SWISHY HAD SOMETHING TO SAY.

It was important. But he couldn’t find the words as he bounced on the tip of Trey’s nose.

He came to Trey with a ton to answer for. There was no way he could skip over things like his minuscule fairy-ness, his gold-straw, and Goldie itself. Trey stared at the scarecrow-turned-hummingbird hybrid, taking him in. The Clayborne’s nose wrinkled from the castoff grains. Straw specks dotted Trey’s face like glowing freckles. For now the pair didn’t say anything. Trey looked relieved. Another good save. Another loving reunion among besties.

Swishy quivered from the warmth. It took him back to what he saw in Trey’s ethereal construct. The wonderful bird took over his whole imagination, sustaining him from the potency of Trey’s prayers and energy. Pleasant feelings seeped into him back then, and now once more at this moment.

The images, the memories, and the loveliness were perfect gifts. Swishy’s favorite soul had been shaped into wings and feathers. He could ask for nothing more. He found more and was certain that Trey missed it and could do something with the knowledge.

The scarecrow knew that if there was one thing about Straw City, and with the humans in particular, it was that they were prone to using magic they didn’t understand. Most times Swishy wasn’t sure he had his own handle on shadowcraft, and it was partially his good sense and mostly his pride that told him fleshlings were definitely below him in that regard.

The humans don’t know the strand from the straw, hehe…

Trey stared on, grinning, collecting his thoughts.

Swishy prepared to swish out everything he wanted to say but there was a complication. For as magic as Swishy’s linguistic skills were, he was small now. Too small. The swish-speak got through to Trey’s soul without issue, but now that he was in his body again, his soul awareness was dull as a butter knife. It was frustrating because he had Trey’s attention but not his comprehension.

The scarecrow stomped across the flat of Trey’s nose. The details in his friend’s eyes jarred him. Red cracks from fatigue and stress tore through the eyeball. The pupils contained more colors than the blacks and browns he was used to, a soft layer of moisture reflecting the night and all its shadows. He saw himself in those irises as well, weaves of fiery straw. Swishy’s reflection showed in amber tones within Trey’s pupils, warped and beautiful flames dancing the night away.

“Go on, little buddy,” Trey said, his voice incredibly deep from their size disparity. “You’re like an active baby that isn’t strong enough to move yet.”

“I have something for you! I need to explain.”

The message didn’t get through, though. Trey kind of shrugged with his eyes—if that were even possible. “Yo this is too funny! I knooow you’re pissed off…we’re gonna have to figure out this communication issue, huh?”

“We do!” But the recognition of the comment didn’t flicker in Trey’s eyes. Once Swishy jumped up and down in a frustrated full-body, Trey finally went oooh…

Trey moved his head—and Swishy with it—shifting the world. The scarecrow watched the night through Trey's vision, through the mirroring of everything in his eyes. Pure silver. The full moon. Swishy’s straw raised and lowered in time with his colossal friend’s sigh.

“The moon is beautiful as hell, little homie.”

“It is,” Swishy said, knowing he wasn’t heard. He used his magic to softly flicker, imagining his straw ends lit up like incense.

Trey released another sigh and Swishy rode the wave of the heaving body. Being small was inconvenient but he couldn’t refuse the fun of it.

When the momentous movements shook Swishy off, Goldie took over, figure-eighting him into a hover.

Trey deformed into a massive blur as he moved with urgency. He searched around the area and picked up a twig.

Swishy flew to his face to get his attention but Trey bent down into a squat and started writing into a bald patch within the grass.

“Alright gold boy, since I can’t hear you. This’ll be a somewhat one-sided conversation. I’ll pause in spots to let you do your thing.” Trey gazed up at Swishy, demonstrating said pause.

The Swish-mini did two up-downs for Yes.

“Yeah, like that! Cool, so I’ll write this small so you ain’t staring into craters.”

The first word Trey wrote with his twig was SAFETY. There was no magic here. Flashcard lessons had trained Swishy to stand at attention for written words and concepts. But Trey was just talking now, nothing magic about his stick in the dirt.

“Okay, safety! You know, this was way easier when we first wanted to hit the Curseworks, just you and me and whatever followers wanted to come along for the ride. We didn’t care about others. And they didn’t necessarily care about you.”

