As the village slumbered upon their stakes, Trey was tempted to [Doze] off.
The kid-crows—who’d now piled upon the hay bale bed with Amie—made sleep feel like a luxurious idea.
Now that Trey had vacated the cushiony palette, the kid-crows commandeered it. They piled atop and within and even inside the pillows—the smallest of them finding sleeping-bag coziness from the tight squeeze. A Straw Village favorite ebbed around the bed area: the sphere of NEST intent that soothed the children. As they snoozed, Trey could almost see their fears coating the weaves in their head, but the blue calm upon their bodies caused the darkness to lose purchase and slide away.
The straw-and-bandage crafted bed had the effect of a spiritual waxing, lubricating the children against gloom and curses. Trey laughed at the idea.
Stay slick, kid-crows! If you like it, I love it.
The only things awake in the calm night were Trey and the fire. Moonlight slashed across the area but Trey decided that the celestial accessories were not alive. Stars, moon, clouds, trees—nature itself was just a [Postcard] wallpaper from the Ruby grimoire.
Trey stared at the bonfire. The flames flared on, active but mute. He didn’t know why he expected it to speak.
I don’t know why I expected the tribe shit to work for me. I guess I’m too fancy. I Bet Grandpa Earth would tell me I’m not grounded enough or something.
When Trey stepped away from the clearing, the flames crackled louder, the pyre fuel snapping from the pressure. The Clayborne didn’t need to view through the soulscape to know that he was being talked to. But he wasn’t trying to burn with the villagers. He had his own version of spirituality. As the flames reached toward him, catapulting embers landing at his feet, Trey felt shielded by his cross. He had no clue if this was direct protection from his Lord or if he merely channeled his soul through the item, much like the scarecrows did with their Swish-straw emblems. It wasn’t a worthy enough question for him. He was protected and thankful, and that was all that mattered.
Rest wasn’t happening. He’d had enough of that. And if he got tired, he could flop onto the magic mattress and absorb the healing into his sinews. The straw bed that happened to be something of a clinic amused him.
With the rare opportunity of a curse-free night upon him, he went on with his next matter of business.
“[SOUL].”
Trey’s spirit formed his blue self as his body fell to its knees. The Bristles backpack gently lowered to the ground as well, leaning at a convenient and non-burdensome angle.
His Timbs were recreated in his soul form, something he was pleased for.
Swishy sure would get a kick out of this.
Trey tap-tapped with his foot against the ground. He kicked at a bit of rubble and managed to launch a minor pebble spray with the same impact as his physical body would have. Ghostliness was a talent that he’d taken to now that the Bristles fight forced him into it for a prolonged and stressful amount of time. The pliability of his soul had increased much more than he expected it to, and he now pushed himself to the next limit.
He clicked one heel against the other. The Clayborne hopped up and down. He did a little jog in place and tried to assert his presence. Tufts of dirt came up with every impact. Soft footprints set into the grass, thick bars of Timberland heel presenting themselves.
Physicality was the surface-level aim. Feedback was the true focus. And Trey was receiving it. As he exerted against the presence of Cearth, the Cearth pressed back. He told the planet that his soul was a real thing and Cearth affirmed his existence by giving him access to standard physics.
I could have my own haunted house at this rate. Heck yeah! Now let’s try a phone call…
But not with his phone—with his Timb. He tapped one foot to the ground and focused on feeling the pressure. The soul boot tightened over his feet. His toes wiggled within the hard casing of the shoe. There was a boundary keeping the foot within its container. He was a soul inside of clothes. A spirit in a world. And that ethereal energy now traveled through his cherished Timbs and reached out to the matching pair he’d gifted Swishy.
“Hey bro, you hear me?”
“I GOT YOUR BIRD!” Swishy’s swish-speak was so loud it was like a haybale fed into a woodchipper.
“It was everybody’s—but you’re welcome! I helped, haha.”
“Yes, you have no idea what it’s doing to me right now! My insides are going crazy.”
“I’m happy to hear that even though your insides go crazy no matter what. Straw biology isn’t exactly my forte.”
“Okay, well. There’s magic and it’s good.”
“I like that. Magic. And good.”
After they shared a laugh and a couple of jokes about the darkness getting handsy with the realm, they updated each other on specific planning—the who, what, where, and when of their regrouping. Trey would stay put, more or less, while Swishy rode Sling to the village. Nothing could go wrong. Not with the night the way that it was. Clear skies. Curses in hiding. The boys agreed that it couldn’t be any better.
