STRAW AND TROUBLE—Swishy never found one without the other, and as a boy of straw, that didn’t bode well for him.
The snitches were upon them, their eyes brimming with [Detect]. The birds scoured the everytrees for concealed talismans, ripping them from their levitating stations, tearing them, eating them. But most of the [Sanctuary] papers were still hidden, untouched in this dreadful game of tag. So for all the voracity of the flock’s screams and paper-shredding violence, the villagers were thankfully protected from those almost-certainly vile sounds.
The current form of Straw Village had met its abrupt end, and Swishy was naturally sad about it. “Grand opening, grand closing,” Swishy sighed.
“You got that right,” Trey said. “It’s alright. New beginnings once we make it out of this bind.”
“We just haven’t had to do it with so many people before.”
“That’s a good thing, though. You know what they say…”
“It takes a village?” Swishy’s eyes flashed briefly, a little mini-game before the death game to come.
“It does.”
“Now boys…” Sling said. “Do we have time for this? I don’t believe we do.”
The boys shrank in timid laughs and set to work. Straw Village had to flee. There were no two ways about that.
The trio fell into their roles. Swishy watched the birds, the surroundings, scanning both the landscape and soulscape for changes and dangers. Trey entered the thick of the village, tending to the organization and flight preparations. Sling stepped toward the edge of the barrier, playing goalkeeper should the birds find a gap in her depleting [Sanctuary] defense.
Even from afar, Sling remained ever the expressive forewoman. She telepathically controlled her bandages, twisting them into thick ropes—whipping them at the straw-bound. Through a combination of her domineering bandages and stick-like fingers, she pointed them to different locations and duties. Swishy found himself energized as Sling’s aura tingled his soul, calming his anxiety and latent curses.
Everyone packed in double time. The kid-crows rushed around the village and collected small trinkets while the adults used [Weave] to condense the large items. [Weave] spells rolled the hammocks into scrolls. Beds were magically separated into multiple small cubes and floated through the air. Next came their homes themselves—entire huts split into halves, then quartered, before being quartered again into sixteenths. Every structure was sliced into charcuterie board perfection. As they bent down to pick their deconstructed homes up, Trey interrupted.
“Guys!” Trey called. “You need something to carry things in. You can’t defend yourselves with full hands!”
Something to carry things in…Swishy detected the problem as soon as Trey said it. The frequent brushes with curses honed the boy’s instincts for emotional damage. The scarecrows paused, only briefly. The same idea crossed through their minds, their haunted memories. They used [Weave] to draw out wearable straps. As the straw piles shaped into wicker backpacks and cross-body satchels, the likes of which Bristles had worn, each straw-bound trembled. Straw baggage was a strange trauma but a valid one.
The old voices blared within Swishy’s mind of screaming straw-bound souls captured and packed within Bristles’ satchel, and of Bristles unapologetically chowing down on his quarry. The villagers whispered amongst themselves, commiserating. The words COFFIN and URN crowned their heads, but they donned their bags and waved to Trey.
“You’re strong and creative,” Trey said, still shooting at the birds. “I’m proud of ya’ll! Now let’s get going!”
Swishy and Trey were equally staggered by the scarecrows’ next bold decision: they’d carried Bristles’ unconscious body into Trey’s discarded scarecrow cast. The predator was sealed inside the healing wheat with [Weave] tendrils. The subtle glow of the mostly gold-straw construction worked its way into the man’s damaged muscles.
“Are you guys sure?” Trey said. “I barely survived him. If he acts crazy, can you handle it?”
“It doesn’t matter if they can,” Sling called from across the way. “We need options. If they want to survive, they’ll have to endure worse.”
A group of scarecrows carried Bristles, scarecrow cast and all, to Sling. While a pair of people pressed Bristles onto Sling’s back, the other straw-bound used [Weave] spells to create large enough carry straps for her. Soon, Bristles was secured upon their village leader’s back, a sociopathic backpack ready for transport.
The wrathraven chicks poked from their crevice of bandage and straw, pecking at Bristles’ head—they didn’t want to share their house.
“Stop it,” Sling ordered. “Be good.”
But the rowdy chicks peck-peck-pecked away.