“Or care for real,” Swishy said first, without the body language. The boy wanted to believe that they could form a connection. But it wasn’t happening through mere eye contact. After a few seconds of ineffectual staring, he settled for the up-downs.

Trey continued. “We’re going to leave them behind, I think. We originally wanted to bring them with us. But that’s when we didn’t care so much about them. There’s limited safety for them here, as sitting ducks, but there’s no safety around us two at all. You’re the target. And I’m the traitor. It’s going to be hell for us, but you know that, don’t you?”

The boy objected. Vehemently. His body lit up like the front end of a cigarette as he Swish-spoke. “I don’t want to leave them or the kids. If they believe in the straw, if they believe in me, then let them come.” He tried adjusting his light show, a Morse code fakery that he’d hoped would collect into clear language. But the glow passed through Trey’s mirror eyes without a hint of understanding. Not even the lashes moved. Trey blinked once and Swishy had to dodge the launched dirt.

He’d at least concede to the this-will-be-hellish part. Up-down, up-down.

“Glad you agree.”

Swishy sighed, a candlelight of vexation.

“I’m gonna assume that straw godliness in you wants to do right by Straw Village. But it’s hard to know what’s the right thing. By all accounts, you’ve done more than you should for them. I have, too, if we’re really itemizing it. They should be dead but they’re here. Their souls do things I never imagined possible for a human soul to do. It’s a gorgeous community, my guy. They love each other and love you too.”

The scarecrow softly flared. He didn’t even have to try to picture the beauty. He’d never forget those times in the pink snow. But the memories of their Swish charms stoked his guilt anew.

“It’s time to worry about you, and only you. You’re your own boy, I tell you this all the time. But I know you’ve gathered that you’re also my ticket to life. You’re the answer, sorry as I am to say it. You’re just a bird. You don’t deserve to have these burdens. I’ve been thinking a lot, and I’m sure you saw these thoughts in my prayers. And I’m praying for life, little homie. I really, really, really don’t want to die. I’m scared, Swishy. I’m terrified. That’s where I’m at. I’m scared and I need you. Will you help me?”

Swishy’s gold-straw brimmed with full force. It didn’t flicker or waver or wane. No up-downs were needed. No magic connection either. A [Postcard] was worth a thousand words. But a friendship was a language of its own. It required no voice. Once a bond set, it deepened into the stars, and only the heavens could read it.

“That’s my boy!” Trey laughed—but the laugh dropped off immediately. “But I’m serious. What we can do for the village isn’t much that I can see. All we can do is try to survive. Me dying or you becoming a farm—that’s game over for everybody.”

“I understand,” Swishy said with a sustained amber glow, medium in intensity.

“When the time comes, prepare yourself. I don’t know what wish I’ll make with Myst, but let me do it. We can’t have you giving up your hearts. You may have many hearts, but there’s only one you. And the you that you are, the gold parts at least, are small. It’s hard to know how much you’ve healed. But healing is the way. Everyone is so obsessed with hunger that they’ve forgotten healing. Don’t forget that. Okay? Keep that heart inside and let me bear the burden.”

“Turn into a soul! Let me talk to you! Come on, Trey, you can’t decide by yourself!”

Trey raised his palm before Swishy. “I think I know what you’re saying but what I said isn’t negotiable. Just…you know, save me. I’ve asked my God but I’m asking my little bestie too.”

Swishy landed on Trey’s nose again, wanting to get through to Trey, but the physical contact didn’t do much either. Swishy felt their souls touch, though, but he was a five-strand boy, not nearly enough gold-straw to act as a conduit for the bulk of his magic. His potential was locked to his true body, resting in Sling’s arms.

Trey edged his pinky toward the boy and made a little petting motion. “There, there.”

Swishy was making a connection. He didn’t have time to be consoled about the future recklessness of the best human he’d ever known. His pittance of magic seeped into Trey’s body, attempting to reach the soul inside. He needed to make himself more understandable.

When at first he’d created words in the air, the gold glitter lingered. But the pattern began to disappear before a shape could be completed. Cute things like hearts were simple. Full sentences were another matter.

The boy did an oval-shaped curve, a “U”. And he kept doing it, drawing over his old path, maintaining the dusty shine.