“Myst is also safe!” Swishy said like a snotty little bragger. He as a shadow savior tickled him more than it should.
“That’s good to hear. She’s crazy but she’s not the worst ever.”
“She’s okay. She has a heart now. I hope she knows that that’s serious business now that it was her getting chased and not just me.”
“A little ruthless there, homie.” Trey meant it as a joke but it struck a severe chord with the scarecrow.
Swishy said nothing but through the soul link, Trey felt a flicker of darkness. It was faint, barely detectable. He wanted to convince himself that it was nothing. But soul business was never a nothing sort of business. The boy was grappling with some shadowy remnants and neither of them could deny it.
Together they felt each other through the link, sharing the gloom.
Trey was worried. It was in part the overbearing worry of a mother-slash-older-brother, but also the reasonable anxiety that came from knowing the rhythms of Swishy’s sensitivity. When it came to him, the costs for any of his joyful gains were hacked away through tremendous misfortune. Achieving goodness only to suffer in near equal amounts was no type of progress at all—and no healthy way to live. They had to get greedier with the scales, this he knew.
After a long moment in their odd limbo, wavering between simple disappointment to sheer mourning, Trey spoke. “I’m sorry for asking you to tap into your blackwheat. It wasn’t right. I’m full of regret.”
“It’s okay. I had to do it. And it worked out.”
“Yes, it worked. The dark arts are powerful but we never know how deep the dark goes. We need you to work at getting you to your best self.”
“My best self? I’m good already. I save people and myself. I don’t feel good all the time but this is what I’m supposed to do, I think.”
“No. Nobody is supposed to do anything that costs them the way that you pay for it. We have to get away from that thinking.”
“I don’t know any other way, Trey, but I’d like to be gold again.”
“You will be. We just have to get more selfish. That’s the next thing, Swishy. You’ve got to be more demanding—and I promise to help you.”
“I thought being demanding was a thing for the dark.”
“It’s a thing for everybody, light or dark. We have to do better. So we need more.”
“That sounds like something Ruby would say.”
“Everything she says makes sense—but everything she is is evil.”
“That hurts my brain but my body feels everything you’re saying. Everything.”
Concerning intents flashed within the soul-link. Words unsaid revealed the barbed edges of FAIRNESS, JUSTICE, VIRTUE, and PUNISHMENT. There was so much punishment, the separate letters of which intermingled through the fairness-justice-virtue, chaining them together. Trey didn’t like the feeling he was getting. Everyone had a version of the world they preferred, even if they hadn’t thought it through or fully considered it. But Swishy’s daydreams veered away from the boy he once knew. Hosting and wielding the dark were dangerous to do, and Trey glimpsed a more urgent situation than he realized.
“And that’s why we’re going to be greedy,” Trey said. “You’re going to get your way, the light way. Are you with me?”
“I’m always with you, Trey. If I become the biggest curse, I won’t ever hurt you.”
“Don’t become a curse.”
“I’ll try.”
“You’ll do.”
“I’ll do.”
“That’s my boy.”
“Bye, Trey. I’m going to play with this bird.”
“Bye,” Trey said, cutting the soul-link.
Hmm, the aura bird. I wonder how we can make another…
(…)
Trey was hungry.
It hit him all of a sudden.
He wasn’t surprised by the craving. But the way his appetite sicced itself on him like a curse frustrated him. After so much of the fight-or-flight action, basic necessities were a galling concept. He loved that he didn’t require imminent saving but the boring parts of survival were unreasonably vexing at this moment. Thankfully, the hunger pang disappeared as soon as it came, but he didn’t know how long the mercy would last. Trey decided to move quickly.
“Let’s go, big guy.”
He adjusted Bristles high upon his back and stood up. Trey wondered if it was bad form to eat the straw in the presence of the scarecrows. Probably not. Maybe if he didn’t think about it too much then no one would flinch from the wheat consumption. He surveyed the area. The bonfire crackled on. The silhouette of the staked scarecrows flickered in jagged outlines, the edges of their straw and mummy wraps getting burnt away. But it was a soul-burn they liked, funny enough, and while Trey wanted to relate to that feeling he couldn’t.
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He’d chosen to kill the flames, though. The scarecrows were asleep anyway. The ritual was done as far as Trey was concerned and he doubted that they’d snap to consciousness and complain. Religious freedom had a limit—defined in this case by burning yourself to the quick.
