SWISHY WANTED TO LIVE—he wanted it badly.

The blackwheat scarecrow was lying in Sling’s arms, gathering his bearings.

He was killed, kind of. By his friend no less—and no offense either. It was a funny experience. Swishy wanted to have a laugh about losing Goldie the way he did, about hummingbird flight and digesting into gold-straw healing for Trey. Relief was instead the dominant feeling.

As the darkness hovered upon Trey, Swishy noticed the activation of the [Soul] and [Heart Strings]. He knew blue boy Trey was out there, soaring the night—while the heart-string-puppeteered vessel was clumsily running away. Swishy thought about the body crashing into trees—except these were the rubbery, bounce-friendly everytrees. He pictured Trey-less Trey getting rubber blasted to the ground.

Then Swishy laughed for real. He laughed like he never did before. And then his mood reverted to business-like. There was much in that jack-o-lantern of his to sift through.

Trey’s escape antics had bought him time. There wasn’t much since Ruby’s portals were everywhere. Swishy didn’t know if they were increasing in number either since the ovoids moved with frequency. The woman’s effortless control over the area was too much. He should’ve assumed it was from the first [Postcard].

This was only a sample, too, because she hadn’t outright attacked them yet.

He considered himself both lucky and unlucky for that development. The misfortune end of it was strong in his soul now. He only wanted to live because he was afraid to die.

The Trey thing sent him down the rabbit hole of demise.

When the moment happened where he ‘died’, where Trey munched and swallowed down precious little Goldie, the last moments of Swishy’s projected consciousness was drenched in his friend’s soul. Swishy knew everything he needed to know about Trey. Or was reminded of it. And it was a visceral refresher at that. Trey’s soul screamed at him. It shouted the one thing that the Clayborne needed, and its craving for life echoed through Swishy’s spirit. Even now in the original straw body, Swishy buzzed from the experience. It shook him. But it had to happen. Swishy openly received Trey’s fear of death.

Life was composed of both things, the beginning and the end, so said his inner philosopher who fancied himself a god. Yet he now believed the hype about death. He started to feel pressure from its presence, its threat. Swishy’s pulse quickened all over. Rustling came from his chest, the straw pushed and shifted subtly, like a dark wind drawing up and loosening his weaves. But it was his heartbeat. The knowledge that he could die ravaged his spring-loaded heart.

Was this the human feeling? Is this what it means to be fragile? Swishy couldn’t even begin to fathom what the other humans had endured. There was a city of folks back in the entrance parts of the city, the razed one, that was unable to see the great darkness that’d taken over. They only ran from the crashed zeppelin and ensuing fires while having no recourse against the threat they didn’t know was there.

It was up to the boy to serve them too. And to serve everybody. Not in the brainless, I-give-my-heart-for-love manner that he was encouraged to do. He’d offer the support that people needed—and didn’t know they needed.

His role became clear. Making things right was a real objective, something feasible. Ruby could stop him but he’d overcome. She didn’t seem so insurmountable. The witch was a gatekeeper to a fresh world, a golden one. Perhaps she too would see the light.

Or kill him—kill them all.

I don’t want to die was a concept he’d gotten from Trey but he applied it to himself now.

D-E-A-T-H was in the air. T-Y-R-A-N-N-Y also snaked around the sky, prowling within pockets of clouds, disappearing, trying not to be too obvious—but it was heartbreakingly obvious, scary, and doomed. All the worse in that Ruby was nearby. Her broom-riding silhouette flashed here and there, never too far from the letters. She and tyranny partook in an aerial dance. Swishy thought about the scarecrow’s T-posing and considered the witchy broom flight in the same regard. Something that they naturally did for peace—but there was no peace here. The blackened—and still blackening—letters indicated that there was no justice on the horizon. Only Ruby.

Portals of Ruby’s darkness had opened everywhere. Swishy was only on his third heart and wondered if he could take much more of this. In a world that continuously darkened, what hope did his future hearts have? He stared at his blackened hands and forearms. The boy stole a glimpse at his body beneath his jacket. He unzipped his parka and the frayed darkness rose from his chest like clusters of thorns. He didn’t take too close of a look at himself. The same intents he found in the sky were likely what he now housed within himself. His chasm went to great lengths to leave a lasting memory. HOLLOW and DOOM were his very blood—his blood equivalent anyhow.

His life was shadowed—he hoped not shadowed beyond repair. Otherwise what would he be doing this for? But at the current moment, there was nothing to look forward to. Swishy began to reach the point where he stopped being able to see the future.