The villagers calmed, sharing amused chortles. An agreeable hum traveled through everyone, adjusting their own baggage onto their bodies. They flashed Trey an array of positive gestures. Thumbs up—but with bitten-up thumbs. Peace signs—but with missing digits on their forefingers. Their hands were a waving array of incense sticks.
Trey flashed peace signs back at them, his perfect fingers sparking with playful [Zzt] orbs.
Swishy tracked the birds, preparing to fight. The snitchtalons nibbled at the spell-infused Sling wraps. They ferociously ate, annoyed at how little they could fit into their modest beaks. But they made fast progress, tearing down 3 of a dozen plus talismans.
With each consumed talisman, a section of the [Sanctuary] deactivated. A wall of air warbled and then stabilized. Each bird stared inside at the sudden appearance of the now exposed population.
A veil spell? The snitchtalons were impressed at first, then incredulous. These guys are getting too capable for their own good. If they can veil themselves, they can veil our bodies! They can veil souls!
“We haven’t done that!” Trey shouted through the [Sanctuary] gap. “Leave these people alone!”
People? You mean mannequins? Don’t worry you lying Clayborne, we’ll deal with you! The birds turned around and around, searching for Trey. The remains of Sling’s spell disguised them, its enchanted impression mostly intact.
But that protection waned. It wouldn’t be long before it was gone.
The snitchtalons were charging up on violence. Outrage. Sorrow. Shame. The flock’s body language expressed these emotions and more. And their souls expressed something Swishy recognized, respected, and came to fear. RESOLVE. The intent filled the birds, increasing their focus, their mental sharpness, and their resiliency. The bird-souls hardened. The tips of their winged auras were ginsu sharp.
Some birds tried to go inside but were turned away by the remains of [Sanctuary]. The illusion created a sort of labyrinth that the snitchtalons calmly studied. Wisely, Sling had hidden some of the talismans in the trees’ canopies and hollows.
[ZAP]—Trey wasted no time shooting a jagged beam at birds who’d gotten too close to a talisman. But the snitches easily dodged, expecting a projectile. They knew what to expect. The woods had become a battlefield of bolts and Bristles, two things that remaining snitchtalons had learned to avoid.
Trey kept shooting, running interference. His attacks were thin, restrained, and unwilling to waste power on preliminary distractions.
Seeds of worry burrowed within Swishy. But by now he had city blocks full of concerns he could blank his mind to. Carving a sanctuary within his gourd became important for him. He thought of Trey’s [Heart Armor]. He gazed at Sling’s [Sanctuary]. He filed these shielding moments away for later use. These days, his insides needed more protection than his outsides.
Swishy watched the birds and told himself that it’d be okay. He’d eaten several birds and he’d eat thousands more if that’s what it took to preserve the straw-bound. Within his [Heart Armor], he streamed his energy toward the approximate location of his would-be heart.
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Meanwhile, the darkness in him curled and twisted and danced. Swishy brimmed with cursed energy. No, I can’t. It’s too soon.
His next maneuver required gold. He’d share the wealth—like he did with Bristles. “Everybody eats, everybody eats…” He imagined a world where that was true—true without conditions.
“That’s right!” Trey rubbed Swishy’s shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re up to but do it fast!”
Swishy smiled. Trey had no idea how much he’d helped. A sprig of gold sprouted inside. A second as well. Swishy worked on a third, painstakingly battling against the damage of his second heart loss. And racing against time. How much could he get before the birds crashed through the village? And how much could he save for dealing with the stronger creatures beyond the flock?
Trey was next to leave Swishy aghast. The Clayborne shot a [Zap] beam in [Straw Guardian’s] direction, the crack of gold shaped into an arrow. All eyes landed upon the darkened and wounded effigy. Everyone knew the guardian belonged to Swishy but their fond feelings ebbed toward it as if it were a true individual. The giant scarecrow was a refuge, a protector, and something of a person.
“Collect the blackwheat!” Trey ordered. “If ya’ll are gonna fight, then fight with your everything!”
“Trey! They can’t handle it!” Swishy yelled.
“They lost their bodies and homes. Who are we to say what they can’t handle? We can’t leave that armory behind.”
“Guardian, Trey. It’s a guardian.”
