with the anguished forms of cursed faces.
The boys stared at each other, their shared thoughts clear: What maniac would put this on a postcard?
But the ambient curses answered the question, their thousands of voices calling for the same thing. Birds, they said in one way or another. Where are our birds? Our cousins? Our kin are dead! No, no, no, no, no, no, no…
Swishy and Trey repeated the same thing: “No, no, no, no…”
Sling’s bandages reached from her arms and around the boys’ shoulders. The matriarchal gesturing was perfect for the moment. NURTURE intent surrounded the snake-like wrappings that wiped the sweat from Trey’s forehead and smoothed out Swishy’s wheat-y hair.
Her words were anything but reassuring, though. “See? You’re saying no-no-no when you need to be saying yes, we’ll teach you self-defense. Yes, you’ll teach Sling to sling some shadows. Freedom isn’t free, wouldn’t you say? As long as…those things are out there, we have to fight.” A gentle laughter came from her but Swishy could feel the trembles through her bandages.
The beginning of a black word drifted near the High Chasm. A foreboding T menaced the skies. “T, Y, R…” Swishy spelled out as the letters appeared.
“Tyranny, my guy,” Trey said.
Swishy knew this from video games. He knew it from life.
“My poor dear,” Sling rubbed Swishy’s head with several more bandages. Her smooth voice was a joy to the boy’s auditory functions. “Steady yourself for the dark comes in waves.”
Swishy leaned his head against Sling’s knee, hiding beneath the flare of her peacoat.
“Now, about that curse-slinging!” Sling declared in a melodic, preschool teacher’s tone. “You’ll teach us, won’t you, sweet little God?”