It’d been night for a while now. And all the blackness tried to do was reach for things. Even now he saw the curses climbing the dome of blue aura around the clearing. The scarecrow ritual provided a barrier that protected them—yet the soul walls also attracted those same, curious curses. Everything with potency became something of interest to these parts of Cearth.

It was tiring to know that you couldn’t have anything to yourself. You couldn’t even have yourself to yourself.

Myst, Trey, and the straw-bound had all suffered. Even Myst was beginning to lose her grip on herself. Yet Ruby and her shadow wielding had seemed to cost her nothing. And what was the result of her unbridled control?

A shadowdeep that nobody was ready for.

Ruby’s night permitted no light. It was not so easily diffused. And even Ruby herself, who flashed to momentarily visibility, seemed upset about the world she was in. Because if she were sated then the postcard-perfect pictures wouldn’t have acquired so many portals, so much aggression, and so much of the negative words that tailed her flight.

The only person that Swishy thought would enjoy the night as is was Bristles. Swishy still heard the snores in his head, sleeping soundly as Straw City plunged into the deepest chaos it’d ever known.

Swishy jumped from Sling’s arms and landed on his Timbs. He resolved to face the city with his full self.

(…)

The night settled. He had a moment to think. Something was happening that he couldn’t decipher. Ruby was less active. The portals relaxed a hair. The paused environment gave him the inkling that he was missing out on a villain speech, that there was some off-screen showing off that the sassy city lord was performing.

Swishy only hoped this meant that Trey got away.

No, hope is the wrong word. I know he did. He had to. I’d know if he didn’t.

His soul shuddered. He didn’t want to know what that’d feel like—to know his friend’s hurt.

The straw-bound were all around, brutally and willfully anchored. Crucified, Swishy thought—before wondering where he’d got that idea, that definition, that word.

Nonetheless, the villagers were strong in their T’d repose, staked around the bonfire. Their blue vibes fed into a dome shape that sheltered the clearing. How good it felt to be in his home base. A foundation was important for the city he’d soon take over, and the scarecrows were that for him.

“Thank you…” He breathed to everybody, recovering from the grim haze.

There was no movement from the staked scarecrows, just the subtle flaring of their souls.

“You’re welcome,” Sling said, startling him from behind. He should’ve known she was awake. “Crazy out there, isn’t it my young one?”

She meant the portals, the birds, and the gelatinous wiggling of the trees.

“I hate it.”

“As do I.”

They stared off, doing their respective mental maths. Each had different roles to fulfill. Swishy claimed the next words.

“I don’t want to die.”

“There are scarier things.”

“I think that makes the feeling worse.”

“Such is life…such is death too actually.” Sling laughed, giving him a hard time, but also giving him the truth. He didn’t want to envision worse, though he knew it was a type of pain. Discovering hurt—he was sick of it.

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“I know this is strange to say to someone who is or was human…”

“Just call me a lady. Lady is fine!”

“Yes, Sling, a lady. This is weird to say but death means something to me now. I don’t know how I die. And I don’t know how others die either. But if we let that happen to us the magic ends. No more friendship. No more T’s.”

“And no more cute pets.” Sling’s off-kilter comment cut through the melancholic tension—which was further reduced by the wrathraven trio that poked their heads through her shoulder bandages. They weren’t small anymore, having doubled in size. Ambient darkness flowed to them in thick particles. Their heads were clear and pronounced while their bodies were an odd mass of wings and gas.

Swishy reached up to pet one—and it complied, having remembered his [Grain Mill] threats. The other two nibbled at the back of his hand, gently tasting his straw.

“They like your curses, little Swishy.”

“Everybody but me these days.”

“The darkness gives you character. Ask anyone. Ask some girls, they’ll tell you.”

“I believe you! I just want to return to the me I’m used to.”

“Oh, we won’t get him back.”

“I’m greedy. I’ll get him back.”

“If you say so.” Sling rubbed his head. “So will you be heading up there? Seems like the type of problem only a god can handle, wouldn’t you say?”

Up above, D-E-A-T-H glided over the land. Each letter was much larger than Swishy realized. And the lessons had much more to do with him than he expected. Death wasn’t just something that happened to humans and animals, but to him as well.

And he feared that such a fate was far different than his time cradled in the dark. If he died, he didn’t know if he’d be left alone. The idea of ending was one part of the discomfort. His true terror came from thinking of the end to his autonomy, to motion, to the prospect of being bound to one specific place, some realm that Ruby and her descendants could access.

The straw-bound woke up, stirring in their mummy wrappings. Everyone stretched and yawned—just as a comfort gesture—encasing Swishy in the audible straw snapping.