At the very least, perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to interrupt their peace with the straw chew munchies. He longingly rubbed his fingers over the wheat ball in his pocket. His stomach grumbled with the voracity of a Stormcellar local. He was starving. The Clayborne couldn’t remember his last proper meal. It couldn’t have been too long ago but there were several chases, battles, and dwindling in both the corporeal and ghostly forms to contend with.
He burned through days of fuel in hours. And his body cried out in rebellion. Even his soul constricted around his emptiness. Trey’s essence felt as if he were smashed within an aluminum can, and when he believed that the hunger couldn’t get any worse, the compacting magnified its crush.
Trey stepped away from the clearing and left the scarecrows to their savage rest.
The next section of woods was organized, a man-made and geometric area that Trey presumed to have been cultivated by Ruby and her minions. Three straight rows of trees demarcated the walking paths. And beyond the lines of trees were fields upon fields of wheat. Orange wheat and yellow-stalk presided over the plains like one great sheet of fire.
Beyond those initial plains were further sections that were obscured by the night. The moonlight activated the glimmer of the far plains, visual effects that made Trey wonder if that’s where the blackwheat and gold-straw were kept. He walked forward to get a better look but slowed down, clutching at his stomach. The growls were too much. And the distance gained to the sparkling plains didn’t make them any easier to see.
He made a mental note to tell the villagers to harvest from here. They’d need it for the journey ahead, for the ascension of The High Chasm.
The boy pulled a couple of straw-chews from his pocket and sneakily shoved one into his mouth. Upon the first bite, the magic gushed from the cracked straw and soothed his body. He paused for a second. The silent night remained…silent. A whistle of wind sang in his ear.
Good, no screams. The straw isn’t alive! Yes, yes, I can eat!
He sighed in the most indulgent “ah”, pleased with the calming effect along with the fact that he didn’t consider himself a cannibal for doing so. As the young man went along, popping straw into his mouth, enjoying the crunch within his teeth, a stupid thought came into his mind.
Wow, I could’ve just picked this straw if I was that worried about LIVING wheat. Whoops!
He discarded the remains and picked through the produce section of what was essentially Ruby’s front yard. The boy ate through the straw but it wasn’t the easiest to eat raw. It was still fibrous and uncomfortable. His stomach roared as soon as the fifth or sixth strand touched his lips. It wanted something more substantial. His soul hungered in a specific direction. An abdominal compass wasn’t anything that the Clayborne had bargained for—none of his power set was, but this especially came out of nowhere.
Everytrees. The rows of trunks leaned toward Trey, their treetops angled slightly as if they were heads. He couldn’t see any faces within the dark foliage—thank God—but sensed them filling-out from within those shadowed canopies. Small dots of soul became visible within the thicket. They were born from within the middle of the tree trunks and pushed outward along the branches and the leaves. Twigs and other wood chip debris were pushed from the vegetation in a slight rain.
Fruits pushed their presence through to the edges of branches. The trees gradually shifted their position, asserting their full visibility to Trey. Empty branches closest to his body would sprout fruit. There were multiple problems with this magic, mostly that he didn’t know what was in those dark everyfruits. The fact that his favorite fruits were producing themselves as he approached was most disconcerting.
From afar, foggy swirls ebbed around the branch ends but as he got closer they clarified into mangoes and bananas and honeycrisp apples. There were even specialty fruits that he’d only experienced on special occasions. The settlements outside of Clayhearth were famous for their agriculture, Yam Gardens in particular, and these familiarly shaped crops pushed themselves from the ground at Trey’s feet, nudging against his Timbs. From one of Earth Dime’s business trips, he’d brought Trey a basket of gleam-berries, which, as their name suggested, sparkled in iridescence over their slick and juicy skins. These berries produced themselves within the nearest bushes with their distracting shine, white sparks invading Trey’s peripheral.
The foods favored by his memories continuously blossomed in their everyfruit forms. Black, shadowy, and inviting. He hated how inviting they were. The fruits practically floated toward his mouth and whispered sweet nothings—not to him but to his nostalgia.
What the hell kind of cursed drug is this?
His stomach rumbled, crying out for a patch of everyfruit gleam berries. As Trey walked forward, his stomach seemed to pull in the opposite direction, straining toward the desired food. Trey grunted in a phantom pain. The hungry cramps were a solid sensation but he knew that the soul inside also felt stressed by the contradictory demands.