“I know, little homie. And the guardian will continue to guard—just in a different way.”
“It’s okay, you’re right.” Swishy moved past his feelings. The boy stared at [Straw Guardian]—demolished, cursed, and yet more potent than it’d ever been before. The straw-bound rushed to the structure and snatched black handfuls from its base, shoving them into their satchels and backpacks. Once the ground-level harvesting was over, they climbed upon one another’s backs to reach the waist, the chest, the shoulders. They tore everything they could carry from the vexed effigy. Thank you, Swishy heard the villager say as they scaled up to its head. Thank you for saving us. Thank you for accepting the darkness that our bodies cannot hold.
They hugged the guardian. They kissed its body. And as they hopped back down to the surface, they were careful to inspect each other for blackwheat stuck upon their lips and loose crevices. Nobody wanted to be poisoned by berserker energy—at least not until they needed it.
“I’m sorry, Swish. I know this isn’t ideal. I know it might even be wrong. I actually don’t know, I really don’t.” Trey sighed toward the flock-darkened sky, the patrolling feather fiends biding their time, picking their moment. “These days being right just means there’s danger.”
“I want to make them gold weapons, something good.”
“Of course, you do. The world could be better but it’s not, it’s—”
“Cursed. It’s dumb and cursed.”
“Right, right, but don’t pressure yourself, okay? The curses won’t heal in one day or one battle—or even when we handle this Ruby thing. When you live on Cearth, an imperfection is bound to come up. But look, when things are perfect, when your insides feel gold, just remember to leave some for yourself. No matter how much you want to share the light, feed yourself first. Okay, Swish?”
“Yes, Trey. But I’ll make sure to share. I just have to, I must.”
“Oh Swishy, your God credentials are showing.”
Swishy’s gourd swirled with blue charms—crosses, wings, hearts. Deep inside, RESOLVE and DETERMINATION brewed amid his ethereal smoke.
(…)
But the snitches were still at it, seeking a path of infiltration.
[Detect] activated in the flock, their eyes glowing like blue marbles. But as those six letters shaped from their aura—[Zzt]—Trey floated weak orbs at them, distracting them, buying time. But soon the force field would give way.
Sling held her hands to the edge of the barrier and fed it energy. For every two talismans the birds found and destroyed, Sling created and craftily hid one. She couldn’t keep this up forever. Swishy saw her soul—which originally overflowed from her slender frame—slim down like a brittle, dying plant.
It didn’t help that the activity within [Sanctuary]—Trey’s spells, the scarecrow’s [Weave] maneuvers, the general panic and malcontent of the village—had eroded at the barrier from the inside out, contradicting and breaking the illusion.
It was time to go. Swishy would complete the final step.
“Gather around!” Swishy swished out much more dramatically than normal. It was showtime again. He reminisced on the first time in the plaza, scamming his patrons out of feathers and ching. Today, he wanted nothing in return. He’d sermonize again—caring more about their lives than his.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and converged. Their movements were less nervous but Swishy could read their soulful reservations about him. They believed in him wholeheartedly but feared his darkness—they’d prepared for a fanged curse to emerge from his body to eat them whole. At this point, they treated him like they treated Ruby, as a greater presence who owned them.
“Miss Sling…” Miss, that’s a nice touch, they’ll calm down I hope…“She asked me to help you all. She wanted me to teach everyone how to fight. I know you saw the wrathravens—and I know you saw what I did to them…”
The scarecrows nodded; they murmured; they silently waited for Swishy’s instructions.
Swishy was drawing blanks. He shut his brain off, tamping down everything inside but the honesty. When one has the floor, they tell the truth. He’d learned this from Trey. He’d also learned this from Ruby…
“Do you trust me?” Swishy blurted.
“We love you! We cherish you! We’re proud of you!”
Intents sprung from their souls. The words from their mouths matched those that gathered as aura. But trust, T-R-U-S-T, was missing. It’d built in some, minimally, in the smallest font possible. Swishy had suffered the curses for everyone. He’d eaten crow. He’d absorbed wrathraven wings. He carried shadows within his precious [Straw Guardian]. The boy had even housed Myst. His credentials of darkness were more astounding and terrifying than he’d realized.
