CALM RETURNED AND TREY EASED INTO IT.

It wouldn’t last forever so now was the time to relax.

Now was the time to deal with the things inside himself that he hadn’t yet explored. His goal was less soul searching and more for soul acclimation at this point.

I’ll get to it, I’ll get to it. Thank goodness for a bit of breathing room.

He and the villagers were at the base of The High Chasm. Once Swishy and Sling arrived for their regrouping, it was time for them to ascend. The plan was simple: to take the fight to Ruby and earn everyone’s freedom back. Trey rehearsed the goal in his mind over and over again. Fight for freedom, fight for freedom, because he knew that it was easier said than done. By keeping his aim simple, he could put the terror out of his mind. Dark fortunes were brewing within their not-so-distant futures, but not yet, so he did his best to stave off the worry.

No reason to defeat himself before Ruby and her followers arrived to deliver the pain.

For now there were no dangers seen, unseen, or otherwise sensed. Nothing was alive but the physical entities. Every soul had a vessel—which shouldn’t have been such a novel concept but in Straw City it was.

The hands disappeared and the cool blue night returned. There were stars. There were colors in the sky. There were birds, too, shadowclaws with their original souls. Treetops danced from the gentle winds as if they were stylishly whipping their hair back. Leaves drifted upon curly cues of gusts, saluting the night with their somersaults.

He’d spent the last attack herding Straw Village away. The kid-crows and mummified adults were a lot to keep track of.

And Bristles. Oh Bristles, you crazy motherfucker…Bristles as a backpack was exceedingly burdensome in more ways than one. The heavy body was the obvious stressor, his muscles seemingly packed with stones. Not to mention the thousand flavors of psychopathy that kept Trey on his toes. Trey wanted to know if it was safe to set him down. His shoulders ached. He was tired, too, and not at all muscle-bound or large. This was a Sling job, considering her size and peace-producing bandages.

A happy medium was decided upon: he carefully settled onto the ground with the scarecrow cast still on his back. Trey sat on his butt while taking deliberate steps to extend his legs, moving forward until his legs were flush to the ground—and Bristles’ were too. They sat down back-to-back, legs flat, twin L’s resting against each other as support. Now they shared the burden, or rather transferred most of it to Cearth, though Bristles didn’t know it with as he remained asleep.

This guy…Trey had mild annoyance at the hoops he jumped through to keep the man asleep—but also relief that he managed to keep him asleep.

Thank God. Thank Cearth. Thank any and all fortune that keeps his craziness at rest.

The evening settled in all ways. Everything settled into what a postcard should be. A sweet and woodsy aroma laced the air from the trees and fruit. Everytrees were sturdy as one expected the woods to be.

For the first time in months, Straw City had relatively curse-free weather. Trey, at last, caught his breath.

A normal night…this is that good life!

[NEST]. [WEAVE]. [HARMONY].

The ground underneath Trey rose upward by two feet, a sudden straw bed. More of the wheat conjured under his arms into pillows that he now leaned against as armrests. And the pillows kept rising from the bed itself, popcorn-ing beneath the Clayborne. They worked quickly, too, the remnant [Zip] intent bolstering their casting speed. The scarecrows covered him with a crafted blanket, combed his hair, and used a hard-toothed straw brush to clean the dirt from his Timbs.

The scarecrows, now mummified from their last encounter with Sling, were borrowing from her move pool and applying the [Weave] spell to the bandages. As they were smaller bodies and new to the technique, they couldn’t create an abundance of wraps out of nowhere. They did, however, have enough gauze and know-how to apply pillowcases and sheets to their beddings.

With each spell, the residual vitality seeped into Trey’s skin, muscle, and soul. He never envisioned a world where he’d rest upon enchanted pillows and sheets but he was here for it. No darkness or curses were around. These exact three minutes of his life was a time when the magic was only good, never bad.

The soul he’d used to buff the villagers quickly restored—which made sense, considering these were the combined efforts of several people.

Trey, utility mage extraordinaire, was living the life. He waved to the scarecrows that were now servicing him, instantly relaxing. He was under no delusion about how much he deserved this five-star hotel treatment. The young man noticed all the [Zip] technique coursing through the scarecrows that dashed from one end of the clearing to the other. Everyone moved so quickly that he only glimpsed the blur of bandaged bodies.

He watched the village in awe: partially at how swiftly they mastered new spells—and mostly for how his own spell had put the scarecrows in fast-forward. Pride in their magical progression was a fresh experience: he hadn't had the opportunity to appreciate how far they’d come.