He pressed onward. His stubbornness had to win. When he got far enough from that specific bush, he noticed that the gleam berries reverted to foggy nodes.
The trees before him held out bunches of black bananas. They were especially long, forcing him to duck underneath them as he passed.
Trey decided that he’d go to the wheat fields. That way he could have safe passage back to the village—far enough from the cursed agriculture of the woods. He loved the abundance of food but hated that they acted as his servants. There was no remote chance that Trey wanted his food to know so much about him. Through what sick magic did the everytrees infiltrate his core memories?
He walked through the waist-high wheat fields and plucked the straw, snacking constantly—though his belly roared its protests. But he didn’t care. He’d fed on straw and straw alone while studying the everytree aisle.
By condensing parts of his spirit into his eyeballs, his [Soul] vision activated.
Trey perused the nooks and crannies of the black and splintered trunks. The branches seemed normal. The roots were typical enough as well. But he followed those roots down into the greater network far along the soil. Close to the High Chasm as he was, he knew that these roots fed Ruby’s home, that incredible sky-piercer that loomed over the territory in power and monstrosity. Deep down within several layers of dense Cearth lay Swishy’s first heart. Its innocent energies were so giving, so generous, feeding any crop within the vicinity. Of course the everytrees knew the foods that best touched Trey’s life. It wasn’t just heart magic. It was Swishy’s thoughtfulness. The harvested love sickened Trey with its rottenness.
His belly growled on, squeezing his skin against both the fronts and the back of his ribs. He decided that this unusual hunger went beyond his recent exertions. Curses were quiet around here but as active as ever. Starvation was the norm, and anyone within The High Chasm was trained to feel it.
Trey’s thoughts turned to Myst. The city’s great hunger was the root of why the hands pursued her so—and why they pursued anything, honestly. He wondered if Myst was okay. The Clayborne knew this was a complicated relationship—but which of his relationships were normal at all? The shifting weight of Bristles stirring in his sleep could tell him that. While Trey was relieved that the shadow hands were gone, he had no confirmation of what became of Myst.
A sharp pain shot through his gut. Hunger didn’t come in waves—it came in razors. But he gritted his teeth and made his corporeal escape.
“[Soul].”
Another blue escapade. And in less than a second, Trey’s vessel began to snore. Have I always snored that badly? Good thing I don’t got a girlfriend to bother with that chaos. She’d KILL me in my sleep without a second thought.
“Yes, Trey, yes they would.” Myst’s silken voice vibrated through a cloud. The woman could exist without disturbing the outside world but today she was in tune with her physicality. Or maybe a forced solidification ruled over her. As a soul, Trey took no special effort to scan the rapid heartbeats within her chest.
Trey flew into the clouds and searched around. It was all dark. There weren’t any textures that Trey could visually pick her from but he trusted that she’d make her soul signature easy to find. They were friends, after all. More than friends. He was picked as her champion—whatever that meant. At any rate, it meant that he figured that gave him the right to find her, along with the compulsion—as any normal person would to a friend in need—to check in on her.
“Hi friend,” he said.
“Oh, we’re friends now? How times have changed.”
“I don’t know what you’re going on about. We’ve always been close. Two peas in a pod of death.”
Myst merged into a cloud and smile. Then her expression grew thoughtful. “Perhaps death is a thing that could happen to me, now that I think about it.”
“That’s a crazy concept but maybe it’s not so crazy. We can all just…cease.”
Blue boy and shadow spirit glided through the clouds. Trey could see the frost developing from within the sky, droplets cohering into sparkling, reflective crystals. He quite enjoyed being up here without his body having to feel it. Maybe he’d do this more often when all the drama was resolved.
Once we get Swishy’s wings, we’ll take a spin through here together. Flying with a bird is something I never even dreamed of. Well, I guess I’m dreaming now…
“Wild, isn’t it? The way Cearth can be.” Myst reverted to her genie form and presented the skies with a flourish.
“I would’ve agreed even before this whole journey, but learning the hard way definitely makes that comment hit different.”
“Does your chest hurt? Do you even do hurt? I think I’m missing the language and details for your….”
“For my uniqueness? For how special a girl like me is?” She smirked.
“For your distinct shadow-bitchness.”
“Distinct is so sterile. Please, don’t make me cry.”
“I’m sure I couldn’t even if I tried. You’re plenty strong.”
“I’m strong—and my tears are strong. Some shadows cry acid.”