Straw Village’s fleeting relaxation passed and they soon confronted the reality of the overwhelming darkness. Portals all around pulled at their straw. As stray bits drifted in the air, Swishy remembered the snitchtalon hurricane that’d recently torn them apart. He could tell the black tempest was also on their minds but they did their best not to show it. Each gesture was normal. It was good cover. However, Swishy saw their souls. Quivering wouldn’t begin to do justice to the degree of their tumult. They quaked on their horrible sticks—yet freely turned on them somehow, pivoting toward Swishy.

“Are you well?” A straw-bound asked Swishy. All eyes traveled to the black straw God.

“I’m doing pretty bad but my health bar is full.”

“Mm…us too.” A different scarecrow spoke this time. The villagers were good at taking turns. Whether in blue-soul link or just milling out, using [Weave] for trinkets, their cultist connection to one another gave Swishy flashbacks to the shadowdeep peeves. Their oneness was lovely and off putting. He tried to give them grace. That was his job, he’d decided, as God or whatever.

Swishy and the scarecrows watched the High Chasm skies. There were no witchy silhouettes in the clouds this time but everyone knew Ruby was out and about. The portals made that obvious.

It wasn’t looking good for any of them.

“What kind of world do you want?” Swishy just blurted it out. Seemed like an apocalypse-appropriate question.

“The kind where this doesn’t happen, of course.” The scarecrows spoke simultaneously this time. Their dozens of laughs unified into a creepy chorus, one in which their mirthful bodies to made chuffing sounds against the wooden stakes, grating Swishy’s ‘ears', his sense of freedom.

“What if I can’t give you that world?”

“There is no what-if. Only faith.”

The boy remembered that word. It was bold inside him. FAITH illuminated in his chasm, that forgotten friend of his. “I see,” he said. “I’ll live up to that.”

“You already do.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Then we await our blessings.” Their souls flared. The dome gained another layer of blue. Swishy sensed that it was like another egg, a collective one through which the villagers created birds.

A bird machine! I guess that is a reason to have faith!

The scarecrows spoke again, having devised a speech, switching between speakers every couple lines. But their eyes were intense, never breaking Swishy’s gaze. “The world will do what it does to us. We know the stakes and we’ve made our choices. We want to say that we’ve made our peace but we haven’t. We respect Ruby. We owe her much—perhaps too much by her current estimation. This isn’t a safe world for us or the kids. And in many respects, we were part of that danger. But now we have clarity. We feel the risk we’re taking because of this clarity in what we want our lives to be. And it’s not this. It’s you. Our future is yours. Use it as you will. And if we’re lucky, if we’ve chosen well—which we know we have—then you, our God, will pay us back with interest.”

Their chuffing laughter tore across the area. Through their damaged torsos, their splintered anchors were visible—and they, too, were black. Swishy knew he had far to go to reverse this. He wanted them to have real daylight again. If he could, he’d make them suncrows. They’d become straw and fire. And they’d never have to become shadowcrows again. No more Sling wraps. Only golden wheat bodies and proper clothing. It was a simple dream. The best dream ever. One that set Swishy’s soul ablaze.

“That’s a lot to give me,” the boy finally said. “Your futures, your hearts. I want to say it’s heavy—or that’d be the human thing to say. But I think it’s something else. It’s a lot like your gift of birds. It feels clean and important, and it scares me to have it. Making something new of your lives terrifies me. I’ll do it, though. I will, I will, I will. So thank you all. Be patient with me. When this is all over, I promise to make something nice.”

The scarecrows smiled, then closed their straw eyes, double-dipping on some rest.

“Still popular as ever, I see.” Sling teased. She was crafting talismans, slinging spellcraft. [Sanctuary] was returning, and a talisman for each letter drifted from her body to the dome. The wrathravens took flight from their mummy-mommy nest to admire the enchantment’s perimeter.

There was much to see, much to study and love—because the closest of Ruby’s portals disappeared. It was more than an illusion. He knew there was real protection in Sling’s [Sanctuary] spell. She’d cleansed the little settlement.

“Maybe with this, everyone can be safe,” Swishy marveled.

“This plus growing these adorable pets.” The wrathravens crooned in the ugliest birdsong Swishy had ever heard.

“Sure, yes. As long as they don’t turn on you.”

“I’m too lovely to betray.”

“Okay, that makes sense. I agree at least.” He leaned in for a head pat—and promptly received it.

“There, there, little dark one. Would you like wraps of your own? Something to seal the undesirable parts of yourself? You have to get going. I’d hate to let you leave unprepared.”