All around him, a new village came up with much the same amenities as the prior one. Everything was scaled down this time. A couple of huts and several hammocks. There were wicker hampers with backpack straps that they created between the trees. The containers were filled with natural debris, a wise preparation of [Weave] fuel for the next time they came under attack. One basket held no debris at all, only everyfruits.

A firepit came next—a surprising move given how flammable straw was.

Let’s see where this goes! If they go up in smoke, I’m sure they can re-weave themselves hehe…

He saw the purpose once the scarecrows gathered around the pit. They shucked off modest portions of their arm straw to contribute to the overall share of kindling.

Trey shifted to the edge of the bed and slowly turned, wanting to get up yet having to contend with the Bristles pack. Come on, big buddy, let’s go. He pushed against the buoyant straw and lifted himself and the aspiring wrathraven to a standing position. His shoulders were at full strength, its aches dissolved. The firepit was a curiosity he couldn’t miss. Recent times had taught him all the signs that a ritual was coming. Exact traits wouldn’t supply themselves in his head but when arcane beings gathered, things happened. Even the shadowclaws above slowed their flight to peek in on the action.

Amie the kid-crow pushed past Trey, almost knocking the Bristles-bearing boy down. She appeared out of nowhere and Trey noticed that she contained a scant remain of the [Zip] spell in her, too. Two reactions tugged at Trey. The first: Damn, my spell is that good shit! And the second: Kids sure are rude these days.

“Excuse me?” Trey said, his babysitting attitude coming alive.

“You’re in the way!” Amie didn’t even turn to him, focused as she was. Amie’s purple ribbon was now fashioned into a bracelet and dangled from her wrist as she pointed. Trey’s eyes followed her direction and saw kid-crows abiding by her orders, grouping to tackle their assignments.

Amie was at the top of the food chain when it came to the children. From her, the hierarchy cascaded downward where the bigger kids led squads of younger cleaning assistants. They gathered from select trees and swept the leaves and crushed sticks away. Other groups climbed into the lower branches and cleared the spider webs and small insects.

But it was their chore execution that reminded Trey that scarecrows were indeed scarecrows: the oldest kids would hold out their hands. Small kids practiced their magical weaving as they shaped themselves with [Feather Duster] and [Rake] and [Broom]. Sometimes two or more kids combined into [Bigger Broom], which turned out to be those exceptionally wide tropical ones that Trey saw in Ruby’s house.

Must be a Shugarrian thing. Trey mentally shrugged—though Trey didn’t think the children were referencing culture as opposed to being what he knew all kids to be: little shitheads.

Amie returned to Trey by using the [Zip] gift. She grabbed Trey’s hand and pulled him over. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Are you guys going to set yourselves on fire?”

“I think, something like it.”

“That’s wild.”

“The wild part is that you’re gonna help us.” She made finger guns and did a little kapow motion.

Trey looked up to the rest of the villagers and they laughed, doing the same thing. The whole village put their guns up, firing at the Clayborne. He wouldn’t feel threatened if not for all the creation magic that flowed through their bodies.

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He went over to the firepit and pointed his index finger at the gathered kindling. [Zzt]. Flames crackled upward as the scarecrows found dark stones lying around the area. They weaved their unique offerings and tossed them in as fuel. As the tokens were reduced to ash, a resplendent soulfulness floated into the air, becoming their breath. Trey inhaled the blue auras and felt their wishes.

Every Swishy-straw emblem glowed again as the villagers focused on their silent prayers. He could tell that they weren’t asking for things, though, as they openly engaged each other in conversation and hugs. They were happy with each other and wanted Swishy to feel that.

I hope this helps you grow more gold again. Feel it, Swishy! And this time I won’t let this spoil. You’ll never go full dark again, not on my watch.

Trey had prayers of his own. He gazed at the sky. Even if it was Ruby’s, a [Postcard] fabrication, the sky was still the sky. Heaven was beyond anything he could see with his eyes anyway. Who cared if there was a ceiling to this city, to this world, to anything detectable by human perception? The scarecrows' wishes were felt by this land, and Trey believed that his dreams were reaching far-far-far above.

The sudden image of Swishy flashed into his mind, black and ashen and aflame from head to Timb, reconstructing in blackwheat as the flames burned sections of his body away.

Trey knocked his fist against his forehead. The potency of the scarecrow’s restoration was almost promising to him. Swishy’s dark-god-ness had gotten them out of the recent jams. It was something to think about. But the loosening of the curse-averse morals he'd grown up with was something Trey hesitated about. He felt like he was missing some horrid aspect of the darkness Swishy used, and he contemplated if he should been more bothered by how they required hexes and souls to brute-force their way out of danger. Light. This was his ideal. The world he wanted to inhabit was bathed in color. How far could they stand to stray from the brightness when they'd been counting on light all along?