“And you?”
“Knives, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
They both laughed.
“Just so you know, I took this heart fair and square. It was a proper trade, no tricks involved.”
“No need to defend it. I was mad, yeah, but shadow business is shadow business. The more I can see the soulscape, the greater my understanding that this shit is complicated.”
“My, my, I’ve chosen well in champions. I never anticipated that understanding is something that would actually do anything for me. But this heart inside seems to bounce around like a little bunny whenever I feel…known. Human ways are strange indeed. Strange and stupid was my initial understanding. But alas, you guys might just have a worthy thing going on in your souls.”
“Oh wow, we’re redeemable? Even I have a hard time believing that but I’ll take it. I’m a reluctant ambassador but it seems like doing your bidding isn’t the worst thing that I’ve ever had happen to me.”
“As much as it irks me to admit, I do everyone’s bidding. I used to be so exclusive. Perhaps it’s time for me to move on.”
“You mean to die?”
“No, I mean move on…If I could free myself from this binding.” Shadows spiraled from her shoulders to her hands, serpent shapes at first glance. From certain angles, Trey saw them as chains.
“I know that you’re bound but don’t know the binding you speak of.”
“Me neither.” Myst shrugged.
And then Trey’s stomach grumbled. He rubbed his hand across his ghost stomach, confused about the sensation period, but his innards constricted with boa-like force.
“I suppose it’s time for you to feed. Sort yourself out, little fleshling, fufufu…” Myst faded to black, her giggles tapering off into the atmosphere.
“Feed? Okay but why is my soul starving?”
“The altar is my binding. Perhaps hunger is yours.”
Trey descended from the skies and phased into his body. Once his spirit realigned with his vessel, the stomach cramps doubled. He forced himself to his feet despite the aching hunger. The pain and the weight of Bristles made it difficult but he steadied himself in no time.
“Yeah. This is quite a binding. You’re definitely right about that.” Trey smiled through the stabbing pangs.
“I can see that. Still, I might even envy your position.” A sad smile played across her lips. The details of her face gleamed in the moonlight, a tragic and striking damsel of damnation.
They let the moment hang—thinking, wallowing, maybe fluctuating amounts of both.
“You’ll more than likely free yourself,” Trey said in a level tone. He wasn’t the expert on the architecture of Cearthen magic, but they were deep in the trenches now. Confidence was the only thing to have.
“I’m surprised you’d say such a thing. I’m even more surprised that your soul isn’t lying. How’d you pull such magnificent deception before my truth divination?”
“I just told a black lie.” He said it smugly—like he’d invented air.
“A black lie? How intriguing. I’d love to hear more.”
“It’s like a white lie, innocent and such, except you’re a shadow bitch, and so I know you like it black.”
“Thank you, Trey. You’re so thoughtful.”
Black silk swept across Trey’s cheek. Her touch was…somehow delicious. How you could taste a touch, he didn’t know. The thing that made him nervous was his burgeoning intrigue. “So let me ask you a non-thoughtful question. How was your first brush with danger? I saw you running.”
“That’s what you want to ask me? I know that you and your scarecrow friend are quite direct, but even strong shadow denizens require delicacy now and then. I gave you a light touch. Don’t tell me your troubles have battered the finesse out of you.” Her smile filled the night. She dissolved into a bodiless form, melding with the air. Within the clouds, Trey thought he saw the shapes of lips, perfect teeth, and piercing eyes.
“Touching the sky might be a bit beyond me,” Trey laughed.
“You’ll learn. With creativity, even a fleshling like you can move mountains.”
“Kind words, Myst, very very kind.”
Trey pointed his finger guns at the sky, summoned voltage orbs around the tips, and fired.
[ZAP].
A gold beam shot across the night, a reverse comet seeking its mark. Dark clouds softened and blue evening wandered into the vacancies.
“Well?” Trey smirked.
“If I must be honest…” said a mysterious breath that licked against the edge of Trey’s ear. “I think I felt that.”
Trey flushed with feeling, so much so that he forgot his crippling hunger.
The last of the sky’s sinful tint slipped away, completing its modest exit.
“Later,” Trey said.
But the clouds said nothing. The skies were depressingly clear. Trey stared at the horizon for a while, expecting streaks of darkness.
Damn, what’s wrong with me?
But there was nothing wrong. No hunger. No shoulder strain. He was feeling pretty good—too good was the problem. Trey did an about face and turned to go back to the village.