“You? What about you?”

No, Trey, that’s not it! Swishy proceeded to the next letter. He was so frantic that he couldn’t tell if he was shaping everything to the proper proportion. He aimed to make “S” but he could tell that the top half was too tight, unreadable. Trey’s squinting was discouraging but Swishy slowed his flight to let the gold disappear and started again.

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Distractions bounded through the world. Underneath, he could feel the roots twisting around, seeking the source of their escaped gold. The curses were speaking to each other, communicating along the root tunnel first and then delivering word to the outer shadows on the surface. Gold, they said, there’s magic gold that feels real good. Everything it touched turned to strength. Find it!

U-s-e…

He knew that he got the “U” down perfectly, and the “s” was readable because he pictured a snake as he did it, the old voodoo serpent. The boy launched into a “E” and struggled. Upper case was a dumb decision—too many lines and too much backtracking involved in the middle part. He went lowercase, hoping the closed loop for the “e” wasn’t too tight.

Trey cracked a smile which made Swishy hopeful.

“Your cursive sucks,” he heckled.

The scarecrow flew faster, irritated as he launched into the first letter of the next word. “T”.

Darkness swelled. From below, from the woods all around, and from the sky too. For as vast a world as his fairy-ness perceived, the nature closed upon him. The sky darkened as if it were the lid on a shoebox, aligning to the edges and then lowering. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly but knew that it was something. Many somethings.

There was one that came from Trey’s body. It ebbed around him like vapor. He worried about what came from inside of him. Trey had more going on with him than he realized.

I gotta hurry!

An “h” came. Then “e”.

“Use the…” Trey said—which pleased Swishy who in his panic finished the second word in record time.

Feathers all around. Black ones. Swishy glared into Trey’s eyes but he was concentrating on the golden lettering. Does Trey not see all that’s going on? The answer was No. Swishy was sensitive—perhaps overly sensitive—to the goings-on of the ambiance. Everything frayed his edges. The importance of a vessel hit him now in his smallness. He could feel everything—and be hurt by it too.

His hummingbird motions stuttered through the dark. The air had grown thick, nothing that a full-sized being would notice. But Swishy could see the dark swirls flow around his wing as if he were crafting latte art with shadows.

“B…” Trey correctly made out, the third and final word commencing. He’d gotten it so quickly that Swishy thought maybe his cursive had gotten better. Fast learning was his forte so he didn’t doubt it.

“CACAW!”

Swishy flushed with fear. These were the same voices as the birds that chased him. He focused on flying but caught glimpses of the snitchtalons rising above the treetops. Of course he hadn’t been found yet but it was only a matter of time. They spread their wings as the injured bird wrathfully proclaimed, “I’m going to swallow you if it’s the last thing I do!”

Trey trained his eyes on the distant birds, and the scarecrow was relieved to have someone to share the worry with. “It’s getting real live out here, huh? So much for a calm night. These fuckers are mad-mad.”

Darkness pressed inward from below, above, and around. The entities could feel Swishy in the air and spoke amongst themselves about it. It’s the same as the heart that’s feeding us now! No wonder it was so familiar! This magic is what we already subsist on. Fantastic! Miraculous!

The boy kept going, creating the next letter, dipping low then rising straight up for the base of the “i”.

Trey’s head followed the path, attentive and studious, yet joking around way too much. “Hurry it up, homie. The wrathravens are out here!”

Swishy was startled but continued on his path.

“Just a joke! Nice toughness, though!”

The little straw god made a mental note to poke Trey in the eye as he completed the “r”.

“But hurry, we have problems…”

Snitchtalons flew to surrounding treetops, several in each cluster, calling for vengeance. Food was the last thing on their minds as they echoed the wrongs that’d been committed against them since Swishy’s birth. Words popped up among them, black letters conjuring as bricks. Swishy refused to look. His tiny body was buffeted by the pressure. Facing the intents head-on would do him no good.

There was enough darkness to contend with in his immediate vicinity—even at point-blank range, shrouding Trey.