I gotta get myself together.

Trey made his wishes and then tuned into the scarecrow’s frequency. He’d spread his good feelings to his friend. Gold, gold, he needed Swishy to retrieve gold. The boy had a golden spirit and he’d bring it out again one day. One day soon, he hoped.

As the ethereal aura collected in threads above the village, a bird shape developed and flew beyond the tree line, seeking Swishy. Then several more birds were born. And then more after that. The spiritual constructs glided into the night as gifts for their god. Everyone knew by now that Swishy functioned off of energy, so the straw-bound were determined send their offerings.

Trey's determination aligned with the village's as well. Blueness pulled from the Clayborne's body, a small amount, not enough to drain him but a sufficient sum to count as a token. He watched his own bird take shape. Its wings were bright and beautiful. Clayhearth symbols were engraved upon the feathers.

Find him! Let my boy GLOW!

And the bird flew away.

Tug-tug. Amie had a death grip on his sleeve while the kid-crows behind her had armfuls of sticks and leaves. All of the children rushed around before the remnant [Zip] left their straw. While some of the kids arranged the kindling into rectangular layers, stacking them higher and higher, Trey started to get the idea right away.

“More sparks?” He asked.

“A lot!”

“Your Swish-speak is really good.”

“I’m their leader, of course it is. Now don’t talk down to me because I’m a kid. Make with the fire or get out of the way.”

Trey smiled while his inner spirit eye-rolled and groaned at this rude little kid. “One bonfire, coming up.”

“Thank you, Trey!”

The kids cheered. The adults clapped. And the bonfire roared in a tower above them all, stray embers catching upon their straw arms and mummy bandages. Everyone burned, even Trey who caught a couple of pops against his skin. But nobody cared.

Nobody except Trey at least.

But didn’t let anybody know it. He wasn’t trying to stifle their tribal vibe—though he scrunched his nose at the thick dark smoke. The fire wasn’t the most controlled one he’d ever seen, occasionally pooling from its crate-like structure. Yet he stood alongside the scarecrows, immersed in their off-the-cuff worship. The flames stoked unity, togetherness, and power. It’d been a while since he’d seen the blue aura so thick around them. Particles encased the village in the loose shape of a dome.

The ritual continued within their spiritual arena.

While the kid-crows kept bringing supplies to the air—more sticks and less brush—they ceased adding them to the bonfire pyre and laid separate piles off to the side. One of the adults went from pile to pile and filled their hands with a technique that resembled their weave spell. Trey became skilled at seeing the invisible framework of spellcraft and recognized words that he’d seen on the flashcards he used to walk around with. CREATION, IMAGINATION, STABILITY, and…

Anchor? That’s a new one.

The wood pieces traveled within the air to their proper assignments, the spell’s energy completing the envisioned puzzle. Debris turned into wooden poles, and the bottom of those poles were sharpened and jabbed into the ground. A new scarecrow technique was learned by the villagers, a wrathraven-inspired one: STAKE.

And the next step? Pile.

Everyone deconstructed and flowed their bodies around the wooden stakes and solidified into their scarecrow forms. Patches of straw were left behind so they could recreate their legs when they were done. Trey’s mouth went agape at the macabre image of the village’s self-staking. But he remembered that last word of the technique—ANCHOR—and could feel the natural grounding that was infused into each individual. The blue wavelength spread from the stake throughout the inner weaves of the wheat, webbing outward to the vessel boundaries.

The Swish-straw emblems glowed all around in the form of necklaces and bracelets and woven etchings upon their bodies. Swishy could hopefully harvest their energy from wherever he was, but Trey was just relieved that he couldn’t see the villagers.

Trey tried to imagine Swishy positioned atop a [Stake] of his own. He was trying the vision out, considering if this was the sort of thing his little friend would like. But Trey could only see Swishy squirming atop the wooden confinement. While the peace of Straw Village was very real at this moment, an undeniable harmony that stabilized the recently fraught emotions of everyone, there was no way Swishy’s true form was required anchoring of any kind. There was no movement. No feet, no Timbs, no wing—and no wings. Swishy couldn’t dance or fly this way. But the village clung to whatever they could. Stakes were a gift that worked for them and them alone.