“I think I can manage without the wrappings. These parts are strong.” He lifted his hands to Sling. Both of them studied the blackwheat. The curses didn’t speak—they cackled. Swishy knew why. The High Chasm was right there, ripe for the claiming. Both their own plus Swishy’s colonial ambitions were aligned.

“But you don’t want these curses to lead you. I really think you could use a bind.”

“I can do it. I’ll be creative! I have ideas.” He did. And the smile he flashed convinced Sling as well.

“Fair enough, sweet child. Then I have something else I can do for you.”

“I’m ready.” Swishy shut his optics. His gourd went dull and dry as he waited for the triumphant re-stoking of his spirit.

His soul rubbed against the talismans that flew around with speed and zest.

Several talismans floated around Swishy’s body, rubbing against his soul. The magnetism to Sling’s magic sparked. He craved the dragging feeling that was impressed upon him. The energy from the papers represented real items, real foods. His blind soul-tasting told him that Sling had made him a meal.

“Is that pumpkin pie? You know I’m not a cannibal!”

“It’s sweet potato. There’s a distinct difference but you’re young and uncultured.”

“Okay…but you’re preparing to trick me one day, I know it.”

“It’s the job of the adults to keep the young on their toes.”

“Rude.”

“Yes, I suppose that is what all you babies say.”

“But it is good. Can I have another?”

Sling was prepared. From underneath her sleeve, dozens of SWEET POTATO PIE talismans were produced. They drifted around Swishy in a dome, the blue spirits swirling around in a marble of taste. He found himself in a bakery. There were pies and cakes. There were scones. Everything was cream-filled with berries that he’d never heard of before. There were blueberries and blackberries. There were raspberries—and he wondered if rasp was a color or just a dumb name for such deliciousness. He was taken in by jams.

Another part of the world that he wanted to recreate, something that his straw told him was possible, and something that many in the city had already forged through his wheat. One word, six letters, came to a pure blue glow inside his head—he could even feel the alphabetic shapes drifting and bouncing against his cranial walls.

F-L-A-V-O-R bounced around in his jack-O-lantern.

He came back to his unhindered consciousness, the re-settling within his gourd, and he found that the kid-crows had joined him. The adults were asleep on their curse-black posts while the children gathered around for a midnight snack. Amie’s purple ribbon was back to its bow form. The other kids gathered behind her, her slightly smaller egg-doll minions. Their mouths were opened. They were scarecrows but a soulful drool gleamed over their lips.

Sling, that jerk, was feeding them PUMPKIN BAR, PUMPKIN BROWNIE, PUMPKIN SPICE CONCHA, and PUMPKIN ICE CREAM PIE.

“Want to try?” Sling asked with a devil’s grin.

“No, no, no…I think I’ll pass.”

“I have more if you’re ready.”

“Thanks, I have to go.”

“I think so too.”

“Hey Sling.”

“Yes dear?”

“Love you.”

“Mother loves you too.”

The night—he couldn’t ignore it. Time to grow. Time to change.

The boy, with the delicious euphoria in mind, began to mentally draft his Swish-borne world. Ruby had [Postcard] inspiration, an image she believed was peak pleasure. But Swishy had the people. They told him what should be on Cearth. It was time to shape everyone’s hopes. Feeling had always been Swishy’s business, and he was thankful to have a guardian like Sling to help him feel even better, to feel more effectively. To make emotion and dreams real.

As the flavor concept bound to his soul, his mind drifted back to death—or rather, he loved acquiring another reason to live. There was so much out there that was good. And the shadows were now hiding them all. But he’d mine them up. They’d mine the good together.

Gold-straw—he could feel it brewing. The next Goldies would be more than 5-strand this time. He’d be sturdier, stronger, and brighter than ever before.

The boy wouldn’t fight darkness with darkness anymore.

He opened his left hand and from the ends of his fingers, gold-straw pushed out and wound into Swish-minis. He didn’t know how much he had in him. But by now he’d learned that maneuvering his soul in a certain manner was conducive to gripping the slick blackwheat textures while other spirit movements massaged out the coarse gold-straw.

At the end of each fingertip, a Swish-mini was born. With his other hand Swishy waved to all five, and the gold boys waved back. Then Swishy gave up control of the original body, the remains of soul phasing out of him, splitting into the five dolls. Empowered by the added focus, the tiny squad was able to fly with their hummingbird wings.

The Goldies went off into the night, seeking a weakness in Ruby’s set-up.

And as the boy miniatures passed, Sling’s wrathravens brushed their beaks against them, shadow-snuggle send-offs for the dark road ahead.