Everytrees all around were reacting. Nebulas upon the branch ends now formed into their chosen food item. Vague shapes of apples conjured from the fogginess but their stems and surfaces kept growing. Trenches developed in the non-apples and were spaced apart evenly. The divided sections bulged with life. Pumpkins were the true form. They continuously grew, weighing down the branches yet there were no snapping or breaking sounds of the wood. Durability—or rather their rubberiness—was one of the defining features of the everytrees, so the black pumpkins just bent the branches into cartoonish curves. Swishy could’ve sworn that the branches actually shortened to accommodate the gourd weight, allowing the legumes to hang and find anchoring within the tree trunk.

Wicked smiles broke across the rinds as if phantom knives carved and carved and carved into their faces. The snapping sounds were horrendous. Swishy flinched at their incessant echos.

“Someone else is here! Pumpkins aren’t my thing. This is someone else’s fantasy!”

The boy wondered who the mystery person was as he rush-jobbed the final two letters: “d” and “s”.

Trey traced his hand over the gold, making sure that he got everything right. “Use The Birds? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that information but okay! Noted. Now get the hell out of here!”

Swishy wanted to leave but wasn’t so sure that he had the option. Controlling Goldie was a struggle. While the rotations hovered him as intended, he was burdened by the pressure of the movement. Flight became an increasingly conscious effort—everything about his existence became self-conscious in his Swish-mini form. Air was a weight. Darkness was an anvil. He tried to fly upward but an invisible ceiling pressed down. It was like gravity, but not exactly, because if he didn’t exert any extra effort to rise he maintained his status quo. Falling wasn’t a real risk. But once he tried to go a little higher, above Trey’s height at least, the ceiling hardened, rejecting him with its might.

He flew around Trey’s body, experimenting with his horizontal plain. Thankfully, he was allowed. Psychic damage crept into his gold vessel’s mind. His mental state shone a little less brightly, the straw of his head dimming from distress. His soiled flight was bothersome but he focused on figuring out what was going on. He’d investigate first, then bail on this gold body—but he didn’t want to bail.

This wing was everything.

Woods, woods, woods. Up above didn’t even qualify as a sky. Everything was dark. Everything was heavy and solid and oppressive. The snitchtalons that he was so afraid of were nowhere to be seen or sensed. Another entity took over the sky. Myst? No, not her. The curses? This isn’t them either—their presence hadn’t come back yet! I ran them off! Hmm…

A familiar face impressed into the darkness, white folds that resembled the E-squad’s contours. There were two eyes, angled for suspicion. Strong eyebrows. And plump lips that gave the idea of lipstick even through the monochromatic image. Ruby pursed her lips. She clicked her tongue. She murmured to herself.

And then the face disappeared, returning the former sky—but her eyes were the last to go. Glaring, glaring eyes.

Swishy had the feeling that he should cut his losses here. Goldie seemed like a distant concept that no longer belonged to him. He’d make another. There was still more gold in him yet. He didn’t have much inside his main body but he confirmed his inventory. It was there and he could grow it. He told himself to believe. Belief was his only option.

No! Hold on! She won’t do anything to me yet. She can try but I won’t give in, not this time.

The wind whipped up, howling swirls that rushed through him like dog growls. The deep tones of the gusts thrummed along the edges of his body, disrupting the rhythm of his wing’s figure-eights. He lost altitude but not resolve. Face-height to Trey, he gazed at his friend—who also gazed back.

“Just bail, my guy. Find some straw to jump in or something! I feel her too!”

No up-down this time. Side-to-side, piles and piles of Nope.

A fingertip was held before Swishy, consuming his vision. The swirling fingerprints looked like the route curves of a map, a grainy and wonderful texture that brimmed with blue-and-gold magic. Trey’s soul power ebbed outward, many times larger than the Swish-mini. When the magic passed over the scarecrow, the spell activated immediately. From head to toe, Swishy was swift, hasty, dexterous. His wing flutters were faster and back in normal rhythm, cutting through the thickened darkness. [Zip] was a tremendous help.

“Okay, now bail the hard way then, since I know you’re stubborn for that wing.”

Up-downs happened, several of them—causing Trey to squeeze his eyes shut from the flickering.

Curses swelled from below; snitches were hidden in the woods; Ruby gazed downward from the sky above. And then Trey, blue soul and all, was the inviting presence amid everything. But a shadow was behind him, an overarching silhouette that was vacuuming Swishy in.