The Clayborne could tell that the kid-crows had reservations of their own. The children were confused and averted their eyes from their parents, opting to gaze at the flames. Amie and her head-strong attitude had devolved into a type of frailty that one would expect in a child who ran and ran and ran for their life. Her hand scratched against Trey’s palm and it reminded him of Swishy—the kids were all like him in spirit.

The young needed a new path forward. None of these kid-crows could be consigned to a future where they became the type of adults that turned them from humans to scarecrows, and from scarecrows to certified dark dwellers.

As the adults were staked and indulging in the bonfire blessings, the children decided to rest against the anchors and absorb the residual aura from the wood, the straw, and their parents’ shadows.

Trey reluctantly accepted the village’s version of harmony. The atmosphere scared him. But it was better than the peril from starved curses chasing them. Their current status was a vast improvement, wild as that was for Trey to accept.

Save them, Swishy. Harvest their energy. But don’t ever become them. I won’t let you…

Trey pulled Amie against his hip. She held on tight and gazed into the fire.

“You know,” the girl said, “I haven’t been able to find my parents.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

“I hope they can come back. Maybe they’re just lost in the dark place.”

“You mean the altar realm?”

She nodded.

“If they are in the dark place, we can only hope for the best,” Trey smiled even though what he said equated to they’re-stuck-and-they’re-fucked. He ended on the positive note of: “I’m just glad that you’re here.”

“Thank you, that means a lot.”

“I got you covered.”

“And protected…” Amie eyed Bristles. “He ate so many of us. I hate him.”

“That’s understandable. It was hard to stop him but he’s captured now. He won’t do it again.” Trey wavered between thinking he was hopeful or lying, but he didn’t let that show.

“Why would he do that to us? Why does anybody eat anything else?”

Trey actually had an answer for this but didn’t want to sound insensitive to the child who mourned the possible predation of her parents. He’d provided a share of comfort, though, and held her even tighter in his arm, his hand scratching against her rough wheat. She certainly wasn’t made of the same blessed stuff as the little straw god. Life was rougher down the tiers of scarecrow-ing. He knew this, of course, but hadn’t felt anything for the village until now.

“You’re thinking of something nice to say, aren’t you? I know why others eat others. But why my parents? I was a girl. They were a mommy and a daddy. We had skin, big brother, skin.”

“Do you want to be a girl again? Like, a human-bodied one? What do you need from all this?”

“I don’t know. It all happened fast. Maybe a lot of money.”

“Money?”

“I need so much money that when our whole home breaks again, I can buy another.”

“That’s rather simplistic for this situation…but hustle on. What’s the money move?” Trey went with it. Within the calm night, future fortunes around the bonfire seemed like the appropriate type of conversation to have.

“Sell some stuff from your house?”

“My house? I don’t see how my house has anything to do with your hustle.”

“You could start me out, rich boy. I know you’re from Clayhearth. I know you have a lot of gold from my schoolbooks.” She scratched at the back of his hand, punishing his hoarding.

He pulled his hand away. “I don’t have gold. I work for Ruby. She pays good but that’s all in Ching, not gold.”

“Show me your chain.”

“What chain?”

“The one tucked into your shirt.” She reached up—her vertical jump springy for a child. Her light body really got up there.

Trey twisted away. “Hey, hey, hey!”

“Stingy.”

“It’s just mine.” He placed his hand over his cross, more defensively than he intended.

“I bet it’s fake.” Amie pouted.

“Now look! It’s the realest cross ever.”

“I probably turns green in the rain. Maybe you’re poor, after all.”

“Fine then, let’s go with that. I’m poor. And you can’t sell stuff from my house. And you can’t sell my little bit of fake gold.”

“You’re right,” She sighed. “But at least I know it won’t take much to be more successful than you.”

Together, they stared at the bonfire, just them and the staked scarecrows. The gorgeous flames snapped in the air. Flames are for watching, Trey advised himself. And never for throwing annoying kids in.

Amie left his side and groggily climbed into Trey’s five-star bed. “Good night…” She yawned, curling into a ball, waving Trey off like a peasant before the first snore snapped across her straw.

He looked around and noticed that most of the village was asleep or dozing off. The bonfire raged on. Two nearby scarecrows caught fire, candle-sized flames steadily dancing on their shoulders. Trey raised his hand to swat them out but paused.

The scarecrows hadn’t moved at all—so he left the flames alone. Rising from the ash might be part of the ritual. Trey—who had no way of knowing—shrugged. The fire responded like an entity of its own and released a overpowering billow of smoke.

Trey covered his mouth and waved away the smoke his free hand, coughing and coughing while everyone else slept.

I’m too sane for all this. I’m out!

He exited the clearing, briefly buzzed by the soul thick air.