But the straw-bound noticed it. They saw Swishy for what he’d done, what he’d chosen to carry, and feared him appropriately.
“Don’t trust me then. I’m a cursed boy. I’m strong. But you’re not at my mercy the way you think you are. Owe me nothing. I came here, an empty vessel. And I remain in many ways empty.”
A hush swept over the village. They reached inside themselves. The compulsion hadn’t been triggered until now—they were shocked to realize their hands were in their chests. Dead inside? Not quite. Some pulled their cores out, watching the mound of straw beat in vivid rustles.
Relief, then fear. Flesh and blood vessels had morphed into fragile, fragile straw.
The straw-bound, once eager to transform, now reckoned with what they’d done to themselves. When at first they considered their weakness, they now saw how difficult, how harrowing a journey it’d be, to make themselves a version of whole.
“That’s right,” Swishy said. “Before I teach you anything, I need you to understand what you are. When the darkness calls you a scarecrow, that’s what you are. When they say you’re a hay bale. When they say you’re cheap, breakable, eatable—you are. You know it. You live like it, too. Even now, we’re living like it, aren’t we? Do you feel weak? Do you feel like you’re nothing? Do you feel like everything you did turn into an un-rakeable mess?”
But like before, Swishy’s supporters didn’t break down into tears. They didn’t cry out in blind fervor. Swishy provided them no salve, no drunken ideals, no dream world. A somber feeling solidified within every tight-woven scarecrow, every mound of hay heart that they were ashamed to gaze upon. Yet they held their hearts in their hands. Each individual experienced what they were and what they wanted to next become.
“How…” several spoke at once. “How do we make this strong? How do we battle all that darkness out there? We’re cowering before birds. But there are waves of darkness to come. There are monsters. And spells. And Ruby…How do we take our hearts and make them into a life? A life without interruption or dues.”
“I can’t tell you that. I’m me and you’re you. I can only tell you that I fight, I dwindle, and I regrow. I’m no good with words…I only learned them recently. But I offer you one thing.”
“Please, tell us! What is your offering? You’ve given so much! What more do you have our straw God?”
“What else?” Swishy T’d strongly, a browned scarecrow of the most banal sort—except for the crinkles of gold-straw that bolted through his arms and shoulders and neck in golden scars. “They call me a crop. So be it, I am.”
Swishy pushed the gold straw through his body in stiff needles. Long needles, too. He appeared as a voodoo doll stuck with gold pins. He didn’t at all present as a suffering effigy but as a valiant scarecrow.
The straw-bound rushed toward Swishy, fervent and determined. Their speed indicated that they’d tear him apart, but he spoke his truth. He trusted himself—and he trusted them—to take from him properly. To—for the first time in their lives—take with measure and care. Everyone felt this as they approached him, drew their chosen wheat strand, and then breathlessly thanked him.
One golden wheat strand per scarecrow. The straw-bound drew from Swishy and shuffled away in solemnity. They wrapped their precious strip around their fingers, admiring and treasuring it.
Yes, they breathed. Our God is real…
Meanwhile, the feather storm raged on.
“I believe our [Sanctuary] has run its course,” Sling said. Her gentle tone was admirable in all this chaos. She stood face to face with a wall of feathers. The [Detect] spells had done their job, revealing all of the concealed talismans.
A snitchtalon pecked into a tree hollow and ate the final Sling slip. The fortunate bird made a show out of eyeing the scarecrows as he gulped. The last pillar of mirage air fazed from existence. The birds smirked, then clicked their beaks.
CACAW, CACAW! Two became ten, and then became a hundred, and that hundred intensified into sheer auditory oppression.
No barrier, no sanctum, no protection from the dreadful world outside.
Trey casts two spells: [Zip] for the kid-crows who fled like rabbits, and [Zoom] for himself and Swishy. The shadows collected beneath Swishy and Trey, a conjured longboard.
“Run!” Swishy said—but everyone had beaten him to it, barreling into the woods.
Wingbeats resounded. A curtain of snitches casted shadows over everyone. The flock’s caws were sharp and close, drowning out Swishy’s thoughts.
And the village’s rustling exodus was deafening as well, far louder than any bird.