Portals had opened behind Trey. They looked just like his [Zlide]. He’d recognize the shape and quality of the ability anywhere. But nothing came from the dark gates. Only the magnetism that attempted to draw the scarecrow in.

Swishy tried to fly away from the area but couldn’t leave. The pulling was gentle at first. When Swishy strained further, the soft hold continued, invisible and unrelenting. Swishy was held in place as if that were a law of physics. Flutter-flutter-flutter but no movement was achieved.

Then he was pulled in, drawing toward Trey’s eyes.

“What’s wrong? Why aren’t you going?”

[Zlide]—Trey activated his spell and his body disintegrated into a mess of molecules. Honeycombed skin and hair and clothing flew past Swishy in gigantic Trey-shards. Those fragments broke down further as they were drawn into his murky portal. Swishy was amused that he didn’t break down, small as he was. The [Zlide] took him as the fairy he was.

But as Trey reconstructed within the shadow current, Swishy found that he couldn’t escape the force that pulled him along. They exited the portal, closer to the village. Swishy knew this from the phantom attachment to his main body, its tension strengthening from how much closer he’d gotten.

The main force remained, though, the dark influence that’d gripped Swishy. Several small portals remained opened around Trey’s back. Some were over his shoulders. Others were by his hips. There was one floating above Bristles’ ear. And there was one more that seemed to rest on the slumbering backpack’s head like an egg.

Swishy lost ground, drifting closer to Trey’s face—then around to his side. The boy was tugged behind the Clayborne’s ear and then his head. He completed the rotation by flowing behind Trey and Bristles’ heads and coming around Trey’s frontside again.

The Swish-mini was forced into a mystic current, riding it against his will.

More portals appeared. They were everywhere you could think of. Ovoids of black ether opened in the trees. Gates conjured in the clouds, rendering them into fluffy, storm-filled donuts. Dark circles lay upon the ground, pitfalls no doubt. Everything seemed so…so bottomless.

That’s when Swishy felt the presence: no curses appeared to occupy the portals but that familiar impression of eyes occurred. These seemed like a probe, an abyssal search party.

His brilliant light stayed strong as he staved off the dark thoughts. He’d reserve his panic until he could face the real facts of his situation. What is this? How is this happening? Who is here?

But he knew who. The problem was the what. As in: What in the straw is she looking for? What does she want now?

He orbited the back of Trey’s head once, twice, and then a third time. A fourth. Each time he descended in a set increment until leveling out at throat height. His coerced orbit around Trey’s neck tightened, hurricane-ing spirals that set the boy into a panic. His wing stopped moving but the flight continued. He liked that he was attached to his friend. But hated that it happened in the form of a threat. He kicked his little Timbs, helpless.

For a moment he glimpsed Trey’s cross and the God-figure attached—before the nearest shadows bulked into a barrier, overlaying the jewelry.

The scarecrow gazed upward, searching for an answer.

Polka-dotted skies laced with clouds and portals. Indigo night filled the spaces in between. Birds, birds, birds—all of them chanting in the direction of the High Chasm. They were so vehement that Swishy believed he’d see their words as subtitles if he focused hard enough.

[Zlide]—Trey transported them again, wanting to shake the portals. They traveled through the current but without its usual barrier. The outside world was a detectable presence. Everything in the Zlide realm was see-through. And everything was loud. And everything was magnetic—because the portals around Trey and Bristles were taken with them. They were perfect stalkers. Soul-bound surveillance.

These portals were doing things that Swishy hated: watching him, confining him, and making silent demands.

“Is that you?” Swishy swished, afraid to say the name.

Dead air. A frozen world. These perceptions had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with fear. The next couple seconds were the longest of Swishy’s life. The third second proved to be the charm.

For the briefest sliver of a moment, a feminine silhouette slashed across the moon, elegantly seated upon a broom.

Swishy wanted it to be Myst. He wanted that so badly.

But the raucous snitchtalons were way too happy to see her.

“I know you said Use The Birds but uh, if you mean them then they’re just gonna grab me and drop me into a gorge.”

Trey missed the mark but both of them knew that. Swishy was too anxious to dignify that with a variance of glow.

Up-down, up-down. Up-down, up-down.